Lost is here. You might need RAR software to uncompress it before playing it.

Veronica Mars is here (I think).

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from a ew.com article:

The Tailies and their new friends, Michael, Jin, and Sawyer, were hiking towards Forward-Section camp when they came upon a steep embankment. They began to scale the rise, dragging Sawyer (feverish from his gunshot wound) on a makeshift stretcher. Bringing up the rear of their little caravan were Libby and Cindy. Now here's where things get interesting: By the time they reached the top of the ridge, Cindy was gone, presumably ''taken'' by the Others. How did this happen?

With Libby's help.

I'm calling it: Libby's a plant. She's the Ethan of the Tailies' camp.

First off, go to the tape. Libby's the last one to interact with Cindy. And Cindy's carrying a large blue knapsack. By the time they've climbed to the top, Libby's carrying the knapsack. You're telling me she took the knapsack from Cindy and then proceeded to forget all about her? This is a ridge, not K-2 — you don't just ''lose'' people like that. Also notable: Cindy hands Libby a walking stick of some sort, just before we lose track of her completely. As this handoff takes place, we see a cavelike opening in the background, right where Cindy's about to pass. And it looks as if there's some sort of shape inside.

But here's my best evidence of Libby's treachery: Tonight, she told Sawyer she's a clinical psychologist. Well, who appears to have designed this tropical house of horrors, according to a certain orientation video? A team of clinical psychologists, that's who. Coincidence? What do you think? Is there such a thing as coincidence in the world of television drama? Consult the little Locke on your left shoulder (as opposed to the tiny Jack on your right).

the new "pride & prejudice" is getting some seriously good reviews. salon gives it a glowing one (3 pages worth! lordy!). which reminds me, the last time i caught a salon movie review was the totally effing hysterically bad one for "shop girl." you really should read it just for entertainment value (fave para: "Martin's performance is one of implacable, rubberized unhappiness; you get the feeling he saw Bill Murray in "Lost in Translation" and thought, "I can do that." He can't, though. Is Ray a damaged divorcé who falls in love with Mirabelle, after his own fashion, but can't express his feelings? I guess that's the idea, but you can't really tell. He could also be planning to add her to his collection of chopped-up girlfriends beneath the pool. He could be a narcoleptic. He could be the reanimated corpse of Richard Nixon, nervously sweating embalming fluid. He could be shot so full of Botox it's a wonder he can speak at all."). oh, and also this paragraph: "There's so little sexual chemistry between the actors in this film that it seems like a kind of accomplishment. I've seen shows on C-SPAN that were hotter than this. There's an early scene with Danes and Schwartzman in bed that's no worse than mildly embarrassing, but I sat through the film in queasy terror, awaiting the moment when the Nixon zombie might doff his clothes, expose his burnt-sienna flesh and make sweet, sweet love to his little mademoiselle."

i've since seen "shopgirl," and it really wasn't that bad - certainly less grating than i found the book, for sure. however, it suffers from two unbearably terrible aspects: the screaming symphonic repetitive score that plays each and every single time there's a scene with a hint of lovelorn emotion in it (which is, obviously, like every five minutes, and i'm not kidding - the music is BAD); and the bizarre narration of steve martin at certain points in the movie. dude simply cannot narrate. he sounds like he's reading a children's book to a group of, um, mentally disabled children - reading bits so slowly, loudly and painstakingly so that we REALLY GET THAT MIRABELLE IS EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE AT THIS CRITICAL MOMENT.

i think the movie would have been actually pretty good if martin had simply gotten rid of the score and the narration and let the subtext of those particular scenes speak for themselves at the moment. but, he didn't. at least he has claire danes to salvage the entire thing for him, and though i do like her, i feel like she's pretty much always playing the character from "my so-called life." but it's still a good performance, and i'd recommend the film for a rental.

for you voyeurs out there (i.e. all of you) here's a picture of my newswriting lab from yesterday in the medill broadcast studio (i am looking bizarrely off into the distance, probably at something pretty and shiny). we spent most of the week writing broadcast scripts on particular stories, and then went in front of the camera to record live spots/be anchors/run the cameras/sounds/teleprompter. i have to say, it was kind of nifty. the broadcast supervisor told me i have a great tv reporter voice. which i found weird, since i HATE my voice and always thought it was too low/husky to translate well in any sort of medium. but now, screw medill! 11 o'clock news, here i come.