Babylon

1. "Tableau," not "tableaux." Got it. I'd blame Sars for not catching that, but you wouldn't believe all the stuff she does catch, so I think it's best to not incur the wrath of the Grammarian Goddess.
2. Best e-mail of the week? This link.
3. Best spam headline of the week? "No More Premature Ejaculat"
4. Forty-seven.

We open with Brother Justin seated in the burnt-out ruins of Saint Chin's of the Holy Immolation, where he delivers an ominous voice-over that consists of a few judicious phrases from taken Revelations 18. "And he cried out with a mighty voice," he cries out with a mighty voice, "saying, 'Fallen! Fallen, is Babylon the great." Hmm. Fallen into a mine, perhaps? "And the Kings of the Earth, who committed acts of immorality and lived sensuously with her, will weep and lament when they see the smoke of her burning." Uh-oh. Has Aragorn been a naughty boy again? As we fade from Brother Justin to a shot of the carnie trucks heading down a dirt road, Justin himself fades from the beginning of the chapter to the end, without so much as a verbal ellipsis to speed us on our way. "Woe, woe, the great city of Babylon," he intones. "For in one hour your judgment has come." Well, actually, it was more like forty-seven minutes. But I'm guessing Brother Justin has never heard of syndication rights.

The trucks continue on down the road, where they run into John Hannah, otherwise known as the cutest little Scotsman in all of Texas. "This the road to Babylon?" asks Samson, despite the fact that even Lila already knows that it is. "Aye," replies John Hannah. "It's just over yonder past the wee little warp core. Turn left at Loch Ness and ye can't miss it." He's laying the accent on pretty thick here, primarily so that we can all get a good laugh when he cocks his eyebrow in response to Samson asking if he's from around here. Mr. Hannah claims to have been born and bred right there in Babylon, and then asks a stupid question of his own by wondering if they're "the carnival" when he's standing six inches away from the giant "Carnivàle" on the side of the truck. We also establish that he's planning on leaving town, but not before he gets the chance to deliver some vaguely creepy dialogue, so as to better set the proper atmosphere for this episode. You know what would have made this scene better? If he'd been carrying one of those bandana-pouches on the end of a stick. Hobos are always funny.

The trucks keep driving, and we get a lengthy wagon train sort of montage, which includes shots of the Cooch girls flirting with John Hannah as they pass, and a pack of dogs running alongside the last truck in line. Eventually they stop somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and everyone piles out to stretch their legs. "What the hell are we doing here?" wonders Random Roustie #3.. "Ma says Babylon is cursed," adds Meatloaf's Daughter. Oh, she does, does she? Remember that one later. There's much groaning and belly-aching among the ranks, led primarily by Gordon Gayko, who doesn't seem anywhere near as happy as you'd expect about finding a nice open stretch of desert where he can sun himself on a rock. The lone voice of reason here is Adrienne Barbeau, and if you've seen many of her movies, you know that's probably not a good sign. Samson doesn't care about their gripes, however, and just orders everyone to get to work. It's obvious that he's just as creeped out as the rest of them, though, because he totally fails to use the "Let's shake some dust" catchphrase he's been perfecting recently. By the way, am I the only one who thinks it's odd that Samson wears lifts?

Rather than do any work of his own, our fearless carnie leader instead returns to his trailer. He stomps back to the curtained-off area in the rear, and engages in the following conversation:

Samson: What are we doing here?
Management: I don't know. Talking to ourselves? Fighting an epic battle between good and evil? Intentionally confusing people for fun and profit? It could be anything at this point.
Samson: You gotta give me something to tell them.
Management: Heh. Chris Albrecht demanded the exact same thing. If I didn't tell him, I sure as hell ain't gonna tell you.
Samson: Dammit!

Notice, by the way, how Samson's dialogue is cleverly constructed to make it completely ambiguous as to whether or not he's actually hearing any replies. That too may be important later.

Outside, the work continues. And at a surprisingly rapid pace, considering that in the thirty seconds Samson spent talking to Management they've already managed to erect the carousel, six tents, and half the Ferris wheel. I need these guys to come over and help me move that new sofa. Gayko desperately begs Jonesy to talk Samson out of playing Babylon, but Jonesy learned his lesson on that one last week, and instead just spits a lot. Heh. Tim DeKay really seems to enjoy the spitting. When Gayko leaves, Random Roustie #3.wonders what "she" wanted, which makes me wonder if they maybe ran into Bill Parcells down there in Texas somewhere. Mr. Grumpy π then reveals that he and few others are planning on quitting after the show, which prompts Jonesy to observe that it would be a damn shame to lose a couple of "quibberdicks" like them. Hee! "Quibberdick." I'm totally using that in my conversations at work week. My day job is downright quibberdiculous. Ben, incidentally, must be feeling a little quibberdicky himself, because he suddenly puts down his sledgehammer for no good reason, and ignores Jonesy's call to get back to work as he stomps over to Lodz's trailer.

Inside, he finds Lodz lying in bed, shaking as though he's having some sort of seizure. After they trade a few olfactory insults, Ben pulls up a chair and makes himself at home. "I think I got something figured out," he announces, looking smug. "All by yourself?" wonders Lodz, looking even smugger. "Congratulations." Heh. Ben finally notices the shaking, and asks Lodz if he's suffering from "the clanks." Hmm. A Google search on "the clanks" turns up absolutely no references to any kind of disease, and a strangely high number of links to sites about Billy Joel. Yeah. I don't understand it, either. Whatever the "clanks" are, they do appear to be absinthe-related, because Ben goes on to say that Lodz is out of that "poodle-piss" he loves so much. The hell? Didn't he have like eighteen bottles last week? Hell, I even complimented the show on how subtly they were used to advance the plot. Although now that I think about it, if they actually were advancing the plot, that would have put them a lot closer to the black hole, so I probably shouldn't be surprised that they've vanished. Still smirking like the proverbial Cheshire cat that's been killed, brought back to life, and fed several canaries slathered in catnip and tuna fish, Ben offers once again to reveal whatever it is that he's figured out. Lodz makes a conscious effort to stop his shaking, and then sits up in bed and remains perfectly still as he focuses his white-on-white eyes in Ben's direction and declares that he's "all ears." "You don't know half as much as you pretend to," whispers Ben. Oy. That's what he figured out? What a fucking moron. "You have an infallible -- if tiresome -- gift for stating the obvious," observes Lodz. Yeah, yeah. I know. I get that a lot. Huh? What's that? You were talking to Ben? Oh. My bad.

They're interrupted at this point by Adrienne Barbeau, who comes in to say that Jonesy is pissed at Ben and he needs to get back to work. Only she uses lots of fancy Carnie lingo like "pulling a Houdini" to do it. Ben gets up to leave, which forces him to pass awkwardly close to Ms. Barbeau in the cramped confines of the trailer. Neither one seems to mind very much. Will that be important later? Who knows? Actually, to be perfectly honest, I know, but I'm not gonna tell you. Once Ben is gone, Adrienne asks Lodz how he's feeling. "Like I'm dying," is the answer. Remember that one when he goes hiking in a few minutes. She offers to fluff his pillow for him, but then reaches down and grabs it right out from under his head. "Listen, you old bastard," she snarls, "I don't know what you're doing, but I dont like it. You mess with that boy again and I will tear your pecker off like a piece of French bread! Don't believe me? Just ask Ernest Borgnine." Lodz, like most people faced with the mental image of Ernest Borgnine's disembodied penis, just starts shuddering and collapses into peals of uncontrollable laughter.

In another trailer nearby, Sofie and Mommatose are having a little talk.

Sofie: Fine! Then I'm carnival trash!
Mommatose: Oh, please. Stop being so dramatic. I didn't say "carnival trash." I said "Bartles Cherry Smash." I just want a damn wine cooler. Is that so wrong? And whatever happened to those Bartles & Jaymes boys anyway? They seemed like such nice fellas.
Sofie: Yeah well, nice fellas don't come to places like this looking for girls to marry, mother.
Mommatose: I didn't say you should get married, I just saidoy, never mind. Just get my damn drink, would you? And no Zima this time. That shit goes right through me and you'll just have to clean the bedpan again.
Sofie: You know what? I liked it.
Mommatose: Yeah. I know. That's what worries me. Did you make Pompadour Boy do the golden shower thing?
Sofie: I liked the way he held me! I liked the way he looked at me!
Mommatose: But not the way he pissed on you?
Sofie: You're wrong!
Mommatose: Damn. All right, fine. You win. He's a great pisser.
Sofie: He was mine. He gave himself to me.
Mommatose: In a specimen cup, no doubt.
Sofie: And he didn't knock me up.
Mommatose: Oh, my sweet, darling, nave little daughter. I know we've never had the telepathic sex talk and all, but you don't really think you can get pregnant just from a guy urinating, do you? I mean, you do know there's a couple extra steps involved, right?
Sofie: That only happens in dime novels.
Mommatose: And also fan-fic, but that's a different story.

Sofie steps out of the trailer and into the bright sunlight, and then consoles herself by watching the even more fucked-up family dynamic of the Cooches, who are practicing a new dance routine across the way. It seems Dora Mae has failed to inherit her (real-life) father's stage presence, because she keeps screwing up and dancing on the wrong foot. "Jeez!" she shouts in response to her mother's criticism. "All they're gonna want see is my titties. They don't care about no fancy dance steps." Oh, Dora. That kind of attitude is never going to get you an audition with Silvio. Ma Cooch tells her to "show some pride" and be more like her sister, which given the context is again either really creepy or really sexy. I'm still not quite sure where I fall in that particular spectrum. True story: I had a dream this week where Amanda Aday replaced Liv Tyler in that one Aerosmith video, and then her and Alicia Silverstone came over to my apartment, put on their Catholic schoolgirl uniforms, and proceeded to berate me for using "tableaux" instead of "tableau" in last week's recap. Creepy? Sexy? Indicative of deep-seated psychological trauma? You be the judge.

The family fight breaks up, with all the Cooches going their separate ways, and Sofie comes over to sit down beside Libby. Carla Gallo, by the way, looks quite fetching in black leather hot-pants and a bra that's three sizes too big. Now that's definitely sexy. But is it creepy that I think so? They share a cigarette (flickahh), and then Sofie tentatively asks, "How does a person know when she's pregnant?" I don't know. Maybe when your comatose telekinetic mother says you are? Isn't that how EPT does it? Libby is surprised to hear that Sofie is sexually active, and Sofie just gives a little smile to show how proud she is of having had unsatisfying sex on the floor of a married man's diner while her mother almost choked to death in the middle of a blinding sandstorm. But hey, we've all been there, right? "Did the guy wear anything?" asks Libby. "He kept his socks on," answers Sofie. Oh, all right. Heh. But there's no way she's really that stupid. Libby clarifies that she was talking about a condom (although she calls it a "skin"), and Sofie isn't sure if Pompadour Boy wore one or not. "Well, you're probably not pregnant," explains Libby. "You can't get pregnant your first time." Oy. And you thought Sofie was the dumb one. The girls giggle a bit at the naughty topic of their conversation, and then totally fail to start making out, which also happened in a dream I had this week.

Elsewhere, Ben is shaving. In a rearview mirror. With a straight razor. No wonder he looks like crap all time. Without seeing who's speaking, we suddenly hear someone say, "One of my titties is a whole lot bigger than the other." I amuse myself for a moment by imaging who it might have been that said it. Lila? Gayko? Avogadro's Roustie? Nope. It's Meatloaf's Daughter, and I do at least have to give her props for having a much better pick-up line that her sister's whole "gritty teeth" bit. I mean, come on. If a girl said that to me in a bar, there's no way I'm not going home with her. Insert your own "If a girl even said 'Hello' to him in a bar" joke here. Ben's reply? "Oh. Yeah, I hadn't noticed." Hee! I once dated a girl with the same condition in high school, and the infrastructure in her bras remains to this day one of the greatest marvels of engineering I've ever witnessed. Dora Mae saunters on over to Ben, and begins to exposit her backstory while she still has the chance. "I started dancing when I was thirteen," she tells him. "Not much to look at then. Not 'til I got my titties. Mama says they're a gift." And that they are. Then she leans in close, wipes some extraneous shaving cream from his face, and puckers up her lips after whispering, "I bet you're a real good kisser." Ben just walks away without saying (or kissing) anything, and Dora Mae smiles as she stares as his rapidly departing ass.

And speaking of rapidly departing asses, Jonesy is still giving Samson the silent treatment over last week's dust storm debacle. After some extensive prodding (which would have been cooler if Samson had used his walking stick to do some actual prodding), Jonesy finally explodes and says that neither the rousties nor the performers are happy about playing Babylon. "You got a bunch of rousties back there [numbers 63 through 186,000] who ain't been paid squat since Milfay," he adds. "String of bad luck," replies Samson. Um, excuse me? What happened to all the money they made off the revival? Did they blow it all on fresh eggs and bacon? Because that's still a better paycheck than I've gotten from a few jobs. "Tell you what," offers Samson. "Let's go into town tonight. Blow off a little steam. It's on me." Jonesy doesn't know whether to spit or get off the pot after hearing that one.