Shout-out to Liz, one of the posters from my site, who's an extra in this episode, and told me all kinds of neat inside stuff I'm not at liberty to share with you, and to all the people who offered to help me get a tape when my VCR decided to play an April Fool's joke on me. Y'all rock. Also props to Jennifer of the Cogeco Cable call centre, who got me a time-shifting package that allowed me another crack at taping the show.
A note about the grade: It's a lot higher than it would be if the acting on this show weren't so damn good. I've been down this road before, a steep and winding road called When Stellar Acting Offsets Substandard Writing, and I'm still having to explain A & B grades I gave shoddy (and worse) episodes of The West Wing years ago. But I don't believe in just grading on the writing alone. So there you have it. I would give the writing for this episode a D, and the acting an A to A+, so here we are at B-. I'm disappointed in how a show this promising has turned into such a mess, but I'm too worn out to work up much of a head of steam about it most of the time.
The episode begins with Will being mobbed by the media as he escorts a distraught woman named Mrs. Hoyt out of a building, which looks like it could be a hospital or coroner's office or something. It doesn't look like Arcadia PD to me. As the reporters badger the woman, we gather that her daughter was abducted and murdered. She makes a plea for anyone who has information to come forward and help catch the murderer. The camera drifts back to her daughter's smiling school picture on a TV monitor in a nearby van.
Joan and Adam walk down the stairs at school, followed by Luke and Grace, as Joan beams, "It's our anniversary. April 2. One year." Adam's dumsquizzled: "You're kidding." Joan: "No! We kissed on my porch." Frink rolls his eyes. "What a girl." He thinks it's extremely abnormal that women in general, and I in particular, can remember not only every significant date in our relationships but details like the weather, what we were wearing, et cetera. The thing is, I just happen to have a very good memory; it's not something I really have to work at. Well, that's less true with each passing year, but I used to have a frighteningly good memory. Anyway. Joan seems like the type to write it on her calendar and enclose it in a heart. Luke volunteers: "They kissed at the science fair before that." Ha! I get to give Frink a triumphant look. Grace wonders, "Why would you retain that?" Well, only because it was the best episode ever? We don't get to find out, because Joan interjects, "Yeah, it's not the same thingwe were all 'should we, shouldn't we' for the longest time, and then, that night on the porchwe definitely took the plunge." What does it say about this season that I can't even recall that scene anymore? Seriously, I had to go look up the relevant recap. ["I didn't recall it either." -- Sars] And even if I watched that scene and "Jump" until the end of time, I don't think it would erase the icky taste left in my mouth by this episode. Anyway, Adam looks pretty poker-faced about it all, despite Joan saying, "We should celebrate." He agrees: "Sure." Grace: "Stop talking like this in public!" Luke: "What, are you saying you don't remember when we first became official?" Well, given that there's a notarized document to that effect lying around somewhere, she can probably look up the date. Talk about official. Wait, she ripped that up, didn't she? Grace puts in her earphones and says, "Bye-bye." Joan puts her head on Adam's shoulder and snuggles. Adam: "I can't believe you remember the day and everything." Frink: "Get used to it, kid." Joan simpers, "My lips are an alarm clock. Brrrriiinnggg! One year." She makes her alarm noise just as the bell goes. "My lips are an alarm clock"? Uh-huh. If she talks like that much, I can almost understand Adam turning out to be such a dick. Almost. Luke announces, "History. French Revolution." He tries to kiss Grace as he says, "Au revoir, baby." She gets all prickly and says, "Don't mark me, dude." Does Luke wear lipstick or something? But she puts her hand on his chest and says quietly, "Biology closet, 2:15." She grabs Adam, who's smooching with Joan, and says, "Come on, lover boy, we're late for Spanish."
Joan hustles off and bumps right into one of the janitorial Gods, and I don't even care which one anymore. Way too many janitorial Gods. In fact, too many Gods and not enough God, and that's just one of the many things that have gone wrong with this show. They argue a bit, each claiming to be the one at fault, but God claims he's the one responsible. Joan: "God feels guilt?" He calls that an interesting question: "Of all the life on earth, only humans experience guilt." Hmm. I'm no Dian Fossey but it wouldn't surprise me to learn that primates can feel guilt. And I've known some dogs in my time that definitely seemed capable of guilt. Catsnot so much familiarity with the guilt. Sars can likely speak to this. ["Not a lot of feline guilt happening over here, no." -- Sars] He continues, "Or innocence, for that matter. Dogs don't, birds don't, fish don't" Joan's bored: "Okay, got it." He says humans are the only creatures with a conscience: "The only ones able to distinguish between right and wrong." And most days, not even that much, it seems. "Recognizing it is the real problem, though, isn't it? Don't you love exploring such a complex issue?" No verbal response from Joan. He tells her she should join Mock Trial: "They love talking about these things, too." Joan: "Mock Trial?" He tells her, "The legal system affords you so many ways to look at guilt and innocence." As he walks off, he points out a few papers she missed when she was picking up everything that dropped when they bumped into each other earlier. She calls out, "How about one day I get to ask you to do something?" God just waves his bolt cutters. Joan is suddenly seized by a minor pee-pee dance frenzy and dashes into the girl's washroom. That wasstrange.
Lily's at a crowded counter in a coffee shop. The customer beside her is a cute guy in a toque. Normally, I might not notice, but now I'm in the market for a replacement. Anyway, he takes off as Helen arrives in her bright red coat (not that one) and Lily remarks on her surprise that Helen showed up at all: "I never thought I'd see you again." So either Kevin's keeping her a state secret, or they're not dating anymore. Could be either. Helen says she needed some time to think things over, and orders some green tea. Lily smirks: "So, uhGod's looking good to you again?" Helen smiles: "It's not that. I just have things to deal with at homeyou know that." Lily: "So you just needed some time away from the Ever-Present One. How'd that go?" Hee. Can we just have a show with Lily and Grace? Just about everyone else makes me want to scream at this point. Helen wonders, "Is all the gloating really necessary?" Lily replies, "No. Just one of the perks. You know, teaching the catechism can get a little dull." The Pope died the day after she said that, by the way. I'm just saying. They move to a table and establish that they were working on the sacrament of Confession when Helen took a powder. Frink's suddenly all excited to see Armin Shimerman's name on the credits, because he was in Star Trek or something. Lily laughs: "The sacrament of reconciliation, conversion, repentance" Helen: "Whoafirst day back and already I'm feeling like a bad person." Helen only seems to be able to deal with religion so long as it allows her to feel like a "good person." That seems really stunted and foolish to me. Lily says it's not about feeling bad: "Confession is a sacrament that's used to celebrate God's limitless capacity to forgive. He knew we'd feel guilty all the time, so he gave us a way to deal with it." Helen thinks that's beautiful. Lily uses that as a segue: "And, um, in the spirit of confession, I should probably tell you that Kevin and I are dating. He's been too freaked out to tell you." That is definitely news to Helen. Man, she seems really short of mother's intuition sometimes. Helen: "Oh." Lily tries to get back to the catechism, but Helen's kind of gaping at her and Lily asks, "Is this weird for you? This is weird for you." Aw, Helen, just think how cute your grandkids are gonna be. Helen totally lies through her smiling teeth, saying it's not, and claiming it's terrific. Lily uncharacteristically gushes: "Because he -- he's so cuteand sensitiveand he listens" "Sensitive"? "He listens"? Which Kevin Girardi are we talking about here? Helen tries to cut off that avenue of discussion and suggests they get back to the catechism. Lily: "Well, I'm not gonna tell you any details, if that's what you mean." She chuckles, but Helen just hides her disapproving expression behind a giant mug of tea.
“ I've lost all patience with the police plots. Dump them. This one is neither particularly interesting nor credible, and it does little other than make the overall theme of confession even more heavy-handed, so we're just going to breeze through it. ”
Joan wanders into the Mock Trial Club room and sits down in front of Glynis and to Grace, who says, "Shut upwhy are you here?" Joan says, "Well, because we're creatures of consciencebut you?" Grace: "Victim of the ruling class." The teacher, the aforementioned Armin Shimerman, a total HITG!, announces cheerfully, "Hear ye, hear ye. Mock Trial is now in session. I'm Mr. Harbison, civics teacher and legal enthusiast!" He taps his gavel on his desk for emphasis. Glynis beams, "He even has his own gavel!" I think she might wet herself. Joan mutters, "Oh, this is gonna be ugly." Grace: "If he pulls out one of those wigs, I'm outta here." Mr. Harbison's attention lands on her: "You'rePolk. Miss Hoder sent you because you're failing history." Grace: "Not failing. Refusing to answer questions about our so-called justice system, which everyone knows is a corrupt capitalist farce." He decides she should be the defense attorney. Grace pleads that she just wants to do her time and leave. Joan's smirking like crazy. Mr. Harbison cautions Grace: "Not without a fair trial!" He laughs at his own joke, but doesn't get much love from the peanut gallery. He wanders around the classroom expositing, "Mock Trial was created by the American Bar Association to teach youngsters how the court system works." As he walks around the room, two guys are eating sandwiches. I guess this is a lunchtime thing. Probably relatives of Chewy's. Frink: "Where's that obnoxious yearbook kid? Wouldn't he be in this club?" Harbison informs the club that they're going to try a case based on a fairy tale: Jack and the Beanstalk. Joan's confused; she thinks it's obvious that Jack murdered the giant. Grace takes umbrage: "It was self-defense, dude. The giant was trying to eat him." Joan sneers, "Jack broke in and stole stuff. That'sbreaking and entering and murder one." Aw, Pops would be so proud. Mr. Harbison asks if he's hearing the sound of a prosecutor. Joan apologizes and says her dad's a cop. But the teacher's mind is made up: Joan and Grace are opposing counsel, and he hands them pamphlets called "A Basic Approach to Law." Joan says she really doesn't want to, but he just welcomes her to Mock Trial and bangs his little gavel again.
Arcadia PD. I've lost all patience with the police plots. Dump them. This one is neither particularly interesting nor credible, and it does little other than make the overall theme of confession even more heavy-handed, so we're just going to breeze through it. On top of it, I've got all kinds of Adam-related fish to fry, and I'm not spending twenty-seven hours writing this recap. Some slightly troubled-looking guy comes in, introduces himself as James Karon, and confesses to the murder of the Hoyt girl. Much more interesting than this storyline is this article on false confessions. Read that during these scenes. (Thanks to PrincessADM for the link.)
“ She calls after him: 'You're going down, Jack. Going down.' Wow, I'm not even at the first commercial break and I'm already tired of telling Joan she doesn't know the half of it. ”
Adam and Grace are walking through the hall, as Adam asks, "I don't get itI mean, why would I kill a giant?" Grace: "He had foodyou were oppressed, poor" Doesn't sound like a big acting stretch for Adam, actually. They stop at the lockers, where Joan asks, "She roped you in? You're going to be Jack?" Adam looks at Grace: "I don't think I said yes." Joan rubs her hands: "You are so guilty." You don't know the half of it, Janey. Adam: "She says I'm not responsible for my actions." Joan: "Right." Grace: "My client was a working man, exploited by the interests of the wealthy, i.e. one Mr. Giant." (TWoP shout-out?) Joan: "Huh. You're actually getting into this." Grace says she's going to prove that law doesn't apply to the common man: "And Hoder is going to regret the day she sent me to Mock Trial." She ambles off saying she'll see Joan in court. Joan looks down the hall where Bonnie is leaning against a wall, and some guy's in front of her with his arms planted on the wall on either side of her, chatting her up. Frink: "Does everyone in Arcadia go to this one high school?" Joan says, "Hey lookBonnie's got herself a new boyfriend." Boy, you don't know the half of it. Bonnie throws them a sly glance. Joan: "Ewhow weird does he have to be?" Adam agrees indifferently. Joan slips her arm through his and they start walking together. Joan asks, "So, you're not going to mind if I tear you apart on the stand, are you, my little felon?" Adam claims he's a victim. Joan suddenly remembers another place they could go for their anniversary: "The UnUrban? Remember that coffee shop where they exhibited your stuff?" Adam says they can go wherever she wants. He says he has to be at work at four. Joan, with a slight look of doubt in her eyes: "I hope Michael's been paying you overtime. You've been working like crazy." Adam smiles: "I have to pay my defense attorney." He gives her a quick peck and takes off. She calls after him: "You're going down, Jack. Going down." Wow, I'm not even at the first commercial break and I'm already tired of telling Joan she doesn't know the half of it.
Joan's trying to feed a bill into a vending machine at school with no success, when suddenly a red-headed guy appears around the side of the machine to tell her: "You'd better prepare. This trial could get personal, Joan." (Interesting factoid: the actor playing this God, Adam Wylie, played Jack -- of Jack and the Beanstalk -- in the Broadway musical Into the Woods. Thanks to Krista for this tidbit.) She thinks God should be able to remember that it's a fake trial about a fairy tale. He takes the bill from her, saying, "Symbols and metaphors can stir up a lot of passion." He feeds the bill in, and of course the machine takes it. (Frink says she had it oriented the wrong way, but I don't know how he could tell that.) Red-headed God: "You know wars have been waged over what a flag represents." Joan asks, "Is this about Grace? Because she doesn't even believe in the legal system." She wonders if she's supposed to let Grace win, to impress upon her the importance of law. God asks: "Would it be right to let a guilty person go free?" Joan thinks, then asks, "So I should wipe her out?" Red-headed God seems like he's going to try to explain something, and then decides it's pointless. He walks off without another word, and a really slow, exaggerated, prolonged Godwave.
Will and Chewy question the perp about the details of the murder. He seems to be giving all the right answers, from the looks the cops are giving each other. The perp's an okay actor, but I wasn't buying this storyline from the first second he walked into the station, and neither were most of you, so let's move on.
Luke's in the kitchen making a big-ass sandwich while Joan bones up on law. "Did you know that if you admit that you did something, it's less of a crime than if you deny it?" Luke mutters, "I didn't know it was the last piece of cheese. Kill me." Joan: "Interesting. A guilty conscience always rises to the surface. I was actually talking about Mock Trial." Luke enthusiastically slaps layers of bread and meat together and squirts mustard around. She asks, "What is that?" He tells her it's a Dagwood, and then, for the benefit of all the viewers under the age of fifty, I suppose, explains its origins. He blathers on as Joan says dismissively, "Grace was right. Some things just should not be remembered." Luke studies the contents of the fridge for a food group not already represented in his sandwich. Joan: "When you're done inhaling the entire deli section, I'm gonna need your geek services in compiling some data." He tells her he's serving as legal advisor to the defense. Joan: "You're helping Grace? What happened to 'blood is thicker than water'?" Luke: "Got trumped by make-out sessions in the biology closet." Those two really need to branch out and find some new sites. Joan scoffs that he'll be on the losing team: "Jack is totally guilty. The only question is, can I up the charges? Murder in the commission of a felony carries LWoP -- life without parole." LWoP? Shout-out, of sorts? I'll tell you, it's starting to feel like Television Without Parole over here. Luke sits down to Joan with his giant sandwich and inquires, "Don't you think it's weird that you're prosecuting your boyfriend?" Joan: "Can it, Sigmund." Luke thinks it sounds like a "classic case of playing out feelings of resentment and aggression." Joan snaps, "Things are fine! It's our anniversary." Luke: "Yeah, butI know how weird it was when you twowent away for the night." Really? How does he know about that, exactly? She replies, "I don't think you should be the one hosting Loveline. Your love life consists of making out to jars of pickled frogs! Adam and I are fine." Luke picks up his sandwich and attempts to bite into it, managing perhaps the middle third. Joan grabs the top piece of bread, licks the underside, and slaps it back on his sandwich, smushing it down for good measure. Luke doesn't react much as she marches upstairs.
The camera drifts along toBonnie? In her bra, with her back to the camera, pulling her shirt on. A naked, hairless male torso walks past her, pulling his shirt on as he does. Feel sick yet? She says, "You don't have to go." She looks gloomy and kind of needy, but then, she always does. She adds, "My parents won't be home for a long time." She sits down on the couch to him, and then arranges herself so she's lying in his lap. The camera still doesn't show us his face. But you recognize the necklace, don't you? Frink's incredulous: "Dude..." Bonnie says, "I think it'd be nice sometime to talk." Talk ain't what he's here for, girlie. He's got a girlfriend who'll talk until they're both blue in the face for that. The camera pulls out as Adam says softly, "You know about Joan." Note that he's not touching her at all, anywhere that he can help it -- both his arms are spread wide. Charming. He adds, "I didn't lie about anything, okay?" Well, maybe not to Bonnie. He starts to get up and she quickly moves so he can. As he grabs his bag, she claims, "Yeah, I know. It's cool." Clearly. He walks out without another word.
“ Frink and I spend the commercial break staring at each other, trying to will our eyebrows to return to their natural resting places. ”
Out in the hall, Adam leans against the wall and grinds his forehead into it a bit, as his conscience writhes. I hope you at least had the sense to have safe sex, youyouSo-Not-My-Boyfriend-Anymore Guy That I Barely Recognize.
Frink and I spend the commercial break staring at each other, trying to will our eyebrows to return to their natural resting places. Frink asks me if I think it's the first time he's done it. Me: "No way. Didn't you hear the wistful way she said, 'It'd be nice sometime to talk'? No way is that their first time." Frink gets distracted by a Desperate Housewives commercial: "Oh, Susan. Haven't you learned yet not to date the utility men?"
At school, Adam and Joan are walking along as she bores him senseless, yattering about how "Jack" has to pay for his fairy-tale crimes. Adam tells her, "You and Grace have to get a grip. It's not real." Joan makes a lot of noise about teaching Grace that laws have a purpose. Adam: "Good luck. She's going at this like she's bringing down Enron." I think Grace could kick Kenneth Lay's ass. Joan: "Oh, she's just justifying immoral behaviour because of a past injustice." Isn't that what makes the world go 'round? Wait, that's love. Sorry, my mistake. Joan: "That's a society based on revenge, like before the Magna Carta." Before the Magna Carta? Because we've evolved so much since then. She starts to pull some book out of her bag for reference, when some jerk zooms past her and knocks her a bit. Adam shouts, "Hey, watch it, moron!" Joan's taken aback by his outburst and asks if he's okay. He claims he's fine. Other than being eaten alive by his conscience, which makes a guy a bit moody. Joan bends down to pick up her bag and leaves behind a black gift box, which had gotten knocked out. Of course they both notice it, and Adam bends down to pick it up. He studies the logo on top and then says, "Janean airbrush?" Joan's bummed that it's no longer a surprise, but smiles anyway: "Yeahanniversary present!" Adam opens it slowly as he says he's been saving up for one for months. She says she didn't want to have to watch him "drool in the art supply store anymore." Adam looks slightly pained. She asks, "What's wrong? You look like you're gonna hurl." Adam cites some agreement not to get each other big presents. Joan: "I know, but you've been working so hard, and I wanted you to have it." Heh. I know where she's coming from. Frink's always all, "Let's set a limit on gifts" and I'm all, "Umokay" knowing I'll never ever be able to adhere to it, and by now he knows it's hopeless and that my mad rationalization skillz will always overpower his good common sense. She simpers a bit: "Don't I get a hug?" Weakly, Adam says, "Yeah," and pulls her into his arms. She smiles over his shoulder, and he looks troubled as he strokes her hair.
“ Joan counters with, 'Sometimes things are either wrong or right. You said so yourself.' Mrs. LandingGod: 'Yes. But figuring it out can be a real trial.' Oh, man. I really think the Lord of all the Worlds should have better material. ”
Mrs. Hoyt comes into the police station, where Will and Chewy tell her they've got the guy who killed her daughter. She's never seen him before. He's being arraigned tomorrow. They beat us over the head for a while with her relief that the perp's been caught and how now she can let her other child out of the house. Tears, whatever. Please, God, no police plots in Season Three. If there is a Season Three. Right now, I'm not sure I even care one way or another.
Joan's at work reading or studying when Mrs. LandingGod appears and startles her a bit. Why does Kathryn Joosten look so lumpy? I remember her being pretty trim on that other tedious show I used to recap. (Er, which one, now? They're all tedious -- at best -- after a while.) She asks Joan if she's preparing for the case. Joan says she can't believe opposing counsel is going for self-defense. Well, I'm not a lawyer, and probably all the recappers who are lawyers are too busy to play Dial-a-Lawyer with me, but what else have they got? Not guilty by reason of insanity? Joan: "He so killed that guy." Mrs. LandingGod: "Well, everyone has their rationale for why things happen." Joan counters with, "Sometimes things are either wrong or right. You said so yourself." Mrs. LandingGod: "Yes. But figuring it out can be a real trial." Oh, man. I really think the Lord of all the Worlds should have better material. Joan: "Cute." Mrs. LandingGod chuckles: "Thanks. You see, a trial is just an outward representation of what goes on inside people all the time. The moral debate: am I good or bad? How do I behave in this or that situation? It's a state of examination where, hopefully, you find the truth." Joan: "Have I done something I don't know about?" Mrs. LandingGod decides Joan is busy and she shouldn't bother her anymore. Joan: "No, see, if you answer the question, then you're not bothering me." Mrs. LandingGod: "Knock 'em dead, Matlock." Joan: "Matlock? What are you, like, a million?" Her response is to wiggle the fingers of both her hands in the air in a sort of Godwave.
Helen slides open the littleslidey door-thing in a confessional and says, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned" She laughs nervously and adds, "That sounds so old-school." Hey, at least you don't have to say it in Latin. A familiar voice asks, "How long has it been since your last confession?" Helen looks through the lattice: "Father Ken, is that you?" Frink: "Man, how weird must that be?" He starts asking me a bunch of questions about confession, and about whether people can see the priest or whether they know the priest and how that all works. Because in this house, I am the go-to person for questions about Christianity, even though I was brought up Protestant (Baptist) and am no expert on Catholicism, which is probably the Christian religion he is most curious/confused about. Still, I know more than he does about it (plus, I have kind of an obsession with saints and anchorites, and more than a passing interest in nuns and medieval Christianity) so I end up fielding a lot of questions. I also end up sending him to Google a lot of the time, as I simply am not in a position to explain (let alone justify) a lot of Catholic doctrine. For him there is just not a lot of difference between Catholicism and Protestantism -- it's all one big Jesus-y glob to him -- so when he first met my parents, he was a little concerned that their house would be full of crucifixes and rosaries and stuff. Which still makes me laugh my ass off, almost a decade later, not least becauseeven if my family were Catholic, they're about as religious as Fred Flintstone. But he honestly had no idea what to expect, and I had my own worries about his parents' religious tendencies, so I guess I shouldn't laugh. (Except I mostly turned out to be right.)
“ The only possible explanation I'm entertaining is a self-sabotaging impulse driven by depression secondary to being in a suffocating and unfulfilling relationship. Still, even that just doesn't sit right with me, because the writers are making it about the sex. And I just don't believe that's the greatest driving force in Adam's personality. ”
Anyway. Father Ken asks, "Helen? Is that you? Is everything okay?" Helen says she's back in catechism class and they're covering Confession: "So I thought I'd do a field trip." I'll bet the Church loves spiritual tourists. Father Ken thinks it's wonderful, and then gets back to business: "So, how long's it been?" Helen muses: "I'm not sure of the exact date, but Ford had just pardoned Nixon, so I felt inspired." Going to confession isn't the impulse that that event inspired in me, but then, I wasn't Catholic, either. Let's just say I was feeling a little more Travis Bickle and a little less Thomas Merton. And yeah, I was nineyou want to make something of it? Even then I knew it was bullshit. Father Ken chuckles and welcomes her back: "Let's skip the Reagan and the Clinton years and we'll start with something more recent." Could we skip the Bush years, too? All of them? Please? Helen confesses that she sometimes naps through planning period at school. Heavens, she'll be doing Hail Marys until the cows come home. Father Ken is sure God understands: "What else?" Helen: "Andsometimes I give students As when they only deserve Bs." Helen, you are Evil Incarnate. I can't believe Lucyfer thought she could take you on. Oh, and I can't wait to see Adam's grade. And Bonnie's. Bye-bye, art school. She says breezily, "That's about itthanks!" Father Ken says, "Helen" Helen wants special treatment: "Okay, butcan we do this somewhere else? I feel like I'm in The Exorcist." Nice.
Grace and Adam are sitting outside on the stairs. She's rehearsing her client, who's mighty morose. She asks him to state his name. He does, and asks, "My last name isn't Beanstalk, is it?" Grace says no. She keeps asking her polite little questions but Adam quickly gets up and says he can't do this right now. He takes off, and she chases after him, asking, "Hey! Did your girlfriend get to you?" He says, "No. It's just" Grace: "What?" Without stopping or breaking stride, he says, "I cheated on Joan." Grace stops short, but Adam keeps going for a moment, and then stops, and turns. He keeps his eyes down, though, afraid to meet Grace's expression, whatever it is. She looks sad and troubled and surprised. He finally looks at her. She sighs, at a loss for words. Adam: "Say something." How about "You dick"? Grace: "What? What do you want from me?" He marches over to her and says, "It was just sex, a couple of times. It didn't mean anything." Uhhuh. I guess he thought he'd see how that went over with Grace before he unloads it on Joan. I also take this opportunity to gloat to Frink about being right that it wasn't their first time. Grace: "And you had to tell me thiswhy?" Frink: "Lawyer-client privilege." Adam doesn't know: "But I had to tell someone. I figured you'd understand." Not too selfishor misguided. So often confession is about making the confessor feel better without regard for how it makes the confessee feel. And here I can see the use of priests. They're professionals. Get yourself to a confessional, Adam. He elaborates, "I mean, you're the one with the whole view on relationships not being possessive and everything." Grace: "So I'm supposed to tell you it's okay?" Adam shrugs a bit: "Yeahyeah -- no" Grace tells him not to drag her into this, although it's a little late for that. Even if I bought this unconvincing turn in his character -- which I don't -- I would have a lot of trouble buying his casual attitude about it, and this confession to Grace, with an expectation of support riding on its coattails. I could believe he'd admit to her what he'd done, but only because he found it unbearable to keep to himself and had no one else to tell, not because he almost blithely assumed her support. Come on -- he's madly in love with clingy-clingy Joan, and he's a virgin (or was, anyway), and he's pretty sensitive to boot. This is not the Adam they've been writing for two seasons, no matter how many "horny seventeen-year-old boy" explanations people offer up. The only possible explanation I'm entertaining is a self-sabotaging impulse driven by depression secondary to being in a suffocating and unfulfilling relationship. Still, even that just doesn't sit right with me, because the writers are making it about the sex. And I just don't believe that's the greatest driving force in Adam's personality.