Thank you, Heather Havrilesky, for confirming what I've suspected for awhile. Aside from one or two indies ("Little Miss Sunshine") at my local independent theater over the past five years, I haven't been to a big screen since "Lord of the Rings" wrapped up. What's the point, really? It's expensive, I feel manipulated by multiple forces in these mob scenes at mall-like megaplexes, I can't afford both popcorn and a movie stub.

I would add to H.H.'s list of TV hits: that some of the best TV dramas, consistently, and for years, have been on PBS. How can one not mention "Mystery" -- the wonderful adaptations of P.D. James, and the unforgettable John Thaw's spot-on depiction of Inspector Morse? Talk about psychologically adept and emotionally compelling. And, aside from the annoying quarterly fundraisers (which I hardly begrudge next to the plop of incessant commercial pitches), these productions have always been commercial-free.

There is hope, I think, for us denizens of the couch. I will be buried with my TIVO clutched in my cold, dead arms.

Sue R., Boston

When my beloved 12-year-old cat died 10 years ago, I was embarrassed by the level of my grieving: I slept with the shirt he was put down on, for instance. Finally, a wise Buddhist massage therapist said to me, "We are affected by all the souls we meet; it doesn't matter what form they take." That helped tremendously and made me less ashamed of my deep feelings for my "animal companions".

I felt absolutely envious of this letter writer. I've wanted to go to London my whole life. With or without anyone. My God, what a place! I would be haunting galleries, bringing my notebook with me, going to shows, maybe taking a class or two in British literature. What's not to love about the place? Its tweeness, its history, its thorny and decadent politics?

That said, I think Cary was right about the marriage. I noticed that at no point did the letter writer mention love, which seems to me to be a bottom line requirement for surviving this. But just think of the great material for writing in all of it. I know I sound like a grave-robber, but isn't that what writers are? Start writing about this experience! It is the stuff of great literature (and Chekhov springs to mind here -- all those wonderful stories about people and their basic incompatabilities and private sorrows!).

Good luck to you.

Well, I finally did it. I took "Lost" off my TIVO list this week. I'm done, I'm done, I'm so done. The first season was matchless and it's been a painful downhill slide ever since. The show had me while it seemed there was some profound heaven/hell/purgatory triad going on and I was even buying the polar bear and pirate ship in the tree as some kind of Philip Pullman-meets-Peter Pan-mythology that would come to make sense in an afterlife sort of way. Then, the hatch. It was all Gilligan's Island after that. They're doing laundry for cryin' out loud??!! All they needed was to make a bike out of palm fronds and have Hurley pump away to keep the generators going. How much more intriguing when all of this seemed somehow vaguely connected to Milton's "Paradise Lost", when it was about the soul, the soul! Now, it's torture, sex and the 1950's (that bizarre homestead in the middle of the island made me go, "OH for #)$&'s sake!" -- plus they're reading novels together?!!!) I'm transferring devotion to "Medium", where, while straining credulity, I at least get to see a great chemistry between husband and wife--they fight! They make up! They raise their children imperfectly but with love!--and a D.A. of my dreams. I do hope "Lost" wraps up soon, and if these last two seasons could somehow turn into someone's fever dream (maybe Clare's baby, who's been given so very little to do, alas), and the whole thing returned to its Christian metaphors, I'd get back on board.

I think one slight northward geographical change could have granted The Black Donnellys some soul -- locating it in South Boston. Lotsa soul, vs. NYC with, sorry Yawkers, very little. And while the Donnelly brothers are a wee too windswept, they are scrawny enough to be haunting the Southie pubs. Imagine them on Carson Beach in the middle of January trying to light cigarettes as the wind howls in from the harbor, hatching their plotlets and stickin' up for each other. It might also veer away from the too-obvious comparisons to Tony & Co. just a township or two away.

Pure and simple. As is Rove, Cheney, Ashcroft (gone but not forgotten, the serpentine Rumsfeld, Gonzalez, Imus, O'Reilly and the whole cabal of wingnuts that believe they "speak for America". How many times in history have we witnessed bullies in power? Doesn't usually turn out to well for the people. Giuliani had five minutes of grace-given compassion, but it was woefully short-lived. We are doomed if that man gets his hands on the national machinery. A friend said to me recently that she feared we are on the threshold of a new, modern fascism. I'm not quite ready to go there, but if Giuliani gets his way, our already damaged civil liberties will be negated. I long for real debate, real substance, and the end of demagogues and their hateful, hate-filled rants.