Shout-outs to alliterator, vengeful iago, and smrou, you Dickens scholars, you.
Joan and Adam are walking outside and Joan is boring Adam with some goofy dream she had about them in danger hanging off a cliff, and she turns into a bird and he turns into a dog. He's still wearing his hoodie. She wonders what he thinks it means, but Adam's on some other planet, and apologizes, saying he's wiped, having stayed up all night to finish an English paper. Joan: "Oh crap, is that due today?" Adam says he had to do his early since he has an interview at RISD (pronounced "riz-dee") on Saturday morning. Joan: "'Riz-dee'? That sounds like a pirate disease." Adam says it's Rhode Island School of Design: "It's one of the best art schools in the country." Joan demands to know why he didn't tell her about it. Adam figured it would be boring. Joan: "No way! We could walk a whole state in a couple of hours." Which is just the sort of thing…Joan always gets excited about? Whatever. Adam stops, and asks Joan if he really thinks her mother's going to let her spend another night alone with him. Joan says nothing. He wants to drop his English paper off before physics class, so he kisses her and takes off. She immediately bumps right into Goth God, and demands to know why she turned Adam into a dog. Because you've been socialized into all kinds of maladaptive feminine behaviours by your screwed-up culture? Oh, you meant in the dream. She continues, "Is it because he's faithful and loyal, or because he just ran off?" Goth God sighs: "Sometimes a dog is just a dog." Someone runs by Joan and slaps her on the back, as if she's suddenly caught in the middle of a football game. Joan asks God to "exert a little control over [his] creations." Goth God: "Flocks of birds, packs of dogs, you know…people. Once they gather, things happen. I don't interfere. It's part of the rules." Joan sees that a bunch of guys are egging Price's car. She chortles. They finish and run off, lobbing a carton at a garbage can and not quite making it. A couple of eggs splatter to the bin. Goth God: "That's a mess. Someone could slip and get hurt." Joan smiles and pats his arm: "I get it." She happily goes over to start picking up the carton and two eggs…at which point, of course, she hears the angry voice of Mr. Price barking her name behind her. Goth God walks off with a Godwave she doesn't see. She turns around, trying to tell him it's not what it looks like. God doesn't interfere, eh? I'd say, "God help me if God decided to meddle in my life" if that weren't so…problematically convoluted.
Joan sits in Price's office with the "evidence" before her. He's not buying her story about cleaning up the mess. Joan says somebody could have slipped, and indicates she probably saved him from a lawsuit. He says he knows from the last time it happened (heh) that it costs $220 to clean up his car. Seriously? That's an expensive car wash…or a hella cheap paint job. Joan keeps protesting her innocence, but Price sentences her to a weekend of community service with other "brain-dead delinquents." He feels she'll be right at home with them, adding that he'll meet her at six AM outside the Oak Street Community Centre: "Oh, wait. I won't be there. I'll be in bed." He hands her the address, telling her, "Wear your painting clothes." She raises her eyebrow and opens her mouth to respond, then simply snatches the paper from him as the theme song winds up.
Helen and Adam are in her classroom alone. She's praising some of his work, saying how wonderful and powerful it is. Professor Frink: "Is there anything this guy does that's just junk?" In the foreground, some other student seems to have cut open the top of a globe and stuffed a bunch of…stuff in it. It kind of looks like a bunch of glass-tipped branches…and a small "flesh"-coloured pig? Okay. Helen keeps praising him, and just beams at him. Apparently it's so good that no constructive criticism is necessary. Wisely, the director doesn't really let us get a look at it. Helen hesitates and then nervously asks Adam for input on a piece she's working on. She shows him a mosaic. Adam is surprised that she really wants his opinion. She does. Adam: "It's kinda like those…Byzantine mosaics you were showing us, right?" Helen's pleased that he got that. Adam: "Maybe if you're going for that…I really like how Byzantine stuff looks flat, you know?" Price comes wandering in at this point. Adam suggests taking out the shading, which comes as some kind of artistic revelation to Helen. Price decides to interrupt at this point: "Mr. Rove! Perhaps you could tutor someone else. I'd like to talk to Mrs. Girardi." Adam leaves. Helen has that called-onto-the-carpet look. Price: "Glad to see you empowering the students." God, what a dick. He says he missed her at the budget meeting. She says she had some conferences. Price: "Yes. I see. I thought I'd rip the Band-Aid off in person." He hands her a piece of paper and Helen looks dismayed to learn he's cutting her art budget: "It's the middle of the year." Price: "Mmm, limited budget. That's how it works." She wants to know how she's supposed to manage with less money. Price: "Oh, it's a gut course, Helen. Draw a bunny, get credit." She insists she has gifted students, as his eyes land on a specimen that…doesn't especially bespeak wads of giftedness. He says her enrollment has dropped and the board just doesn't feel art is a priority. Helen is incredulous: "Art is not a priority?" Welcome to the world, Helen. It also turns out that there's all kinds of money for armies and not very much for poor and hungry children. Also? Sometimes people torture puppies. I'm just saying. Price advises her: "See this as an opportunity to look inside yourself, take some inventory." Um…what? What the hell does that have to do with her budget being cut? She's not being let go, right? The hell? He gives her an insincere little smile and takes off. I think she should look inside her refrigerator and take some inventory of just how many eggs she has on hand.
Physics class. Lischak's cut her hair! Like, short. It's almost elfin. And it's one colour now, and that colour is platinum blonde. Frink: "The longer hair was better." She wanders around the class playing with…one of those science-y gadgets that I can't remember the name or purpose of. This is the part where I make a little note in the recap to ask Frink when he gets home what the hell it is, and highlight it in some lurid colour so I won't forget and leave it in there as a little landmine for my esteemed editor. You know, just in case you were burning with the desire for some insight into my "process." Anyway, it turns out he doesn't know the name for it, but reminds me that it's some wheel on a metal track. It's got a magnetic axle that allows it to roll around this track in a mildly entertaining fashion. It's probably demonstrating some scientific principle, but God, I lost interest somewhere around "landmine," so whatever. Lischak rambles around the room telling them how easy some question should have been for them, calling them her "little brainiacs" and rolling the R like crazy. Friedman looks distressed and tells Luke and Glynis: "First Judith, now Stevie. I just need to know if it's significant that every girl I kiss either dies or turns out to have been kidnapped at birth." As I recall…they kissed you. For reasons surpassing my understanding. But hey, at least we know Judith's death is all about him. Good thing the writers haven't squandered all the emotion developed around that storyline just so that Friedman can make this self-pitying comment. Because that would suck, right? Luke: "I'll concede…it's an unfortunate string of events." Friedman: "How's a person supposed to get past something like this?" I dunno…going on constant unexplained cruises?
Lischak holds up an envelope and announces: "The Hawking results are in," just as Glynis is telling Friedman he can't take it personally. He perks right up at the mention of the Hawking results and slaps Luke's arm: "Shh! Award time!" Glynis looks mildly aggrieved at his sudden mood change. Joan comes, apologizing for being late, and saying she had a meeting with Price. Friedman: "Not interested, Joan. Uh, award time." She slaps him upside the head and tells him to shut up as she goes to her seat. Adam asks what happened, and Joan tells him about how "someone" framed her and her community service sentence. Joan: "So…no Rhode Island." Adam looks bummed and declares that it sucks. She suggests she could come up late, but…seriously, is Rhode Island that close to Maryland? ["No. Your mileage may vary (literally, in this case) but it's a good six hours in the car, best guess." -- Sars] Yeah, I could check a map, but that smacks of effort. And…wouldn't he be going up Friday night, and coming back Saturday? And doesn't she have to be in Arcadia all day Saturday and Sunday? Is it just me, or does her suggestion make no sense at all? She says she's done by five and could take the train. Adam: "No, it's just going to be too crazy, okay? I might be auditing a class." On…Saturday? Are there a lot of Saturday classes? The Saturday interview I can buy, but…
Lischak gives the class some preamble about the coveted Hawking award. Glynis squees, "Ooh! I'm so excited! Dinner at Don Thornberry's!" That must be quite the steakhouse. Luke: "With Professor Lambert. An entire evening of string theory and prime rib." Sign me…up? Lischak announces that there are two winners this year. Glynis eyes her seatmates: "Only two? Oh my." Lischak makes a big production out of drumming the desk in front of her and dramatically declaring the winners. Frink: "She's great." She says the award goes to Ms. Figliola and Mr. Friedman for their work on the velocity of atoms. "Mr." Friedman? So it's his last name? Glynis and Friedman high-five each other in front of Luke, who's closed his eyes briefly in disbelief and disappointment. Lischak applauds them as the bell rings. Grace walks up to Luke, and puts her arm around him, saying quietly, "Genius goes unrecognized. What else is new? Come on." Luke just sits there, muttering, "But my entry proved the possibility of a string force field positing an energy of ten to the nineteenth power volts. This is a steak-worthy discovery." Frink: "That would be a big deal. A little too big to be believed of Luke." And the string theory experts on Joan of Arcadia forum agree (yeah, I got string theorists on my forums -- you wanna make something of it?) that this is simply way too advanced for Luke to have come up with. If he were really that kind of prodigy, he'd already be working on an advanced degree, not sitting around in AP science classes. Honestly, couldn't they come up with an entry for Luke that's at least a little believable? Grace tries to comfort him: "You're talking about the opinion of a bunch of pinheads at Arcadia College." Glynis follows them out, saying, "And Don Thornberry himself. I heard he was an honorary judge." Grace snipes, "What does he know about physics? He runs a steak joint at the airport." Friedman breezes past him: "Dude, don't worry, I'll bring you a doggy bag." Luke glares.
Joan and Adam walk outside as she harangues him: "Am I crazy or do you not want me to go with you?" Adam: "What? No!" There are a lot of people in the foreground playing Rock, Paper, Scissors. I'll bet that's all the rage in high schools these days. It occurs to me that we are more than forty episodes into a series featuring high school students and the issue of substance use -- other than Ramsay's little flirtation with alcohol -- has yet to come up. Or am I forgetting something? I don't think so. That seems unusual, no? Adam claims it would be awesome but explains that it's an overnight trip, alluding to the recent awkwardness. Joan admits the concert trip was "a disaster" but thinks this would be different, because it's visiting a school. I…don't think I see the difference. Adam stops her and explains, "Listen…it's hard for me." Frink, brightly: "Why, yes, it is!" Oh, for -- that's just too easy. He continues as Joan looks uncomfortable, "Us, being in a room alone…overnight…" Joan seems to finally get it. Adam tries to smooth things over by smiling and saying he'll go to RISD and then they'll hang out Sunday. She nods, but looks real sad. He kisses her quickly and leaves.
In the Girardi kitchen, we see Kevin's face from inside the microwave, looking in at his popcorn as Joan claims, "I didn't do it!" He asks her to keep it down. Helen's complaining about the egging incident and how it makes her look. Joan insists she was framed. Kevin says, in a tiny, tiny voice that reminds me of his father (Jason Ritter's, not Kevin's), "I can't hear the popping." Joan and Helen natter back and forth. When Joan claims someone basically stuck the egg carton in her hands, Helen asks, "Who would do that?" Kevin: "Mom, it's high school. Who wouldn't do that?" Helen admits that if Joan did it, part of her would understand: "He's a filthy little cockroach." Kevin looks surprised: "Nice!" Will announces he's home as Helen claims, "I didn't say that." Will says to Joan, "I thought you had to be at the bookstore?" Joan says she's on her way out: "I had to finish fighting with Mom." Kevin amuses us silently with the eating of the too-hot popcorn. She thanks her mother and kisses her, as Helen presses a lunch bag of food on her: "Take some dinner. Popcorn's not a meal." Kevin wheels toward the living room, saying he's going to watch a movie. Will asks, "Do you ever go out anymore?" Kevin: "I signed up for Netflix and they just keep coming." He disappears. Will asks Helen about her fight with Joan. Helen: "We decided to unite against a common enemy." She tells him what happened, as Joan yells once more off in the distance, "I didn't do it!" Will smiles: "Are we buying that?" Helen: "Why not? I tell you, if I'd been there, I might have lobbed a few eggs myself." Will hands her a glass of wine: "Rough day?" Helen wants to know who gives community service for egging a car. Considering it's Price, I think Joan got off lightly. I would have predicted thumbscrews. Helen says Joan's supposed to be writing a paper this weekend. Will gets the bright idea that Joan should take his paint sprayer to save time. He brags that he painted the whole garage in a weekend. Helen: "And half the lawn!" He says he was still learning how to use it. He starts rummaging in a cupboard in the laundry room off the kitchen, looking for the nozzle. He finds some "decent rollers" which he thinks will be better than the "cheapies" Joan'll be given. Helen: "It's community service, Will, not This Old House." He finds something: "Hey! My toolbox! You said it was lost." Frink: "Does it say 'Pandora' on the side?" Helen mumbles, "I don't remember that." Will: "Finally, I can fix that door!" Helen emits the most unenthusiastic, mirthless laugh I can ever remember coming out of her.
At the bookstore, Joan runs into GodFella (which, honestly, might be my favourite avatar name, though not nearly my favourite avatar. I just wish I'd thought that up. Props once again to OhTara). He's sitting in a chair reading and sniffling: "Hey there, Joanie. You got a Kleenex?" Dude, what's with all the product placements? Band-Aid, Netflix, Kleenex. It's like American Idol over here. Okay, it's totally not, but I'm a little bored and I felt like going off about something. ["I'm bored too -- not by Deborah, obviously, but this episode, zzz -- so I'll remark that I don't know if Band-Aids and Kleenex count as product placements anymore. What's that word for when a brand-name item becomes the default name for that item -- like, that Kleenex are actually 'Kleenex™ facial tissues,' but nobody calls facial tissues anything but 'Kleenex,' even when they're Marcal or another brand? There's a term for this. Email me if you know it, it's driving me crazy." -- Sars] GodFella says Sidney Carton is about to be executed and it's so unfair: "But he displays such courage." Joan sits down, asking how he's going to die: "[Did] God shove eggs into his hands, too?" GodFella replies, "You suffered an injustice. It happens every day, all over the world." You know, I can take that blasé attitude from almost anyone, except the one being who has ultimate power to do anything and everything about injustice. He continues, "Now you can let it crush you, or you can rise above it. And who knows what could happen?" He asks if she remembers reading A Tale of Two Cities. Joan pronounces it a "ninth-grade snorefest." GodFella: "Come on! The ending! Carton stands before the guillotine, ready to sacrifice his life to save others, looks at the crowd screaming for his blood, and says, 'Tis a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done.'" GodFella's all worked up, and Joan offers him a facial tissue. ["Heh. I sit corrected." -- Sars] He takes, like, three, and says it gets to him every time. You know, if GodFella's going to get all worked up over a book, maybe it would be an idea to read it a little more carefully. I've never read this book, but according to three of my posters, Sidney Carton doesn't actually say this; he thinks about what he would say, if asked: "If he had given an utterance to his [thoughts], and they were prophetic, they would have been these…" I hereby give GodFella a D in Reading Comprehension. Can't wait for Parent-Teacher night. That should be…weird. Joan wants to know: "So, uh, what are they gonna do, write a book about me doing community service…or I get my head lopped off?" GodFella assures her, "Things are already happening, Joan." Joan: "What?" He tells her, "Just accept the sacrifice. And, uh…gift-wrap this for me, would you?" Frink: "Wonder what it says on God's credit card?" Me: "God Doe? God Q. Public?" And who's the lucky being who gets a gift-wrapped copy of Dickens from God? Whoever it is, I'll wager he or she writes a damn thank-you note. I can't believe how many people don't write notes of thanks. What the hell is wrong with people? I notice they don't have any trouble getting their lazy asses everywhere from Target to Williams-Sonoma to register for five hundred wedding presents, but somehow they've always got an excuse for why they haven't written to thank people. Frankly, I don't believe people can call themselves civilized in the absence of two things: 1) diligently writing thank-you notes; and 2) using cloth napkins. I'm just saying.
After the commercial, Luke plays with a pair of plastic fangs. He listlessly inserts them in his mouth and chews with them. Joan comes down into the kitchen and asks what he's doing up so early. She leans over his shoulder and uses his spoon to eat some of his cereal. Ew. I'd eat off the dog's plate before I'd eat from my brother's. Joan's wearing overalls, in which she looks about twelve or thirteen. Through the fangs, Luke mumbles, "I was wondering how it's possible that the world is this unfair." Lord. He spits the fangs out as Joan looks at him, wondering why he sounds like he has a mouthful of marbles. She assures him it's possible. Luke: "They did a simple equation, while I dug deep into the inner reaches of physics' primary quandary and pulled out a surprising answer and what do I get?" Joan: "Bitch-slapped by life?" Luke: "And Friedman eating my ribeye." Joan tells him to look at the bright side: "You got a prize." Luke: "Vampire teeth." What was that, like, twenty-seventh prize? I wonder if Luke's even considered that his work was incorrect or flawed. He adds, "One's broken. Story of my life." He schleps off with his bowl of cereal, telling her Dad said to remind her to take the rollers. Joan suddenly remembers something: "Oh, Luke, look, I know you're going through a big crisis and everything, but I was kind of hoping maybe you could totally save my butt and take my shift at the bookstore so I don't lose my job." Okay, just a dang minute. At 5:30 in the morning of the day of her shift, she's casting about for a replacement, when she's known about this for at least a couple of days? And who just sends any random person to fill in for them at her job? Has Luke ever even…worked? I mean, held down any kind of a job? I can see him having had a news
paper route when he was younger. That's about it. But it's not like he's another worker at the store who's already been trained. He's just…a warm body, as far as her job goes. I wanted to get my chiropractor to write this recap, because I was busy with…stuff…and all, but she told me I must be crazy if I thought she was going to spend umpteen hours writing about some show she's never heard of. I believe Sars has arranged for her landlord to edit this one, though. Sheesh. ["…What?" -- Barney] Luke agrees: "Why not? Menial labour. Suitable future. Stocking shelves. Numbing clank of the cash register. Insincere smiles…" Man, these Girardi kids think they are too good for just about everything, don't they? Let's see you work the cash register, Rocket Boy. Joan: "Great! Shift starts at four, don't be late." She hands him some juice, but he chooses to drink from his cereal bowl instead.
As Joan enters the Oak Street Community Center, the house where the painting party is taking place, her paper sack full of painting supplies rips and everything spills over the steps. She gathers up her stuff, goes inside, dumps it on a chair, and stands against the wall to a quiet, slightly pouty-looking girl (Alexis Dziena) with a hangdog demeanour. She's a little bit Alexis Bledel, a little bit Fiona Apple, a little bit Mila Kunis, a little bit Eliza Dushku. Is that helpful? Probably not. Frink thinks she looks like Evil Joan. Joan comments, "Painting stuff. My dad made me bring it." The other girl says, "I wanted to work at the slaughterhouse, but they don't have community service." Ha! Well, I like this one so far. Joan, not so much. She doesn't know what to make of Abbatoir Girl, so she wanders off and asks some guy if he knows why they're all just standing around. He informs her that the supervisor's late: "She's always late." Joan gripes about having to be there early just to stand around, as Vagrant God comes up behind her and starts to get some coffee: "Remember what I said about injustice, Joan." It's been ages since we saw Vagrant God. I hope we get some old-timey talk. Me: "Is she really short or is he really tall?" Frink: "Yes." Joan replies, "I showed up. That should be enough for God." He tells her to do the job. Joan sneers, wondering how painting the walls is supposed to help the universe. He asks, "Why do you think Zen monks spend forty years trimming one bonsai tree?" Because a life of celibacy will do that to you? Joan freaks out at the mention of forty years and reminds him she has a paper due. He says it's just a weekend of service: "Just serve the community. The rest will happen." Joan figures she's supposed to help someone there, but wonders who: "They all look pretty pathetic." Vagrant God: "Just pay attention. It'll all add up."
He wanders off as Lily comes hustling in with two large coffees: "Look alive, convicts." She puts her coffee down to Joan but doesn't register her at all. She tells them to get started: "We finish the entire first floor by Sunday, or nobody gets any credit." She looks at the guy Joan had been talking to and says, "Denunzio, welcome back." He gives her a very sarcastic thumbs-up. Lily gives out some general grief about using a dropcloth and then Joan manages to get her attention. Lily remembers her as "Helen's kid." She asks Joan what she did, but as Joan starts to explain that she's innocent, Lily catches sight of Denunzio painting "This sucks" on a wall and calls out, "Yo! Eminem! You, uh, what, you wanna spend weekend with me, huh? Then can it." She takes away his cigarette, which is tucked into his toque, despite his plea that it's his last one. She takes off with it, and Joan marches over to let him know Lily's doing him a favour: "I saw these completely disgusting photos of lung cancer in my health class. Looked like a vacuum cleaner bag." Denunzio gives the ceiling a long-suffering look and groans. "So if you need help quitting…" We hear Lily asking Vagrant God for a light as Denunzio wanders away. Vagrant God kind of shrugs as Joan says, "I see what's going on here. Um, I think this means…you shouldn't smoke either?" Lily's knocked out by Joan's insight: "Oh, looking for meaning. Impressive. Paint the wall." She leaves and Vagrant God wanders after her.
Will's futzing with the kitchen door while Helen aggressively cleans the kitchen. He jumps a little when she smacks a burner ring on the counter, asking, "The…stove do something wrong?" Helen scrubs away, claiming she's trying to de-stress. Will asks if she wants to talk about it. Helen: "Not really." Beat. "Yes." Frink: "Dude, that was so your cue to leave. You snooze, you lose." She tells him she's thinking about taking a break from teaching and going back to school. Will: "Where's this coming from?" Helen gripes about her budget being cut: "Apparently art isn't a priority." Will: "You should call the Louvre and tell them." Hee. Hey, doesn't Joe Mantegna look cute in that sweatshirt? I really love him as husband and dad, and I'm so tired of the police stuff. Please, please, have a radical mid-life change of career. Maybe, in the course of investigating some case we don't care about, he could discover some neat little restaurant that's for sale and buy it on impulse? I'm guessing Chewy's familiar with a few eateries. I don't know. I just don't think I can face another episode involving Arcadia PD, never mind another season. You want darkness? There's plenty of it in the world without ever having to go near a police station. There's darkness in all the lead characters on this show. It's in everyone. Explore that. You don't need the police plots. Helen continues, "And Price caught me showing a piece of my work to Adam." Will shrugs: "You respect Adam's opinion. That doesn't mean you're a bad teacher." Helen says that Price told her she needs to look inside herself: "And he's right. The kids aren't inspired. I'm not reaching anybody. I have nothing left to teach Adam -- he's better than I am!" Will: "C'mere." He holds his hands out and Helen takes off her gloves and tosses them down with her sponge, saying it's okay. But she walks into his embrace: "So I'll have more time to devote to my own painting. You know, maybe it's a good thing. I'm just babysitting the kids anyway." Will tries to tell her she's doing a lot more than that, but she suddenly interrupts him, alarmed: "Hey, what are you doing?" Will: "I'm…trying to cheer you up…" Helen: "No, no…with this. This screwdriver." She pulls one out of his back pocket. He grabs it, saying he's fixing that squeak in the laundry room door. Here's where the writers got extra-tired of thinking and reached into the Big Bag of Television Clichés for the old "Handyman? HA!" routine. I'm sure there's a whole thesis to be written about how on television there are almost no fictional males who can repair their way out of a paper bag. I suspect it's some twisted vestige of second-wave feminism, but much like the writers, I'm too tired right now to figure it out exactly. But they make shitloads more than I do, so I still think they should shape up. Anyway, Will and Helen tread the well-worn path of wife begging husband to leave well enough alone, and husband pigheadedly persisting. Eventually, the door falls on his head. Will makes excuses, Helen makes sarcastic remarks, Will offers a weak rejoinder. Aaand…scene. No, wait…here comes Kevin. He figures while Dad's in fix-it mode, he might as well put in for an oil change. Helen gives her son a dirty look.
Cut back to the community centre, where Joan is doing a craptastic painting job on a wall where I can only describe the preparation as piss-poor. Me: "Okay, now, you know I'm going to have something to say about this." Frink rubs his eyes. "I can only imagine." I mean, come on. Now, if this is simply a make-work project, well, I suppose I can overlook it. No, that's crap. I can't overlook it. I am my father's daughter, and my father's middle name is "If It's Worth Doing, It's Worth Doing Right, And Don't Forget, If You Want Something Done Right, You Have To Do It Yourself." (Yeah, it's a bitch to fit on forms.) You know, if you're going to spend time and money to paint something…do it right. Even if it's not your money, do it right. Stuff should be done right. That's my policy. Yeah, it's a hard row to hoe. Cry me a river. Joan's slopping powder blue paint over a lumpy, patchy, dirty wall. I think she's attempting to cut in around a doorway, but she might also be simply attempting to paint the whole damn wall with a two-inch-wide brush…who can tell, with this wide drippy swath she's slapping up? Yeesh. Anyway, she turns to Denunzio and says, "Hey, that was, um, really funny what you painted on the wall before." She laughs a fake little laugh and adds, "I mean, 'this sucks.'" She's being so weird. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was making a weak attempt to come onto him. Joan continues, "Because it definitely sucks, right?" Okay, I get it. She thinks he must be her "mission." Denunzio says, "Whatever. Beats anger management." Joan brightens up a little: "So you're angry. I mean, it makes you want to act out, right?" Denunzio: "What are you…a narc?" I think I love Denunzio. Joan gives him some blather about how she's just a concerned member of the community, but Denunzio tells her to just leave him alone. He walks off as Joan mutters, "Believe me, I'd love to."
Just then Lily comes along to point out to Joan that her tape's coming off. I meant to bitch about that earlier when I was complaining about the paint job. Thanks, Lily. Joan: "Just so you know: I'm not like the other kids here. I got framed." Lily: "So…what, I'm supposed to feel sorry for you, 'cause you gotta do a little weekend painting? What are you missing out on? Skulking around a mall?" Joan: "A trip to Rhode Island with my boyfriend." And I'd like to torment him with my sexual unavailability. The UnNun couldn't care less, because she's wrapped up her in own issues: "Oh. Yeah, well, try missing out on most of your twenties 'cause you spent them worshipping an abstract ideal, only to find yourself at twenty-nine in your crappy basement -- sorry, garden -- apartment, watching nothing but reruns of T.J. Hooker with nothing but an ashtray for company. Then you can come talk to me about your wounded sense of justice." I think someone forgot to debrief Lily on her way out of Sisters of Our Lady of The Bitter Gall. Or maybe she was debriefed -- by Karen Armstrong. She asks Joan, "You don't smoke, do you? I won't tell your mom." Joan: "No." Lily takes off in search of someone with a cigarette she can bum but Joan chases after her, suggesting, "Maybe God gave us these stupid injustices so that we could rise above them." Lily: "You know what? Don't. Don't -- don't talk to me about God. I spent ten years in a convent -- and you…threw some eggs at a Hyundai." Joan: "Chevy. '92. I was framed." Lily: "Whatever. You want to know who God is? He's a control freak who demands perfection." Joan says she knows it's none of her business: "But you were helping my mom get confirmed and now it just seems like you hate God." Lily: "I don't hate him. I'm pissed at him." Joan wants to know why, but Lily says it's between her and God. She turns around and runs right into Abbatoir Girl, who's holding a cigarette right up to her. She takes it, and Abbatoir Girl lights it for her. Lily thanks her and leaves. Abbatoir Girl offers Joan one, which Joan refuses. Abbatoir Girl introduces herself: "I'm Bonnie." Which seems almost as unlikely a name for her as Maisy or Gladys. Joan says, "Joan." Bonnie: "I know." Then she just takes off. Joan looks around and sees Vagrant God watching her from the door, looking very sad and serious. He then notices that he's leaned against the wet paint where Joan was working earlier. Doesn't that seem like…just the sort of thing omniscience would come in handy for? ["And given that those aren't really God's clothes, what does he care if he leaned in paint? Yet another TV cliché in this episode delivered at the expense of sense." -- Sars, but Barney totally agrees]
Luke's working at the bookstore when some old professorial type starts giving him grief about the fact that the books are alphabetized. Alert the authorities! The old guy is a total HITG!, and yet neither of us can place him, and it's driving us so crazy we can hardly concentrate on the scene. I sort of freak when I finally realize it's Giles from Oz. Creepy. Except I find Austin Pendleton kind of charming, so it's hard to stay creeped out. It's the science section, and his beef is that it should be organized by topic, not author. Okay, I feel you there. He laments the lack of systems and categories. Luke mutters that he's just filling in for his sister. I actually got sort of excited early in this scene, thinking that this guy seemed very much like an avatar and that maybe we were finally going to see God talking to someone besides Joan. Wouldn't that be wild? Pendleton would have been an awesome avatar. Professor Giles follows Luke around, complaining that young people today don't care about much other than Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston breaking up. Luke: "They did?" Professor Giles nods sadly: "Yeah." Then he says, "You should not be allowed near books. You know nothing about science." Oh, please. Is some customer really going to come into the store and act like this? I'm not supposed to be offended by what a transparent setup this is? He starts to walk out, but Luke decides to stand up for himself: "Hey! Hey! You are patronizing the wrong geek, Grandpa. You want to talk quarks? Huh? Neutrinos? String theory? Bring it on, Pops." Whoa, whoa, boys. Take it outside. No intellectual fisticuffs in the store. Professor Giles smiles: "Then you should have the good sense to arrange these books properly by content. Content is what matters." He tosses a book on top of the shelf in front of Luke and leaves. Luke picks up the book, looks at the cover, and then flips it over. The back features a picture a much younger picture of the guy he was just talking to, looking very adorable in that 1960s scientist kind of way. What? Dude, check out Richard P. Feynman. If you don't see the hotness, check out your ophthalmologist. Feyn Man, indeed. Anyway. I think the book is called Positing the String Theory. Luke stands there looking puzzled, wondering if, when he gets to be a published author, he'll be haunting bookstores, visiting his books and trying to make sure they're properly shelved and featured. Not that book authors ever do stuff like that.
Joan's riding the bus home from community service, and calling Adam on her cell phone to leave him needy, clingy messages, when she sees him coming out of a record store and walking along the street. Uh-oh. She's all, WTF? She gets off the bus to run down the street after him. He's pretty surprised to see her, but manages to almost entirely suppress a look of guilt. Not quite, though. Joan wants to know why he's not in Rhode Island. He stammers that they had to reschedule the interview. Joan: "Well, why didn't you call? I left you, like, three messages." Um, maybe because you've turned into the kind of girlfriend who leaves him three messages when you know (or at least believe) he's out of town anyway? God. I feel suffocated and I'm not even dating the chick. I can't imagine how Adam feels. He doesn't really have a good explanation for his unthinkable behaviour and just stammers some more, saying he doesn't know. Joan asks if he's okay. He says he's fine. Joan: "Adam, what's going on?" He insists nothing's going on: "I'm -- I'm sorry I didn't call." Joan: "There wasn't a trip to Rhode Island, was there?" Adam: "Yes, there -- I just said they postponed it, okay?" Joan: "Then why didn't you call?" Adam: "You think I'm lying just 'cause I -- I didn't report to you?" Heh. "I wanted a night for myself, okay?" Joan looks hurt and disbelieving, and nods slightly: "Okay. Well…enjoy your night." She starts to walk away, while Adam tries to decide what, if anything, to say, and then she turns suddenly and comes back: "What if I'd said I'd spend the night with you? Would -- would you have called me back then? Is that how it works?" He takes a fairly patronizing tone: "I changed my plans. Okay? That's all it was. You're freaking out over nothing." Joan carps, "You know, if it's such a drag to call me, maybe you should lighten your load!" Maybe he should. She stalks off as he follows her, saying, "That's not what I meant. Look --" She just keeps walking. He doesn't.
After the commercial, it's Sunday morning. Lily comes into the house and whines about how they're all standing around: "Get to work." She looks at Joan, who's standing there with her arms crossed, and asks, "Why the long face, Starshine? I thought you were here to rise above the injustice." Joan says she doesn't want to talk about it: "Let's just say you were right about love." When, exactly, did Lily say much about love? Joan hands her a sheaf of pictures: "Here. I brought you some lung photos, in case you want to avoid…cancer." Oh, well. Who knew it was so easy? And: did she just have those pictures lying around? What's the deal? ["The deal, I suspect, is that whenever you have one character on network TV who smokes, you're required to have another character PSA-ing about how bad smoking is -- especially if the show is on at 8 PM and is ostensibly aimed at teenagers. Because according to TV, teenagers are all dumb and easily led. Shut up, show." -- Sars] Joan wanders away leaving Lily to stare at the top photo for a while. She finally puts the pictures down and comes over to Joan: "Uh, Mr., uh, Rhode Island?" Joan tells her she saw Adam walking down the street and that there was no Rhode Island. Lily: "Huh. Figures." Joan: "No offense, but what do you know about guys anyway?" Lily: "I was a nun. I was married to God." Joan says it's not the same thing. Lily: "It is exactly the same thing. Only worse. He was perfect. Where am I gonna find that again?" Joan asks why she left if he's so great. Vagrant God comes wandering up at this point. Lily: "Because you can't live with perfection. You spend your life trying to live up to it, feeling inadequate. And now he's making me pay." Vagrant God: "Excuse me…" Lily ignores the bum and rambles on, "You know, I just wanted to try to find something real. And what do I get? Nothing but losers in my church singles group who think that God rewards them by giving them good parking spots." Heh. Maybe there's a singles group made up of ex-priests and ex-nuns. She might find more understanding there. Joan eyes God, nervous about the way Lily's ignoring him. Vagrant God tries again: "Ma'am…" Hee. Joan: "I think he needs, um…" Lily makes a sound of mild disgust about the bum and says, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever." Vagrant God looks sad.
Lily grabs Joan by the arm and pulls her aside to tell her about her bad date with some guy named Stan: "You add an A to 'Stan' and you get 'Satan.'" Or Santa. Or Aants. Anyway, they're on a date. He invites her in, she agrees because at this point she's ready for something to happen even if it's with Satan. Maybe she would have liked the idea better if she'd come up with Santa. Or Aants. Joan: "Gross." Lily describes his nasty apartment. She looks in the fridge, thinking she needs a beer to help her "through this." You know, now that I've entered my doddering senescence, I feel even more disposed than usual to give unsolicited advice (yes, look out) and I would suggest that if you need alcohol or drugs to "go through with" some sexual event, it's probably something you're really not ready for. I'm just saying. Anyway, she asks Joan, "And what do you think I find in there? Mm-hm." Joan: "Body parts?" Lily: "Mustard. And a jar of pickles. And this is a guy from my church group, okay? These people are supposed to be with God." God doesn't like condiments? "So if this is what it's come to, watching Stargate with a tinfoil antenna, then, no, I don't know where God is anymore." Of course, Vagrant God begins to approach one more time. As contrived as this is, I'm still finding it all sort of poignant. Joan: "Ever thought that maybe God is all around you, like in other people, trying to reach out…?" I don't know if she could be any more obvious if she wrote "God's standing to you" on Lily's forehead with a Sharpie, but Lily's oblivious. Vagrant God says gently, "Uh, excuse me, um, but there's no more coffee…" Lily snaps, "Okay, do I look like your secretary?" Man, you should see the superior expression on this teabag's face. (For those just joining us, and/or too rushed/lazy to click and read, a mini-recap: I have a little saying taped up on my monitor, cut off a Yogi Tea teabag. It reads, "If you cannot see God in all, you cannot see God at all." It mocks me frequently, but right now, it's glaring at Lily.) Lily turns back to Joan: "Listen, God is not in Stan. Trust me. I went out with him." She tells Joan to take out the trash: "Because you got me all agitated again."
Luke's in the bookstore again -- so I guess Joan needed him to work two shifts, not just one -- and he spots Professor Giles. He just happens to have the author's book in his hands and he comes over and shows him the back, saying, "This is you. Dietrich Steinholz." Professor Giles -- who, if I don't miss my guess, is reading some rag like People or Us Weekly -- takes the book, flips it over, and sighs. Luke: "Nineteen seventy-five. If you were talking about string theory, you must have been one of the first." Steinholz replies, "The idea that our reality is a tiny fragment of something larger is hardly new." Luke: "Yeah, but you articulated it. You were the one to build on Einstein." Matter-of-factly, Steinholz says, "There were many of us." He is reading some celebrity rag! It's In Touch Weekly, I think. Heh. That's the Pitt calling the Angelina Jennifer. Or something like that. Luke says he was first, and deserves credit. Steinholz: "For what? I didn't invent anything, just offered a possibility." Luke tells him how he did a whole string theory project for the Arcadia College Physics Award: "I advanced the key approximation, which has enormous ramifications, and they totally ignored it." If you really did anything of the sort, Luke, I doubt this guy needs to have the ramifications spelled out for him. Also: Please. Anyway, Steinholz is just as unimpressed as Don Thornberry was: "So? What are we anyway? Compared to the universe, we're nothing. A speck. A moment of glory in the Arcadia College world, what is that?" I hope he starts humming "Dust in the Wind." He walks away as Luke adds, "They also got dinner at Don Thornberry's." Steinholz stops in his tracks, turns, and emits a pained little "Oh," on Luke's behalf. He smiles, adding, "Their ribeye is amazing."
Luke nods and walks around behind the counter as Steinholz puts his copy of In Touch Weekly up there and comments, "Sometimes it seems there's no justice." Luke: "That's $1.99." Steinholz takes out his money. Actually, he starts emptying the contents of his pockets on the counter, and Frink gets all excited: "All right! Physics pockets!" "Physics pockets"? I think he suspects Steinholz might have a tiny quantum computer or transmogrifier in there or something. Luke feels free to rummage through the crumpled papers Steinholz has dumped there, and uncrinkles one scrap: "An algorithm for the distribution of…mattress coils?" Steinholz: "There's an ideal ratio of the coils to the mattress surface. I just haven't figured it out yet." Well, so long as you're working on the really important problems. He hands Luke his money and says, "Back to work. What other choice do we have?" I dunno…sitting around watching Stargate and dipping pickles into mustard? He takes his In Touch Weekly and leaves. See how they got me to do that product placement three times without even completely showing the cover of the magazine? It's insidious, I tell you. Frink thinks Luke is missing a golden opportunity: "Get his number! Go out on a date! Buy him the ribeye." I actually think it would be sort of cool -- if Luke's not going to recognize God anytime soon -- if he could at least have a mentor, some older figure who understands his mind and his interest in science and could show a little interest in guiding and nurturing that. Because sure as heck nobody in his family does. And Friedman can barely manage "friendship"; he's certainly in no position to mentor anyone.
Will and Kevin are working on Kevin's car. Kevin: "It says any kind of brake work should be done by a professional." Will: "They're just in bed with the mechanics. I've done this before." Kevin: "You also said you'd changed the oil before." Will crawls under the car as he asks Kevin to have some faith in his old man: "Hand me the socket wrench, will you?" Frink: "Which one?" Me: "He probably only has one, unlike some people, who shall remain nameless, who have a socket-wrench problem verging on the neurotic." He screws up his face and sticks out his tongue. But you should see all the bloody socket wrenches we have in this house. Metric sets, imperials sets, all shapes and sizes and varieties. We have one whole toolbox that I've dedicated to what I loosely refer to as "torque devices" -- socket wrenches, regular wrenches, spanners, gear wrenches, adjustable wrenches, strap wrenches, pipe wrenches -- scores and scores of 'em. More on the pegboard, more kicking around in drawers. And every time we walk through Home Depot, he starts salivating over some 196-piece set that he thinks he needs. It's a sickness. Around here, we ought to be wrapped tighter than a mummy's butt and yet one of us still has a screw loose. (So much for remaining nameless.) Frink, reading over my shoulder: "Why don't we discuss how many different cans and colours of paint we have in this house?" Me: "Because I've already digressed a lot, you see, and I've tried my readers' patience enough." Back to the show!
Kevin hands him a socket wrench. We're both expecting Will to get a face full of oil or some other nasty vehicular fluid any minute. Somehow, though, they resist this cliché. From under the car, Will converses uncomfortably with Kevin, mentioning that he noticed another load of movies arrived: "Don't you think you're watching a little too much Rob Schneider?" As if any amount of Rob Schneider is not hazardous to one's health. Kevin: "Hot Chick is hilarious." Will asks about Beth. Kevin says that didn't work out. Will brings up Lily, but Kevin interrupts to say he's really not looking for anyone right now. Will diagnoses Kevin's car problem as the failure of the parking brake to fully release. Kevin thought he felt something dragging. Will says he'll loosen it up. Helen comes out on the porch with some…rusty-looking, curvy metal thing, and asks, "Why is this in the fridge?" Will: "Oh, you know, I had trouble fitting that into the…um…uh, thing, so I thought the cold air would help it contract, and then I could, um…" Helen, looking resigned: "I'll put it back." Will shrugs at Kevin. Wimmen!
Joan's putting trash into the bin behind the community centre when she's scared by Bonnie coming up behind her. Bonnie tells her not to throw the rollers away: "People say they're disposable but they're not." Joan obligingly lifts the box out again and offers it to Bonnie, who helps herself to a couple of rollers and says, "You didn't see me here." Joan just shakes her head as Bonnie vamooses. A garbage truck's arriving and you just know God's driving it. He gets out of the truck and asks Joan for some help with the big bin. As they struggle to drag the bin around, Joan blithers, "God's helping me with my garbage. That's sweet. So, uh, what happens now, huh? I get my head lopped off? Because I am obviously failing." Garbage Truck God: "Think so?" Joan points out that everything she says makes Lily smoke even more, and Denunzio thinks she's a narc. "And Bonnie? I'm afraid to say anything to her because she might break, or…you know, kill me in my sleep." Garbage Truck God: "Stick with it. You're doing great." She says, "Nothing is happening!" as he climbs into the truck. He says, "You feel frustrated and victimized, yet you're still talking to me. So somewhere, you know this isn't pointless." Plus, God keeps showing up and bugging her anyway. He throws the lever that hoists the bin and dumps it into the truck while Joan looks skeptical.
After the commercial, Joan's inside again, picking up garbage, when she runs into Denunzio, who tells her, "Some short dude's looking for you." She looks up and sees Adam. Please. Denunzio's about two inches taller than Adam. Hey, if you add an A to Denunzio you call spell "Nazi ode, nu?" Also "I undo a zen" and "I doze a nun." God, I have to stop fooling around, especially since I am already in danger of missing my deadline on this recap. Give me a break, I had three other articles due today on top of this. She walks over to him and he says "hi," in a really tentative way. Joan asks what he's doing there. He says he was on his way to work and wanted to see her: "I hate what's happening to us." Joan: "I know. Me too. I wanted to call you all day, but…" They both look up and notice Bonnie standing nearby watching them, kind of creepy-like. Joan asks him to help her take the trash out, so they can be alone. Something about that shot of her standing there silently between them seems anvilicious.
Coming down the back steps, Adam says, referring to Bonnie, "Man, I thought we were the freaks at school." Joan: "I know I should be mad at you but I'm really glad you came by." Adam apologizes again for not calling: "I love you, Jane. I just don't know what to do anymore." Joan: "Nothing. You don't have to do anything. We're still the same." Adam: "But we're not. I mean, not really." Joan: "I don't want us to break up." Adam: "Me, neither." Just then Bonnie appears on the stairs to tell Joan Lily's looking for her: "It's time to check out." Joan says okay, but Lily just stands there, like she's Joan's keeper or something, which bugs. Get lost, Bonnie. Joan says she has to go, and thanks Adam for coming by. Bonnie: "Joan!" Oy. Piss off, Bonnie. Joan: "O-kay." Adam offers to deal with the trash and says they'll talk later. There's a little tiny bit of awkwardness as he decides whether to try to kiss her or not. He does, but it's pretty perfunctory on both sides. ["As it has been all season. Either start kissing with tongue or BREAK UP. Gah, so over it." -- Sars]
As he takes the trash to the bin, he notices a mural painted on the back of the community centre. It's strong colours on a black background, featuring funky-looking skeletons and vampires and flames and whatnot. He moves closer, saying, "Whoa." He reaches out to touch part of it, and behind him, Bonnie warns, "It's wet. Don't smear it." Adam: "It's yours?" She nods. He says, "It kinda looks like, uh, that freaky paint job somebody did in the boiler room at school." Bonnie: "I made it into a womb, because it's hot in there and there's all that engine noise, like a heartbeat." She has a slightly starry-eyed look and I can't tell if it's for Adam or her mural. Either way…whatever. A few months ago I would have been all, "Back off, bitch," but I'm so fed up with Joan's clinginess that I don't think I care anymore. I'm also screamingly tired of these jealousy/triangle storylines -- especially when it seems like the show's refusing to deal with the real third party that's interfering with Joan and Adam's relationship: God. Adam asks about how she did a particular (unseen) part of the mural, and Bonnie says she used old rollers. Adam steps back from the mural as he comments, "Amazing."
Lily's…car? It kind of looks like an old Beetle grafted onto an old Citroën or something, and it sounds like it has an off-balance washing machine for a motor. ["I thought it was a Karmann Ghia." -- Sars] Wouldn't you love to see Lily on Pimp My Ride? Anyway, she's bombing along giving Joan a ride home, and complaining that Joan's getting paint on the dash: "I just had this thing detailed." Joan takes her foot off the dash and asks, "This thing?" Lily: "Hey! You mooch a ride, you don't dis the wheels." Lily shakes her head and lights a cigarette. Joan starts to lecture her again but Lily snaps, "Stow it!" I don't know if it's my imagination, but I think Constance Zimmer's only pretending to smoke that thing. ["It isn't; she's faking." -- Sars] I mean, I don't think I've seen any actual smoke. Not that I expect Zimmer to risk her life for the sake of minor authenticity, but it's a little weird. Lily asks if the "skinny kid" who came to the centre today was "Rhode Island." Joan confirms it. Lily: "So just like that, it's all hearts and bunnies again?" Heh. Joan's not sure; she's trying to have faith. Lily: "Huh. Good luck with that." Joan: "You don't have faith?" Lily: "You know what? Don't go there with me, all right? Not after a day supervising delinquents." Joan: "But you're still talking to God, right? I mean, if you're mad at him but you're still talking to him, you must have some kind of faith that he's really out there, right?" Lily: "Look, I'm glad that your boyfriend showed up, but save the pixie dust for yourself. You are not here to save me, so just put a sock in it so that we don't…" Joan suddenly looks forward, something Lily's not doing much of (causing Frink no end of aneurysms, here) and notices they're about to hit another car. Joan: "Oh my God!" Lily: "What?" She hits the brakes just as the front of her car collides at a perpendicular angle with the front of Kevin's, rolling slowly out of the driveway. This oughta be good. Clearly, God is not her co-pilot.
As she gets out of her car, Kevin hollers, "What the hell is your problem? Are you blind?" And I realize, he's stuck there. Of all the times I've imagined what it must be like to be paralyzed, I never came up with the scenario of being unable to get out of your car and yell at the other driver in the event of a minor accident. How very…unsatisfying. Lily: "How could you not see me coming?" Kevin says his brakes didn't work. Lily: "Oh, so you decided to go out for a spin?" Joan gets out of the car and thanks Lily for the ride. She heads for the house. Way to be helpful. They both ignore her. Kevin: "You should look where you're going!" She shoots back: "Oh, just relax! You're crippled already!" Ha! Kevin: "Nice." That's rich, coming from the guy who just told his brother it's too bad Luke wasn't the one who was crippled. Lily apologizes: "Had a great day. Still giddy." Kevin: "Just give me your number." Lily marches around her car so she can stand to Kevin's door, saying, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" When she gets there, she demands to know, "Did you think I did this just to pick you up?" What? Where the hell is she getting that? Kevin looks incredulous: "For insurance?" Lily: "You…lost…my number?" Kevin: "After you walked out on me in the restaurant, you didn't exactly make it into my little black book." Lily taunts him: "What, so someone gives you a little grief and so you just bail?" Kevin accuses her of being the one who bailed. Lily laughs and says she doesn't bail. They argue about who bailed and when, and it's all become very flirtatious. Somehow the actors are managing to convey what the writing isn't fully supporting. Fortunately, after surviving The West Wing from late 2001 to early 2004, I'm used to that sort of thing. Lily, who's all too open to giving Kevin another chance, suggests, "Well, let's just, um, push your piece of crap out of the way and…go for Greek food tomorrow." She starts struggling to move Kevin's boat as Kevin says, "I hate Greek food." Lily: "Did I ask you your opinion?" Lily, of course, can't move the car an inch, but struggles mightily, as Kevin exhorts her, "Put a little muscle in it!" Lily laughs and tells him to shut up. Frink: "It's the happiest accident ever!"
At school, Grace and Luke are walking outside as he tells her, "So I realized, nobody's ever created a force anywhere near ten to the nineteenth power volts, and nobody ever will, because if they did, they would risk creating an enormous black hole that would suck up the entire universe." Hmm. What's the power we'd need to suck up just the White House and the Pentagon? Grace smiles a bit: "Awesome recovery." Luke: "Yeah, you know, who cares what a bunch of idiots from Arcadia College think of me?" Grace looks pleased: "You read The Anarchy Manifesto." Luke: "Huh? No, Steinholz just made me realize that it's not about ego, it's about the work, the struggle. That's all that really matters." Now she looks annoyed: "That's what I said to you." Yeah, but you're not a big-deal string theorist. You're just the girlfriend. Suddenly Friedman rushes up to brag about his steakhouse dinner. He spreads his camel-coloured blazer apart to show his souvenir Don Thornberry's T-shirt with some cheesy cowboy cartoon on it and a Ye Olde Saloon font that reads "Eat at Don's." Which he's wearing over an orange turtleneck sweater -- or maybe just an orange turtleneck dickie, knowing Friedman. Just the thought that there could exist in the world an orange turtleneck dickie is making me feel woozy. I think I need to go lie down. Friedman says, "Dude, Don's steak was like a whole cow and his baked potato was as big as my headIgottago!" He rushes off. Grace puts her arm through Luke's and reminds him, "Dude, it's about the struggle." Luke: "Yeah, okay. I'm -- I'm struggling."
Adam brings Bonnie into Helen's empty classroom: "Voila." Come on. She goes to the same school and is seriously interested in art but doesn't take the art class? The Credibility Strain-o-Meter is already way over its annual mileage allowance. Okay, I know that metaphor didn't work but not all the writing on this show is doing so, either, and of the two, I am by far the lesser problem. Bonnie claims it's a waste of time: "Our teachers are so lame. Like you could teach creativity." Adam insists "Mrs. G." isn't like that at all. Helen's just about to come into the room when she hears Adam talking about her, so she lurks outside the door, eavesdropping. Adam: "She knows just how to say the right thing for you to see your work a new way without even pissing you off." Bonnie snots, "Anyone who would teach high school is too scared to do art for real." Helen's reaction indicates that, somewhere, she really believes that about herself. Adam argues, "No, just the other day she asked for my feedback on her work and it was amazing. She treated me like an equal." Helen smiles to herself and decides to come in before she has to hear Bonnie's rejoinder to that. She asks him how it's going and he says he was just showing Bonnie the art room. Bonnie apathetically raises her hand in silent greeting. Adam gets her to give him her notebook, and he shows Helen her small paintings therein: "Check this out. She's totally twisted, in a good way. She did this awesome mural behind a dumpster." Helen looks at the work and describes it as "very confrontational." Bonnie: "I don't like to be ignored." Helen: "Yeah. No one does. Especially an artist." Bonnie smiles. Adam says he knows it's halfway through the semester already but wonders if Bonnie can join the class. Bonnie: "Yeah, but you know, I don't paint kittens. Yeah. Unless they're dead." Hee. Helen takes that in stride: "Fair enough." She suggests a landscape, but Bonnie has a pretty limited idea of what a landscape can be, and balks. Helen explains it doesn't have to be literal, and pulls out a big illustrated book of Bosch's paintings: "In 1510, Hieronymus Bosch painted a landscape. Of hell." Bonnie smiles, and Helen smiles back: "Could be your thing." Bonnie looks at Adam, a sort of "You were right about this one" look. And Adam's expression is priceless: he looks sort of hurt and threatened, but just barely. Like he just now realized it was possible to lose the teacher's pet position to this weird girl. And it's not so much that he cares about being the art teacher's pet in general, but he cares deeply about his specific relationship with Helen, his mentor and surrogate mother.
Joan's at the bookstore shutting things down when GodFella comes zipping out from behind a shelf: "Hey there, Joanie." She jumps a bit, but doesn't scream, which I probably would have. Joan complains that she's still waiting to find out why she was put through "all this." She thinks nothing happened and nothing added up. GodFella says things happened. Joan: "Where? When?" GodFella: "Are you doubting me?" Joan says, "Before, when you'd tell me what to do, maybe I'd screw up and stuff…" "Maybe"? "But by the end I would see something." GodFella: "So you think you had no effect?" She does. GodFella asks if she remembers Emily Dickinson. Joan clears her throat: "Yeah, you can sing all of her poems to 'The Yellow Rose of Texas.'" It seems to be the first GodFella's heard of it. I wish it was the first I'd heard of it. No, wait, I wish I'd never heard of it, but not as much as I wish Joan didn't immediately go on to demonstrate by Yellow-Rose-of-Texas-ing the first two lines of "Because I could not stop for Death." I wish I'd had fast enough reflexes to mute that, because now it's stuck in my head. I've also heard that one can inflict the same brutality upon Dickinson's work with the theme to Gilligan's Island and other such musical dreck. GodFella looks like there's a bad smell in the room. I'm with him.
GodFella opens the book he's holding. Frink: "What are the chances God would open the book to the right page?" Me: "Really, really, really, really good?" GodFella begins reading: "Faith -- is the Pierless Bridge / Supporting what We see / Unto the Scene that We do not -- / Too slender for the eye." Joan: "I don't think that goes with 'The Yellow Rose of Texas.'" Indeed it does not, and don't let me ever catch you brutalizing her poetry like that again. GodFella: "Seeing the results of your actions is not important. Only the actions are. Like a recluse who wrote poems she never published…and here they are, touching people, [a] hundred years later." Joan looks mildly rebuked as he hands her the book, telling her, "Your work is out there, Joanie. You just gotta have faith." And he walks out as John Hiatt's "Have A Little Faith In Me" starts playing. That's…not the most subtle musical selection, is it?
And we drift into a montage. The first part is Grace leading a blindfolded Luke into Don Thornberry's -- a reasonably classy-looking joint, at odds with the cheeseball t-shirt Friedman was sporting. Frink: "What? What's she going to eat there?" I don't think it's actually been established that she's a vegetarian, though if she were, it would surprise exactly no one. When she gets him inside, she removes the blindfold (which is black with white skulls all over it -- hee) and Luke quickly puts on his glasses, reaching over to put his hand on Grace's cheek and pull her face gently against his shoulder. It's a really lovely gesture.
we see Bonnie riding the bus home and pulling the Bosch book out of her knapsack and perusing it. Man. Helen's sure trusting. I have to think twice to lend a book I don't even care about to a person I've been friends with for twenty years.
Helen's in her classroom alone, putting kids' paintings up on small tabletop easels.
We see Kevin and Lily through a window, sitting at a table in a little restaurant, talking and laughing…and kissing! Huh. Man, I do like them together, although I don't think the whole thing's been written altogether convincingly. But I understand Constance Zimmer has landed a role on some other show and so I kind of expect she's not going to be around, which sucks, even if she's not with Kevin. I wish this show could stop losing its best secondary characters. They should have made April Grace (Toni) an offer. It wouldn't have saved the police plots but I liked her anyway. I love Constance Zimmer. I grew to love Sprague Grayden. Anyway. Suffice to say, this date's going a lot better than the last one, and you can make up your own joke about dipping pickles in mustard.
Back to Joan, reading Emily Dickinson in the half-closed-up bookstore. She gets up and puts the poetry collection on the metal display thingy in the window of the bookstore. Out on the street, she glances at it briefly before walking away. "And when your back's against the wall / Just turn around and you will see / I will catch, I will catch your fall baby / Just have a little faith in me…"
I miss Hart Hanson.