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Wasn’t going to let go without a look back at some of my remaining memories from the series, those weird aliens with bowler hats, the kid in the mirror world saying he doesn’t have a reflection to break (which I really could’ve sworn wasn’t from the Black-and-White season), and the awesome way they’d abruptly lead into the next episode after an almost disappointing lack of epilogue at the end. Lesson I should’ve learned was that you’re never lost when you’ve got each other? And apparently some of the From showrunners worked on Lost, but I stick by what I recently said that whatever it is they’ve put together so far and dangle for as long as their budget lasts reminds me less of it and more of Land of the Lost.

I’m still reeling from the events of last weekend, but carry on as I always have with the imaginary solace that American safety net GoFundMe is amassing for William Cho a Bruce Wayne-sized estate to make something of a legacy. It was actually the night before that I sat for this recent release, was mildly entertained by its refreshingly tongue-in-cheek approach to the genre, only to spot right away what has understandably got to be my favorite cameo ever, despite it being no strange a feature in all these nostalgic sequels and remakes.

I forgot, I really did like seeing some of the 60’s cast members in the one-off Lost in Space movie—starring Gary Oldham? (And Heather Graham, who is always welcome to segue into my subconscious.) The show came up, right on cue, when I was reminded of Dr. Smith’s “oh, the pain” catchphrase upon turning over another year and expecting little else to convince me not to make it my own. Learning that Jonathan Harris was 54 during his act (and milked it for 3 decades) doesn’t help.

Spate of new-ish programming lately that’s kept me powering through the interminably repetitive weeks: From is back and as abstruse as ever; Matt U. assured me there’s a supernatural component to Yellowjackets, so I gave in to see what all the hoopla is about; Mrs. Davis, Damon Lindelof’s latest romp, about an omnipresent AI that is actually hardly around; Rabbit Hole, which really should’ve gone where its title suggests but instead seems like a worse version of Mrs. Davis; and the superior spy show with the MI5 rejects in “Slough House.” Gary Oldham’s Jackson Lamb is the freshest character I’ve seen in some time.

Apple’s been picking some winners lately, so I gave Silo a shot, and the scene with Rebecca Ferguson climbing toward answers at the end of the second episode must’ve led me to a dead end in a neighborhood completely sealed off by connected buildings, some businesses like a coin laundry, most of the others residential. The cul-de-sac didn’t appear to have any exit than the way I came, until I spotted what looked like one on the third floor up a mesh ladder, followed by the traditional kind from the second level. Surprisingly no fear of heights. An Indian woman called for her boys Xavier and Shervin, neither of which I recognized as Hindi names. A prominent radio antennae stood on the roof.