Shout-out to smijca for the blurb title.
The Girardi offspring have been entrusted with the task of grocery shopping. Of course, Helen's only loosened her grip so much; it still seems to take three teenagers to accomplish the task. Speaking of teenagers…shouldn't one of these kids have had a birthday by now? Maybe they were all born during the summer months. Aw, summer birthdays. I'll try to keep my resentment about having a winter birthday bottled up. In the Great White North, winter birthdays suck, especially if you, you know, hate winter. My sister's birthday is at the end of June, and she always got to have pool parties and parties at the play park and I don't know what-all. School was also always out by her birthday, whereas my birthday falls midterm, so I almost always had an exam on my birthday or the day after, or a paper due on my birthday or the day after. No, I'm hardly bitter at all. Man, I'm not five seconds into the show and already I've digressed so very much.
Anyway, Kevin's commandeering the cart and list, and Joan and Luke are grabbing items. Kevin requests some instant mashed potatoes and Joan, grabbing the box, expresses her dumsquizzlement: "Those potatoes are from a box?" Kevin: "Yep. And apparently, there's a bomb that can blow up the entire world." Heh. But dude: Fat Tony eats instant garlic mashed potatoes? I don't think so. Luke's located the marinated artichoke hearts. Joan: "Those were from a can?" Kevin: "Did you think Mom was running a kibbutz?" Hee. He's really on today. Joan: "Whoa, look: a picture of a whole artichoke. They're freaky-looking, huh?" Kevin wants to get to the jars of spaghetti sauce. Joan, stunned: "No. No!" Kevin laughs: "You went for it!" Joan smacks him in the head, pretty hard, actually. I felt sorry for him for a moment, but then the whole rest of the show happened, and I couldn't help but feel he needed to be slapped much, much harder. Luke wants them to hustle along, because he has to call Glynis. Why? Are the futzomorphs about to emerge from their chrysalides? Kevin says the item on the list is an economy-sized tube of hemorrhoid cream. Without any discussion the kids all start doing Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide who has to endure the embarrassment of picking the item off the shelf. A girl gathering produce nearby notices them and says, "Kevin?" He looks surprised: "Beth." She's played by Kimberly McCullough, with whom I'm not personally familiar, but she got a very warm reception on the forums from General Hospital fans. She's totally the girl door.
Beth, smiling somewhat awkwardly: "I thought that was you, and look, it's you." Kevin: "And not that other guy you dated who ended up in a wheelchair?" Joan and Luke just look kind of uncomfortable, along with Beth. She greets them and says, "Wow, everyone looks the same." Kevin: "Only shorter." Beth: "Well, I guess Staten Island wasn't that long ago." Wow! We finally know where they used to live. Not what I figured at all. Kevin says he still remembers the fight song. She asks him how everything is, and Kevin gives a little laugh that's almost mirthless but not quite, and hesitates slightly before saying, "Great. You?" She states that she's attending Fordham College in Fordham. Is that a real place in Maryland? Because the Fordham College I think most people know is in New York, and that's a heck of a commute. Of course, given the view from the roof of the school later, maybe we're not in Maryland anymore. She says she works in Arcadia a couple of days a week to pay for school. She explains her dance scholarship never happened because she injured her knee, or rather, screwed it up. She breaks off, saying, "I'm babbling." Joan: "You do it very well." She adds, "So, I'm studying business now, which doesn't require a pirouette." Or, you know, spending your career in shoes full of blood. (Well, I guess it might depend on what business she gets into.) Kevin: "Yeah, I guess a lot of stuff ends in high school." Beth looks kind of pained by that remark and says she has to get going. She says it was good to see them, and asks them to pass her regards along to their parents. It looks like there are a bunch more things she wants to say to Kevin, but she can tell it's neither the time nor the place, and just leaves awkwardly. Kevin crosses his arms and watches her go. Luke: "That was weird." Joan agrees. Kevin: "No, it was great. Just like old times." They get back to the list, and Luke reminds him they need hemorrhoid cream. The three of them start to do Rock, Paper, Scissors again but Kevin says, "Hell, I'll get it. I got no pride left." He wheels off as his siblings watch him, dismayed. Credits. I really hope Chris Marquette and Becky Wahlstrom are in the credits for the season. I know Chris should be, but I wouldn't want to have to spend the whole season complaining that Becky isn't.
It's early in the morning, and Helen's sitting in her sun-filled kitchen, musing about something. We see a shot of a painting resting on the counter; it's quite an evocative painting. It's hard to describe, but it's sort of a person's head, bowed slightly in something like prayer. The foreground is dark, and there are no facial features I can really discern. There are lots of strong, warm yellows and oranges in the background -- but they're moody oranges and yellows, not perky oranges and yellows. If this is the work she's doing now, she has really progressed. Will arrives and greets her, wondering where she's been all night. She says she's been up all night; couldn't sleep. Jeepers, I wish I could come up with something like this painting when I can't sleep. Instead I just get up and answer email and post crap on the internet. Will says she should have woken him up: "I would have massaged you to a blissful stupor." He notices the painting and asks if it's new. Helen tells him it is, and that she wanted to see how it looked in the morning light in the kitchen, which she loves. Will can't believe she's been painting all night: "You're gonna be dead." Helen: "It just poured out of me. It's like I was plugged into some universal palette." She touches the painting fondly. She asks him what he thinks. Will: "It's nice." Helen, disappointed with the clueless and perfunctory response: "For-get it."
Luke comes in as Will backpedals: "No, I love it. What? It's great." Luke sees it: "Whoa. There's a painting on the counter." Helen sighs and asks Luke what he thinks of it. Luke: "Uh, well, you know, I'm not really conversant in the technical jargon of the fine arts, but from a right-brain intuitive perspective, I'd say, aesthetically, it's very appealing." Helen: "Thank you. I think." Joan and Kevin come in, bickering. Kevin: "What part of 'please stop talking about it or I'll kick your ass' don't you understand?'" Joan: "Free speech, newspaper boy." Will asks, "How can you gear up so fast in the morning?" Joan: "Kevin doesn't want me to tell you we ran into Beth Reinhard yesterday." Kevin: "Thanks." Helen thinks that's great. Kevin doesn't want to talk about it. Joan: "Why are boys so mind-numbingly numb-minded about girls?" That's rich, coming from Joan. Kevin suddenly notices the painting and wheels over to it and says, "Wow…Mom. That's cool. I mean, it's truly terrific." Joan: "That does kinda rock, Mom." Helen: "It's nice to have kids who appreciate my work. Your dad's more of a dogs-playing-poker kind of guy." Will's annoyed: "Oh, come on, what do you want? I said I loved it." Helen: "Fine." He says he has to go and that he'll call her later. He kisses her on the cheek while she stands there stiffly. The kids sit at the table in awkward silence.
Luke and Joan are walking to school as he regales her with his tale of woe: "So I got a little wrapped up in M-Brane theory last night and I forgot to call Glynis until really late, and when I finally did call, I get the wall of silence. Monosyllables -- sniffling, even. What is that about?" What it's about, Luke, is that each minute that's passed since you said you'd call, she's getting more and more upset and equating the delay with the idea that you don't really like her that much. Aren't you supposed to be a genius or something? Joan, vacantly: "Is this a math problem?" He persists: "Come on, do you and Adam ever fight about --" Joan: "Don't…even go there." Heh: "Written by Robert Girardi." Luke complains that it seems like in relationships, you can never relax. Joan: "Okay, discussing this with you is worse than what comes out of the bathroom drain." Suddenly some street goof/balloon "artist" comes up and hands Luke a balloon conglomeration. Hey! It's Pete! I haven't seen him in anything since the Dharma and Greg days. Luke asks, "What's this?" Balloon Guy: "That's your psyche." Luke: "Really? Cool." Joan eyes the guy suspiciously, and he gives her a look that confirms her suspicions. He mauls a hot pink balloon into some shape and hands it to Joan, who asks, "What's this? My psyche?" Isn't this the girl who last week didn't know the difference between Psyche the goddess andPsychothe Hitchcock film? I want to be the script continuity person for this show. I'd be good at it. Then I could live in Hollywood and my winter birthday would cease to be a climatic bummer. And maybe the Red Hot Chili Peppers would come and play at my fortieth birthday party and Keanu could jump out of the cake and shit like that. Man, that'd be cool. Hey, you live in the real world. See how much you like it.
Anyway, Balloon "Artist" God says it's a giraffe. Shouldn't God be able to make a pretty awesome balloon giraffe? I guess that would arouse a lot of suspicion. Luke decides to give his balloon psyche to Glynis, and takes off. Joan: "You're talking to my brother?" Balloon "Artist" God: "I talk to everyone, Joan. Some people listen." He pops one balloon, and she says, "You're not very good at this, are you?" He replies, "Good is relative. Beauty's relative. Everything's relative. Except for me. I'm absolute." Joan: "I thought that was vodka." He tells her to take a make-up class. She insists she hasn't missed anything: "…lately." A crowd of little kids is starting to gather around them. Joan: "Will you stop with the latex? Make up what? Which class?" Balloon "Artist" God: "You'll know." He tips his hat and leaves, herding the ankle biters along with him.
Will and some other cop (who I think might be Carlyle from last week) go into a drugstore so that the other guy can get some Charleston Chews, whatever they are. No need to write me about it. I'm sure it's some kind of junk food. Will reads a tabloid magazine: "Wow…Bigfoot had a kid. We'll have to send a card." Some young woman with a Russian accent (according to the closed captioning) is arguing with the pharmacist, trying to get him to fill some prescription he already filled twice last week. He won't do it, and tells her to get lost or he'll call the cops. She gives him a snotty look and leaves. Will overhears all this and, showing the pharmacist his badge, asks what the deal is. The pharmacist says these girls from Russia or someplace come in daily, trying to scam him. Will wonders if the prescriptions are phony; the pharmacist says they're real, but they're trying to get more than the doctor prescribed. The drug is misoprostol, which is an ulcer medication. Will: "You can get high on ulcer medication?" That might explain James Joyce. Will cracks, "No wonder my grandfather was always smiling." The pharmacist says, "It can induce miscarriage. It's an off-label use. Without a doctor's supervision, it's pretty risky." They glance at the girl, who's still in the store, picking through candy or something. Will: "Do-it-yourself abortion. And it's not just her?" The pharmacist confirms this. The other cop (maybe I'll just call him Chewy) walks up with a big paper bag and a chocolate bar, doing his own little commercial for the product. He notices Will's not really listening; he's watching the girl go outside and be rebuked by some older guy in a leather coat. Chewy: "We got trouble?" Will, in Lenny Briscoe mode: "Why should today be any different?" Chung! Chung!
AP Chem. Luke is telling Glynis something inaudible, but it sounds like it has to do with M-Brane theory. Is that really something a fifteen-year-old could expound upon knowledgeably? It seems unlikely. If he were that much of a big-ass prodigy, shouldn't he be interning for Stephen Hawking or something? Adam holds the hot pink balloon, saying, "I'm not seeing the giraffe." Try squinting. Joan: "Never mind. Two-for-one smoothies at the mall tonight. Who's in?" Friedman, to whom she was not speaking, turns around: "I'm in." Joan: "You're so not." Friedman swivels his head forward again. Adam: "I don't do the mall." Grace: "I've got Hebrew class." Joan, with her usual mixture of empathy, sensitivity and awareness of other people: "The bat mitzvah thing? Isn't that over?" Grace: "You'll know when it's over. There'll be a big, embarrassing party with rubber chicken and old Jews dancing to Donna Summer." Ha! We so need to see that. I think I'll plotz if they don't include that in the show. Joan stares ahead, and then asks Adam, "You're really not going to go with me?" Adam: "The mall gives me a rash, Jane." Sing it, brother. It gives me a migraine. On bad days, it gives me homicidal impulses. He continues, "The aesthetic is rude." That, too. Ms. Lischak suddenly comes by, handing out fliers and saying, "Listen up, my noble warriors: one week seminar starting today. Counts for two whole points on your final exam if you decide to partake. I advise you to partake." Grace reads the flier: "The Ancient Ritual of Cosmetology." Joan mutters, "What, like the zodiac? How's that science?" I don't know if it's got to do with the makeup plot, but there's an awful lot of pink -- especially hot pink -- in this episode. Particularly in this scene. The balloon's pink; the fliers are hot pink; Joan's wearing a pink shirt and a pink sweater; Lischak's wearing a pink shirt over a fuchsia T-shirt or sweater… Lischak explains: "Cosmetology. Face paint. Takes us all the way back to the Egyptians. What's more, it's the marriage of compounds to create colour and texture. It's chemistry, people!" Joan, quietly: "I don't get it." Adam: "It's makeup." Joan: "You mean like a makeup class?" Lischak whaps her pointer on a desk and says, "Let me see a show of hands." Glynis and Friedman's hands shoot up as Joan's eyes widen, realizing this is what Balloon "Artist" God was talking about. Her head drops to the desk as she raises her hand. You know, if this had aired much earlier, I don't think I would have believed that there could be a class about cosmetics in high school, but a few weeks ago, one of the women in my Strength & Stability class at the gym was talking about her teenage daughter's makeup class. I was rather incredulous, but apparently things have changed a lot since the olden days, when I was in school and they forced all kinds of stoopid book learnin' on us.
The cosmetology class is being taught by Shelley Long, in a (what else?) pink suit and a blonde Ivana Trump updo. She is heavily but perfectly made up. As two rows of students fool around with cosmetics, she lectures: "The Egyptians, the Aztecs, the Mayans, all believed that to paint one's face was an expression of power…of nobility…of health…even spirituality." Joan manages to fumble her attempt to use an eyelash curler, and I know Frink is squicked. He doesn't believe me that it doesn't hurt if you do it carefully, and it freaks him out to watch me use mine. Mind you, just yesterday I saw a woman using one while driving and I thought that was just nuts. Joan: "Ow! Oh, I'm blind. I'm blind. No, I'm okay." As the teacher continues telling them that both men and women used makeup -- "if anything, the men were more adorned" -- she adds that it's a fairly recent development that men are supposed to be ashamed of preening. Friedman dispenses a softball-sized gob of mousse into his palm. As he rubs it through his hands and into his hair, he tells the teacher, "Straight up." Joan yelps again, still struggling with the eyelash curler: "Ow! Oh, this is like torture!" The teacher hustles over to Joan to give her some pointers about resting her pinky finger on her cheek in order to apply the eyeliner. Frink: "She's a total Mary Kay commando." Then there's a funny bit where Joan does follows the teacher's instructions very carefully, with her mouth open in that tentative way, and Mary Kay mimics her facial expression exactly. Joan manages it, and they both laugh and smile a bit. Mary Kay beams at Joan: "There's no need to apologize for the pursuit of beauty. Ancient civilizations understood this." Joan: "So, it's important to look your best while…being a human sacrifice?" Hee. There's a thought: would those cultures sacrifice the best-looking ones in order to honour the gods, or the worst-looking ones, figuring, let's tidy up the gene pool while we're at it?
Mary Kay's not amused. She goes on blathering about layering, palettes and colours. Um, I'm not feeling the chemistry here. It's all just about the techniques and aesthetics, with a little bit of history. Where's the study of the chemistry of cosmetics? The camera drifts down to Friedman, who turns to Joan and Glynis, asking, "How do I look?" Frink and I practically fall off the couch laughing: his hair's totally moussed up in what I can only describe as a cross between a Jew 'fro and a pompadour. Joan contemplates this and replies, "Like Erykah Badu. What…" He shoots her a goofy grin and she asks, "Friedman, what are you even doing here?" Friedman: "I'm here to converse with chicks about Prada." Good luck with that. Glynis blurts, "I don't want to look too brazen. You'd tell me if I was crossing over in Aguileraland?" That's amusing, since Mageina Tovah is in the video for "Beautiful," in case you were wondering where you'd seen her before. Friedman says, "Whoa! Caliente." Glynis smiles, pleased. Joan's not smiling: "Are you hitting on my brother's girlfriend?" Friedman: "No. I'm just notating scientific data." Joan: "While hitting on my brother's girlfriend." Friedman: "A little bit." They exchange testy looks, and Friedman says, "It's high school." He turns his attention to the girl on his other side. ["I am starting to really enjoy The Friedman. Don't get up; I'll fire myself." -- Sars]
Will and Chewy have followed the girl home and are watching her and Leather Coat talking to some other much older guy. Chewy: "Maybe that was her grandfather." Will's not convinced; he cocks his gun and says he's going in. Chewy wants to call for backup; Will doesn't want to wait. Chewy points out, "We don't know what else is inside." Well, what better way to find out than to bust in with a gun? That usually clarifies things. He calls for backup. Will watches the girl and the two men enter a house. Will tells Chewy, "I have a daughter that age -- sorry." He bolts for the house as Chewy gives dispatch a few more salient details.
They ring the bell, and some guy opens the door with no visual inspection whatsoever. He just opens the door. Will introduces himself, and while the guy stands there dopily, some woman inside the house yells, "Polizia!" Then all hell breaks loose as Will and Chewy bust in, guns drawn. Dopey's down on the floor; there are scantily clad girls here and there; people are running and yelling, mostly in a language other than English. The cops try to get everyone rounded up and down on the floor. Chewy guards the living group as men and women start bolting out of bedrooms, half-dressed and yanking their clothes on. Men run out the back as Will comes down the hallway; someone yells for a lawyer. Will kicks in a door at the end of the hallway and finds the older guy and the girl from the drugstore, in the process of getting undressed. They just look stunned and trapped; Will says nothing. Except that on the closed captioning, it says, "Where's your warrant?" Presumably that's the older guy's line. And Will allegedly replies: "You're looking at it, pal." You can hear sirens approaching as Will and the girl just stare at each other.
Helen's brought some gallery owner out to her studio (in the garage) to look at her painting. He starts looking through a pile of old ones, but she discourages him. She puts her new one on the easel and he regards it, squinching his face up unattractively. Helen says it's kind of a new direction for her. She fidgets nervously. "I just wanted somebody else's take on it, 'cause it came out so fast." Gallery Guy says he can see that. She thinks she should have taken more time with it. He disagrees: "Don't touch it." He likes it: "It's a new direction for you: it's free, it's uncalculated. It's beautiful, Helen." Behind him, she's got that "I can't believe he asked me to the prom!" expression. Helen: "I was afraid it was [too] easy." He loves the orange. They both exult about the orange. He adds, "You're not afraid of the paint. I'm very impressed." He goes back to pawing through the other paintings briefly, then says, "I hope I don't sound too mercenary, but do you think you could pull this into a series? I know I could sell them." Helen doesn't seem sure, but she acts like she is. He would like three or four, all that size.
To the tune of Veal's "I Hate Your Lipstick," Glynis and Joan emerge from the cosmetology class mighty tarted up. Glynis doesn't have her glasses on, and she's got her hair parted in the middle. And she's wearing quite a lot of makeup. Joan's hair is all curled, and she's wearing gobs of eye makeup and lipstick and blush. Glynis smiles, and some tall cute All-American type stops her and starts chatting her up. Luke happens to see this as he emerges from a classroom. Since Glynis probably can't see bubkes without her glasses, she walked right past him. Luke just walks in the other direction. Joan prances down the hall. Since she's wearing a cardigan and a big gathered skirt (with a big print of dogs on it) and flats, the entire effect is very 1950s, sort of Natalie Wood meets Diana Dors. She walks up to Adam, who's engrossed in a newspaper. He doesn't seem to notice anything different about her, so she tosses her hair a bit and smiles expectantly. She bats her eyes at him. No, really. Adam: "Oh! Oh, they're showing Night of the Hunter at the Rialto. Classic film noir with Robert Mitchum. Wanna go?" Joan runs her fingers through her hair like she's in a shampoo commercial and asks, "I dunno…is it in black and white?" Adam: "Uh, yeah. It's noir." It looks snotty in print, but he didn't say it that way. She says she doesn't know; she has lots of homework. He asks if she's mad at him because he wouldn't go to the mall. She says no, and succeeds in catching his gaze. She gives him a kind of preening look, and Adam says, "What?" Joan: "Notice anything?" Adam, looking her up and down briefly: "Yeah, uh…Jane." Joan, fed up, says, "Okay. Just wondering. Enjoy your noir." She takes off as Adam watches her go. Do I need to tell you he's confused?
Helen's at a new canvas, trying to start a painting. She tentatively paints a stroke as someone calls, "Hello!" Helen fumbles her line and says, "Joan! Ooh! Don't sneak!" Beth comes in the garage and says, "It's not Joan." Helen's surprised to see who it is, and tells her that Kevin's not there. Beth says she came to see Helen.
Joan and Glynis are in the washroom, fussing with their makeup. Glynis: "It's a miracle: I got whistled at. That never happens. Unless, you know…someone's making a dog joke." Joan, kindly: "Hey -- Luke is all about you." Glynis knows: "But how can I compete with his true love? I mean, he refers to M-brane theory as 'stunningly elegant.'" Joan: "He doesn't compliment you?" Glynis: "Once he told me my dermis was pleasantly exothermic." Joan: "Ew." Heh. I used that line on Frink just the other night when I stuffed my icy feet in between his thighs. Glynis: "Jeff Fletcher just asked me to come see his band play this weekend. Isn't that crazy?" Joan: "Manic Toolhead? Nicely done." Glynis says she doesn't want to hurt Luke: "But sometimes I'm afraid he only loves me for my mind." She asks Joan if Adam compliments her: "Does he make you feel cherished? Is there genuine lust?" Joan: "Yeah! All the time. Yeah, you know, there's the love talk, and the poetry, and the gushing. He's an artist, you know." Glynis looks vaguely envious. She decides to go walk down the hall again without her glasses: "Wish me luck…and balance." She leaves as a redheaded girl in a uniform with a baton comes in and starts primping her curly ponytail. She tells Joan: "Too much eyeliner." Joan's slightly taken aback, and asks, "You think so?" Baton Girl: "No. You think so." Joan tells God: "I don't know if I look good, or like a circus freak." Baton God shrugs and says, "Perspective is everything." Joan wants to know why God wants her to do this: "The class makes everyone crazy." Baton God explains, "The way the world sees you can change the way you see yourself." Joan thinks Glynis has become a different person. Baton God: "It appears that way, doesn't it?" Joan: "I just don't know what I'm doing wrong. Adam hasn't noticed anything different about me." Baton God advises, "Sometimes you have to see what you're not, in order to see what you are." Joan: "What is this, a Sheryl Crow song?" Baton God twirls her baton a little and leaves. Is that a yes?
Beth and Helen are in the kitchen now, and Beth tells her that she's dating someone at college: "His name's Todd and he's an English major, but other than that, he's really great." ["'Other than that'? What's wrong with English majors, Bizzoth?" -- Sars] Helen remembers that Beth likes milk in her tea. She says that it seems so normal to have Beth in her kitchen. I can totally see her and Kevin together; she's very natural and girl--door-ish. Beth agrees it feels normal to be there. Helen: "I can still see the two of you doing your homework at this table." Beth says that Kevin thinks they broke up because of his accident. Helen says any relationship would have trouble enduring that degree of stress: "You were kids. You still are." Beth says it wasn't like that. Helen says it's between Beth and Kevin. Beth: "But I had a relationship with your whole family. I just -- I can't stand you guys having that kind of opinion of me." Helen: "Beth, I know that you need some kind of closure on all this, but it can't be with me." Suddenly Kevin enters the house and calls out, "Back from the mines!" He wheels into the kitchen and sees Beth, and stops. Helen says with a smile, "Kevin, look who dropped by." Kevin: "Get out." Helen: "Hey." Kevin says he doesn't want her in here. Beth picks up her stuff and starts to walk past Kevin, as he says, "On second thought, since you're here, why don't you come watch me ride the little motor chair up the stairs. And then for big laughs, I can adjust my catheter!" Helen: "Hey!" Beth stops and turns, in tears: "Kevin, whatever you think that I have done to you, you've more than made up for it now." She hustles out the front door. Kevin barks, "Good!" Helen comes over to him and asks calmly, "Proud of yourself?" Kevin: "Yeah. I held back." He takes off.
The day in cosmetology class, Joan's busy doing her makeup again when she glances to her left, and gets a gleeful grin from Glynis. She then glances to her right, and notices Friedman sheepishly piling makeup on his own face. The boy? Does not have a future in drag, let me tell you. It's quite a hilarious sight. Joan calls the teacher -- whose name, believe it or not, is Ms. Candy -- and asks for guidance in straightening her lip line. Ms. Candy, wearing a different pink suit (one of those tweedy things that are so the rage this year that I was sick of them before they were even available as knockoffs -- and hers has a twee little ribbon around the ribcage), explains that Joan's already (inadvertently) corrected her own lipline. Joan asks what's wrong with her own lip line. Ms. Candy patronizingly explains that we all have flaws and asymmetries: "The point of cosmetics is to redirect the eye to our best features." She walks off with a satisfied smirky giggle. Joan asks her mirror quietly, "What if I don't have any best features?" It's hard to take her completely seriously; Amber Tamblyn is incredibly pretty.
Opposite her, Goth God raises his head from adding more lipliner to his already more than made-up mouth, and says, "Everyone has a best feature, Joan. I saw to that." Yeah, well, why didn't you see to it that everyone knows it, too, so we don't have to endure things like Michael Jackson, Jocelyn Wildenstein, and The Swan? Joan: "No offense, but you've broken, like, every single rule she taught us." He tells her to remember that adornment isn't who you are. Joan thinks that if he's so worried about her succumbing to that idea, he shouldn't have sent her to this "stupid makeup class." He continues applying lipliner, saying, "I sent you here to learn…to observe the effects of appearance." Joan complains Adam still doesn't see any difference in her. He asks her to look in the mirror: "What do you see?" Joan looks at herself wearily and finally admits, "Some ridiculous vain girl who can't stop thinking about shading and concealing." She adds, "This is just not who I am." Goth God: "Exactly." He gets up and leaves, as Ms. Candy looks down the hall after him and Joan calls out, "So I'm just supposed to reject all this stuff? That's the point?" Ms. Candy turns to Joan and says in the most cloying, tiresome way: "Okay, how about filling in with some lip colour?" Joan refuses. Ms. Candy, a little anxious: "Then how about a clear gloss?" Joan says she's done with powdering and primping: "All that stuff just isn't who I am." She stands up and exhorts her peers: "Don't get caught up in the surface! There is a deeper truth!" Friedman: "Dude, it's called extra credit." Joan tells him his lipliner's crooked. She leaves, with Ms. Candy calling after her: "Joan? Joan, you didn't powder." No, she decided to take one instead.
Will arrives home to find Helen in the kitchen, both of them anxious to tell each other their big news. Okay, wait: weren't the brothel bust and the painting/gallery owner thing all the same day, the day of Joan's first makeup class? But she's already been to a second class -- in different clothes, and so shouldn't Will and Helen have been having this conversation yesterday? Helen starts: "You are not gonna believe what happened?" Will's too full of his own triumph to hear her: "Did you hear the news?" She doesn't know what he's talking about. Will: "Come on, you missed my headline bust? 'Detective breaks underage prostitution ring using his Spidey-sense.'" Helen's balloon duly burst, she starts clearing the table and says, "Oh. You busted a prostitution ring?" He admits it was a fluke, and that he stumbled on it. He adds that it included seven girls, all seventeen or under: "And…Channel Five wants to interview me tomorrow." He grabs her and sort of dances with her, saying, "Your man is a hero!" Helen wriggles free and says, "Why don't I fix you a plate? You must be starving." Finally noticing her apathy, he asks, "What, tough day?" She says it's nothing. Without looking at Frink, I can feel him rolling his eyes. He hates that answer. Mind you, he's not nearly as oblivious as Will, so I don't have much occasion to go into that mode. She insists it's nothing; Will reminds her he has Spidey-sense. Not as much as you think you do, pal. She tells him, "This morning, when I showed you my painting, I guess I was a little disappointed that you didn't seem to really see it." Will: "I did. I looked. I said I liked it. Didn't I?" Yeah, the same way a man learns to automatically say, "No," when someone asks him, "Do these pants make me look fat?" Helen replies: "Yeah, like you would tell a child his drawing was nice. This is my work, Will. That painting is a part of me, and you just dismissed it. What does that say about our relationship?" Will's baffled: "Our relationship? How did we make that leap from a painting?" She asserts it's not just a painting. She sighs, and says she had Ken Thompson from the Franklin Gallery look at it. The guy's name makes me smile, since there's an astonishingly rich guy in Canada named Ken Thomson -- actually, he's considered the richest guy in the country -- who collects art. She tells him what Ken thought and his offer to sell a series of such paintings. Will thinks that's terrific. Helen: "Yeah! I had to go to a stranger to get what I wanted to get from you." He apologizes, saying he's an idiot about art, and adding, "There's stuff about my job you don't get…" Helen wants to know what's not to get about busting an underage prostitution ring: "It's noble! It's newsworthy! And oh, my man's a hero! What can you say about my work after that?" Will wants to know what she wants. Helen: "I don't want to have to tell you when I need support. I want -- just forget it. You know what? I'm just tired." She leaves the kitchen and hustles up the stairs, saying, "Congratulations on the big bust!" Frink: "Man, do I ever feel for him right now." Me: "What, you don't have any empathy for her?" Frink: "I have all kinds of empathy for her; I just also have lots for him."
Upstairs, Joan is tearing her room apart, pulling clothes out of everywhere and tossing them on the floor in a pile. She's wearing a plain long-sleeved t-shirt, dark jeans, and her hair's in a sloppy ponytail. She's not wearing any makeup. Kevin comes to her door and asks what happened. Joan says she's spring cleaning: "Did Mom send you up here to make sure I'm not nuts?" Kevin: "No, I don't think there's any doubt about that." He wants to know why Beth is all over him, and asks if Beth has talked to Joan. As Joan empties a drawer of cosmetics into a paper bag, she wonders why Beth would talk to her. Kevin says she's snooping around, talking to their mother. Joan: "Maybe she just wants to be your friend. Pretty cool of her, considering." Kevin responds angrily: "Considering what? She never came to see me after the accident, and now she's feeling guilty?" Joan looks surprised, and says Beth came to the hospital every day to see how he was doing: "She wasn't allowed in the ICU. When she knew you were okay, she kinda took off." Even if Kevin's memory of this time is fuzzy or nonexistent, which isn't hard to believe at all, wouldn't his family have told him, "Beth's here, but she can't come in?" Kevin is pretty stunned. Joan: "You didn't know that?" Kevin says he didn't, and takes off to contemplate his own jackassedness.
Joan brings some garbage out to the garage, where her mother is sitting sadly. Helen: "Hey, what are you doing?" Joan, cheerily: "Purging!" Helen: "Everything you own?" Joan: "Yes!" Helen: "That your father and I paid for?" Joan asks her mother what she's doing. Helen: "Agonizing." Joan noticed. Helen indicates her painting, and adds, "Especially with that staring at me." She sighs. Joan decides to be helpful by throwing a tarp over the painting. Helen freaks: "Hey, don't touch that!" They start bickering -- Joan was just trying to help, Helen resents being interrupted, Joan was just taking out the garbage -- until Helen hollers, "Don't touch my painting!" Joan: "Okay! Chill!" Helen, in her most threatening tone: "Don't tell me to chill!" Yikes. Joan looks somewhat bewildered by Helen's vehemence, and her expression causes Helen to say, "Oh, God, I'm sorry. I have to recreate that and I don't know what I'm doing." Joan, still willing to be helpful, asks, "Well -- well, what were you thinking about when you painted this one?" Helen says it was different: "It was a burst." Joan: "From you. So burst again. What's the problem?" Helen suddenly takes a whiff of Joan and asks, "Is that you?" Joan says proudly that it is. Helen informs her: "You stink." Joan: "Thank you." Helen, the Southern belle coming out in her expression: "Why do you stink?" Joan makes a dramatic gesture across her face and replies, "Because I am not vain. Caring about your appearance is soulless expression of vanity." Helen: "If you've been smoking marijuana, honey, you need to tell me." Heh. Joan explains she's freeing herself from the media's ideals of feminine beauty. Helen: "And you're doing this by stinkin' and lookin' like hell." Joan starts to reply, and then just apologizes for interrupting her mother. Helen apologizes for yelling, adding, "Get your clothes out of the garbage and go take a shower." Joan: "I like me…just the way I am. Focus on your bursting." She leaves, and Helen sits down again, dejected. She looks at her good painting again and then flies at it with a tarp. Good work by both Mary and Amber in that scene: very convincing interplay of moods and emotions. However, Joan just had this epiphany about vanity and appearances earlier today -- and she stinks already? Huh? Sorry, but I can't help paying attention to timelines. Maybe she just put on some dirty clothes, I don't know.
Kevin waits for Beth in some little patisserie or other. She enters reluctantly and says she was surprised to hear from him. He admits he's surprised she showed up, given the way he's acted toward her. Kevin says Joan told him something he doesn't remember, and he wants to know what really happened. He asks if she wants to sit down, but she's not sure if she does: "What do you want to know?" Kevin says Joan told him Beth did visit him in the hospital: "Why didn't you stay when I came to?" She doesn't really answer, and Kevin explains that his memories of the days around the accident are basically gone, and he just assumed she couldn't handle what happened. She decides to sit down, and tells him that he dumped her. Kevin's flummoxed: "But I was crazy about you." Well, apparently he was also crazy about some girl named Jeannie Heron. He was two-timing Beth, and she called him on it at the post-game party they attended the night of the accident. He didn't like that happening in front of his friends, so he dumped her. He doesn't seem to have much trouble believing that he would have done something like that, which tells us a lot. She adds that he'd just gotten his scholarship to Arizona, and that he was so full of himself that he was unwilling to feel guilty about his behaviour, so he took off -- for the car ride that paralyzed him. Wow. Like he didn't already have enough issues with that choice. Kevin says he didn't know. Beth says sadly that it's okay. Kevin, finally facing up to what an enormous jerk he can be: "No, it's, uh -- it's -- it's not." He sits there looking disappointed in himself. I think that ever since the accident, whenever Kevin acts like a jackass, he explains it to himself by blaming his situation. It's good to see him get that most of that isn't about the accident at all. He was always selfish and arrogant and had an entitlement complex the size of Massachusetts.
Grace and Joan are sitting on the stairs at school. Joan's hair is an unbrushed, dirty, sketchy mess, she's not wearing any makeup, and she's dressed in dark clothes with a rumpled plaid overshirt. She tells Grace, "Ohhh, it felt so good, throwing down against the oppression of eyebrow pencil -- like a true revolutionary." Grace, dryly: "Without the bloodshed, social upheaval or CIA involvement." Hee. Joan nods. Grace: "So, Rove like the new look?" Joan's slightly discomfited by this question, and says that he hasn't said anything yet: "But I'm sure he will." Grace: "Past is prologue, dude. He didn't notice before." I wish we'd gotten to see Grace's reaction to the X-treme Tart look. Joan: "Look, we're both about more than just superficial appearances. Like you!" Grace, bristling slightly: "Hey, I look good!" The smile falls off Joan's face. Glynis and Luke walk up to them, hand in hand, tailed by Friedman. Glynis -- plenty made up, with her hair sort of vaguely waved and wearing a trendier outfit than she usually does -- declares, "What a glorious day today!" Joan: "Can you even see it?" Glynis says she saw the blue of the sky, and felt the warmth of the sun: "And when I get my contacts, um --" Joan stands up and interrupts her, "Glynis…you look great in your glasses. You don't have to be a slave to society's fake, sexually exploitive view of external beauty! Power to the pimple." She doesn't actually raise her fist, though. Glynis looks puzzled as Joan walks down the hall. Grace hustles after her with a look of consternation. Perhaps she's going to quote Elizabeth Bibesco to Joan: "You don't have to signal a social conscience by looking like a frump. Lace knickers won't hasten the holocaust, you can ban the bomb in feather boa just as well as without, and a mild interest in the length of hemlines doesn't necessarily disqualify you from reading Das Kapital and agreeing with every word." Or, you know…not.
Glynis also has a look of consternation: "Um, do I -- do I have a blemish?" Luke: "Not that I can observe." He adds, "No, of course…I mean, all the makeup obfuscates the natural texture of the skin." Glynis: "So you're saying…I'm fake?" The way she delivered that line sounded much more natural than almost anything else I've heard her say all year. She didn't chirp it; she just said it. Keep it up. Luke: "No…you're just different than you were." Glynis: "That didn't sound very supportive." Friedman, who's been witnessing all this with slight discomfort, says, "I'm gonna be walking over there. You kids take your time." When he goes, Luke says they should have this conversation later. By which he means, "Like, once I'm dead." Glynis tells him: "I have been the gawky one all my life. No one's head ever turned when I walked by. Is it so wrong to enjoy that now?" Luke: "No. It's just…" He pulls her away from the middle of the hall to one side, and says, "Our connection…was based on immutable certainties…a shared intellectual buffet, if you will." What if I won't? Will the ghost of Roland Barthes thumb-wrestle me into submission? "Shared intellectual buffet"? O-kay. He continues, "And one of the constants in that equation has changed…" Glynis asks, with a lot less incipient hysteria than might have been the case prior to Makeup 101, "Are you breaking up with me?" Luke says he wants her to be happy: "And I think maybe I need to get out of your way." Glynis looks sad. He tells her, "You should go and see Manic Toolhead with those guys." Glynis is ever so slightly sniffly and her mouth twists a little bit, but she keeps her shit together, and says, "Okay." Luke's expression is a mixture of guilt, sadness, confusion and defensiveness. Glynis bites her lip a little and takes off down the hall, but she doesn't combust. Yay, Glynis! She's upset enough to not really notice the guys noticing her.
Friedman, who's been watching from a distance, runs up to Luke: "Did you eject, dude?" Luke, without looking at his friend: "What?" Friedman: "The preemptive dump, protect your own skin because you knew it was only a matter of time…" Luke bursts out, "It was just too much coming at me, all the time." Friedman: "Don't worry. I'll give her the shoulder she needs." I'll bet. He runs down the hall after Glynis. What a pal.
Roy and Will are being interviewed (by a television reporter) at the police station about the bust of the underage prostitution ring. They're doing this interview in the usual blue-grey light that dominates the police scenes. Why they don't seem to have the kind of lights on them that would usually be necessary for a videotaped interview, I can't tell you. I think it would have made this look more realistic. Anyway. The girls were being brought from Eastern Europe and held captive for six months. Will comments that nobody wants to believe anything that ugly is going on in their backyard, so they just ignored the odd behaviour related to the house. The reporter praises Will for having recognized something was wrong; Will's all, aw, shucks, just doing my job. The reporter suddenly asks Will about the fact that he was on psych leave after the kidnapping. Will doesn't care to talk about that. The reporter: "I'm just saying, that must make this so much sweeter, that you've had such an impressive comeback." Roy intervenes: "Detective Girardi never left us. He was on a temporary reassignment. We were never without him." Will says that's correct: "It actually was just a bureaucratic thing. You know what the guys upstairs are like. Obviously I'm pretty capable of being a police officer." Roy gives Will a look. The reporter agrees with Will, saying they're probably kicking themselves for ever taking Will off the street. Will, smugly: "I hope so!" They conclude the interview, and as their mikes are removed, Will asks Roy, "So, is it true? Camera adds twenty pounds?" Roy: "Yeah. To your head." He walks out.
Will follows him, asking what that's supposed to mean. Roy: "You know, we go to the mat for you when you were in trouble, and you talk trash about us?" Will says that wasn't his intention. Roy: "If I hadn't been one of those bureaucratic fools, you wouldn't be standing here right now." Will apologizes: "I got a little lost in the lights. I'm sorry." Roy just goes into his office without a word.
Adam's on the roof reading the paper. Some people have pointed out that the skyline behind the roof is that of New York. I can't say for sure, but it sure does look like it. What's with that? Anyway, Joan comes up to the roof. Adam asks if she's ever seen Touch of Evil, which is playing at the Rialto tonight. Joan: "In black and white?" Adam, betraying perhaps the tiniest shred of vexation: "Yeah. It's, uh -- it's Orson Welles." Joan pouts, "I want colour." That's rich, coming from someone dressed like a chimney sweep. Adam: "But the way he shot -- I mean, black and white, you know, it gives the images this rich texture…" Joan: "Adam, it's [the] twenty-first century, okay? I want colour and THX and stadium seating and cup holders. The Rialto smells like a nursing home!" That's probably better than we can say for you right now, missy. Adam: "Yeah…but you have to learn the visual language of film if you wanna…" She ratchets up a notch: "How -- how can you be so observant when it comes to some movie made during the Civil War, but when it comes to me, I could grow a moustache and you wouldn't notice?" Adam drops the paper and stands up, asking, "Did I miss something?" Joan: "I've been wearing the same clothes for two days!" I bet there are a lot of people -- especially outside the laundry-obsessed West -- who wouldn't even understand what she's talking about. I mean, not taking a shower every single day and putting on perfectly clean clothes isn't exactly the last word in slovenliness. She continues, "I haven't washed my hair! My face is so…unadorned, I could be killed by the Aztecs!" Adam shrugs, mystified as always: "It's cool with me…um…" Joan, incredulous, demands, "So the rank, stinky, slob thing, that's a turn-on for you?" Adam: "If it's who you are." God, Joan, are you ever going to get this boy? Or will you drive him away and spend your life kicking yourself? Joan: "And how about before? In the last couple days, I've been wearing so much makeup and hairspray, I looked like a TV evangelist! Does that work for you, too?" He replies, "Appearances are superficial, Jane!" Joan searches his face, and finds no trace of guile there: "So it's about inner beauty -- that's what matters?" Adam agrees. Joan: "How about going to the mall?" Adam's puzzled again. She's hollering, "That matters to you! And that's all about appearances!" He says that's different. She practically shrieks: "No, it isn't! No! You are so vain!" Great. Now I've got Carly Simon stuck in my head. Now it's Adam's turn to be incredulous: "M -- right!" He gestures to his Armani hoodie and Tommy Hilfiger jeans: "Look at me!" Joan accuses him of trying so hard to look like he doesn't care. Joan, listen: he doesn't care. He doesn't have to work at it. She rants: "But you do! You do care! Oh, you -- you want to be that arty guy, who thinks he's so above the mall! Well, I like the mall, okay?" She's practically barking at this point.
Adam's finally starting to get a little worked up too: "Okay! You like the mall!" Joan rants on, about how she also likes watching Laverne & Shirley on TV Land. Adam: "Laverne & Shirley?" Joan, really wound up now: "Yeah! Lenny and Squiggy!" She sort of does a Squiggy voice -- or maybe it's Lenny: "'Hello?' I loved it, and I was afraid to tell you that because I thought you would think I was some bubblehead and you wouldn't want to hang out with me anymore! And you know what? Maybe you don't!" She's starting to cry now. She turns away for a moment while Adam stands there, probably wondering if he'll ever not be bewildered by her. I wouldn't bet the rent, friend. She turns back to him, sobbing, "I can't stand…us pretending like this." Adam doesn't know what to say, obviously; she continues, "Both of us trying to live up to some image of what we think we should be." Actually, I think you were alone on that front, Joan. She adds, "Well, if that's what we are…then I don't like us!" She dissolves into tears. I hate to say it, but I think I would hardly blame Adam if he were second-guessing the whole breaking-up-with-Iris thing right now. Joan leaves, crying. Adam stands there, wondering what it will take to fix this.
It's night, and Helen's out on the back porch carrying two canvases around when Will comes out and asks what she's doing. She says it's just a new project, and adds, "Oh, did I miss your interview?" She seems genuinely dismayed. He says it was nothing. She apologizes, saying she got caught up in other stuff. He's glad she missed it: "I was a little full of myself." She places the canvases on what I think is a brick barbecue and starts squirting some kind of accelerant all over them. Will: "Hey, hey! That's your painting!" Helen: "Yeah, the one that caused all the trouble." Will: "Aw, Helen, I am really sorry." She smiles at him: "No, it's not you. This painting…it became so important. It had this hold over me, like…the whole world was supposed to love this brilliant new Helen. Well, I hated her." She lights a match and sets the thing ablaze. Dude, what is with these Girardi women and the destruction of art? I understand the dramatic value of burning the painting, but I still think she could have resolved her feelings about it and found a way to move forward without destroying probably the best painting she's ever done, if the ones we've seen so far are any indication. Will: "Someone was gonna pay you for that." Helen assures him there will be others: "'Out of the ashes, the phoenix rises, reborn in boundless grace to fly again.'" Will: "Don't take this the wrong way, but artists are a little cracked." I think if Will had witnessed the exchange between his daughter and her artist boyfriend, he might have to revise his opinion slightly. Helen: "Least I didn't cut off my ear." They stand there in the orange glow of the fire, warming their hands slightly and pretending the fumes aren't acrid and even noxious. Helen snuggles against Will, saying she missed him. Will watches a mortgage payment burn: "How much…were they gonna pay?" Helen kinda screws up her mouth, and Will laughs. But he's crying on the inside.
Someone knocks at the front door; Joan comes downstairs in a red hoodie and flowered pyjama pants, with her hair wet. She opens the door to Adam, who's standing there looking sweet and hopeful, as always. Joan: "Hey." She seems pretty contrite. "I guess I kinda flipped out." Kinda? Adam, gently: "Yeah." She doesn't know what to say. He explains, "The mall really does freak me out. You know…it's like all the stores are yelling at me." Dude, I am so with you. I knew it wasn't some pretension on his part. Some of us -- not naming any names here -- are just easily overstimulated by things that don't bother other people: lights are too bright, voices are too loud, everything seems to reek of some chemical scent or other, and being out in the commercial world sometimes just feels like sensory assault and battery. I mean, I go to the mall when I have to, and I don't care who knows it, but I rarely if ever enjoy it. I'm always drained by it. Joan replies to this explanation with her usual sensitivity: "So I guess that makes us both crazy." Adam: "So we got that going for us." She chuckles a bit. He adds, "Uh, I -- I really liked that pink shirt you were wearing the other day." She looks at him, touched, and then confesses that she thinks she threw it out. Adam: "Oh." She invites him in. He's carrying a large brown paper bag and she asks him what's in it. He hands it to her and she looks inside: "Dude, Where's My Car? Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure…Dumb and Dumber…" She looks at the last one, and pauses, as if she can't quite believe it: "Tommy Boy? Did you rent these?" Adam looks at her, smiling slightly and shaking his head. Joan smiles: "They're yours?" Adam: "There's an anarchic absurdity in Dude that speaks to teenage alienation." Joan raises her eyebrows at him. He grabs it and says, "It's funny as hell." He shoves it in the VCR as Joan says, "Tommy Boy's a classic." They sit on the couch, and Joan snuggles up to him as Adam says, "Tell me about it! You know that scene where Spade spills the M&Ms on the dashboard? 'Yo, there's a protective candy shell!'" In unison, they quote: "'Your brain has a protective candy shell!'" They go on giggling easily together about the film as the camera withdraws through the house and out the door, where Will and Helen are sitting on the porch, watching the fire roasting her paintings. The music is David Wilcox's song "Fall Away." Will takes her hand and they sit in the glow, smiling but not talking. "When my time is through / Call my name / Show the way to sweet surrender / Help me say / Everything but you / Everything but you / Everything but you / Fall away."