I know, I’m obsessed with videos. Maybe I’m trying to fill in the gaps until February. Here is the Season 4 promo. This video quality sucks, but I couldn’t find anything better. Plus, the only new thing that I really saw was the parachuters.

I know this has been around for a bit, but I just found the video. I am thinking perhaps the flash forward of how Kate gets out of going to jail?

I’m *not* promoting Verizon! But, here is the promo for the Lost mini episodes. By the way, it looks like Hurley comes across Jacob’s cabin and some other exciting action. Exciting little morsel!

Here it is, episode #1, “The Watch”

I have a feeling this watch will be certainly coming into play. If not, then sorry for just wasting 2:39 of your time. lol

By DAMON LINDELOF
Published: November 11, 2007
The New York Times
MOURNING TV 

TELEVISION is dying.

I should have realized this four years ago when I first got my TiVo box, but denial is always the first stage of grief. I simply couldn’t acknowledge that this wonderful invention heralded the beginning of the end.

TiVo stores your favorite movies and shows on its hard drive, allowing you to pull up last night’s episode of “The Daily Show” as easily as you click open documents on your laptop. In fact, once you download the original broadcast — sorry, I meant to say “record” it — you can watch it at your leisure. The next morning. Next year. Your call. Because now? You own that episode.

Best of all, you got it free.

Television has always been free. Sure, if you want all the N.F.L. games in high definition, you have to pay the piper, but the broadcast networks still offer their entire schedules for absolutely nothing. The only catch, of course, is that you have to watch commercials. Economically, it’s a fair deal. The network pays for the shows, gives them to viewers, and makes its cash back through advertising. Which regrettably brings us to the most wonderful thing TiVo does: It enables you to ignore the commercials that keep the whole system running.

Twenty percent of American homes now contain hard drives that store movies and television shows indefinitely and allows you to fast-forward through commercials. These devices will probably proliferate at a significant rate and soon, almost everyone will have them. They’ll also get smaller and smaller, rendering the box that holds them obsolete, and the rectangular screen in your living room won’t really be a television anymore, it’ll be a computer. And running into the back of that computer, the wire that delivers unto you everything you watch? It won’t be cable; it will be the Internet.

This probably sounds exciting if you’re a TV viewer, but if you’re in the business of producing these shows, it’s nothing short of terrifying. This is how vaudevillians must have felt the first time they saw a silent movie; sitting there, suddenly realizing they just became extinct: after all, who wants another soft-shoe number when you can see Harold Lloyd hanging off a clock 50 feet tall?

Change always provokes fear, but I’d once believed that the death of our beloved television would unify all those affected, talent and studios, creators and suits. We’re all afraid and we’d all be afraid together. Instead we find ourselves so deeply divided.

The Writers Guild of America (of which I am a proud member) has gone on strike. I have spent the past week on the picket line outside Walt Disney Studios, my employer, chanting slogans and trudging slowly across the crosswalk.

The motivation for this drastic action — and a strike is drastic, a fact I grow more aware of every passing day — is the guild’s desire for a portion of revenues derived from the Internet. This is nothing new: for more than 50 years, writers have been entitled to a small cut of the studios’ profits from the reuse of our shows or movies; whenever something we created ends up in syndication or is sold on DVD, we receive royalties. But the studios refuse to apply the same rules to the Internet.

My show, “Lost,” has been streamed hundreds of millions of times since it was made available on ABC’s Web site. The downloads require the viewer to first watch an advertisement, from which the network obviously generates some income. The writers of the episodes get nothing. We’re also a hit on iTunes (where shows are sold for $1.99 each). Again, we get nothing.

If this strike lasts longer than three months, an entire season of television will end this December. No dramas. No comedies. No “Daily Show.” The strike will also prevent any pilots from being shot in the spring, so even if the strike is settled by then, you won’t see any new shows until the following January. As in 2009. Both the guild and the studios we are negotiating with do agree on one thing: this situation would be brutal.

I will probably be dragged through the streets and burned in effigy if fans have to wait another year for “Lost” to come back. And who could blame them? Public sentiment may have swung toward the guild for now, but once the viewing audience has spent a month or so subsisting on “America’s Next Hottest Cop” and “Celebrity Eating Contest,” I have little doubt that the tide will turn against us. Which brings me to the second stage of grief: anger.

I am angry because I am accused of being greedy by studios that are being greedy. I am angry because my greed is fair and reasonable: if money is made off of my product through the Internet, then I am entitled to a small piece. The studios’ greed, on the other hand, is hidden behind cynical, disingenuous claims that they make nothing on the Web — that the streaming and downloading of our shows is purely “promotional.” Seriously?

Most of all, I’m angry that I’m not working. Not working means not getting paid. My weekly salary is considerably more than the small percentage of Internet gains we are hoping to make in this negotiation and if I’m on the picket line for just three months, I will never recoup those losses, no matter what deal gets made.

But I am willing to hold firm for considerably longer than three months because this is a fight for the livelihoods of a future generation of writers, whose work will never “air,” but instead be streamed, beamed or zapped onto a tiny chip.

Things have gotten ugly and the lines of communication have broken down completely between the guild and the studios. Perhaps it’s not too late, though, for both sides to rally around the one thing we still have in common: our mourning for the way things used to be. Instead of fighting each other, maybe we should be throwing a wake for our beloved TV.

Because the third stage of grief is bargaining.

And bargain we must, because when television finally passes on, there will still be entertainment; there will still be shows and films and videos, right there on a screen in your living room. And just as the owners of vaudeville theaters broke down and bought hand-crank movie cameras, the studios will figure out a way to make absurd amounts of money off of whatever is beaming onto whichever sort of screen.

And we’ll still be writing every word.

Damon Lindelof is the co-creator and head writer of the television series “Lost.”

Enough already! I understand standing up for what you believe in, but this strike is now spilling over to Lost! Eight episodes have been written with the last episode ending in a cliffhanger, which means if the writers don’t come off of the strike, we may only get eight episodes! No way! We wait until February for a new episode, with an agreement that we wouldn’t get any reruns. But now we are getting ripped people! Give them what they want but don’t take away what little television pleasure we have coming to us!

Read the full story here.

  Click to enlarge

I don’t like football, but my last post wasn’t Lost related so I thought I better lighten up!

(Please don’t leave comments on how old this is, I know. I just thought it was funny.)

If you’ve come today, dear reader, for a Lost tidbit you may as well close the page and keep surfing. I have nothing to say about Lost today but I need this information out there in the cyberworld and out of my brain before I explode and throw my cell phones through the window of the local Centennial store (remember the lady throwing the tire back at the tire store?). I do say “Welcome To My Obsession” which could technically mean anything.

Anyone out there who has had Centennial’s service will know what I’m talking about before even reading this blog. Thinking back I got my phone way back in 1998 and have stuck through all these years of bad service like an abused wife thinking it was somehow her fault and that she couldn’t do any better anyway. I’m talking missed calls when I’m sitting right by my phone. Texts that may or may not make it to my phone and sent texts that again, might make it to their destination on a good day where the weather is about 80, the sky is clear, and the Munchkins in Munchkinland are feeling frisky. Next, I’m supposed to have service all across the state. Uh huh. I’m down in Indianapolis and no service. Drove 15 or so miles outside of Indy and still no service. I’m down the road like 50 miles and still….. no service.

Now let’s discuss the so-called “Blue Shirt Service.” When you call their customer service line they say that “Hey, customer service is our #1 goal.” Here is what I think: Centennial Wireless is run by the devil and he has his minions put on blue shirts in hope of hiding their evil exterior. Yes, friends, it *is* that bad. We are talking over 45 minutes, transferred three times and finally hung up on by the supervisor of the customer service department because I want an answer to what the $108 mystery charges are on my bill! Hell yes I’m mad! Why do I have to hear the long list of things they “can’t” do? Where is the list of what they can do since their #1 goal is to make me happy?

All righty then, I’m going into the local store. Oh yes, there they are, the Blue Shirts just waiting to help me… or not. Guy at the counter could care less that I’m upset. In fact, when I tell him I’m turning in the companion phone and will be turning in my phone as soon as I have a new contract set up with any of the 100+ carriers around he shrugs. Shrugs! Then, he hands the phone back and says, “Here, have another 30 days.” “Have?” I ask. No, actually the billing cycle just ended so I have to PAY for an additional 30 days.  “Put it in writing that it’s gone in 30 days, Devil’s spawn!”

So, what does any angry woman do when she is so upset there is probably steam coming out of my ears? I start crying. There I stand, daughter by my side, two over priced phones in hand, Blue Shirt minion in front of me and all I can do is cry. Not exactly how I planned it.

No one could explain the mystery charges and why, since I just paid my bill less than 30 days ago, I have new charges out of the sky. I just paid the damn bill, took my phones and walked out.

Anyone know a good carrier?

Where’s the monster?