LOST, In Translation

Its 9pm on a Monday night here in Italy. The streets are empty. The bars quiet. The Ristoranti nearly deserted.

Political unrest? A big soccer match? Free pasta at the local enoteca?

Au contraire. Monday night is LOST night in Italy.

And tonight is a biggie. The finale of season one. I hunt high and low for my in-laws, not knowing this, until I find them all crammed into the living room, huddled in front of the TV.

On-screen, Jack and Lock discover the secret of the Black Rock. Michael and crew set sail. The hatch is blown open.

I'm peppered, non-stop, with excited questions from my relatives:

"Do we find out what's in the hatch?"

"Is it aliens?"

"What are the monsters in the woods?"

"Who are the others?"

I smile and nod knowingly, a wise veteran of next-season American TV, and give nothing away. Ironically, of course, I know zilch. A season later, LOST is as enigmatic as ever, and unless a whole heck of a lot was revealed in the episodes that have played out (and been tivo-ed) in my absence, I really have no more knowledge to offer them.

But its fun to SEEM like I know what's going on.

Its funny... for all the cultural differences between Italians and Americans, we're united in our love for LOST.

To paraphrase, "Good TV knows no boundaries."

Charlie