Joan's walking down the street by herself, reading her math homework aloud. Some dope on a skateboard comes barreling across her path and sideswipes her, sending all of her papers flying. He tells her to watch it. Watch this, jackass. She yells, "Thank you!" sarcastically and adds to herself, "Very much." As she tries to gather up her papers which are all blowing around, she's swarmed by dogs on leashes. Dog Walker God is back! As the dogs sniff excitedly at her papers, he reminds her to look where she's going. Joan: "Thanks for the lecture. It helps right now." He holds up a scrap of paper and comments on the D she got on her geometry test. Wouldn't he, like, know that already? I realize it's fairly trivial in the scheme of things God has to worry about, but I thought God was all about the details. Joan: "Yes! A D! And now the dogs are actually eating my homework! What is this, Take a Cosmic Dump on Joan Day?" God points out he's helping her pick up her stuff: "You're not being very appreciative." Kids these days. Joan snaps, "You want some appreciation? Ease up on the homework and the tests! Maybe toss a lightning bolt at that twerp on the skateboard!" God has other ideas, as usual. He wants her to take piano lessons. Joan gestures at her armful of ragged papers and asks, "Do you see this, All-Seeing One? Huh? I have a Noah's Arkload of homework already." He restates his request. Joan reminds him that she took lessons when she was younger and that he knows he much she hated them. He thought she was kind of good: "I mean, you were solidly in the groove on 'Eensy-Weensy Spider,' remember?" "Eensy-Weensy"? Never heard of that until now. I was brought up with "Itsy-Bitsy." From the forum discussions on the matter, it seems people are almost evenly divided between "Itsy-Bitsy" and "Eensy-Weensy." I guess it's one of those regional things, like whether you call carbonated sugar water "pop," "soda," "soft drink," or "Coke." (The idea that someone would call all such drinks "Coke" is rather frightening to me. What do you ask for if you want orange soda? Orange Coke?) Or whether you call it "frosting," "icing," or the latest compromise, "fricing." The fine people at Harvard have done a whole study on things like this. Marvel at the good chunk of the population that apparently talks like Cletus. Anyway. Joan tries another tack: her parents can't afford lessons. Good one! Especially since it's probably true. God assures her she'll figure it out. As he walks away, she says, "No! I won't!" In a variation on the Godwave, he just points at the house she's standing in front of. She looks and sees a hand-lettered cardboard sign advertising piano lessons on the porch post. Man. That God thinks of everything.
After the credits, Joan knocks on the door of the house, which is a big, beautiful old place with leaded glass windows and lots of gingerbread -- which some of you might call "bargeboard." (Something the Harvard people didn't study.) Nurse Ratched opens the door. Through the screen door, she crabs, "What do you want?" Joan peers at something inside -- I can't tell what -- and answers, "Piano lessons." The older lady puts on a huge pair of those very 1970s career woman glasses and asks if Joan's parents are forcing her. Joan says they're not. The piano teacher exhales noisily and asks, "Then why?" Joan mutters unconvincingly about how she used to play when she was little and she misses it. Another moan from the teacher. Joan tries again, saying, "Because someone very important thought I was good at 'Eensy-Weensy Spider' -- how many reasons do you need?" The teacher says, "Fifty. You got fifty bucks?" Joan: "Fifty?" The reply: "Yeah. That'll barely cover the scotch I'll need after listening to another kid butcher Bach." As Joan says the cost might be a bit of a problem, the teacher closes the door in her face. Joan knocks again and suggests she could pay in installments. The teacher looks thrilled about that. Joan then suggests she could work for the lessons, maybe do some housecleaning for her. The piano teacher pounces on that: "You saying I keep a dirty house?" Joan stammers about that, and the teacher tells her to come back tomorrow at 4:30: "Bring your old exercise books. And if I have nothing to build on, you're out on your keister!" She shuts the door again, and Joan yells at her that that's not very nice. From inside, we hear a muffled voice: "Get off my porch!"
At the Girardi house, Luke is asking Kevin, "You sure you want me to do this?" Kevin, lying on his stomach, says, "Come on! Independent research. It's your kind of thing." Luke is wiping a dart with alcohol. Luke: "Sticking a dart in my brother's butt is a lot of things, but it's not my kind of thing." Kevin asks if he's ready. Luke: "Not really, but…yes." Kevin warns Luke to keep his yap shut about this. Luke: "You think this is something I'd publicize?" Kevin considers that and realizes his secret's safe. He tells Luke to go ahead, and not to tell him when he's going to do it. Luke sighs and gingerly lifts the waistband of Kevin's pyjamas, remarking, "Oh, this is uncomfortable on so many levels." He pokes Kevin -- pretty high up, like a couple of inches below the waistband. According to one of our forum posters who should know, it's actually the perianal area that should be tested. But Luke probably wouldn't be that good a brother, and I doubt CBS is going there, either. Kevin says mildly, "Ow." Luke reflexively stammers an apology, and Kevin flips over and hangs his head off the edge of the bed, saying, "No. It's great. I felt it. I actually felt it." He lets out a fierce jock-like "Woo!" and Luke follows suit with a weaker, not as jock-like "Woo!"
Joan wanders into math class and sees Adam sitting on his desk and talking to Iris. He's wearing some boldly printed, vintage-looking, fugly shirt that could well be made of some synthetic material. It's so not Adam. It's not even Friedman. (Speaking of him…it feels like a long time since we saw him. My "Shut it, Friedman" reflex is getting rusty.) Joan snipes, "What's this? Crazy Shirt Day? 'Cause you are totally winning." Adam says that Iris gave it to him. Joan sits down behind Iris and says, "Oh! So this is a…choice." Iris snots, "It's vintage. Still has the original tag." I hope she meant "had" and not "has." Joan tells Adam, "You look like an escapee from a VH-1 special." Wow. I don't much care if she puts on the bitchface for Iris, but it's killing me for her to talk to him this way -- even if it's directed at his girlfriend. Iris turns around and asks, "You think the JC Penney hoodies were a good look for A?" I think "A" never concerned himself with a "look" until you came along, that's what I think. Joan insists, "They were Adam. This is not." Adam: "I like it, Jane." Joan: "No. You don't. You can't, unless you're…blind…or…" She mouths the word "her" while she points at Iris's back. Iris says, "I can't help it if you don't get fashion." Which is a fair comeback and all, but there's something about the fake, pained smile Iris gives Joan that makes me want to slap her. The bell rings, and Joan says, "I just think you should let A be Adam…okay, 'I'?" Heh. I'll take that as a shout-out.
The math teacher arrives and says he's glad to hear her talking about A: "Approach the board, please." Joan glares at the back of Iris's head as she gets up. Hey, this was directed by Rob Morrow. And he did a damn fine job, too. Just like Timothy Busfield did with "Jump." Those aren't my favourite guys in front of the camera, but they sure did fine jobs behind them. The teacher asks Joan to show them the Pythagorean theorem. He draws a square on the board, bisects it and labels it. Joan looks nervous and says quietly, "Um, Pythagorean. That's…someone from Pythagorea?" Oy. Don't mind me while I slap myself senseless. I know they want to inject some laughs into the show, but do they have to be at the expense of Joan's intellect? So often she's made out to be a ditz which, despite many pop culture manifestations to the contrary, is not appealing or endearing but merely tiresome. It's also is rather inconsistent with the way she's characterized at other times. For instance, she's comfortable using the word "acerbic," but doesn't know what "oxymoron" or "pariah" mean, or what the difference is between "anti-climactic" and "anti-climatic," or between a "messianic complex" and a "miscellaneous complex." Please, find some other way to make us laugh. This is cheap and it diminishes Joan's character. She can be ordinary in some ways without being clueless. She doesn't have to be Marilyn vos Savant -- I wouldn't buy that, either -- but could she be smart about something? Good at something? Really interested in something? She either sucks at everything she tries (boat building, chess, band, laundry) or she's accidentally good at it (jumping rope, debate, roasting the garlic, throwing a party). Well, she was really good at wrecking Adam's sculpture, but…let's not get into that. Actually, I'd love to see her get interested in some activity on her own and be all annoyed with God for trying to take her away from it to do some other project. Maybe she could turn out to be a champion kick boxer.
Anyway, the peanut gallery murmurs and titters; Iris folds her arms and looks smug. Shut up, Iris's expression. Adam looks troubled on Joan's behalf. Is Iris blind? Can she not see how crazy in love with Joan he is? There are people in the Amazon jungle who've never even seen a television set who can see it. The teacher blathers about math, saying that Pythagoras taught that all life is connected through math: "The study of prime and square numbers not only built the basics of geometry but also music, astronomy…" Joan asks in a quiet, hesitant voice, "This is about music…?" Mr. Math says, "My! Showing some interest, Ms. Girardi? Finally trying to, mmm, pass the class, are we?" Joan says -- without much conviction -- that she's going to pass. He asks her to show that the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the sides squared. After hesitating, Joan points out, "I can add fractions." I think you all know what that slapping sound is.
Joan and Grace are rummaging through a closet at Joan's house, looking for Joan's old piano books. Joan wonders how she'll ever find it in all the crap, and mocks her mother for keeping the first baby garment she ever spit up on: "'Aw, vomit. How cute!'" Grace inquires, "What's up with the piano? Don't you have enough going on?" Joan agrees she has too much. Grace: "So you're going to pile more on?" Joan doesn't answer. Grace: "Trying to get your mind off Rove is making you goofy, dude." Joan claims she's not thinking about him, adding, "It's just this new disco look that got to me. I mean, how can he let Iris pick out his clothes?" She and Grace sit on the floor and start going through boxes. Grace: "She probably does it after they make out…you know, when he has no will of his own." She really loves taunting Joan with that. Joan: "Bad image. Very bad image." Grace: "It's the truth. Dangle even the most remote possibility of sex before a guy -- they're your slaves." Frink: "Especially in high school." Grace asks, "Didn't you ever see that movie, Queen of Outer Space with Zsa Zsa Gabor?" Joan: "Why would I?" Grace tells her to rent it: "Brilliant cautionary tale." She continues, "Now, if you were willing to…" Joan insists, "Adam and I are over." Grace: "Yeah…that's why you don't care what he wears, or uh…" Joan: "Don't you have a Hebrew class you should be at?" Grace: "Yeah. Why do you think I'm here?"
Joan finds some photos of her father. Grace grabs one and points out, "He looks about six in this picture and already he's dressed like a cop." Joan says it's because his dad was a cop. She finds another picture, from when her father was in high school. Oh, yeah: flares, and a fugly shirt of which Iris would probably approve, over a turtleneck. I think he's wearing aviator-style glasses with tinted lenses, and the hair's not really a true 'fro, but it's pretty poufy. I hope that really is Joe Mantegna. It probably is. Joan holds it up to Grace and tilts it from side to side, singing, "Afro! Afro!" Grace: "And Rove's shirt." Great minds do think alike. Joan finds a letter to Will from his father, who died when she was little. She reads aloud: "'Dear Will, I hope they are not working you too hard at the police academy. I have been missing you, and I'm sorry about everything with Richard. I understand how angry you are, but he's just a boy. Please don't blame him.'"
Suddenly Helen comes along and asks what they're doing. Joan tells her. Helen: "Piano?" Joan tells her not to worry about it, and asks, "So, who is this Richard and why was Grandpa worried that Dad would be mad at him?" Helen takes the letter and reads it. She kind of waves her hands and says, "Got me." Boy, is she a bad liar. She pulls Joan's piano exercise books out of a box. There's a little pink onesie stuck in the pages, and Joan tosses it back on the box with an "Ecch." Helen: "Hey! Now that is your little onesie! That is the first thing that you…" Joan: "We know. It's a real national treasure." Heh. Frink: "She is that kind of mom." Helen says she doesn't want the chicken to burn, and makes a getaway with the letter. Joan: "That was weird, huh?" Grace: "Total parental coverup. They all turn into fascists when they have kids." And that's all the Grace we get in this episode. Not nearly enough.
Joan's picking out "Itsy-Bitsy Spider" at the piano teacher's house. Yeah, yeah, I know what the show's calling it. I'm calling it "Itsy-Bitsy." The teacher, whose name we don't find out until much later and who I'm going to get tired of referring to as "the teacher," is named Eva. (Trivia note: Louise Fletcher played a woman named "Aunt Eva" in a TV movie called The Devil's Arithmetic. Not that I saw it, or anything.) Anyway, the teacher's throwing back alcohol like water. Joan screws up a couple of notes, and it pretty much goes south from there. Eva makes sounds and gestures of great put-upon-ness and finally says, "Stop! In the name of all that is holy, stop!" Joan thought she was doing okay. Eva: "So I'm blind and you're deaf." I think she probably is very nearly blind: she's wearing a magnifying glass around her neck, and she has some mannerisms that would go along with poor eyesight. Joan whines that she already cleaned out Eva's fridge, and claims there was something moving in there. I'm surprised to hear there was anything other than alcohol in there, frankly. This woman's as much a boozician as a musician. Joan adds, "You owe me." Eva: "Just try not to damage one of the few senses I have left." Frink: "Well, she still has her sense of indignation."
Joan plinks away while Eva uses her magnifying glass to peer at a clock. She rolls her eyes, then paces, then asks, "Where is the feeling for the notes you're playing?" She sits down to Joan on the bench and says, "You know, without that, you make noise…not music." She starts out playing the spider song and breaks into a snippet of a classical piece. Joan's impressed: "Wow. That was great." Eva: "No one likes a suck-up." Tough audience. She adds, "So just play. And those are quarter notes, not half notes. You can count, can't you?" Joan tries again, and actually does manage to imbue it with more feeling, but still can't play all the notes correctly. The timer goes off, and Eva proclaims, "Thank God!" She tells Joan to start by dusting the piano and then she's to take out the garbage. Joan complains that Eva could have at least let her finish: "I was in the zone. That was pretty clear." She starts shuffling stuff around on top of the piano and finds a framed black and white picture of a woman at a piano. Joan blows a thick layer of dust away and asks, "How old were you here?" Eva, sinking into a chair with a cigarette, replies, "Younger." Joan clears away some more dust with her finger and says, "You look happy…and pretty. I mean, you still are…pretty." Eva: "Yeah. I'm Jayne Mansfield." Joan, what'd she just say about suck-ups? Joan asks, "Who?" Eva tells her, "Forget it. Just clean." Joan informs Eva that she lacks good people skills. Eva: "Then why don't you just leave, forget the lessons?" Joan mumbles, "God only knows."
Dr. Hughes is in his office, telling Kevin that the feelings he's been having are just peripheral and don't involve his central nervous system: "It doesn't mean you'll walk." Kevin asks how he can be sure, given that the doctor also told him he wouldn't have any feeling whatsoever down there. Dr. Hughes said the odds weren't in Kevin's favour. Kevin insists that the feelings must mean something. Dr. Hughes understands how much Kevin wants to take them as a sign. Kevin's getting more upset: "I don't want a miracle from you! I just want some answers." Hey, man, he's giving them to you, but they're not want you want to hear. It's like the saying: "God always answers prayers. Sometimes the answer is no." Kevin decides he wants a second opinion from someone who "knows what they're talking about." He puts on his jacket as Dr. Hughes says they're still learning so much about spinal cord injuries. Kevin: "Yeah, well, I want someone who knows more than you." Dr. Hughes offers to send Kevin's records to a Dr. Martin Jacobson who's head of neurology at Arcadia General. Kevin wheels out, saying he'll find his own guy.
At home, Kevin's setting the dining room table while Joan practices piano in the background. I never noticed that the Girardis had a piano, but then, it's not the sort of thing I usually pay attention to. Helen, who's preparing supper in the kitchen with Luke, says, "I've learned with your sister it's best not to ask. She might try to explain." Joan hits some wrong notes and bangs the keyboard. Kevin, hopefully: "Maybe she broke it." But she starts up again. Helen mentions that their insurance company called to tell them that Kevin needs pre-approval for the second opinion he's seeking. He says he'll take care of it. Helen wants to know why he needs a second opinion. Kevin evades the question and insists he'll handle it. Joan comes into the dining room, asking if something's wrong. Kevin says no. Will comes in the front door and asks if someone was playing the piano: "I thought I heard…" Kevin: "Pounding? You heard pounding." Joan: "I'm doing a lot better." Kevin: "At pounding." Joan: "You want me to do well in math, don't you?" Helen says, mostly to herself, "This is why I don't ask." Luke, who wouldn't miss an opening like that: "Well, all music is based on the mathematical certainty that vibrations change when the ratio between whole numbers change." (Luke is wearing an awesome t-shirt with an anatomical graphic of the organs in the torso on it.) Joan comes to the dining room, saying, "Ahhh…and Joan flunks math!" She asks Kevin, "So…what's wrong with you, anyway?" Will calls from the kitchen, "Something wrong?" Kevin insists he's fine. He wheels away. Please note that the powers that be have heeded Sars's plea, and Kevin is now sporting some sideburns. ["I know. Sometimes the answer is yes, too." -- Sars] Or maybe Jason Ritter took it upon himself. Joan asks, "Did we join the CIA and I just didn't get the note?" Helen asks what she's talking about. Joan: "Secret doctors…" How would she have even figured out that much of the conversation? She was playing the piano when Helen was talking about it. She continues, "The mysterious…Richard…" Luke asks, "Who?" Joan says it's some relative of their father's that their mother won't discuss. Will tries to act casual: "Why are you asking about Richard?" Helen tells him about Joan finding the letter. Will asks what it was doing there. Joan: "So who is he? A criminal? A pervert? What?" Will says, as he pours himself a drink, that he's a distant relative. Joan: "He's a Girardi?" Will claims again that he's a distant relative: "I barely knew him." Joan persists: "Grandpa said in the letter you were mad at am." Will shrugs: "Stuff happens when you're young." You can tell Joan's not buying it. He changes the subject: "Can we eat? I didn't have any lunch." Then the scene just fades out abruptly.
After the commercials, Helen's getting ready for bed while Will sits in the bedroom looking at the box of stuff Joan was pawing through earlier. He says he thought they threw all that stuff out long ago. Helen figured he might want to look back someday. Will: "Why would I want to look back at Richard? For what reason? You should have thrown it all out, Helen!" Well, then, I guess you're even. Helen's getting pissed: "Why did you leave it all up to me? I never liked getting dragged into this lie." Will says it's not a lie: "It's just a part of my life that's over. My family, the family I have now, that's what matters to me. That's all that matters to me now." Helen says she doesn't want to lie if Joan asks again. Will: "If you don't bring it up, she won't." Uh, sure. Will puts the lid on the box and says he'll just throw it out himself. Bet he doesn't, though.
Adam's alone in the music room at school, eagerly pawing through a bunch of old vinyl records. Just when I think I can't love him any more than I do. Joan comes in to practice the piano and sees him; his back's to her. She hesitates and says, "Hey." He glances around and returns the "hey" unenthusiastically. He's wearing a hoodie over a shirt Iris obviously picked out. Heh. Poor, sweet, confused boy. Sitting at the piano, she asks what he's doing. Adam: "Well, the up side of schools not having any money is they still have all this dope old vinyl." See, right there…a reason to love the government for gutting education budgets. And you thought it was all bad. He says he's getting some Miles Davis for Iris: "She's never heard him." Joan: "Is that that trumpet guy you played me?" He says it is and stands up to show her a Miles Davis album: "Check it out: original pressing, 1961." I believe it's Someday My Prince Will Come. Joan says it's cool. She explains that she has to practice the piano, and warns him to try not to listen. He says he was just heading out. As he walks up the stairs out of the room, she stops him by saying, "I'm sorry for attacking your shirt. I was just a -- just a little, you know, shocked at the whole fashionista thing, and had this involuntary doofus response. But the shirts look great -- makes you easy to find in a crowd." Joan really needs to learn when to stop talking. Adam's slightly annoyed with this, and Joan says, "I did it again." She shakes her head in disbelief. Adam: "Listen, what -- what are we, Jane? I mean, we're -- we're not…together, but it seems like we are sometimes." Joan: "I don't know. Maybe it's because we were, for, like, a second." Adam looks vaguely hurt at the memory, and also at the suggestion that it was only for a second, because clearly it was more than that for him: "Yeah." Joan says she doesn't want to mess things up for him and Iris. Yeah, nobody in this room believes that. Adam looks down. Joan: "I -- " She breaks off and says she has to practice. Adam: "Sure. Later, Jane."
She starts playing, and I've far from an expert ear but that thing sounds out of tune to me. Also, some hammers are broken so no sound issues from certain keys. She opens up the piano lid to investigate, then begins to remove the upright wooden piece that the music rests against. It probably has some specific name but I don't know what it is. It's heavy and awkward and she loses control of it, but some guy (with a 'fro and wearing a windbreaker) appears out of nowhere to grab it. He says, "Having trouble?" It's more of a comment than a question. Joan says the piano's pretty messed up. Guy: "That's why I'm here, Joan." She sighs with irritation and says, "Oh, you." He plays a bit and comes to the conclusion that some of the hammers are broken: "That's why it doesn't sound right: you can't play all the notes." Also, it probably hasn't been tuned since the Carter administration. Joan: "Yeah, well, you can raise people from the dead, so…just wave your hand and fix the stupid piano." Piano Tuner God retorts, "You want special effects, rent Lord of the Rings. I'm a craftsman, and fixing a piano is delicate work. This one has been…badly neglected." Joan: "Yeah, well, budget cutbacks. You should see the girls' bathroom." Piano Tuner God: "There's all sorts of reasons why things break. The important thing is to fix them." Joan seems puzzled and annoyed by this. He continues, "Plato said, 'Music is the essence of order, and leads to all that is good, true, and beautiful.'" Clearly, Plato never saw American Idol. Joan: "Okay, so now you're quoting Mickey Mouse's dog." Oh, lord. Come on. Even if she didn't know who Plato was -- which rather strains credibility -- would she really confuse him with Pluto? Seriously, there's only so much I can slap myself. ["And Joan's reference took me a few seconds to get, so I can't decide which is less believable -- that a sixteen-year-old wouldn't know Plato, or that a sixteen-year-old would know Pluto. Isn't that reference a little old for her? Anyway." -- Sars] Piano Tuner God lets that go and continues, "No, music can't be true if some of the notes are missing." Joan: "You're like an endless pop quiz. Music is a metaphor for life, for people…because pretty much everyone I know is missing a few notes." He says he has to go to the truck for new hammers: "You should find someplace else to practice." Joan: "That's it?" He gives her an apathetic Godwave as he wanders off.
Joan catches up with her brother in the hallway at school and tells him he has to help her track down Richard Girardi. Luke: "Joan, that would be irrational in the extreme. Dad's behaviour made it quite clear he didn't want this to become an issue." Joan: "I'm pretty sure his hammer is broken, and how can he play music without all his notes? So you have to help me find Richard!" Luke thinks briefly and then comments, "There was so little of that that I understood." Joan tells him, "Get on the internet and kick your geek thing into action and find Richard Girardi." Luke: "Joan, you remember watching The Godfather with Dad? He thinks it's a documentary." It's not? Luke: "You donot mess around with Italians and their families." Joan threatens that if he doesn't help her, "I'm going to tell Mom that you and Glynis are knockin' boots and she's going to give you the sex lecture every day for months." Luke is alarmed: "That would be spurious, manipulative fiction, and…" Joan does a pretty good imitation of her mother: clapping her hands together once and slipping into a slight Southern accent, she says, "'Luuuuke, when two people love each other verrah much…" Luke winces and says he'll see what he can find.
Joan's at Eva's struggling through a piece while Eva sighs beside her and mentally calculates how much alcohol is in the house. Joan stops and apologizes, saying she knows it's supposed to be an F sharp. Joan: "I practiced. It's just…scales are so hard." Eva: "Those aren't scales. That's Bach." Joan: "Then I guess I'm not good at Bach." Well, if you were, as a beginner, you'd probably be a prodigy. Eva: "Well, if you can't play Bach, you can't play anything. He's the foundation." Eva takes the keyboard and plays (though it's clearly not Louise Fletcher playing -- all the shots of her playing carefully disconnect her hands from the rest of her, so it's definitely someone else. As she plays, she says, "What you are destroying is nothing more than a G major triad. Sometimes it's inverted, but the notes are always the same: one-three-five, one-three-five." Joan listens, and thinks, and says softly, "A squared plus B squared…equals C squared. Pythagoras." Eva: "What are you mumbling?" Joan just says she gets it. Frink complains that it isn't a Pythagorean triplet. I can't get worked up about it, myself. But that's what comes of shortchanging girls on math education. We'll get into that later. Eva gets up, annoyed: "You can't just get it! It takes years of practice. This lesson is over." Joan says she still has five minutes. Eva forces the timer through the last five minutes and makes it ding. She tells Joan to start clearing out a closet. Joan opens the closet door and finds a bunch of old albums. Eva tells her to toss them. Joan: "You don't listen to any of them?" Eva says she can't even see what's on them: "The radio's all I need now." Eva smokes and pours herself another drink. Joan sensitively remarks, "These are so old!" Eva: "Yeah. Just like me. And one day they're going to toss me, too." Joan looks at Eva and then away again, raising her eyebrows. Old people, man. Who can figure 'em?
Joan's practicing at home when Luke comes downstairs with a rather large piece of paper. Joan says, "Do you realize the ratio of whole numbers that governs harmony is, like, the same ratio that governs all of geometry?" Luke: "Of course." Joan: "Well, you can't play 'Eensy-Weensy Spider.' Dork." Luke: "You know, I would appreciate a little consideration and respect. I've discovered the elusive Richard Girardi." Joan: "Oh! I meant 'dork' in a nice way. Really." Luke says he found a genealogy website. He points to some names on the page: "There's Grandpa, and there's Dad, and there's Richard." Joan: "Dr. Richard Girardi. Wow. Grandpa had a brother." Luke: "Dad does. Half-brother. He's ten years younger. He lives in Baltimore." Joan says that's impossible. I like that, coming from the girl who has regular chinwags with God. Luke explains that Grandpa remarried after he left their grandmother. Joan's pretty blown away. Luke: "I'm sure he had his reasons." Joan walks over and picks up the phone, and calls directory assistance: "For Baltimore, please: Dr. Richard Girardi." Luke: "You're gonna be sleeping with the fishes." She shushes him. She tells the operator to connect her. Luke persists: "Joan, in the pantheon of bad ideas that compromises [sic] your life, this may be your crowning achievement." What an unlikely sentence. Richard's not there, so Joan leaves a message for him. Then we fade abruptly to the commercial again. Frink: "What's with the bad cuts to commercial? This isn't Global." (That remark will probably only make sense to certain Canadian viewers. If you are not one of those folks, just remind yourself, it can't always be about you.)
Later, Joan's in Adam's shed, explaining, "You're the only one I know with a record player." Man, how sad is that? Oh, the humanity. He's looking through the records Joan took from Eva's: "Man, this stuff is in great shape. Too bad it's all classical." Joan agrees. As he flips through them slowly, one catches her eye: it's an album by Miss Eva Garrison on the excellent Deutsche Grammophon label. Joan: "This is Eva! This is her playing." Adam: "Your teacher?" She asks if they can listen to it. Adam puts it on, and Joan gives Adam a warm smile as the music begins. It's Toccata - (Fugue) from Bach Piano Partita No. 6 in E Minor. He doesn't return her smile, exactly, so she kind of wanders away a little bit. But in an excellent little bit of business, he's got his back to her and he suddenly starts fidgeting with the zipper on his hoodie; he can't decide whether he should zip it up to hide the Iris-wear or leave well enough alone. He finally leaves it more or less where it was, and comments on the music: "It's cool." Joan: "It's Bach." Looking at the album, she says, "I can't believe she ever looked this beautiful." Adam: "Well, I guess everybody gets old, huh?" Joan: "It's not just that. I mean, she's sour on the inside. Maybe it's all the scotch." Adam moves closer to where Joan's sitting and touches one of his sculptures: "Or…you know…bad ripples." Joan sighs: "Yeah."
He sits down to her and they listen to the music. He looks ahead -- sad, and a little weary. Perhaps a little afraid to look at Joan. Joan looks at him with sympathy and remorse. After a couple of moments, she says she'll let him get back to Miles Davis. She moves toward the turntable, and he says, "No, uh…you don't have to go." I think the shed is where he feels most in love with Joan. I know it shouldn't, but it bothers me to think Iris has even set foot in there…never mind what else may have transpired. She turns and looks at him; she motions somewhat awkwardly with her hands. He can tell something's weighing on her, and asks what's up. She tells him the whole story about discovering her half-uncle. She sits back down beside him, and says, "My parents…lying to my face." Welcome to the club. She wonders, "What's so hard about telling the truth?" Adam: "I -- I don't think we'll ever understand 'em." They're sitting very close together, and Adam lets his hand steal over to Joan's, which is resting in her lap. She doesn't resist as his fingers first drift over her wrist and open her hand toward him like a flower petal, then edge gently across her palm and intertwine with hers. Okay, I may faint. That was almost as good as the kiss. There was so much love and pain and vulnerability wrapped up in that gesture -- never mind how beautiful Chris Marquette's hands are. They both look at their clasped hands for a moment, and then slowly up at each other, as the Bach continues and Adam says softly, "Let's never be like that." Hello? Can I get some smelling salts over here? (Overly invested? Me?) Joan, you are a damn fool if you don't figure out you should be with this boy. Joan just gazes at him for a few moments and then smiles a bit, asking, "What if it just happens? Like skin getting all wrinkly?" Adam assures her, "We won't let it." You can tell they're both thinking about kissing each other, and the music increases ever so slightly in intensity. Frink: "'Kiss me, Juliet.'" He can only take so much romantic tension. He's not much of a fainter, either, strangely enough. Me: "Shut. Up." And then goddamn Iris bursts in, chirping, "Coucou, chéri!" Yeesh. Spare me the pretentious nonsense you've picked up from watching French films. Of course, they're both startled apart, and the way they jump up doesn't do anything to make the situation look any more innocent. Iris looks less than thrilled to see Joan there, but says, "Sorry," in that "I'm not the one at fault" tone. Adam and Joan smile and try not to look guilty, and greet her. Joan stammers and grabs the record: "I was just listening to uh, A's turntable…" Iris looks less surprised than you'd think. She seems somewhat upset, but she's not in an indignant rage or anything. Whatever she tells herself, she has to know deep down that Adam loves Joan and feels much more strongly about Joan than about Iris. Joan tries to make conversation by showing Iris her piano teacher on the album cover and then she beats a hasty retreat, leaving Iris and Adam to sort it out.
Eva's dozing in a chair when someone knocks on her door. The knocking becomes more insistent before Eva yells, "Go away!" Joan comes in anyway, and Eva asks, "What the hell do you want? You don't have a lesson now." Joan tries to give her back the album, but Eva wants them all thrown out. Joan: "But this is you!" Eva: "I asked you to leave. Now leave!" Joan goes, but leaves the album behind.
At school, the math teacher is handing back test papers as the bell rings. He returns Joan's with the remark, "Struggling upwards from the ooze, are we, Miss Girardi?" Joan excitedly says, "I just totally got into this whole ratio thing --" He dismisses her: "The bell's already rung." Dude, that's harsh. Most math teachers -- hell, most teachers of any kind -- would probably be happy to see some improvement from a student, and even happier to see some actual enthusiasm for a subject. With the exception of Ms. Lischak, though, the teachers at Arcadia High seem to be a particularly jaded and indifferent bunch. I'll bet the other teachers talk shit about her. Joan shuts up and wanders out, her spirits dampened. Iris is alongside her, saying, "Hey." Where's Adam? He's in this class, too. Joan brightens up again: "Hey! Can you believe this?" She points to her paper. Iris, ignoring Joan's mood: "C. Bummer." Joan looks slightly hurt: "Plus. C+." Iris asks if she can talk to Joan. Joan agrees. Iris: "I know you and Adam are friends, and I'm not trying to interfere or anything --" Joan asks if this is about last night: "The turntable? I'm really sorry, I just -- I needed to listen to this record…" Iris: "Just be straight with me, that's all I'm asking. Is something going on?" Joan lets that question hang there and they keep walking, both mostly looking ahead rather than at each other. Joan finally replies, "Look, Adam's my friend. I needed someone to talk to. You have friends like that, right?" They stop. Iris: "Yeah, one. And I'm going out with him." She walks away. Well, that's one of your first problems right there. Joan's shoulders sink as she sighs. Her phone rings and she answers it ("Joan's Pizza"). It turns out to be Uncle Richard.
At dinner, her mother asks how her geometry quiz went. Joan's mind is elsewhere so it takes her a moment to answer her mother: "C+." Helen says that's terrific. Will begs to differ: "A C is not terrific." Joan: "Plus. C+." Kevin gripes, "How come when I got a C in trig it was, like, a major crisis?" Luke explains, "Sexist assumptions about gender and mathematics." Man, don't even get me started. I know I said earlier we'd get into it, but if I begin telling you my experience of being shortchanged mathwise throughout school and how I coulda been an architect, we'll be here all night. Luke adds, "Which, by the way, Glynis is a stunning exception to." Good ol' Glynis. Will she ever make an appearance in the Girardi household? It seems odd that Luke never has her over. She already knows his mother, probably, and it's not like their house is anything to be ashamed of. Plus Luke has a cool room. I know, I know, Mageina Tovah's busy playing a whore on The Shield and all. I also know I've slagged her, but that's only because the writers make her play a caricature. I want to like her. Bring her back, make her a whole character. Perhaps she and Luke could have some religious differences. Well, I suppose the odds are, with her last name, that she's probably also of Italian Catholic extraction. Odds are also good she has the same cosmological perspective as Luke. Well, maybe she could start pressuring him for sex or something. Anything, as long as she's not being chicken-like. Geez, how desperate am I? Suggesting Luke/Glynis storylines, when I really think he'd be more interesting with Grace.
Anyway, anyway. Joan blurts out, "Dad's brother called me today." Whoa. You might want to at least yell out a warning before you drive the whole rig right off the road. Will looks like he's not sure he heard her right; Helen looks concerned. Will asks what she said. Joan laughs a bit: "Richard called me today." Kevin: "Who?" Will and Helen exchange troubled looks. Joan: "Our uncle Richard. Dad's brother." Luke: "Half." He winces a bit, I guess because this remark reveals his complicity but he can't stand the inaccuracy, and continues, "He's a half-brother." Will: "You dragged Luke in on this?" Joan: "Don't you think we all had a right to know?" Helen: "Honey --" Joan: "Were you planning on…lying to us our whole lives?" Well, yeah, probably. Wouldn't be the first or last time that happened in a family. Will says softly that he never lied to Joan. Well, now…I'm sure, as an altar boy, Will must have been exposed to the idea of sins of omission and sins of commission. He also claimed Richard was a distant relative, though I suppose he was speaking metaphorically. Whatever. Joan points out that Helen lied to her face the other day. Helen defends herself by saying she was respecting Will's wishes. Joan, with a measure of gleeful indignation: "About lying to us!" Will: "You had no right, Joan." Joan: "This is my family, too. My history. I know you didn't want us to find out, but…he's a part of who you are, Dad." Will: "He's not any part of me. Richard -- it's been years and years. None of this matters." Joan insists it does: "I saw the pictures of you two!" Will, who's been very calm until now, gets a little more upset as he tells her, "You shouldn't have gone looking --" Joan: "For what? Things in my house? Remember the one with you and Richard on the bike? You must! You saved it! I know having a brother is not that great…" Shot of Luke swallowing a retort. "But the way…you looked together…" Will replies, "There's a lot…" He looks at Helen, who seems distressed but also relieved this is finally out, and at Kevin, who just has a dark look on his face. Will reminds Joan of what she already knows: that his father abandoned his mother, his sister, and him when he was six. He tells her that her grandfather had a whole second family, and Richard was his other son: "I used to go there when I was little…when everyone felt…civilized about the mess he had made." Joan's listening to this with watery eyes, as her father's voice becomes louder and more emotional. "But then I grew up. And I started looking at his new family, and seeing everything they had…and what we had to do without." Joan, tearfully: "That was so long ago." Will hollers, "A kid doesn't like to feel replaced!" Will strives to keep from crying but fails. Joan, who really and truly doesn't know when to shut it, says, "He said, if you wanted to talk…" That pushes Will over the edge, and he gets up from the table and goes upstairs. Helen follows him. Joan stares toward her father's seat while Luke stares down at the table. Kevin gives her a WTF? gesture with his hands. And then we go abruptly to commercial again.
Joan approaches Adam in the hallway at school and asks if he has a minute. He hesitates for a bit and finally says, "Sure." He's wearing a toque and a t-shirt and a windbreaker. No hoodie, no vintage shirt. Damn it, he's his own man. Joan blurts out that she got into a big fight with her father about Richard and now her dad totally hates her. She suddenly interrupts herself: "Hey, how come -- how come you're wearing your old shirt?" Adam doesn't explain, just says he's sure her father doesn't hate her. Joan: "Well, he should! I mean, I'm the one who set this whole huge mess in motion. I don't even know what I was thinking. All I was supposed to do was pass geometry." Adam: "Uh, you're losing me." Joan: "It's okay. I mean, there's nothing to say. I just -- I needed you." That makes Adam stop walking for a moment -- he never knows what to do with these outbursts from her.
Joan: "Oh, God, I shouldn't have said that." He says it's okay. Joan says, "No, it's not, it's just one more thing that's wildly out of control right now. Us! Or at least me, the human wrecking ball." Adam wanders along in his usual confused state, saying, "It's not just you, it --" Joan tries again: "Adam, I know I've been such a flake with you." He considers that briefly, and replies, "Unchallenged." Hee. Joan: "It's just that first kiss. The one that was supposed to go away." Adam swallows a bit and looks away, then says gently, "Iris and me are together, Jane." Joan says softly, with a somewhat desperate look on her face, "I know…but last night…" Her voice is slightly hoarse, slightly squeaky. He doesn't know what to say about that. Of course, at this point Iris walks up and says, "Hey," and kisses Adam on the cheek. With her usual forced cheer, she says, "I always seem to be interrupting you two." Yes, yes you do. Maybe you could just go away. She asks what's up. Adam: "Just stuff." Joan says it's kind of personal -- "family stuff." Adam assures Iris it's "nothing weird." He bites his lip a bit. Joan makes an escape to her piano lesson. They watch her go, and then Iris pulls Adam in the opposite direction with an incredibly bitchy raise of her eyebrow. Yow.
Kevin's buying hot dogs from a street vendor when Bear wheels up behind him and says, "Hot dogs. Better living through chemistry, right?" They wheel along as Bear asks, "Where the hell have you been? You missed three days of physio." Frink comments, "I have never in my life seen two people in wheelchairs rolling down the street together." I can't really remember if I have, but I agree it's not a common sight. Kevin claims to have been doing upper body work at home. Bear lectures him about the importance of keeping his legs flexible. Kevin: "For what? When am I ever going to use them?" Bear: "Hell if I know. But when they figure us out, you don't want to miss the boat." Kevin tells him to get real: "There's no boat." Bear: "Hey, you get real." He mentions research and advances. Kevin: "Look. Dude. You do whatever you have to." Bear wonders if Kevin's calling him an idiot: "You're the one that's giving up. I'm taking what's happened to me and I'm moving on." Kevin: "Yeah, well, I'm not you. I'm not wasting my life with some false hope that I'll be walking one day." Bear says it's not false: "It's just hope. Now, you lose that, and you're done." Bear wheels away. I'll bet Kevin's hot dogs are pretty cold by now. I really want Bear to get a shorter haircut. Don't you think he'd look much hotter? ["Unchallenged. He's too poofy. And if Ritter got hooked up with some sideburns, I feel confident that we can effect a stylish trim for Bear. Let's start crabbing about it on the forums. And…go!" -- Sars]
Joan's arrived at Eva's, remarking about the sheet music that's on the piano, "This is that piece on the record." Eva mutters, "Nosy little brat." Joan picks up the album and says, "You listened to the record." Eva says she shouldn't have brought it back: "It was dead." Joan: "No. It's not. It's cool." Eva: "Bach is not cool." I dunno, Ms. Boozington, I think he was cool. Joan: "When you played it, he was. He was alive." Joan asks her to play it for her. Eva refuses. Joan: "But you have the music." Eva grabs the music off the piano and says she's not going to play it. She vehemently flings the music aside. Joan: "What is your problem? I'm trying to give you a compliment. Why are you so mean?" Eva grabs the album and flings it aside, too, saying, "This recording? It took days! In concert you have one chance, one moment! I was that piece. Its beauty -- it fed me. It made me live! And in my first concert a thousand people listened to me bungle my way through it! All life gone out of it…just fear, and nerves. And then the applause. Polite, dismissive…I don't play that piece anymore!" Joan: "Because of one night?" Eva: "I'm going to hire a new cleaning woman who knows when to shut up!" She starts crying. Joan: "Why run from something you love? It's lame. I know, because I -- I just know!" Eva tells her she tried: "I waited too long!" Joan: "But it's part of who you are!" Eva begs her to leave. Joan takes her coat and leaves without another word. On the porch, she hesitates a bit. Inside, Eva plays the record. As Joan's going down the front walk, she hears the music, and turns, surprised. Inside, we see Eva playing along with the record. Joan sits outside on the steps, crying a bit. She pulls her phone out.
Kevin wheels into the kitchen and says he can't wait anymore: "I'm starving. Burned some serious calories during physio today." Everyone's there except for Joan. Luke points out that Kevin's already had three mini-pizzas and a grilled cheese sandwich: "I could live off that for weeks." Joan suddenly walks in the door, accompanied by a man. What was that Luke was saying about pantheons and bad ideas? Oy. Such a bad idea. Perhaps worse than all her bad ideas put together. Like she hasn't upset this particular apple cart enough. She calls out that she's home, and everyone heads for the dining room to eat. As Will walks toward the table, he's the first to see Richard, but everyone else is right behind him. They're all speechless. Richard has what is probably slightly too chipper a grin for the situation. But he definitely looks like he could be Will's half-brother. ["This actor has played a stalker on Law & Order. Twice, actually, if I recall correctly. Interesting casting choice." -- Sars] He says, "Will." Will says, "You shouldn't have done this." Joan looks annoyed, and Richard says, "I'm sorry, Will, I talked to Joan and we thought it would…" Will says she's a kid: "You used a kid…?" Joan insists that's not how it was. Helen suggests softly, "Will…maybe it's time…" Will doesn't respond. Everyone stands around awkwardly until Richard says he should go. Will thinks that's a good idea. Joan starts to argue, but Will cuts her off. Richard pulls something out of his pocket for Will: it's their father's police badge, which Richard promised their dad he would give to Will in person. Will doesn't move, so Richard finally hands it to Joan. He walks toward the door, and Joan gives her family a pleading look. Richard leaves. Joan looks at the badge. She and her father walk slowly toward each other, and she hands it to him. Will tries not to cry, but once again he's 0 for 2. Geez, Joan, you made Fat Tony cry. Twice. You really are a human wrecking ball. But I love you anyway. Then she pulls out the "daddy" stuff and says quietly how sorry she is. They hug each other and cry softly while the other family members look grim and hang their heads. Joan whispers, "Should I call him back?" Will: "Not yet." You know what? I'm not normally as bothered by the police storylines as some people, but I'm realizing in this episode that I really am not missing it here, and I think there should be more episodes where they're nonexistent. Just dial them down a little.
It's dark. Joan's outside on the porch alone, wrapped in this blanket, sniffling to herself. Suddenly a little white dog runs up out of nowhere, dragging a leash. She pets him: "Hey, little guy, where'd you come from?" I think it's hilarious that a dog is the harbinger of God's presence, but I'm overly invested in paranomastic pursuits. Pretty soon he's there with the other half-dozen or whatever dogs, apologizing for the escapee. He beams at her with fatherly warmth, and I have to admit, he's a pretty good choice for God. That's probably my Judeo-Christian upbringing showing, since it's been a real long time since I conceived of God as paternal -- or male, for that matter. Joan says weakly, "Guess I didn't do such a good job today." Dog Walker God: "What are you talking about? You raised your grade from a D to a C." Joan: "C-plus. It's just my dad…what happened…he couldn't handle it." Dog Walker God assures her, "Well, he has his missing note. He'll play it when the time is right." Joan nods, but I don't think she's convinced. He adds, "It's a long song, Joan." I get all choked up by the way he says this. "So many variations. And, you never know what the phrase is going to be." So life is like something by Erik Satie, or John Cage, or Iannis Xenakis? I can probably deal with that. So long as it's not like a Broadway show. He beckons his dogs and walks off.
On the sidewalk, they all bump into Adam. Dog Walker God apologizes for the dogs' behaviour. Adam says it's all right and then walks slowly toward Joan, waving. "Hey." She replies, "Hey." She seems slightly surprised to see him there. He asks if he can sit. When he does, he notices she's been crying. Joan: "Don't worry. Not because of you." Nice. On the long list of careers Joan needn't consider: Diplomat. Adam, naturally, doesn't know how to take that. Joan quickly adds, "Well, I'm sure you were in there someplace." Howie Day's song "Collide" starts to play. Adam pats his hands lightly on his lap and says, "I talked to Iris." He pauses. "I told her how I felt." Joan: "How's that?" He replies, "The same way you feel." Bet that was a fun conversation. "The dawn is breaking / A light shining through / You're barely waking / And I'm tangled up in you…" Joan doesn't register much reaction to what he says. Adam says, "I was just scared, Jane. Got kinda hurt before, and I thought…about you…and -- and being scared didn't matter that much." Joan squeezes her face up a bit as she starts to cry. Adam puts his hand gently on her back as she smiles at him through the tears. He says, "Hey, you're crying again." She beams at him and he gazes at her. His hand's still on her back as they edge very slowly toward each other. "Even the best fall down sometimes / Even the wrong words seem to rhyme / Out of the doubt that fills my mind / I somehow find / You and I collide." They finally kiss, and for one moment all is right with the world, as Adam's love for the girl robed in the sun and the moon and the stars and Joan's for the sweet, gentle, artistic boy in a toque are in perfect harmony.