I don't know about anyone else, but there is no way I could survive on a desert island with only CD's and DVD's to keep me company. I would have to have my favorite books along with me. So, in keeping with the theme of these posts, there are a few ground rules. I can only bring 10 books with me, and I can only bring one book per author, although if one of the authors has co-written a book with another author, then that is OK. And I'm not limiting myself to just fiction, any book which I absolutely must have with me and is one of my all-time favorites is eligible.
So, how do I pick my top ten? I'm certainly not going to pick the great classics that all the English profs love that I wouldn't pick up and read again if my life depended on it (sorry, WCK). So, you're not going to find any Dickens, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Orwell, or really any of the truly great authors represented on my list. What you'll find are the ten books that have affected me most, that I can read over and over again, that have influenced me in some fashion, or simply given me the most joy. Many are books I read when I was younger, even when I was a kid. One of these books helped influence me in my career path. And another remains my favorite book since the first time I read it. So, without further ado, here are my top 10 books, in no particular order.
1. "The Stand" by Stephen King
It should come as no shock whatsoever to anyone who knows me what my first choice would be. I have stated on this blog before that I am one of Stephen King's "constant readers", having read every one of his books and being a lifetime fan. "The Stand" came pretty early in King's career, and despite some game efforts, he has never equalled it in terms of scope and power. It is an epic in every way possible, and it tells a story that captivates almost from the first page. It presents vivid characters in compelling situations, and it starts off by killing off almost the entire population of the planet. But if there's one thing that "The Stand" does as well, if not better, than any other work of fiction, is present a fascinating and complex villain. In fact, it gives us not one, but three villains, marvelously drawn and endlessly interesting. There is Lloyd Henreid, the two-bit loser who rises up from the plague known as Captain Trips to become a powerful force in Las Vegas. There's the Trashcan Man, one of the most compelling and complicated characters in all of King's fiction. And then there is Randall Flagg, the Dark Man, the personification of evil who becomes one of the two dominating forces in the post-plague world. It's a classic tale of good versus evil, with all the usual wonderful King touches. At over a thousand pages, it is endlessly readable and never ceases to amaze. It's my all-time favorite.
2. "The Talisman" by Stephen King and Richard Straub
This is the kind of book that non-Stephen King fans love. It is not scary in any way, shape, or form, but more like an epic quest, sort of similar to "Lord of the Rings", without the complexity. Straub played the perfect foil for King and they created a wonderful tale of two parallel worlds, whose very survival depends on the success of twelve year-old Travelling Jack, and his pal, Rational Richard. They "flip" between both worlds as they fight bad guys and monsters in their quest to get the Talisman, and bring it back to save Jack's mother and the Queen of the Territories. A rich and compelling tale of heroism and sacrifice, this is a tremendous book which demands multiple readings to get the full essence of its greatness. Straub has never been better and the combination of he and King was pure magic, something they fell far short of in the sequel.
3. "Exodus" by Leon Uris
I've read most of Uris's books, but nothing has affected me quite like "Exodus." Maybe it has something to do with being Jewish, or maybe not. Uris does an incredible job of telling the story of the Jewish emigration to Palestine, the rise of the Jewish state, and the experience of these people in World War II, as they tried to survive the Holocaust. It's a powerful, touching, heartfelt story, and if it seems quaint in light of today's politics, it remains a wonderfully compelling read.
4. "The Godfather" by Mario Puzo
This choice pretty sums up what I was talking about in my introduction, I am less interested in bringing classic novels with me to my island than I am in bringing entertaining and enjoyable fiction. Many people deride this novel by stating that the movie was better, and if that is what they truly believe, they need to read the book again. The epic story of Don Vito Coreleone and his family remains an exciting, dramatic, and fascinating tale. The Godfather is fleshed out much more in the book than he was in the movie, and supporting characters such as Lucy Mancini and Johnny Fontaine are given far more time and become that much more interesting. A true American classic of history, intrigue, crime, and family values, during the tumultuous early half of the 20th century, "The Godfather" presents the classic tale of immigrants and how they made do and survived in their new country to become powerful and dangerous, without losing their character and culture. Well, at least some of them didn't.
5. "The World according to Garp" by John Irving
Has there ever been a book or main character quite like Garp? Or a supporting character such as Garp's mother, Jenny Fields? And how many books prior to this one presented a critical supporting character that was a transexual former pro football player with romance problems, a la Roberta Muldoon? Irving struck gold with this novel of vivid characters, fascinating situations, and topical issues. He successfully balanced joy and humor, with tragedy and pathos. And he does so in a readable and entertaining manner that he has never been able to attain since. No matter, Garp is his masterpiece and will make Irving memorable forever.
6. "Helter Skelter" by Vincent Bugliosi
I don't think I've ever read anything more fascinating than Bugliosi's story of the Manson family, the horrific murders they committed at the behest of their leader, Charles Manson, and the resulting trial in Los Angeles, which was prosecuted by Bugliosi. Unless you've hidden under a rock, you know the story, but it's hard to deny the fascination of reading about how it all went down, and was subsequently pieced together by Bugliosi. This was the book which influenced my career path, and I have not looked back since.
7. "Ball Four" by Jim Bouton
It's a shame that Bouton became such a pariah for writng this expose of baseball during the 1969 season. It seems almost tame by today's standards and the knowledge we now have of ballplayers. But back then, it was scandalous. Bouton was excoriated by the baseball establishment and he is still shunned by most retired ballplayers. But every kid in America back then, including the author of this blog, owned the book, and read it endlessly. I know some guys who bragged that it was the only book they ever read as a kid. And I know others who claimed that they only read it late at night, with a flashlight in their beds, long after their parents went to sleep. Quite simply, it's the best book ever written about baseball, maybe about all sports, and it is an absolute gem. Bouton should be enshrined in the Hall of Fame. Right, like that will ever happen!
8. "Seven Days in May" by Fletcher Knebel
I'm not sure why this book hit me as hard as it did when I first read it as a kid, but it did and still does. The story is compelling, the characters are rich, and the dialogue is first-rate. A wonderful Cold War thriller with a roller-coaster plot and a satisfying climax.
9. "Ragtime" by E.L. Doctorow
A great novel which combines real and fictional characters in a time that now seems almost ancient, "Ragtime" manages the difficult task of being entertaining, outrageous, and topical. The issue of racism has never been presented quite like this before, and the book manages to enthrall and enlighten at the same time.
10. "Catch-22" by Joseph Heller
An all-time classic, which manages to be funny, shocking, horrifying, ridiculous, touching, and mysterious. With a timeline which makes no sense, and a story that goes back and forth in time at a dizzying pace, Heller tells the story of Yossarian, the World War II pilot who wants nothing more than to complete his required missions and get the hell back to the states. Perhaps the best book about war ever written.
So, there it is, my top 10 list of books I need to have on my desert island. Good Heavens, in writing out my list, I've remembered a whole bunch of others that I should have, could have, included. Books like Vonnegut's "Slaughterhouse Five" and Wolfe's "The Bonfire of the Vanities" should be on my list somewhere. Maybe I'll change the rules and take more than ten with me to the island.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
The Grand Poker Series at the Golden Nugget
It was four years ago that I played in an early event at the World Series of Poker. I don't think a day has gone by that I haven't thought about it. Looking back, I know now that I wasn't ready. I really didn't have much of a clue. In retrospect, it's not surprising that I got knocked out fifteen minutes into the tournament.
Since then, I've been to a poker boot camp and learned from pros like T.J. Cloutier and Vanessa Ruosso how to play a no-limit tournament. I've played dozens, no, make that hundreds, of no-limit hold em tournaments in casinos, online, and at private homes. I've won a couple outright, chopped a victory a number of times with other players, finished at numerous final tables, and got knocked out in every which way possible. I now have a clue, and a strategy, and a game plan. I have confidence, and I always expect to do well, so that when I don't, I am disappointed.
The original game plan was to go back to the World Series this year, and play in an early event for a thousand dollar buy-in. Then, I recieved an offer from the Golden Nugget hotel to stay at an extremely discounted rate and participate in their Grand Poker Series of tournaments. Apparently, several Vegas casinos these days, including the Nugget, put on major tournament series to compete with the World Series. The buy-ins are much less than the World Series, but the competition was supposed to be stiff and the tournaments had the reputation of being extremely challenging. So, I opted to do that instead, and see how things went, as a sort of test for whether I'm ready for the World Series.
On Saturday, I played in a $135 dollar buy-in tournament. There were 372 players in the tournament, and we were in a huge room at the Nugget. Other than the WSOP four years ago, it was the biggest tournament I ever played in. The legendary poker brat, Phil Hellmuth, was there for the start and kicked it off. We started at noon with a chip stack of 12, 000 chips.
The first four hours were absolutlely brutal. Other than A-K one time, I never got a premium hand, not in the whole four hours. And when I did hit with a hand, Lady Luck kicked me in the ass. Here's an example of what I'm talking about. We were probably about an hour or so into the tournament. The player on my left was very aggressive, but not very smart. He was one of the few mediocre players I saw all day. Anyway, he had foolishly lost more than half his chips, and he was scuffling with about 4,000 or so chips left. I was in early position, and I looked at 10-J suited in spades, normally not a hand you want to play in early position. But I had barely played a hand all tournament to that point, so I put in a raise of three times the big blind, which Mr. Aggressive promptly called. The blinds also called my raise, so it was just the four of us. The flop came A-K-Q, rainbow, which means all different suits. I had flopped top straight, and I held in my emotions as I checked to Mr. Aggressive. He took the bait, and went all in. The two blinds folded, and I called. He had A-10, and almost cried when he saw that I had already made my straight. He got up to leave, and then on the river, a Jack fell, giving him a straight as well, making us chop the pot, and giving this jerk new life. And that's the way things went for the first four hours. Most of the time, I had nothing but crap, and had to fold. I won two other times when I had to chop the pot with someone, and I was watching my stack dwindle.
I made it to the second break and called my wife, telling her that I would probably be out soon. It was disgusting, crappy cards and crappy luck. I had managed to stay disciplined and patient, I refused to gamble with garbage hands, and the few bluffs I made were done when I was in position and there had been no raises in front of me. Even one of those backfired, when two 9's came on the flop and one of the other players at the table called my continuation bet after the flop. I checked the turn, and when he fired out with a bet that would have put me all in, I folded. Other than that, I remained disciplined and patient, but my stack was dwindling, the blinds were going up and it was only a matter of time.
About five hours into the tournament, I looked at my hand to see pocket aces for the first time. The big blind was 1,000 at that time, and the guy to the right of me raised to 4,000. My stack was only about 8,000, so I shoved all-in. Everyone else folded, and he called. With the blinds, antes, and our bets, there was about 21,000 chips in the pot. He showed pocket queens, I had the aces, and there was no miracle queen on the board for him, so my aces held up and for the first time that day, I won a big pot.
About a half hour later, I was the big blind, which was now 1,500. A guy three seats to the left of me raised to 4,500, and the guy next to him made it 10,000. Everyone folded around to me, and then I looked at my hand (when I am in the big blind, I don't look at my cards until it is my turn to act). I looked down at pocket aces one more time. In the big blind, of all things. I thought about how I wanted to play it, and knew that at least one of these guys, if not both, would have to be aggressive and probably call a re-raise if I made one. I wanted to make it as expensive as possible for them to call, so that if they sucked out on me (ended up with a better or winning hand with the cards on the board), they would have to pay to do so. I pushed all in with a stack of about 20,000 chips.
The first guy thought long and hard, for him to call meant throwing all his chips in, since I had him covered. He ended up folding after thinking about it for quite some time. The other guy called. There was just under 50,000 chips in the pot. I turned over pocket aces, and he turned over KQ suited. The board was an absolute blank for him, and I scooped in a huge pot, and crippled the guy, who up to that time had shown that he was a good, solid player.
The dinner break came after hour number six, and I was overjoyed to have made it that far, considering the horrible cards and horrible luck I had in the first four hours. Not to mention, the level of competition. Other than a couple of donkeys, the vast majority of poker players in this tournament were very good players, solid and somewhat intimidating. And I was holding my own with them.
The tournament continued, and I continued to play solid and disciplined. I never was able to get on the kind of run that would give me a huge, commanding stack, but I picked my spots, played aggressively when I had a good hand, or was in position, and continued to hold my own. I never got much below 35,000 chips and never quite got up to 50,000, but I continued to hold on, as hour after hour passed, and players kept getting knocked out, three of which were courtesy of yours truly.
The bubble position was 37, which meant the person who got knocked out in 37th position would be the last player to win nothing. Everyone after that would be in the money. When we got to 37 players left (including me, incredibly), they asked if we would agree to take $200 off the winner's share, and give that to the bubble. We all agreed, and so, just like that, we were all in the money. It was after midnight, and we had been at this thing for twelve hours.
I don't remember a whole lot of the next 45 minutes or so. I folded the crap I got, and went all in when I had a hand. I was no match for the monster stacks of some of the other players, and I was just trying to hold on. Several players who had been knocked out earlier in the day or night came back into the room, some of them had been at my table. They looked at me and remarked about how impressed they were that I was still there, I had been short-stacked pretty much all day and night. Obviously, it takes superb playing to last as long as I did without getting a string of great cards. I was exhausted, but still focused and determined.
At 12:55 a.m., there were 31 of us left. I looked down at A-Q suited, and went all in. Everyone folded, and I finally scooped a pot that put me over the 50,000 chip plateau. I remarked to one of the other guys at the table that it was the first time all day I had reached that milestone. The very next hand, I looked down at pocket 8's, so I figured I would be good to do it again, and increase my stack. I went all in, and then was surprised to be called by one of the monster stacks at the table, who had about 7 or 8 times as many chips as I did. When he turned over pocket aces, I could feel my heart break. And then I watched the board, waiting and praying for the miracle 8, which would allow me to continue to play. But it never came. And I was done. 13 hours and only God knew how many hundreds of hands later, I was knocked out in 31st place. That's 31st out of 372. I shook hands with several players as I got up to leave. There's a comaraderie that builds up in a poker tournament, and when you get that far in a major tournament, you win the respect of all the other players at your table. Luck can only get you so far, you need skill and solid play to get as far as I did. Especially considering the field, which was dominated by solid, excellent poker players.
I got my winnings, and headed up to my room, where my poor wife was waiting in bed, having spent 13 hours by herself in Vegas while I played in this tournament. I was exhausted, mentally drained, but absolutley exhilarated. I had made it into the money, finished 31st out of a field of 372, stayed focused and disciplined for 13 hours. I felt triumphant.
The Grand Poker Series tournament was a major test for my poker playing, and I came through with flying colors. All things considered, it was my best performance in any poker tournament, and as I write this three days later, I am proud as hell. I feel like I've turned a corner, and I will be ready for the World Series of Poker next year. I can't wait.
Since then, I've been to a poker boot camp and learned from pros like T.J. Cloutier and Vanessa Ruosso how to play a no-limit tournament. I've played dozens, no, make that hundreds, of no-limit hold em tournaments in casinos, online, and at private homes. I've won a couple outright, chopped a victory a number of times with other players, finished at numerous final tables, and got knocked out in every which way possible. I now have a clue, and a strategy, and a game plan. I have confidence, and I always expect to do well, so that when I don't, I am disappointed.
The original game plan was to go back to the World Series this year, and play in an early event for a thousand dollar buy-in. Then, I recieved an offer from the Golden Nugget hotel to stay at an extremely discounted rate and participate in their Grand Poker Series of tournaments. Apparently, several Vegas casinos these days, including the Nugget, put on major tournament series to compete with the World Series. The buy-ins are much less than the World Series, but the competition was supposed to be stiff and the tournaments had the reputation of being extremely challenging. So, I opted to do that instead, and see how things went, as a sort of test for whether I'm ready for the World Series.
On Saturday, I played in a $135 dollar buy-in tournament. There were 372 players in the tournament, and we were in a huge room at the Nugget. Other than the WSOP four years ago, it was the biggest tournament I ever played in. The legendary poker brat, Phil Hellmuth, was there for the start and kicked it off. We started at noon with a chip stack of 12, 000 chips.
The first four hours were absolutlely brutal. Other than A-K one time, I never got a premium hand, not in the whole four hours. And when I did hit with a hand, Lady Luck kicked me in the ass. Here's an example of what I'm talking about. We were probably about an hour or so into the tournament. The player on my left was very aggressive, but not very smart. He was one of the few mediocre players I saw all day. Anyway, he had foolishly lost more than half his chips, and he was scuffling with about 4,000 or so chips left. I was in early position, and I looked at 10-J suited in spades, normally not a hand you want to play in early position. But I had barely played a hand all tournament to that point, so I put in a raise of three times the big blind, which Mr. Aggressive promptly called. The blinds also called my raise, so it was just the four of us. The flop came A-K-Q, rainbow, which means all different suits. I had flopped top straight, and I held in my emotions as I checked to Mr. Aggressive. He took the bait, and went all in. The two blinds folded, and I called. He had A-10, and almost cried when he saw that I had already made my straight. He got up to leave, and then on the river, a Jack fell, giving him a straight as well, making us chop the pot, and giving this jerk new life. And that's the way things went for the first four hours. Most of the time, I had nothing but crap, and had to fold. I won two other times when I had to chop the pot with someone, and I was watching my stack dwindle.
I made it to the second break and called my wife, telling her that I would probably be out soon. It was disgusting, crappy cards and crappy luck. I had managed to stay disciplined and patient, I refused to gamble with garbage hands, and the few bluffs I made were done when I was in position and there had been no raises in front of me. Even one of those backfired, when two 9's came on the flop and one of the other players at the table called my continuation bet after the flop. I checked the turn, and when he fired out with a bet that would have put me all in, I folded. Other than that, I remained disciplined and patient, but my stack was dwindling, the blinds were going up and it was only a matter of time.
About five hours into the tournament, I looked at my hand to see pocket aces for the first time. The big blind was 1,000 at that time, and the guy to the right of me raised to 4,000. My stack was only about 8,000, so I shoved all-in. Everyone else folded, and he called. With the blinds, antes, and our bets, there was about 21,000 chips in the pot. He showed pocket queens, I had the aces, and there was no miracle queen on the board for him, so my aces held up and for the first time that day, I won a big pot.
About a half hour later, I was the big blind, which was now 1,500. A guy three seats to the left of me raised to 4,500, and the guy next to him made it 10,000. Everyone folded around to me, and then I looked at my hand (when I am in the big blind, I don't look at my cards until it is my turn to act). I looked down at pocket aces one more time. In the big blind, of all things. I thought about how I wanted to play it, and knew that at least one of these guys, if not both, would have to be aggressive and probably call a re-raise if I made one. I wanted to make it as expensive as possible for them to call, so that if they sucked out on me (ended up with a better or winning hand with the cards on the board), they would have to pay to do so. I pushed all in with a stack of about 20,000 chips.
The first guy thought long and hard, for him to call meant throwing all his chips in, since I had him covered. He ended up folding after thinking about it for quite some time. The other guy called. There was just under 50,000 chips in the pot. I turned over pocket aces, and he turned over KQ suited. The board was an absolute blank for him, and I scooped in a huge pot, and crippled the guy, who up to that time had shown that he was a good, solid player.
The dinner break came after hour number six, and I was overjoyed to have made it that far, considering the horrible cards and horrible luck I had in the first four hours. Not to mention, the level of competition. Other than a couple of donkeys, the vast majority of poker players in this tournament were very good players, solid and somewhat intimidating. And I was holding my own with them.
The tournament continued, and I continued to play solid and disciplined. I never was able to get on the kind of run that would give me a huge, commanding stack, but I picked my spots, played aggressively when I had a good hand, or was in position, and continued to hold my own. I never got much below 35,000 chips and never quite got up to 50,000, but I continued to hold on, as hour after hour passed, and players kept getting knocked out, three of which were courtesy of yours truly.
The bubble position was 37, which meant the person who got knocked out in 37th position would be the last player to win nothing. Everyone after that would be in the money. When we got to 37 players left (including me, incredibly), they asked if we would agree to take $200 off the winner's share, and give that to the bubble. We all agreed, and so, just like that, we were all in the money. It was after midnight, and we had been at this thing for twelve hours.
I don't remember a whole lot of the next 45 minutes or so. I folded the crap I got, and went all in when I had a hand. I was no match for the monster stacks of some of the other players, and I was just trying to hold on. Several players who had been knocked out earlier in the day or night came back into the room, some of them had been at my table. They looked at me and remarked about how impressed they were that I was still there, I had been short-stacked pretty much all day and night. Obviously, it takes superb playing to last as long as I did without getting a string of great cards. I was exhausted, but still focused and determined.
At 12:55 a.m., there were 31 of us left. I looked down at A-Q suited, and went all in. Everyone folded, and I finally scooped a pot that put me over the 50,000 chip plateau. I remarked to one of the other guys at the table that it was the first time all day I had reached that milestone. The very next hand, I looked down at pocket 8's, so I figured I would be good to do it again, and increase my stack. I went all in, and then was surprised to be called by one of the monster stacks at the table, who had about 7 or 8 times as many chips as I did. When he turned over pocket aces, I could feel my heart break. And then I watched the board, waiting and praying for the miracle 8, which would allow me to continue to play. But it never came. And I was done. 13 hours and only God knew how many hundreds of hands later, I was knocked out in 31st place. That's 31st out of 372. I shook hands with several players as I got up to leave. There's a comaraderie that builds up in a poker tournament, and when you get that far in a major tournament, you win the respect of all the other players at your table. Luck can only get you so far, you need skill and solid play to get as far as I did. Especially considering the field, which was dominated by solid, excellent poker players.
I got my winnings, and headed up to my room, where my poor wife was waiting in bed, having spent 13 hours by herself in Vegas while I played in this tournament. I was exhausted, mentally drained, but absolutley exhilarated. I had made it into the money, finished 31st out of a field of 372, stayed focused and disciplined for 13 hours. I felt triumphant.
The Grand Poker Series tournament was a major test for my poker playing, and I came through with flying colors. All things considered, it was my best performance in any poker tournament, and as I write this three days later, I am proud as hell. I feel like I've turned a corner, and I will be ready for the World Series of Poker next year. I can't wait.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The final episodes of "24" and "Lost", or What in the world am I going to do on Monday and Tuesday nights from now on?
Two of my favorite TV shows wrapped up last week, "24" and "Lost." I came to both shows late, became entranced with them, caught up by renting the DVD's and then followed them to their finales. I believe that they are two of the best TV shows ever produced, and they will be missed, at least by me.
"24" was my once a week vacation from the realities of my life. It gave me a larger than life hero, exciting stories, complicated characters, and intensity from start to finish. More than that, though, "24" provided a unique premise, with each episode comprising one hour in a continuous day told in real time. I believe it's the premise more than anything which made the show work.
This season's story was great for the first few episodes and then sort of lost its way. What was missing was a dynamic villain, always a key element in "24." Finally, they brought back disgraced deposed former President Charles Logan, one of the all-time great TV villains, and the show rocked from that point on. The finale was exciting, suspenseful and touching. The final tender moment between Jack and Chloe was heart-breaking, and very well acted. It was a wonderful, albeit surprising, ending since practically everyone was expecting Jack to die. It left open the possibility of more seasons (which won't happen) or a "24" movie (which I hope to hell won't happen). And it showed once again how crucial the performance of Kiefer Sutherland has been to the success of the show. Before "24", Kiefer was a moderately successful young actor, probably best known for being the son of Donald Sutherland, and for playing the teenage punk/bad guy in "Stand by Me." "24" has provided him opportunities to grow and transform as an actor, and he has not disappointed. Kiefer has become a star, and it will be interesting to see where he goes from here.
"Lost" was a very different piece of escapism for me. A show that was often maddening in its endless mysteries and plot twists, the creators have spent this season answering all the questions. And while not everything has made perfect sense, the final episode did bring some finality.
In keeping with the show's history, the final episode was open to several different interpretations, including the very wrong "they all died in the plane crash and the entire show was just a dying dream of Jack's" (I always thought it interesting that the central character of both shows was named Jack and were actually very similar). Anyone who believes that interpretation wasn't paying attention. So here's my interpretation:
The island was a real place, complete with a special magnetic force and other mystical, special qualities. Jacob was the protector of the island, and he was flawed in his treatment of his brother, the "Man in Black", whose goal was to kill Jacob and get off the island. The island was settled by the Dharma initiative, which built a village and several scientific laboratories or stations. The others, and their offspring, including Ben, were brought to the island by the Dharma initiative. Jacob hand selected several individuals, or candidates, to come to the island to take his place as keeper of the island. He manipulated them to be on the plane, and then created the events which caused the plane to crash. Everything that happened on the island, and to the "Oceanic Six" really did happen. Jack died in the last episode re-igniting the force and light, and Hurley became the keeper of the island, while Ben became the "Number two", or the replacement for the Man in Black. The flash sideways stories of the final season was the fantasy world, how the characters would have liked their lives to have been. Those stories took place after the characters died, in some sort of after-life, and when they remembered each other and were re-united in the church, they were in that after-life place, sometime in the future after they all had died. Ben did not come into the church because he had more to do, and could not be part of the reunion.
Or, at least, that's my interpretation. It makes sense to me. And it illustrates what was so great about the show, its complexities, its different interpretations, and its fascinating story. Despite its maddening premise, the show kept me riveted week after week. The writing was great, the acting was solid, and the setting was utopian. Like "24", it provided a wonderful hour-long escape from the reality of my life. And that's what can be great about television, that you can for one hour escape into some fantasy show, and forget about your problems and everyday stresses. Both "24" and "Lost" succeeded in that admirably, and I will miss them both.
"24" was my once a week vacation from the realities of my life. It gave me a larger than life hero, exciting stories, complicated characters, and intensity from start to finish. More than that, though, "24" provided a unique premise, with each episode comprising one hour in a continuous day told in real time. I believe it's the premise more than anything which made the show work.
This season's story was great for the first few episodes and then sort of lost its way. What was missing was a dynamic villain, always a key element in "24." Finally, they brought back disgraced deposed former President Charles Logan, one of the all-time great TV villains, and the show rocked from that point on. The finale was exciting, suspenseful and touching. The final tender moment between Jack and Chloe was heart-breaking, and very well acted. It was a wonderful, albeit surprising, ending since practically everyone was expecting Jack to die. It left open the possibility of more seasons (which won't happen) or a "24" movie (which I hope to hell won't happen). And it showed once again how crucial the performance of Kiefer Sutherland has been to the success of the show. Before "24", Kiefer was a moderately successful young actor, probably best known for being the son of Donald Sutherland, and for playing the teenage punk/bad guy in "Stand by Me." "24" has provided him opportunities to grow and transform as an actor, and he has not disappointed. Kiefer has become a star, and it will be interesting to see where he goes from here.
"Lost" was a very different piece of escapism for me. A show that was often maddening in its endless mysteries and plot twists, the creators have spent this season answering all the questions. And while not everything has made perfect sense, the final episode did bring some finality.
In keeping with the show's history, the final episode was open to several different interpretations, including the very wrong "they all died in the plane crash and the entire show was just a dying dream of Jack's" (I always thought it interesting that the central character of both shows was named Jack and were actually very similar). Anyone who believes that interpretation wasn't paying attention. So here's my interpretation:
The island was a real place, complete with a special magnetic force and other mystical, special qualities. Jacob was the protector of the island, and he was flawed in his treatment of his brother, the "Man in Black", whose goal was to kill Jacob and get off the island. The island was settled by the Dharma initiative, which built a village and several scientific laboratories or stations. The others, and their offspring, including Ben, were brought to the island by the Dharma initiative. Jacob hand selected several individuals, or candidates, to come to the island to take his place as keeper of the island. He manipulated them to be on the plane, and then created the events which caused the plane to crash. Everything that happened on the island, and to the "Oceanic Six" really did happen. Jack died in the last episode re-igniting the force and light, and Hurley became the keeper of the island, while Ben became the "Number two", or the replacement for the Man in Black. The flash sideways stories of the final season was the fantasy world, how the characters would have liked their lives to have been. Those stories took place after the characters died, in some sort of after-life, and when they remembered each other and were re-united in the church, they were in that after-life place, sometime in the future after they all had died. Ben did not come into the church because he had more to do, and could not be part of the reunion.
Or, at least, that's my interpretation. It makes sense to me. And it illustrates what was so great about the show, its complexities, its different interpretations, and its fascinating story. Despite its maddening premise, the show kept me riveted week after week. The writing was great, the acting was solid, and the setting was utopian. Like "24", it provided a wonderful hour-long escape from the reality of my life. And that's what can be great about television, that you can for one hour escape into some fantasy show, and forget about your problems and everyday stresses. Both "24" and "Lost" succeeded in that admirably, and I will miss them both.
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