Lost In Translation

I like to watch shows on Netflix while I sort laundry and do the dishes.  It makes the time pass more quickly, and almost feels like a treat.  Oh who am I kidding…it’s still drudgery.  But it does make it better.  I finished up Bones and Mad Men.  I’m not-so-patiently waiting for Damages.  I couldn’t get into Dexter for some reason.  Of course that was the weekend I spent cleaning Molly’s room while she was at Brownie Camp, so I probably didn’t give it a fair chance…it’s similar to getting an electric shock every time you reach for a piece of chocolate…that whole negative association thing likely ruined Dexter for me.  Molly’s room was scarier than any serial killer drama could ever hope to be.

Yesterday I discovered that Lost is on the Canadian Netflix stream.

Seems like a great show.

If I weren’t getting on a PLANE this month.

And if watching This is 40 hadn’t already ruined the ending for me.

Kind of hard to root for a bunch of people that you already know are going to die.  I managed to do the whole fingers-in-the-ears-na-na-na-na-I-can’t-hear-you routine for years when the show was on TV so that I wouldn’t ruin it for myself when I eventually watched it.  And I almost made it.  Thanks a lot Judd Apatow.  Thanks.  A.  Lot.

I’m turning 39 this month.

Which Judd has also ruined for me.

Maybe he would like a side-job delivering all my bad news.  He can tell me about my dental cavities, the rise in hydro rates, and perhaps he can program his voice into my scale to shout out my weight each morning.  Because frankly I think he enjoys it.

Comment and let me know what you think I should be watching and why.  Just don’t spoil the ending.  Nobody likes an Apatow.  And my apologies if I spoiled Lost for you.  If I can’t watch it, no one can.


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