"Jake Foley was an ordinary guy, until a freak accident made him into the first computer-enhanced man." It's hard to pick out what specifically in that sentence rankles me. Perhaps because I keep thinking of people that have medical implants (like an artificial heart) who are monitored over the internet, before Jake had his nanite-infusing accident. Or maybe it's that the term "computer-enhanced" is so maddeningly vague. It's like when an infomercial calls a pasta pot or a blemish cover-up "advanced" when it's just an innovation. This nanotechnology stuff is really cool, but the repetitious vague teasers forced on us loyal viewers are really not. Be more specific! Thanks.
We open at the NSA. Jake, sweaty and winded, punches the hell out of some unlucky man's chiseled torso. Jake brandishes a finger in the man's faceless face and says he's got a chance to do this the easy way. "Where's the bomb? Oh, you think you're tough?" Ahoo, slug slug punch. Punch punch punch, slug, ahoo. Then Jake punches a hole in the human-shaped punching bag's nonexistent face. Oh, it was a dummy. What a relief. The Man walks in and says dryly, "Remind me not to piss you off." And it's time for some new business.
A sexual harassment seminar. Hooray, I love Sexual Harassment Panda. A lady who looks like Anna Wintour (it's her bobbed hair) explains that "the workplace is not your home," and the PowerPoint presentation on the screen shows...little faux-alphabet building blocks with male and female signs, instead of ABCs? That's some Onion-esque PowerPoint for you. The PowerPoint people I know have great senses of humor; this person must be no different. Jake takes a handful of pamphlets and looks at them. The Man is all, pass them down, Jake. Jake says he collects seminar pamphlets. The Man rolls his eyes heartily, along with everyone else watching. A man sneaks in late and puts a chair to Dr. Thora. Would she feel harassed if he sat there? She might. "Please don't sue." I hate people that crack stupid, obvious jokes at boring, non-work-related, work-imposed seminars. Ergo, I hate this guy. Dr. Thora whispers to him, "I gotta touch ya." Ew, she's flirting with him! She's flirting back! Well, she has needs. Jake's hearing does that mee mee mee mee mee! Thing, and he eavesdrops all the way down the hall and into the War Room, where the assembled staff is listening to the satellite listen in first on a domestic argument ("No, the big gray one controls the TiVo!"), then something in Spanish -- or is that Polish? It's a mobile phone call out of Vienna. A creepy guy with a scar on his face is intrigued at the offer of American dollars, then agrees to come to D.C. on Monday. Then he says to a man cowering behind a desk that he's "very sorry. About the rug." Creepiovitch then kills the cowering man. Yikes!
Credits. Jake's life just got reeeeeal interesting.
We're deep inside the NSA. Dr. Thora makes a date to "grab a bite" (!) after work with the seminar playa, then deflects Jake's nosey question. What did she do this weekend? Who's that guy? Jake just stayed in and "watched all the football" while making sure the couch stayed in one spot. Dr. Thora spent a little time with Seminar Playa, who's a "code-breaker." Jake hollers after Dr. Thora's departing figure that "those code-breaker guys are weird!" Dr. Thora wants to know if they ever display "classic antisocial behavior like never leaving their couch all weekend." Touché, Dr. Thora. You win this round. Actually, you win a few dates and, for now, a life. Jake, you win the knowledge that you're losing the game of Social Life, and a phone call. From Sarah, who will hereafter be called Whocaresah, since no one likes her. Wow, they're actually having a real phone conversation! Not just playing phone tag! Now that's progress -- if you're a loser. Whocaresah asks Jake to meet her at the St. Sebastian's fundraiser tomorrow night. She "knows it's kind of boring." Hey, don't oversell it. I find that free events are great places to bring dates. But sometimes the best kind of dates are the kind when you just sit around the apartment and talk, and drink, and listen to music. Which brings me to this week's installment of Tales From Alex's Harem.
This week has been pretty good. I'm still seeing Funhouse and Styles, two very sweet, smart guys I like hanging out with. Yes, that's right: two dudes. It only gets complicated when I think about their feelings (specifically, on not hurting them, ever). So on Thursday, I went out to lunch with Funhouse at this Italian restaurant in Center City called Portofino, which is as elegant as Le Bec-Fin but with all the old-school charm of South Philly. We went for the delicious, inexpensive food, but hey -- why not have a little wine with lunch? We split a $22 bottle of a nice red from D'Abruzzo, then landed on my couch and listened to the new Strokes record. Mmmaybe we had a little more wine. You know what happens when you have wine with lunch and go home and listen to records all afternoon? You turn around and it's like after 11 PM, and the video store is closed already, and it's too late for dinner so you go out for a quick beer, which turns out to be a six-pack to go. That's when the interesting conversations happen. They don't happen when you hole up in your apartment and watch football all weekend, Jake. Or at fundraisers billed by the invitee as "boring." You have to make your own fun. And, you know, not work so hard, and get out of the house, and actually make plans with ladies so you can get some real face time with them. Maybe even sucking-face time. Dare to dream, dude. The Man comes up and tells "Mr. Roboto" to report to the War Room. Jake is all, "Mr. Roboto? You're dating yourself, dude." Jake, you're dating your hand. And that song is only as dated as the charming Volkswagen commercials of 2001, so nyah. Come sail away with those apples.
In the War Room, Jake watches binary code flash by and listens to the computer groan like whale song. Jake says, "It sounds like a dying hippo!" A hippo coming through Carole Anne's closet in Poltergeist, maybe. Don't go into the light, hippo! Or, do. Blargh. Leader of the Pack was hoping Jake could interface with the hippo, which is "actually a -generation encryption program." But it's being difficult, so Jake needs to go in and figure out some stuff. Jake virtually leaps into the 0s and 1s and apologizes, "It's still gibberish." Leader says, "No it's not. It's Polish."
Another mug shot (this one less styled than last week's Gap-ad-ready shot of Kid Suspect) fills the screen of the War Room, this time of Creepiovitch. He's a dangerous mercenary who's skilled in the art of omelets -- I mean, "abduction." Leader wants him captured. Now. The transcripts of the phone call we eavesdropped in on earlier arrive. Creepiovitch will get $7 million to show up and off someone. One word isn't translated: "NARODOWY." It's a bank in Poland, Jake finds out quickly, and then asks the blonde to access the security tapes for the branch. She says she can if The Man asks her to. Jake does that pretending to be talking/major sassmouth thing all little kids and stunted adults do when shot down, and The Man asks her to do what Jake just asked. Jake; smart and smart-assed. Leader is all, "What are we missing?" The Man says, "There's always La Fortunada." What? Leader says, "Show him."
Now we're so deep inside the bowels of the NSA I think I can actually smell poop. Jake is carrying two huge boxes of files and listening to The Man pepper him with commands. "Speak only in short, terse phrases. Under no circumstances will you engage. Got it?" I have a question. Should my short, terse phrases also be brief? Is it all right with you if I make them succinct, too? I'm also a fan of brevity. It's the soul of, um, what's that thing? It's not like jokes, but can be funny. Oh, right. Wit. Anyway, with The Man's build-up, I'm expecting Anthony Hopkins behind a Plexiglas shield, or better yet, Leonard Peltier eating croissants with Mumia-Abu Jamal, but behind the steel red door is none other than Scotty, from Dead Last! Now that was a show I loved to recap, too, with low ratings (like this one), but Jake 2.0 won't get cancelled off the site before it gets cancelled off the air. At least, I'm wishing it won't. Scotty was the affable drummer, very Jack Blackian in stature and comedy styling (a.k.a. fat and frenetic), and I'm so glad he's here. Loved him then, love him now. He's out from behind his desk in moments, hearing "that clarion call" meaning his country needs him. The Man shows him a picture of Creepiovitch; Scotty knows him. "He's a heavy hitter." The Man wants him to find out who has called him up to bat, as it were. Scotty is down, just let him make "a few HUNDRED phone calls." He laughs like Top Cat, all wheezy and breathy. He says he could write a book if he hadn't signed a ton of release forms that require he not do so. Then he notices Jake, and shakes his hand while squeezing his shoulder with the other hand. Very touchy-feely, this Seymour La Fortunada. They do a few fumbling soul-brother handshake moves (The Man watches them with a wry little smile) as Seymour runs down his résumé in short, terse phrases. He helped apprehend such high-profile criminals as the Unibomber, the Unicorn Killer, and Nafari-alas Khan. His "magic? [He] read[s] people." Like a menu. Jake makes a perfect mock-enthused "wow, that's great" crossed with a "this guy is nuts" face, and then The Man's phone rings. "Facial ID has a hit." Seymour gives the departing spy guys a raised-fist salute and a "go get 'em!" You too, honey.
We're at a bank. Jake and The Man ask the stern, mole-faced manager to release Creepiovitch's financial information. The manager is a real smitty and asks for their subpoena. Jake says dryly that he "left it in the car." The Man is all, "In the time it would take us to petition a judge, very bad things could happen." Jake's eyes blaze in a burst of nano-power and he gets the info from Smitty's computer, conveniently located right behind him. Jake gets Creepiovitch's balance -- $500,000 bucks -- and the two are on their way.
Back in the War Room, The Man suggests they trace the routing number of the hefty deposit. Leader is all, why is he cashing checks on American soil? Jake types in the number and gets to work.
Jake staggers into Dr. Thora's lab. After tracing the routing number to "one hundred and thirty-three dead ends," he complains that his "eyes are bleeding. I mean, really bleeding." Like Shack's ears bled after listening to Clay Aiken'sMeasure of a Man? Or like Strega's eyes bleed after seeing Spike talk for two hours? Jake, may I suggest a good old line reading of "Shut up, routing number"? Diane stuffs items in her bag and pays Jake no attention. Except when he asks if his eyes are actually bleeding, and she looks at him to say, "No." Her parting words as she runs out the door are, "See a movie?" He follows her down the hall, asking what a movie is. "One of those big bright things on walls for two hours?" She runs onto the elevator and says, "Just do something with a human." Heh. He stares at her intensely and says, "Want to come over and play Boggle?" No, but I'll play Scrabble anytime. Sometimes Sars and I play Literati on Yahoo! Games, but it's been a while. Boggle is annoying because you can make "porn," but not "porno." At least that's what the people I played against said. Losers, I tells ya. Dr. Thora says she'd love to play Boggle, usually, but tonight…? The elevator door opens and oh look, it's Seminar Playa. He and Jake awkwardly shake hands, nearly crushing Dr. Thora and her delicate frame. SP asks if Dr. Thora wants to get some pizza for dinner ("White pizza? Freakishly white, but still tangy?"), and maybe Jake would like to come along too. He'll buy the first pitcher! Jake declines, looking like he'd rather have bleeding eyeballs.
Jake slavishly, antisocially works away in the War Room. He looks at Creepiovitch's images on the bank's security cameras until he falls asleep in front of the computer. Then, after he drools and snoozes for a few hours, the computer beeps with a location. Jake and The Man are off like thongs on prom night.
Jake and The Man sit in a car together. Mmmm...stakeout. The Man asks if Jake even has to sleep anymore, because of the nanites. Jake says no; he just has to plug himself into an outlet for a few hours and he's good to go. The Man smirks a bit, then asks if he hears that Six Million Dollar Man sound when he jogs. "You know, doo!doo!doo!doo!doo!" Jake is all, "You're dating yourself again!" Oh, please. Knowledge of the Six Million Dollar Man's sound effects should be common knowledge for all J2 fans and viewers. And is this a shout-out? Keckler thought so, but she's my homie. Then The Man spots Creepiovitch. Then, just as quickly, he's gone. Jake and The Men set out on foot to give chase.
Jake marches slowly down an alley, hears breathing in a dumpster, and goes to investigate. Creepiovitch leaps out and slices Jake across the abdomen with a long, sharp knife. The Man runs up and radios for help. Creepiovitch gets away. Oh, Jake!
Dr. Thora runs past the security guards to check out Jake and his shirtless, pierced abdomen. One lab tech says, "You have a lot of guts, Jake, but if it weren't for the nanites I'd be stuffing them back inside you right now." You know, I could write a paper on the similarities between Jake and Buffy Summers. They both suffer from the responsibilities that were thrust on them against their will. They are victims of circumstance; fate decided their roles, and they chose to live up to the challenges. Buffy also had to limp through two under-watched seasons before really finding an audience. Jake doesn't have a peer-led Scooby gang, though. And where'd his motherfucking nemesis go at? Buffy had a few foils. The lab tech ran the diagnostic; Jake's fine now, the cut was superficial. "One inch deeper, though..." So Jake was lucky and protected by nanites. Dr. Thora apologizes for not being there earlier. "Late night, kind of." Jake is all, with Seminar Playa? "You guys are moving kind of fast, aren't you?" Ooh. Jake is jealous, Jake is jealous! The lab's phone rings; it's SP, calling to dish about the movie he saw with Dr. Thora. She says the prosthetic was fake, and Jake leaves, saying it was really "more of a slash than a stabbing." He walks by SP in the hallway, who proclaims himself to be more of a "Joanne Woodward man." Wow, what a line to say to a girl who thinks she's plain.
Jake pulls up SP's file to peruse it. He was born in Alexandria, VA, which I'll take as a shout-out. My name has two cities of Virginia in it. Then Leader and The Man come in and want to know more about Creepiovitch. One corporation that may have provided cash to the Polish killer has links to some other creepy guy, Vassily. Jake decides to pay a visit to La Fortunada.
La Fortunada on Vassily: "Ooh." It also could be "Ew." Or possibly "Ewe." Jake echoes the vowel sound. Why "ewe"? Because the last person that stepped to Vassily? "Vassily cut his hands off and sent them to his wife for Christmas." Ooh. You won't find that on any Amazon wish list. Jake will keep it in mind. La Fortunada says, "You're the field agent, in spite of the lack of shoulder holster. What's up with that, anyway? Oh, never mind. Bye Jake!" Hey, if you notice a lack of shoulder holster in the first act, that nonexistent shoulder holster better go off in the third.
We land at the St. Sebastian fundraiser, the theme of which is "a night in Atlantic City." I can't think of anything seedier and more depressing. Maybe a night in Reno, NV. All they meant by A.C. was boardwalk stuff, like knocking over milk bottles for cheap stuffed animals -- no crime or casinos. Yawn. Jake sees Whocaresah and pronounces her "fan-tabulous," though she looks rather awful with her hair all scraped back in a too-tight braided ponytail (extensions, I bet) and a cropped burgundy leather jacket. Jake tries to get the date off to a good start by mentioning all the cash he has on hand. "I have money to burn filling my...Diane?" Yup, Dr. Thora and Seminar Playa are there, too. SP was "all-city" and is a St. Sebastian alum. Jake is so not thrilled to see them, or to get this butch info on SP. The four stand around awkwardly, the ladies with their soft, fuzzy focus and the men in sharp, wrinkly relief. Let the carnival games begin.
Jake, with all his nanites, gets his ass kicked at the more jocular games by jocky SP. Whocaresah and Dr. Thora watch on the sidelines and talk. Whocaresah says she thought there was something between Jake and Dr. Thora. And did she say she and Jake were in the same division of the NSA? How could medical research and IT be in the same division? Dr. Thora clutches the huge stuffed dog SP wins her and says, "Heh."
Jake and SP toss rings on bottles. SP is all, "Does Dr. Thora ever mention me?" Jake lies and says no, then grits his teeth when SP wins another giant stuffed dog. Okay, the dogs are shout-outs, right? Well, they would be if they were robot dogs.
Jake sees a strength-testing game and can't miss a chance to show up SP. In his zeal to humiliate the guy that's dating the girl he ignored for months, he completely annihilates the hammer and wins the game. The mallet head actually flies off and almost clips SP. The carnie gives Jake a blue velvet frog and says without inflection or enthusiasm, "Winner." Kind of sounds like "wiener." Oh look, there's Creepiovitch, watching from atop a roller coaster! Dr. Thora sidles up to Jake and hisses, "Cheater!" Then, "Ooh, churros!" She grabs SP and is off. Jake spies Creepiovitch and ditches Whocaresah. He tells SP to call in a Code 9 ("suspect name Vassily!") and heads out to intercept Creepiovitch. Which he does, in the parking lot, alone. Then Creepiovitch pulls out a knife. Oh, boy. Then SP leaps out of nowhere and slams Creepiovitch down onto a car -- then pulls a gun on him, and cocks the trigger. Jake screams at him not to shoot. "He's already down, man!" SP relaxes his trigger finger, and Creepiovitch is spared.
The Man heads toward another Plexiglas habitrail; Creepiovitch is inside. The Man sips coffee and says he didn't bring Creepiovitch any. Sorry! Creepiovitch just says, "It's a diuretic." The Man agrees that maybe those that live in clear cells shouldn't drink a lot of fluids, particularly ones that make one pee. What a charming conversation. Creepiovitch asks if The Man is going to torture him, or just "talk [him] to death." Aren't these lines mostly filler? Someone sneeze and say, "Exposition!"
Dr. Thora examines Jake's sexy sexy abdominal wound and says SP may be made a field agent. "He's getting a commendation, you know!" Jake couldn't care less. "There's room for two heroes around here -- don't be jealous." Too late. Jealousy is a stupid emotion, but it's there, like a pimple, or tonsils. Jake hisses that SP is divorced, but Dr. Thora already knows. "Wait a minute...have you been checking up on him?" Nooo! He's got other things to do, like a weekend of TV football to take in. Dr. Thora is totally grossed out that Jake looked into SP's background. Jake wants to know "why a crypto-guy carries a gun to a carnival!" Dr. Thora says half the people in the building and the country carry guns. Sure, but does that make it right, in context? Jake says there's something wrong with SP, and Dr. Thora says Jake "has lost the ability to relate on a personal level." To which I must add, "lost"? Jake's been fumbling all along. Jake just then remembers running out on Whocaresah. He tells Dr. Thora they kissed a week ago, but he has "no clue" what the step in their relationship should be, "because she can never know the real me!" What with the nanites and all. Nanites are like cooler herpes. They're forever, but harmless, and yet they still freak people out. Jake concludes, "Nobody can ever know the real me! Nobody but you." Dr. Thora says, "I'm here for you...there is life outside this building." Jake had better start helping himself.
It's a cool fall night. Jake waits for Whocaresah in a park. When she arrives, he apologizes for everything, but she stops him. "I don't think either of us expected there to be anything there...you don't have to keep coming up with these stories to explain the fact that you're hesitant." Jake tries to deny any hesitation in his actions; it's just that he doesn't want to "wreck this." Whocaresah says she needs Jake to be "completely, totally" honest with her. I'm sorry, but Jake came clean in like the third episode to her about his field agent status, and she laughed him off. Don't you ever listen, Whocaresah? Shut up, Whocaresah.
Leader and The Man hunker down for another lengthy, detailed rant from La Fortunada. The corporation that fronted the cash to Creepiovitch is a front for local Mafia types, mainly KGB. Leader is all, "Why would ex-KGB want to send a mercenary to D.C.?" Because they're infatuated with nanotechnology. "Whoever they are, they're obsessed and they have deep, deep pockets. Whoever it is, you better get them protected, since it's not going to end with this Vassily character." Jake! Leader and The Man are out of there.
Sitting on a park bench, Whocaresah is stunned. Jake has, I guess, spilled his entire story to his college crush. She's all, "There's these tiny robots? And they got inside you? And now you have these superhuman abilities? Okay." She stands up, then wheels around and smacks him in the face. "I just asked you to be honest with me, Jake! You know what? It's been a blast." That chick just does not listen. Jake watches her go, and then a car screeches up the path behind him. It's The Man. Jake shields his eyes from the glare of the headlights. "Do you have to be so dramatic?" The Man is all, "Get in."
So, 46 minutes in, Jake learns the news that Creepiovitch is really after nanotechnology. "He could have had me -- twice!" But Jake's nano-stuff is classified information. Dr. Thora's name is probably a little better known, right? The Man and Jake head off to the hamster habitrail to ask Creepiovitch some questions.
Too late. His throat has been slit. More of a slash, really. He's dead. The Man yells at the oblivious security guard, who stammers that no unauthorized personnel have been in to visit the prisoner. Well, that means it was an authorized person that killed him. Who? Right. Seminar Playa. He's a mole, a spy, and cut out the middleman (Creepiovitch) to deliver the goods himself.
And deliver he will -- he and Dr. Thora are in the car, dressed up all nice. Where are they going, asks Dr. Thora? Oh, says SP, it's a surprise.
Okay, 51 minutes in, and we know the villains and what has to happen. I hope we can wrap this up in time for the scenes from week! This show is slow to unfold. In the War Room, the staff pinpoints Dr. Thora's location.
Dr. Thora gets out of SP's car, which is parked by the water. A lovely boat bobs nearby. Does Dr. Thora like boats? She does. Ooh, boats! Too bad it's an evil boat. An evil, climactic boat.
The Man and Kyle rush past a billboard that says unconvincingly that "Virginia is for lovers." Jake is open-mouthed, a ball of stress. I hate billboards too, man.
They arrive by the dock. Jake uses his super-hearing to catch Dr. Thora moan, "Oh, Steve, this is SO impressive!" Jake takes off running after the boat, which is pulling away. Jake races after it and takes a huge leap -- mee mee mee mee mee! He makes it onto the boat, landing with a whump. Dr. Thora is all, whaa? SP emerges with champagne, then pulls a gun on Jake. Dr. Thora is all, whaa? SP apologizes, since he really likes her and all, "but you can't imagine how much they're paying me." Dr. Thora says, "Turn the boat around." SP laughs. "That will never happen." Jake uses his nanites to adjust the direction of the boat. The sudden jerk makes SP lose his grip on the gun, and he and Jake fight over it. Jake wins, naturally. Good thing, we're at 54 minutes! Almost out of show! Jake hurt his sliced abdomen, and Dr. Thora comforts him. Aww, Jake! Your face is all contorted in pain! Is it physical pain, or the mental anguish that you almost lost the one woman that understands you?
Dr. Thora, head down, partially in shadow, recites, "Ugly, lying, bastard. Lonely, solo, sadly, badly, and madly. That's all I got, it's your turn." Jake says he has "tush. And, um, tushie. I guess you win. Again." She says she feels like an idiot for being "wined and dined and sold into white scientist slavery." Ooh, I want a white scientist slave to boss around. I will name him Egghead and smear his white coat all the livelong day. Dr. Thora jokes weakly that Jake was just trying to save her from "the worst breakup ever." Jake says he wins that one. Pity party, pity party! Mmm, these tears are so salty! Just like the chips. Dr. Thora leans in and asks if Jake thinks he can take her. He stares, then she lifts the Boggle lid and shakes the letters. He can't compete with her brain. "The only word you don't know is 'mercy'." Heh. Seriously? "You have an amazing mind." Dr. Thora says she can't wait until someone is after her for her body. One day, Dr. Thora. One day.