Numbers

Waves are crashing on the beach as Mercutio supervises Raft 2: The Floatening. Jin makes an urgent circular gesture in Hurley's general direction, and Hurley tiredly wonders if Jin wants him to make a snowball, which, yeah, I know Jin doesn't speak English, but I'm thinking Hurley might try a little harder here. Mercutio says Jin wants him to bundle the bamboo tighter, so I guess Mercutio's given up some of the raft-designing to Jin, the one guy who can't communicate with anyone other than his wife, to whom he's no longer speaking.

Jack happens along, as he usually does, to see how things are coming along, and Mercutio says they're coming. Jack for some reason reminds everybody about the last raft being sabotaged, and Mercutio assures him that the raft is being guarded 24/7 (one can only assume that the assaulting and kidnapping and killing of unguarded castaways will continue for the near future). So it looks like Locke didn't rat Walt out for starting the fire, even though we've yet to find out more about that. Mercutio says the chances of a passing ship spotting their raft are pretty slim, so he wants to be able to send out some sort of distress signal. Jack says he'll ask Sayid, but adds that even if Sayid can make something, he's got nothing to power it with. Hurley says he thought Sayid said "the crazy French chick" had batteries.

Whether she does or doesn't, Sayid categorically refuses to go back or to help Jack go back himself, even though Hurley offers his most sincere and pleading "dude." Sayid says he was unconscious when Rousseau brought him to her hidey-hole, and he was disoriented when he escaped, so he wouldn't be able to find the place again. That's no excuse for not calling her, Sayid. Hurley suggests Sayid just doesn't want to, and Sayid spazzes off on how Rousseau's maps and notes are a whole lotta crazy, mixing song lyrics with equations. Dude, that's no reason to crumple them up! Jack wants to use the map to find Rousseau, and he and Sayid argue about it, but Hurley tunes them out, as he's found, in the crazy scribblings, numbers printed over and over again: 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42. Hey, I don't suppose anyone's interested in taking a wild stab at finding some significance in those numbers? Didn't think so. Due to the ascending numbers, they immediately looked like lotto numbers to me.

And here's the thing about interpreting the numbers, which has turned into this whole cottage industry. I understand that it's fun for people, but numbers are endlessly manipulatable, and there are ultimately only ten numerals and various cultural and spiritual significance attached to all of them if you look hard enough, so multiplying and subtracting and adding digits is more like finding numbers that fit your theory, rather than finding a theory that fits the numbers. It kind of reminds me of -- remember the band Presidents of the United States of America? Yeah, me neither. But they had that one song -- well, they had "Lump," which was a little piece of greatness, but they also had that other song, "Peaches": "Movin' to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches." And a friend of mine posited that the song was not actually about eating peaches, that it was about eating something that, while not without its charms, technically was not a food. Not that I was by any stretch an expert on, um, peaches, despite possessing the rather common college guy's obsession with them, but the theory seemed to fit, especially, as my friend pointed out, you substitute the word "peaches" with the other possibility.

Well, university is nothing if not a forum for relaying knowledge and the spread of ideas, so I naturally shared the "not really about eating peaches" theory with my best friend and roommate. He considered it, didn't seem quite as taken with it even after "peaches" was replaced, and pointed out that pretty much any song, when you replace the lyrics with something you've chosen yourself, will now be about the thing you've replaced it with. And he was right. For me, when it comes to these numbers, this is kind of like that.

And we flash back to a Hurley who, if I'm not mistaken, actually looks a little slimmer than Island Hurley, although Flashback Hurley is sitting on a couch with a bucket of chicken on the coffee table, flipping through the channels, which include aerobics, avocados, a hoedown, and hockey, like they EVER show hockey on television in L.A. His mother yells from the kitchen that she hopes he's not watching those "G-string [Spanish word that clearly isn't complimentary to the women his mom thinks might be wearing said G-strings]." "Look, Ma, we talked about this. You want me living here, you gotta respect my privacy," like if I were Hurley's age and living at home, I can only imagine my mom deliberately invading my privacy nonstop until I got my ass out of the house. And not satisfied with Hurley's response, Mama comes through the door to tell him that it's Saturday night and he should be out finding himself a senorita. Then she submarines his self-confidence by pointing out he's gaining weight again, an observation I find odd for a couple of reasons. I mean, Hurley's a really big guy, and she's either A) just noticing that, or B) fine with him being, say, 300 pounds, but if he edges up to 305, it's a concern? He ignores her "help" with a countenance that indicates he's heard this before, and instead flips to the televised lottery drawing, which produces those same numbers listed above. Flashback Hurley, of course, doesn't know yet about Rousseau's notes. But he does know, as he checks his ticket, that those are the numbers he picked. And upon realizing this, he faints, as the television bobbleheads talk about the near-record jackpot due to this being the sixteenth week without a winner. Commercials.

Sayid turns over in his sleep in the middle of the night, to find Hurley staring at him. "You awake?" asks Hurley, and Sayid says he was just asking himself that same question. Hurley starts asking, as nonchalantly as he can, about Rousseau's notes, but Sayid says that given it's the middle of the night, maybe Hurley could get to the point. Hurley's incapable of that, though, so he hems and haws and asks what Sayid came up with in terms of theories for the numbers that Rousseau scribbled over and over again. Sayid sort of sits up and says that at one time they thought they might be coordinates. Hurley asks about the cable Sayid followed that led him to Rousseau, and Sayid points out that the cable didn't lead to Rousseau, but to a trap that Rousseau set. And because Hurley is asking all these questions and is carrying a guidebook with The Lonely Planet Guide to the Crazy French Chick's Place emblazoned on the cover, Sayid wants to know why Hurley's suddenly so interested. Hurley says he's not, that he's just making conversation, and he lies about as well as I perform open-heart surgery. Sayid keeps rubbing his eyes, and Hurley walks away, spiriting some of Rousseau's notes under his shirt, which I imagine is an advantage to his size: Sayid's not really going to be suspicious of a bulge.

Flashback to a press conference Hurley's holding after claiming his lottery winnings, which Lost would have you believe would attract as much media attention as a Super Bowl or a presidential inauguration. Moreover, all of the reporters are as excited as they would be at the former, and taking this "story" as seriously as they would the latter. And they do that reporter-mob-television-hubbub thing that disappears instantly when a particular question is asked instead of just muttering rhubarb-rhubarb-rhubarb. Asian Reporter Tricia Takanawa asks how he came up with the winning numbers, like maybe he FIGURED OUT WHAT THE WINNING NUMBERS WOULD BE or something. "They just sort of came to me," says Hurley, after hesitating a bit. That was apparently the only question all those reporters could think of to ask Hurley about himself, so an earnest reporter in a suit asks Hurley to introduce his family. Hurley sweetly introduces his mom, Carmen, as a "bashful beauty," and then he introduces his brother Diego and Diego's wife Lucy, and Diego's got a shaved head, only judging from the pattern of head stubble, he's not bald entirely by choice. And Diego yells, "We're rich, woo!" and the reporters laugh dutifully, only I think Diego's a bit of an idiot, and Hurley jokingly tells everyone to ignore Diego, as he's a moron, and Hurley is way too nice and this is why everyone loves Hurley. This is also why: he introduces his grandfather Tito, who he says is the best guy he knows, and explains that Tito's worked three jobs for 52 years, and the closest Tito's come to a vacation is when he had a pacemaker put in four years ago, and this is all sweet, and the kind of story when you see on the news you're kind of glad this person won the lottery? I actually found myself going "aww," which I never do outside of when they retire numbers of my favourite athletes and the athletes have their kids there, and the kids are always sweetly amazed, like, you're doing this for my dad? He's just Dad! This is evoking the same feeling for me, only it's fake and now I'm annoyed. And Hurley's going on about giving his grandfather the rest he's earned, and then Hurley blathers on about how nice it is to do things for his loved ones, especially as he's put them through a lot lately, although he doesn't elaborate, and he talks about buying his mom a house, and then when his grandfather gets back from a cruise, they're going to do all kinds of things...only by this point Tito has looked increasingly uncomfortable before finally just keeling right over.

Back on the island, Hurley's filling up buckets of water at the stream, when Charlie unfortunately comes strolling up. He says hello, and Hurley all jumpy says, "What? I'm not doing anything!" and Charlie's all quizzical and notices Hurley packing away the water, so he asks if Hurley's going somewhere. Hurley says no, but then seems to realize that it kinda looks like he is, so he says he's just going for a walk, to scope out some new fishing area. Charlie wants to come with, and Hurley gets all antsy and says no, and his excuse is that he just wants some alone time right now. Charlie doesn't seem to believe this, but -- and I mean this sincerely, and I'm not saying it solely due to my ever-deepening dislike for the hobbit -- I'm guessing that lately, like before he even landed on the island, he's used to people making up excuses not to be in his company.

Out on the beach, Claire's doing what I think any nine months pregnant woman is entitled to do: lounging. And since Boone is nowhere to be seen this episode, which is nice (except maybe for the portion of the audience that's swayed by pretty blue-eyed men), Locke needs someone else to harass, so he strolls up and asks Claire if she's free to help him out, since he's working on a project that could use an extra set of hands. She points out her baby-belly-induced lack of mobility, and he asks if she can hold a saw, and she says yes, and he asks if she can move her arm back and forth, like so, and he mimes sawing, like I've never been to Australia but I'M WILLING TO BET THEY HAVE SAWS THERE, LOCKE, and she says, "possibly," and he says she's perfect and he helps her to her feet. She wants to know what they're building, but he doesn't answer her, at least not that we see.

In the jungle, Sayid confronts Jack: "Where is it?" Jack has no idea what he's talking about. Sayid's looking for Rousseau's map, and Jack says he doesn't have it. Isn't Sayid supposed to be smart? I mean, Hurley woke him up to discuss the notes and all that, so he'd be the logical suspect. Well, he is, but Sayid just thinks Jack was making Hurley do his dirty work for him. Jack gives him a blank look. "You don't know anything about this, do you," says Sayid. Fortunately, at least for Hurley-finding purposes, Charlie wanders by, and Jack asks him if he's seen Hurley. Charlie says he saw him a couple of hours ago. "Acting like a loon, I might add," says Charlie. Well, you would know, Charlie. "My god, he's going after her," says Sayid.

So the three stooges pony up to go after him, and Shannon asks when Sayid's coming back. "If we can catch up to him, before nightfall," says Sayid. Look, at the risk of sounding indelicate...I mean, it's not like I've run any marathons myself lately, but I can't imagine Hurley's making great time. Look! There he is! Just down the beach aways! You'll be back in twenty minutes. Sayid smirkingly asks if Shannon's worried about him, and she snottily asks so what if she is, and he touches her cheek and says he'll be fine, and I guess this is supposed to be sweet or something.

Hurley's trudging don't the beach, with some loud rap music playing with which I am not familiar, and it's "everybody with me" and "drinks on me" and this kind of thing and I tried to Google the lyrics, but was unsuccessful, although I did find what might be the only Website where someone has posted, for some reason, lyrics to songs by Toby Keith, 50 Cent, Kenny Chesney, and Eminem. Plus it has an eagle on it, that may or may not have clutched in its talons a missile that's being rammed up the butt of Osama bin Laden. But Hurley's not listening to the song; it's thumping out of the new yellow Hummer he's driving down the street, at least until his mom asks him to turn the noise down, and I have a hard time believing she didn't ask that before they were even to the end of the driveway. She looks kind of sour, and wants to know where he's taking her, since he knows she doesn't like surprises. Hurley, dressed in a stylin' yellow and black track suit (matches the Hummer!), says she'll like this one, especially with all she's been through, like "Grandpa." Mama crosses herself. At the funeral, Father Aguilar was apparently struck by lightning. "Man, that was a freak storm," says Hurley. But wait, there's more! "Diego moving back home, after Lisa left him for that...waitress," says Hurley. It's the pause that kills me, although Mama yelling, "Don't mention that whore to me!" was kind of funny. "I'm just saying, you deserve something good to happen," he says. Mama lifts her eyebrows in a way that says, "Yeah, I totally do, but I'm not going to say so." Hurley's quiet for a moment before pointing out that ever since he won the lottery, bad things have been happening. "Like I don't know, the money's cursed or something." Mama smacks him -- and man, nothing hurts like when your mom smacks you, does it? -- and calls it blasphemy, since they're Catholic and don't believe in curses. No, we Catholics believe in all kinds of crazy shit, just not curses. Hurley says he's just talkin'. Then he says they're almost there and gives his mother a red bandana and tells her to put it on. Holy shit! He took his mother to drive-by some Crips? Here I am going "awwww" again.

Hurley pulls up at this massive house, gets out, and hustles around to the passenger side to help his blindfolded mother out of the car. She's bitching the whole time, by the way, complaining about having to wear the blindfold. He tells her to take it off and get a load of her new house, but she apparently can't hear him over the sound of her own pissing and moaning, so she slips on a step and, if that ridiculously loud snapping sound is any indication, breaks her ankle. And we already know she's not one to suffer in silence, so here we go with the wailing. She stops long enough to sniff the air and ask if Hugo smells smoke. He looks up, and sees the reflection of flames in an upstairs window. He whips out his cell phone to call 911 (with his mom helpfully yelling for him to tell them about her ankle as well). But Hurley's barely dialed when he hears sirens and a couple of police cars pull up. Hurley looks at his phone like, "That was fast," apparently before realizing that a) he wanted firefighters; b) he had yet to tell 911 that he needs firefighters; and c) holy shit, these cops are pulling guns on him and telling him to freeze and all that. As they slam Hurley to the hood of his Hummer, handcuff him, and read him his rights, Mama hilariously looks at him suspiciously and crosses herself again. "No such thing as curses, huh, Ma?" he says. Commercials.

Actually, he's found a rickety rope bridge that crosses a little chasm. The bridge isn't very long, but the chasm looks kind of deep. Jack says Sayid never mentioned a bridge, like he's SCARED OF BRIDGES or something, and Sayid's all, "I never saw this, because I was STRUNG UP AND THEN TORTURED BY THE CRAZY FRENCH WOMAN." One of them says there's no way she could have built it by herself, and then we're reminded that she came here with a team and they probably did it and blah blah blah and you're thinking, "Just get to the precarious crossing of the rickety bridge that we know always happens in these situations," and Hurley's obviously thinking the same thing, because he sets off across the bridge, much to the consternation of the rest of the Goonies. Hurley says he's just checking it out, and tells them all to chill, et cetera. You know, it does make a certain sense for Hurley to go first, because, as Charlie will point out, if Hurley can make it across, then the bridge should hold the rest of them, right? Hurley does make it across, and beams a big grin right across the crevasse to the wusses on the other side. Charlie sets out, and...well, Hurley seems to have forgotten all about the jinx that he's been obsessed with all episode, or you'd think he'd have urged a little more caution. Charlie does, however, make it almost all the way across before the bridge collapses, and it's just a quick hop for Charlie and a "you okay, dude?" from Hurley, and Charlie's lifting his arms over his head and yelling like he's the heavyweight champeen. Jack yells over for the two of them to wait there and he and Sayid will find a way around and meet up with them. "Nah, screw that! You guys stay! There's a path right here --" Hurley yells, but Charlie freaks out, yelling, "Hurley, will you shut up and listen to Jack? He said stay put! You're acting like a bloody lunatic!" Delivered hilariously and impeccably by Dominic. Just thought I should point out that it's Charlie I don't like. Monaghan ain't no slouch. Hurley just glares at him.

This lone shack in the vast wasteland of the Australian outback is, presumably, Kalgoorlie. I mean it, this shack is probably the whole town. Hurley knocks on the door, which is opened by an older woman whose Australian accent seems to have been gleaned by a steady diet of Crocodiles Hunter and Dundee. "If this weren't the middle of nowhere, Oy'd say you were lost," she says. Hurley asks for Sam Toomey -- "Oy'm his woyfe!" she says -- and that he'd really like to talk to him. She'd like that too, apparently, as Sam's been dead for four years.

Sitting on the couch as Sam's Woyfe prepares tea, Hurley relays that he knew Leonard Sims, and Mrs. Toomey says they served together in the U.S. Navy, and asks how Leonard is, and if he's still in the service. "He's, um, retired," says Hurley, and it'd be awful nice of Hurley to be honest with the woman he's going to pump for information. He cautiously says that Lenny told him about Sam hearing "something." Mrs. Toomey is startled, then says, "You're talking about the numbers." She explains that Sam and Leonard were stationed at a listening post monitoring longwave transmissions over the Pacific: "Boring job. Sam hated it. Nothing to do but listen to static." Shit. Try recapping 7th Heaven sometime. Then one night, about sixteen years ago, there was something in the static. "A voice comes through, a voice repeatin' those numbers over and over again." Then, a couple of days later, they're at the Kalgoorlie fair where some "wally" has a jar "as big as a pony" (really?) filled with beans. "Fella's [but it sounds like 'Phil is'] offering fifty grand to anyone able to guess how many beans are in that jar, within ten." Hurley guesses that Sam used the numbers. And he was right, to the bean. Four billion, eight-hundred fifteen million, one-hundred-sixty-two thousand, three hundred and forty-two beans. I don't bleedin' think so. Not even in this supposedly pony-sized jar. Anyway, Mrs. Toomey says the man had been running the same scam for 40 years and no one'd ever come close. But they won the money. If this was a scam, why'd the guy admit Sam nailed the bean total?