Ordinarily I’m immune to spoilers. In fact, I seek them out. I know weeks ahead of time what’s going to happen on General Hospital (although I’m still often surprised when these events actually occur). With some serialized programs, I don’t have a problem watching episodes out of order. I will follow along with live bloggers from the East Coast during awards shows, and then watch the program when it’s broadcast here. Surprises aren’t the reason I watch, but I like to know results as soon as they happen.

We here in the West get to watch only a few things, other than sporting events, at the same time as the rest of the country. I couldn’t help feeling slighted when NBC took the Vancouver Olympics, which were taking place in my time zone, and delayed them for three hours. That’s why I sought out cable coverage and other avenues for live access. I’m still fuming over the slight.

Today, though, I withdrew from all social media and turned off the interwebs at 4:00 pm, because that’s when the Lost “finale event” started in the Eastern time zone. This was something I’ve been waiting six years for, and I haven’t missed an episode. I even watched the pop-up video of the original pilot again last night.

Leading up to tonight, I had ideas about what might happen, and I’ve voraciously read the ideas of others, throughout the series and since the penultimate episode last Tuesday. But watching the end unfold in real time, spoiler-free, was all I wanted out of tonight, and I got it. I can’t speak for anyone else, but my investment was rewarded. I’m satisfied even beyond my wildly elevated expectations.

In turning everything off all evening, what I wanted to avoid even more than spoilers were the cackling comments of people bragging that they’d never watched Lost, as if by claiming superiority they could diminish the experience of us, the devotees. I understand that non-fans might be sick and tired of hearing about it, but I didn’t need to be exposed to the negativity. Some day they will feel strongly about something and get what I’m talking about.

A couple of days ago I finished a book that I loved, but that I didn’t want to write about, because anything I might say would have changed the experience for anyone else who might read it. I struggled with what to say on Goodreads about Every Last One, by Anna Quindlen, and I ended up writing this:

There isn't much I can say about Every Last One that wouldn't give away more than I want to. It's about a loving family, a family with the usual set of problems, both like and unlike other families. There are some difficult passages to negotiate, but it's worth it for the detailed portrait of a complicated life, and the events that send the narrative arc reeling in new directions. I ended up caring deeply about these people because the book is so beautifully written and the characters are given such depth.

I don’t know if you want to follow that link, if you think you might read this book, because there are reviews there from people less scrupulous than I am about giving things away. And even this much information might be too much for some, but I had to say something, because I enjoyed it so much. (By the way, I read about half of it during breaks from jury duty last Monday.)