Timothy Sanford Hankins

I can’t believe this is real, but I saw it with my own eyes. A man. Riding a bicycle. With two dogs. And a rooster.

My great-grandmother is 98 years old.

Mom and Dad’s 35th anniversary. August 15, 2010.

Zombie ants? ZOMBIE ANTS!

You know, when it comes right down to it, nature just may be the ultimate sci-fi.

My favorite inanimate object, you ask? Well, I guess I’m going to have to go with a hipster cliche and say it’s my iPhone 4. Why? Because it goes — literally — everywhere with me, contains the entire Internet, and allows me to waste time throwing birds at pigs anytime I want.

My baby sister wants to be a cowgirl.

It seems silly to say out loud, but I have a fear of the present.

Everything in my life is centered on what’s going to happen. I’m putting everything off. What am I waiting on? I don’t know. Every idea I have, every hope and dream is simply something else that’s waiting.

For.

What?

There’s no guarantee any of the things I’m planning will ever come to pass. And, for the most part, I have no control over whether or not they do.

What I can control is me. Myself. My reaction to this very moment. And what am I doing? Predominantly nothing.
Because nothing is happening yet. So I’m absolved from acting. But this absolution doesn’t pardon me.

I should suffer no self-delusion, nor abide any excuse for the utter waste of time my life is becoming. Free-will, squandered in the meaningless pursuit of entertainment, is a far worse fate than predestination. To squander opportunity is to murder your dreams.

Even in the moments between the moments that change our lives, there’s a germ of opportunity waiting to be exploited; time remains at its post, waiting to see if I’ll use every second I’m granted to inch that much closer to a destiny, a calling, a dream.

So what am I doing right now? Am I waiting for life to happen, or am I actively becoming the person I was meant to be?

Dear Diary,

I guess sometimes all you need is a little time and some perspective.

Sure, there were some rough times, like when Jack “Jacob” Shephard totally sucker punched me just as I was home free. OH MY GOD. What a tool.

Can you imagine what it was like, Diary? One minute you’re tasting sweet victory, the next you’ve got an insane neurosurgeon leaping at you like he’s flying through the bloody Matrix. Before you know it you’re flat on your back bleeding like Nic Cage in “City of Angels.” (What an amazing film. It’s got it all! Delicious Cage-flavored eye candy, a great soundtrack, and damned if I don’t get as weepy as a Barbara Walters interview when Meg Ryan hits that log truck.)

Anyway, I’m busy bleeding to know I’m alive and Jack is beating me like he’s all Ten Freaking Tigers of Shaolin. And David Carradine. So, naturally, I stabbed him.

Didn’t see that comin’ didya Doc? I guess when Jacob said “Now you’re like me” he meant DEAD.

Of course, before I can add a Yah to my Boo, Kate “Rambo” Austin shoots me in the gorram back. In the back, Kate? Really?

I guess I could be pretty pissed about what happened to me. But you know, the only thing I could really think about, after Jack kicked me off the cliff, was what an amazing run I’ve had. I mean, most people are lucky to have one great romance in their life, and I’ve had what, at least three? Sure, none of ‘em ended well, but, all things considered, I think it’s better to have tried to kill all your lovers than never to have loved at all.

In the end, I’ve had it pretty good. Work I truly enjoyed, men I wanted to enjoy, and something to live for, a goal — I really did have it all.

I mean, sure, this isn’t EXACTLY how I pictured it going down, but, in a way at least, I am finally getting off this island. I just kinda wish I was takin’ James with me.

Goodbye, Diary.

Love,

Smokey John

Dear Diary,

It feels really good to be back to my old self again.

Ya know, it just seems silly now. What a funk I put myself in over James, when all I really needed to do was just stand up and be myself. If there’s one thing I learned from Oprah, it’s that you just can’t let a man define who you are as a person.

And who I am as a person is all four Horseman of the Apocalypse bundled up into one big, bald bag of hurt. Who only ever wanted to be loved.

Oh yeah, I admit I had a little flutter when James said he was wrong about me. That little smirky smile of his does have a way of getting to me. I felt so warm and fuzzy then, all I wanted to do was hold him and tell him everything was alright. We could just go back to the way things were.

Maybe … But, no. He hurt me too deep. And I’m never gonna let a man hurt me like that again.

Because I am going to kill all of them.

I know, I know. I went on and on about Sayid. And Desmond. And Jack. I admit it … I even had a little flirty thing Hugo for a while. (What? he has a great personality.) But I just can’t let love distract me. I have to follow my hopes and dreams all the way to the end of the world that I plan on bringing about.

Don’t get me wrong, Diary. I’m not gonna destroy everything in my path because I’m ANGRY. I’m going to destroy everything because I WANT to.

THIS IS WHO I AM NOW.

I see it all so clearly. This is my purpose. I mean, sure, I may never find true love — because everyone else is dead — but I can finally be happy being me. And really, you can’t love anyone if you don’t love yourself. Right?

So yeah, I got Smokey widdit and killed a bunch of minor, no-name characters. Oh. OH! And I totally went all MacGyver and rigged a freaking bomb out of nothing but some C-4, a battery and a watch. I KNOW! So. Badass.

Bonus: Some people I’m totally pissed at got in some serious trouble too.

Sayid, you lie to me? You REJECT me? Blowed up. (BTW, Diary, isn’t it like, the total definition of irony that the only Arab guy on the island, like, suicide bombs HIMSELF to try and save everyone’s life?)

Sun, you run away from me? Jin, you look at me with unmitigated disgust? Sleepin’ with the fishes. See.

Boom! Take that Kate. You got shot, blowed up AND nearly drowned. Of course, you’re still not dead … but I ain’t gonna sweat the small stuff no more. You see what happens when you try to take my man! That’s RIGHT.

Jack, James? Well, don’t worry, I’m a get you eventually.

Argh! Whatta night. I am so juiced right now. Smokey Rampage of Death? Check. Gunfight? Check. Underwater explosion? Check.

Basically, King Kong ain’t got nothin’ on me.

And damn, it feels good to be a monster.

Love,

Smokey John

Dear Diary,

Can you believe it? I mean, can you BELIEVE it?

After everything I’ve done. All the blood, sweat and smoke I poured into this relationship, James just up and left me. And he took my boat! I’m so mad right now I could burst into flame. I gave that man the best thirteen weeks of my life — minus that time I tried to get back together with Richard, the week or so I spent ogling St. Sayid and that couple minutes of blissful alone time with Dezzy the Highlander.

And you know what, Diary? THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE.

And, obviously, it ain’t James “Oh Look I Have A Raspy Voice” freakin’ Sawyer. If that’s even his real name. God, what a tramp. I just feel so used. He was only with me so he could get back with Little Miss Toothpaste Commercial. Oh, look at me, I’m Kate, I have freckles and naturally curly hair. Beautiful. Perfect. Hair.

Is that what this is about, James? Is it that I’m bald? ‘Cause I can get another body, ya know. We can even pick it out together.

Whatever. I’m so over it.

News flash home skillet: That’s all you two have in common. Beautiful, perfect hair. And the brooding. You both like to brood. I hope you’re both insanely happy with your newfound life of applying mousse and brooding into the mirror.

I don’t know what I even saw in James anyway. Always skulking around muttering like Christian Bale in a Bat Suit. Dude, it’s called enunciation. Look into it.

Maybe I’m just paranoid, what with the getting painfully dumped by James and all, but I can’t help thinking Sayid isn’t being totally honest with me. I mean, he still looks at me with those smokey eyes. (I totally have a thing for smokey eyes.) And he just has this way of making me feel like I’m the only former man on the island.

But — I dunno. Something just feels different lately. It’s like, I freaking TOLD you to go kill the Scottish dude, and now you’re acting like, maybe you’re doubting I know what’s best. Now is NOT the time to go Emo on me, bro.

And don’t give me some crap line about how you need a minute to collect yourself after shooting an unarmed man. It’s not like you weren’t a torturer for a living. Shooting a guy should be like a vacation for you.

I’m starting to doubt the wisdom of these management books I’ve been reading. I’m trying to be a 10 Minute Manager, but I really don’t see how delegation gets me anywhere but screwed.

On the plus side, I finally got some face time with Jack “Skywalker” Shephard. You know, daddy issues aside, Jack has a lot of potential. I gotta admit my heart skipped a beat when he got down on his knee. I was totally ready to say “YES”, but it turns out he was just adjusting his rifle.

I know, I know. I’m not denying it; he is easy on the eyes. But there’s something else about him. It’s like, I like him for his body, but I also wanna get to know him? I just feel so close to him already. Like I totally wanna take care of him and make him happy.

You think he’ll get weirded out because I used to inhabit his dead father’s body?

Eh, who cares. I’m a Man In Black. I’m entitled to trade in Old And Busted for the New Hotness.

Well, Diary, it looks like the pricks on Hydra Island are bombing me. No, no … thank YOU James.

I gotta run.

Love,

Smokey John

Dear Diary,

Everybody has a soul mate except me.

I really thought James was the one. Now he’s so mean to me. Snapping at me, making fun of my wood. I think it’s because of Kate. He’s not been the same since she started hanging around.

Um, hello, James, she’s called an EX for a reason?

My Ex comes back into the picture, acts like he wants to make up and then goes nutcrackers on me. James’s old flame shows up and wants to burn this mother down.

Whatever, Curly Sue, you can have ‘im. I’m movin’ on to desert-y-er pastures. St. Sayid of Iraqistan, how YOU doin’?

Is it just me, or is this island starting to look like Lonely Hearts Night at The Rainbow Room?

I may have to reconsider leaving.

But seriously, Sayid just seems to get me. The more I get to know him, the more I like how he does everything I say without question. You can’t BUY that kind of loyalty. Plus there doesn’t seem to be much chance some stupid ex-girlfriend’ll show up and spoil all the fun.

And why shouldn’t I be happy? Everybody else is pairing off. Over in Alterverse, Sir Hugo Clucksalot got himself a girl. I mean, c’mon! He’s Hugo. I’m a CLOUD OF FREAKING SMOKE. Of all the people on the island, it should be me with the relationship issues?

Gimme a break.

Maybe I’m obsessing a bit. It’s not like there’s nothing else going on.

I knew Desmond King of Scots was gonna be trouble as soon as I saw him tied to that tree like a St. Sebastian Day present. I mean, he looked delicious, but anybody who acts that calm around me is either hiding something or insane. And it’s pretty obvious Ol’ Dezzy bought himself a first class ticket on the Crazy Train. Ayee Ayee Ayee.

So naturally I pushed him into the deepest well I could find.

Turns out I was just in time too. Who knows what he’d a pulled on me. Over in Sidewaysville this whack job is driving his luxury car like he’s a professional golfer.

Also, Dez, maybe stop wearing sunglasses as a sexy gesture accessory. Oh, look at me, I’m Scottish. I have an accent and sultry eyes that I use to stare daggers at you over the top of my Foster Grants.

You see these lines around my eyes, dude? That’s right. Real men squint.

I wonder if Sayid is still up. He could help me finish my pole. Maybe the wood will tell HIM what it wants to be too.

Sigh. Ya know, Diary, sometimes I think I am only good at starting relationships. It’s always so exciting in the beginning, before I start wanting to kill them to death with smoke.

Love,

Smokey John

Chris Bowler points out that bloggers need to be careful writers first and foremost.

While many weep and gnash teeth over the culture of “consume and share” that permeates so many sites today, the problem isn’t inherent to platforms like Tumblr or Posterous or Wordpress or any other content management tool; writers need to write, and write well — let’s put a moratorium on lazy blogging, shall we?

Chris Bowler: Frictionless Publishing

Dear Diary,

Sayid is such a badass. He’s just all like boom, kick, mother-flipping SNAP. God I love him — it, I love IT.

It’s just so nice to have someone I can depend on. And now that he’s bringing me Desmond King of Scots, I just know I have the upper hand on The Bald Avenger over at Hydra Island. There’s no substitute for having good friends. Who do what you say. Without question.

I’m looking at you, James. Without. Question. Brotha.

I’m looking forward to getting to know Dezzy. I don’t think we ever really spent any quality time together before now. I really need to make sure Island Dez is on my team, ‘cause it’s looking like Sideways Scotty is decidedly not on my team. That one’s gonna be trouble.

Anyway, it’s been pretty quiet on the Island this week. Most of the action was over in Los Alterverse. I hate that place.

I’m tellin’ ya, Diary, as soon as I get off this Island — I’m a get my smoke on all over that Side-street Universe.

I was glad to see Desmond and Penny meeting up over there, though. I know, I know. I look like a big ol’ meany-head Smoke Monster, but I’m a romantic at heart, smokey as it may be. I’m rooting for those two crazy kids. I hope they get together before I kill everybody.

Well, Diary, I guess I’ll cut this short. I’m gonna see if James and Sayid maybe wanna play a little beach volleyball.

Love,

Smokey John

Dear Diary, You know what? I’m just about over this. I give and I give and I smoke a little and I give some more. And what do I get? Snide remarks. Sideways looks. Brooding. It’s like I’m trapped on this island with the cast of The Hills.

Take Sun, for instance. I’m perfectly cordial with her. I’m not smoking, not even puffing a little — she takes one look at me and races off into the jungle like I’m all four horsemen of the dang apocalypse.

Dear Diary,

They say you never forget your first.

He was totally gorgeous, but in a slummy, farmhand way that just makes it that much hotter, ya know? Dipping your pen in the company ink, so to speak. The company, of course, in this case, being the East India Trading Company.

We just stood there, like, staring each other down. Fear. Loathing. Totally sexy. Him, a helpless slave chained to the hull of a shipwreck; me, a cloud of freaking smoke.

God, those eyes. So smoldery. So — lined.

1867 was a seriously great year.

Ricardo Slavepants totally believed me when I told him I’d hook him up with his dead wife if he’d off Jacob for me. He was gonna do it too, ‘cept Jacob had to go and screw it all up for me.

Jerk.

Oh, I’m Jacob, look at me. I think everybody is good and won’t be corrupted. I shouldn’t have to convince them to do the right thing. I want them to want to be good.

Does it get cold up there on that high horse, Jacob?

(Oh that reminds me, Richie Smolder-eyes on a horse? Uh, yeah. I’ll have seconds.)

Anyway. Blah blah human condition blah I can’t step in blah. Bottom line: Jacob needs a go-to guy. And Rico Glaro there is all like “Pick me! Pick me!”

So what? Jacob convinced Ricardus von Guyliner to play for the home team. But he also gave him eternal life. Pa-lenty of time to change his mind.

Oh, yeah. I heard him. All the way across the island, clear as a bell, “I changed my mind.”

Message received, Ricky.

Isn’t that just how it always works out, Diary? You give up on ‘em, find someone new, and BOOM! Back in your life, just like that.

I don’t know how James’ll take the news that my Ex is back in the picture. I guess maybe I’ll not tell him, at least not right now.

I gotta have some time to process all this. I mean, Richard meant so much to me. But James is just so dreamy.

I guess I got me some thinkin’ to do, Diary.

Love,

Smokey John

Dear Diary,

Oh. Em. Gee. OMG, Diary! I did it. I totally came out to James. I just took him aside and I looked him square in the eyes and I told him — I’m the Smoke Monster.

Ya know, he didn’t even act surprised. He’s so cool. He was just all like, “Yeah, so.” And I was all like SWOON.

It made me so happy I don’t even mind all the action he’s gettin’ over there in Flash-sideways-ville. Slut.

It was so nice to get to talk to him again, Diary. I mean, yeah, I confide in you and what not, but he’s just so dreamy. He totally gets me too. It’s like we’re … it’s like, I dunno, like he’s my constant or something.

I hated to send him away just when we were really starting to reconnect. But, no rest for the morally ambiguous, as they say. Business before pleasure (double sigh) and all that jazz.

This interloping baldy is really chapping my smokey black behind. And I need to know what’s up before I go waltzing off to Smokey Big Horn.

And James was really the only one for the job. I mean, those smoldery eyes, that scowly-wowly jaw line and all those muscles? Swisheroo, the home team wins.

I just hope he isn’t goin’ over there to Mr. Baldypants and tellin’ him he’s gonna give me up, then tellin’ me he told Baldyshorts and all the while planning on letting me and Baldylocks kill each other and he runs off with Kate or something.

But James would never do that to me.

Right?

Anyway, I have to get back to the camp. Apparently, since I’m the baldest guy on the island, I have to play Dr. Phil for everybody’s hurt little feelings.

Love,

Smokey John

They come for different reasons. Some want to learn their favorite rock songs, or are hoping to emulate a pop icon. Some are planning on careers in music, while others want to play a solo at church. Mostly, it’s kids, and, mostly, they’ve chosen to be here.

They’re students. And, on any given weekday, they converge upon Murlin’s Music World, at the corner of Broadway and Lamar Alexander Parkway in Maryville.

The rush begins right after school, and by 4:30, the parking lot is nearly filled to capacity. Parents and children crowd the waiting area outside the teaching studios while teachers and their students bustle up and down the short hallway in a cacophonous ballet that won’t let up until well into the evening. Candy machines and an ’80s vintage soda machine are put through their paces by waiting students and busy teachers alike. Guitar cases and backpacks sprawl along the floor.

And there’s music everywhere. Violins, mandolins, electric guitars, banjo, piano and even drums fight for dominance in the din that accompanies learning.

One of the first things you’ll notice when you enter the studio lobby is the mural that covers an entire wall. It’s a gray, monotone painting that manages to conjure color and sound. The men depicted labor over piano, drums and bass. And, somehow, you can hear the clang and hum of a jazz club crowd just below the rollicking roar of this captured jazz trio.

Drew Lequire and Roscoe Morgan are, in some ways, cut from the same cloth. Both are teachers here at Murlins, and both have deep roots in bluegrass and country music. And, most importantly, they both love teaching.

“There’s a difference between somebody who can play and somebody who’s a teacher,” says Drew Lequire.

The 25 year old graduate of Maryville College has been teaching full time at Murlin’s since December of 2007. He started teaching when he was 18, and has learned a lot in his seven years of experience, both in the studio and the classroom.

Drew started his college career studying Jazz guitar. After two and a half years majoring in performance, he switched gears and concentrated in music education, specializing in signing. He moved to the education track in part because of the stability it seemed to offer. But when he graduated, he didn’t have any luck finding a job in the local school system.

So he ramped up his private studio and began teaching full time.

“If I’d stuck with [jazz guitar], the college bills wouldn’t have been as big,” Drew says. “I’d be doing what I’m doing now, but I’d have started it sooner.”

But, even though he’s not found a teaching job in the public school system, Drew is happy to have had the training he received as a music education major; the skills he learned for the classroom apply in the private teaching studio too. Drew credits his education with giving him a unique perspective on teaching. He’s able to understand how each student is taking in the information he presents, and tailor a lesson to their needs.

“I play to their strengths,” he says.

His lessons are often filled with stories and visualizations. When a student has trouble holding a pick properly, he uses a sports analogy to set up the lesson. He talks about choking up on a baseball bat to get more control; the same rule applies in guitar, he says. You choke up on the pick to get control of the sound.

He uses these same techniques over and over to help his students understand their instruments. Commonplace objects and everyday language help to drive home complicated and abstract musical concepts. It’s a formula that has been successful for Drew.

He studio now numbers 35 weekly students, garnered primarily through word-of-mouth. He teaches five days a week, mostly in the evenings. Even in the slow economy, his student count has remained steady. Enough new students start each month to offset any that he loses.

The same scenario holds true for Roscoe Morgan.

“My personal economy has not been affected very much by the national economy,” he says. Though he can’t point to a specific reason, he speculates that people may be giving up more expensive hobbies and are rediscovering music as a pastime.

Roscoe’s studio has about 45 students, spread over the four days a week Roscoe devotes to teaching. He supplements his teaching with mini-tours a few times a year and some recording session work. He could be on the road more, but he prefers teaching to touring.

“Teaching is a way to work yourself into the music business while being able to stay home with the family,” he says. And teaching provides a steady income stream that lets him choose the projects he wants to get involved in. “Teaching helps smooth the income so you can play the bit you get to.”

Roscoe has played in bands since the ’70s, and he’s probably taught for longer.

“I’ve always taught, I just haven’t always taught for money,” he laughs.

After working ten and a half years in a North Carolina textile mill and “two years cutting tool steel and my index fingers” Roscoe came to the point where he couldn’t balance a factory job and a career as a musician. “It drove me into teaching,” he says.

So he got to thinking. “I’ve lived as long as I have on a factory worker’s paycheck, why not try the other.” Roscoe hasn’t looked back, even though there are some unique challenges to being a self-employed musician.

“You know what you’re going to do until you die if you are a teacher,” he says. There’s no 401k, no pension and no employer-provided insurance for private music teachers. But retirement really wouldn’t be an option for Roscoe Morgan anyway.

“I’m already doing what I’d be doing after I retired,” he says. “If you’re just here for the check, it won’t take people long to figure that out. You really have to have a heart for music.”

It’s a point Drew Lequire and Roscoe Morgan agree on.

“To see them light up,” Drew says, “and know they’re getting something, that they’re learning. They get exicited.” Drew describes his favorite part of teaching. He loves watching his students have the “A-ha moment” when a lesson really clicks.

“I believe that everyone has a measure of musical gift,” Roscoe says. “It’s my job to find the music within a person and encourage them to excel at it.”

And that “A-ha moment”? Roscoe has something to say about that too.

“If you don’t like that, then you’re not a teacher.”

This article originally appeared in the Progress section of The Daily Times

Dear Diary,

It just doesn’t seem fair.

After all I did for Benjamin Linus — I’m sorry, Doctor Benjamin Linus — he just runs off with Angry Rifle Lady and completely ignores my perfectly friendly offer to join Smokey John’s Other Island All-Stars.

What a jerk.

And that’s just the beginning. Dude dissed me in not one but two timelines. He’s in the alter-verse teacher’s lounge crying in his cereal about how the mean ol’ principal won’t let him have his glee club or whatever and I’m all like “Bro, start a revolution and I’ll be there with knives on.”

But does he do it, no. He doesn’t. He gets religion or something and just can’t let some supposedly innocent teenage girl suffer for his ambition. Definitely not the Benjamin Linus — I’m sorry, Doctor Benjamin Linus — I thought I knew.

And it’s not just me he let down. Matlock’s sidekick got left out in the cold too.

But that’s not even the worst of it. The real slap in the face was here on the island. Honestly, I’m more shocked than hurt. I mean, you think you know a guy.

I use my smokey telepath powers to untie this guy, plant a gun for him to use and give him a totally sweet plan for escape — and dude goes all Cryin’ On Oprah on me.

Blah-blah-blah-I-can-never-forgive-myself-bloody-blah.

I DON’T CARE, BRO!

I have a plan and you are screwing everything up right now.

Sheesh.

I’m sorry, Diary, I don’t mean to take all this out on you. It’s just hard, you know. I’m trying to stick to this plan and people just won’t cooperate. It gets really, really frustrating sometimes.

And I haven’t seen James for days. Sigh.

I think I get the last laugh on this Linus situation, though. I’m over here chilling with the All-Stars and he’s sitting alone like the fat kid in gym class. Boo and yah.

Anyway, I have to go for now. Some other bald guy is coming to the island and I have a feeling I’m a hafta regulate.

Love,

Smokey John

This is a fascinating look at new technology through the eyes of a designer who knows how to make beautiful printed works. What’s most interesting about the piece though, is this discussion of what should be printed in the future:

Of the books we do print — the books we make — they need rigor. They need to be books where the object is embraced as a canvas by designer, publisher and writer. This is the only way these books as physical objects will carry any meaning moving forward.

Dear Diary,

Why does everyone hate me? I was totally friendly with Sayid. I was all like “Wassup?” and he was all like STAB!

What a jerk.

I really wanted to smoke that fool, but I’ve just been so depressed lately.

Anyway. Yeah, so St. Sayid if Iraqistan tried to stab me. But I totally spoke to him first so, BOOYAH! Then I did this completely badass thing where I pulled the knife outta my chest and was like “You want it back?”

So. Awesome.

I wish James woulda been there to see it.

I don’t know why he didn’t come with me to the Temple of Doom. He coulda been Docta Jones and I would’ve been a bald Kate Capshaw. I would SO be his greatest adventure.

The only person besides James who’ll even talk to me is Inspector Clairseau; and she’s nuttier than an outhouse rat. I mean, I’m crazy, but sheeeesh. I just try to avoid looking her in the eye and it seems to work okay.

Seriously, though, she scares me. I mean, that hairdo scares me. Girl, you need to get a stylist. I know we’re stranded on a tropical island, but that’s no reason to let yourself go.

Even The Others brush their hair.

But I’m getting off the subject. St. Sayid did me a solid and told all The Temple-dwellers about my softball team. Some of them were totally into the idea. I have every position now and a couple subs too.

Oh. My. God. I almost left out the most important part. I got my Smoking Rampage of Death on! Carnage everywhere, people screaming, it was glorious. And cathartic.

It’s been a good day. I really think things are starting to look up for me.

Love,

Smokey John

Well, even though Hurley is technically too tall to be a Hobbit, he bravely took on the quest to enter the dark realm of Mordor and reach the Lighthouse of Sauron.

That’s right. Smokey John/The Smoke Monster is actually The Evil Lord Sauron from a series of fantasy adventure novels written more than 50 years ago. The series is all about time travel, so it works, see?

Anyway, since Charlie the Hobbit has been unavailable because he’s busy Flashing Forward, Hurley has to convince Jack “Samwise” Shephard to help him get the writing off his arm. They do this by taking a really long hike.

Finally, they get to the Lighthouse of Sauron and Hurley sweats enough to smudge the ink. Jack sees himself in the mirror and freaks out. I guess you can’t blame him. If you count up all the time jumps, he hasn’t had a shower in something like 30 years. Gross.

I don’t see why he has to take it out on Hurley though. Obviously he hasn’t read the source material. Frodo is the one heaping abuse on Samwise, not the other way around.

It’s okay though. I guess Jack is just working through the issues in his other timeline.

Yup, in the alter-verse, Jack is a father with Daddy issues. Which, I guess explains his son’s Daddy issues. There are lots of Daddy issues in LOST. I’ll bet some psychology grad student is currently hard at work on a definitive thesis involving tribe dynamics, patricide, other-ing and smoke monsters.

Anyway, Bizarro Jack has this kid who’s a virtuoso pianist (you know he never spent any time stranded on an island). And there are two reasons that’s important:

1. It gives Jack a chance to tell his son that he’s not going to let him have Daddy issues the way his Daddy let him have Daddy issues.

2. It give us a chance to see Samurai Leader of the Temple of Others in a suit.

In the meantime, Claire is acting like a paranoid schizophrenic. But, of course, she’s the sanest one of them all. She knows Smokey John for who he is. But then she calls him her “friend.”

Cue the spooky music and pass the popcorn. We got us a live one here. Tune in next week because, according to last night’s teaser:

QUESTIONS WILL BE ANSWERED.

And if you believe that, I’ve got some island property for sale …

It’s too hard to constrain my commentary to 140 characters. So I’ve decided to Liveblog tonight’s episode.

Hang out here for the play by play, and stay logged into Twitter for even more fun!

8:51 - Kicking things off with the tail end of last week’s ep. It’s commercial time, and I am being assaulted by used car ads and “The Bachelor” promos. My killer idea for next season? A LOST/Bachelor mashup called “Fornication Island.” One guy, a hundred girls and no timeline.

8:55 - I am still scratching my head over the alternate timeline that has Ben Linus and John Locke teaching school together. What’s even weirder is Linus teaching history. “Those who refuse to learn from history are doomed to repeat it, ah … forget it, you’re gonna repeat it anyway.”

8:59 - “The time for questions is over.” The time for new characters is not.

9:01 - OMG! Jack Shaved. Significant?

9:02 - I figured it out. Jack is his own father.

9:03 - Boom. Three minutes in and we get a new character.

9:05 - First commercial break. Hurley still sees dead people, Bizarro Jack is father to a surly pre-teen and island Bruce Lee is moody and threatening.

9:09 - For the first time ever, Sayid gets some info out of somebody without resorting to torture.

9:10 - Claire is the new Rousseau. She learned the booby traps and sharpshooting, but she skipped out on the French lesson.

9:11 - For a dead guy, Jacob is surprisingly lucid.

9:15 - Jack’s not going anywhere. As usual. Seriously, I’ve never seen someone get so much credit for doing so little. For five seasons we’ve watched this guy preen and prowl and just be generally disagreeable to everything.

How many times now has Hurley been right about something? Thank you.

Some dudes just never learn. I can only imagine what kind of father Bizarro Jack is. No wonder David looks like he just drank vinegar.

9:16 - I’m honestly amazed at how little has happened in five episodes.

9:20 - Claire really needs to jump timelines for a while and see a stylist.

9:23 - Between all the talk of “candidates” and the Star Wars references, I’m starting to think this whole series is an elaborate Sigma Tau Delta hazing.

9:25 - Say hello to Claire’s little friend.

9:28 - This episode has mostly consisted of people exchanging looks. You’ve got your brooding, your hatred, your confused (I’m looking at you Hurley), and of course your I’m-a-kung-fu-master-stuck-on-this-island-and-unhappy-about-it.

9:30 - Jack: “I’d make a terrible father.”

So, in literature, when you allude to something that a character will face later, it’s called foreshadowing. What do you call it when you allude to something a character will face in the future but he already faced it but then again maybe not?

Tense and style issues aside, Jack displays admirable self-awareness in this scene. Don’t worry, he’ll go back to being infuriatingly obtuse soon enough.

9:34 - How cool would it be if the answering machine had a message from Jack - wait for it - from the island?

9:39 - How big is this Island anyway? They’ve been stranded for how long? I mean, if you count timeline jumping, it’s something like 35 years. And they’ve missed a lighthouse, an entire tribe of hippies and samurai warriors and who-knows-what else.

9:45 - Whoa! The samurai is actually Yakuza. But a family man, nonetheless.

9:46 - I hope that last crack didn’t come off as xenophobic. I’m just trying to stay one step ahead of the Twisty Mc Twisterson writers.

9:48 - That’s no Lighthouse, that’s the Tower of Sauron!

9:49 - You know, he might be a brain surgeon, but Jack doesn’t really ever think about anything. Anything.

9:54 - David, Daddy has Daddy issues, but that doesn’t mean you have to.

9:57 - For a guy who’s talking about imminent doom, Jacob plays it really cool. Like, almost too cool, right?

9:59 - Oh snap! Smokey John and Claire Rousseau … an island dream team of crazy.

Well that’s it. Another episode in the can. A lot didn’t happen, but I’m sure it was important. I’ll digest all this and put together a recap tomorrow morning.

Be sure and check back at HNKNS.com for the recap and follow me on Twitter for even more fun.

Dear Diary,

People just don’t understand me. I mean how would they feel if they’d spent several years of their adult life without the use of their legs? And now I don’t even have legs. I mean, not in the corporeal sense. Sure, I can get around the island faster than anyone, but I’m a cloud of freaking smoke.

I’ll tell you one thing, nobody ever hugs a smoke monster.

Richard won’t even look at me anymore. I miss the old days, when he loathed me and feared me. But sexy-like. Now Captain Guyliner just looks at me with disgust and runs off into the woods. Probably headed to the temple. Stupid temple. I never get invited to their little pool parties.

It’s probably not a real pool anyway. Probably just a secret underground spring with psuedo-magical healing powers. Stupid temple.

I thought James was gonna be cool, but then he broke my ladder. So what if I live in a cave on the side of a cliff? You don’t have to screw up my ladder. Jeez. It’s called a diet?

It’s okay though. James is pretty torn up over Juliet. He was drunk as a skunk when I found him. At least he was nice to me. Offered me something to drink. Too bad everything tastes like smoke now. It was probably pretty good whiskey. I mean, it had to be well aged, or not, I don’t know anymore … what year is it? Time travel is kinda bad for perishables.

So anyway, the whiskey was either good or bad, I don’t know. James seemed to be enjoying his. At least it was getting the job done.

So I told James I’d give him some answers if he’d come to my cliff-view pad. He totally believed me!

Oh, yeah, Diary … He was so into my hobby of weighing rocks and then throwing them into the ocean. It was nice to have company for a change.

Honestly, Diary, even though it’s only been like three days since I managed to get Linus to off Jacob, I kinda miss him. I’m even thinking of going ahead and putting his team together for the All-Island Softball Open. I showed James the roster and he’s pretty into the idea.

Anyway it was nice to have a friend to talk to. James is just so dreamy. He’s a good listener too. I really needed that, especially since I’m having such a hard time in my alternate timeline.

My boss in that timeline is such a jerk! Just because the company paid to send me to that conference and I didn’t go so I could get kicked off a walkabout he fires me? Whatever. Hugo totally has my back. I’m glad I didn’t key his Hummer like I was planning to. That might have really messed up our friendship.

Helen found my knives. She was pretty cool about it. She’s way more understanding than she was in season three. Man, season-three-Helen would have kicked me out for running off to Australia to be a knife salesman. I’m glad this timeline has mellowed her out.

Anyway, I’m starting to puff a little bit. I guess I better go. Maybe I can find that weird new kid and smoke him to death. He totally rubs me the wrong way.

Thanks for listening, Diary.

Love,

Smokey John

Warranty calculation is a serious science. For 30 years, business professors have developed equations to determine the optimal length of a guarantee. They factor in everything from profitability to thermodynamics. And you’d better believe that tech companies have formulas of their own, too, ones that figure into the conception and execution of every product that’s died in your loving arms. “Some companies can actually predict down to the hour when their products will break,” Slade says.

via Burning Question: Does My Gear Know When Its Warranty Is Up?  

I’m WAY late to the party on this one, but this subject is near and dear to my heart. It goes right along with the universal law of “If Timothy buys a device, a newer, better device will come out with in one month of his purchase.”

Kristin Hankins singing an air from Handel’s Messiah. Yeah, it’s awesome being married to such a talented, beautiful woman.

Lamenting the sacrifice of history and heritage on the altar of commerce.

Animals. Living the way we oughta sometimes.

via clusterflock

A fascinating look into the real conditions that may have inspired some of our favorite ghost stories.

via heather-rivers

You’ll probably notice a little something different on the site today. If not, you may need to see a doctor, because you’re colorblind.

Once again this year, I’ve gone Pink For October. I do this to raise awareness, to remind myself and those who visit this site that we should never flag in our efforts to eradicate this terrible disease. I also make my site pink to show solidarity with the brave women who have struggled with breast cancer, celebrate those who have overcome it, and to mourn those who’ve lost the battle.

Here’s the deal: breast cancer is more than a killer. It’s a demoralizer and a cheat. It cheats women out of their figures, their self image and their sense of femininity. Breast cancer is, quite frankly, a bitch.

The unfortunate reality is those of us who haven’t lost a loved one to breast cancer are very likely to know someone who has. These women deserve our attention. They deserve our time. These sisters, mothers, wives and lovers demand nothing less than our renewed commitment to join the fight against breast cancer with redoubled effort and indefatigable resolve.

Please visit PinkForOctober.org to learn more about how you can help.

I loved this list. Not only was it nice to revisit some of my own favorite first lines, but I found my appetite whetted by some unfamiliar ones.

An excerpt from a new book by Alexandra Horowitz. The hidden gem of this take on the psychology of dogs is that it brings more insight into human nature than dogginess. Examining the animal psyche in…

A brief discussion of the economics of album length. Good discussion in the comments on this one as well.

Because he considered himself a citizen of the Ottoman Empire, he refused to carry the passport of any country. Instead, he traveled with a certificate devised by his lawyer.

Because he considered himself a citizen of the Ottoman Empire, he refused to carry the passport of any country. Instead, he traveled with a certificate devised by his lawyer.

A study that shows there may be a correlation between death-related warnings on cigarette packaging and an increase in the urge to smoke. I’d always thought along these lines myself. It seems logical…

Greatness inspires greatness. Love inspires love. And truth demands the truth. A strikingly beautiful memoir of a great artist, reviewed the way I wish more books were.

A fairly insightful look at the nature of the business of publishing. At first blush, it may seem that Graham is devaluing content, but that’s not the case. He’s acknowledging the reality that form,…

A fascinating new site devoted to letters, notes and other correspondence of historical or cultural significance. Initial entries include a letter from FDR to the commissioner of baseball, the…

This is one reason why I (mostly) turn off all alarms, dingers and ringers on my mobile devices. I prefer to get information on my schedule, not program myself to respond to a iPavlov bell in my…

Andrew Marvell- “To His Coy Mistress”. Here is the text. I love this poem.

(via merlin)

A funding platform for creative endeavors. A unique approach to finding the means to support a small project.