The Squiggly Hip Font Of Geographical Introduction assists in letting us know that we are in "Philadelphia," but an ensuing montage of drab state-owned buildings and a sweep of some impeccably geographically rectangular high-rise office complexes makes me wonder if the folks at B/M haven't accidentally spliced in a few disparate shots from the Ohio Civic Association's much-sought-after guide to Midwest cities, "Getting To Know Your Downtown Dayton." Inside of a slow-moving van (the better to leisurely view the daily workings of life in one of America's principal cities for commerce and culture...and also to see Philadelphia!), Kameelah and Genesis field questions from Poor, Poor Anthony concerning the whereabouts of the other attending housemates: "So, either of you know what happened to Sean and Syrus?" Genesis barely grunts out a "no," and whatever comment she may have chosen to utter on this or any other matter (which, if history be our guide, was probably some odd non-sequitur of the "My mamma, she done drink the moonshine" variety) was doubtlessly edited out to account for time and narrative cohesion. Kameelah hops on the defensive, and it is immediately clear from her response that Anthony has asked this question somewhere in the area of two hundred and fifty billion times in the elapsed five seconds between the end of last week's episode and the beginning of this one. And thus she responds, "We stayed in the room all night. We went to bed." The Squiggly Hip Font Of Character Introduction takes a moment to identify a quiet and contemplative Anthony as "Anthony, Director, After School Program," so to better differentiate him from "Anthony, Trapeze Artist" or "Anthony, Personal Assistant To Bronson Pinchot" or "Anthony, Smooth Jazz Radio DJ" or "Anthony, Prime Minister Of Bosnia," so infrequently has he appeared in an episode of the Boston season EVERY SINGLE WEEK of the Boston season. Thanks for the reminder, though, Squiggly Hip Font. Otherwise I might not have recognized him at all.
Cut to...Sweet Lord McGillicuddy, another public transportation montage? Hey, Real World? If I sign an affidavit swearing that I'll never forget the fact that earthbound humans lacking the power of flight or of time travel must, indeed, move from locale to locale via certain pre-established modes of transit, will you knock off the whole "Take the train to the plane" PSA schtick already? Thanks. I'm so glad we had this talk. Now inside a moving train that serves as worse product-placement for Amtrak than a thousand Unbreakable trailers playing simultaneously, staff and volunteers and children alike writhe uncomfortably in their too-small, itchy-fabric-covered seats while Anthony paces around the car whispering, "Hey, you know what? They don't want to be a part of our team, they shouldn't be with us here. That's how I feel." Wait. Who's that guy? The one with that accent?
I still don't really know why they're in Philadephia. But the installment of Circumstantial Encounters With Famous People -- that seemed to begin last week with Oprah giving a speech and Jimmy Carter waving and Bill Clinton popping up out of a bowl of soup -- continues here when Kameelah, suddenly outside, running like a madwoman yelling, "Oh my God!" Cut to her talking to a man The Squiggly Hip Font Of Character Introduction informs us is "LL Cool J" (it stands for "Ladies Love Cool James," is what it stands for), ranting on wildly, "I'm not psycho or anything, but we're here with ten children from East Boston, and I was wondering if it would be possible for you to meet them. We were talking about you all last night." In response, Cool (may I call you "Cool"?) nods and tosses out a real chill, "No problem." And you know what? I'm going to forgo the really cynical comment about the sudden altruism and good will toward the children of America that this musical recording artist seems to possess as soon as the MTV cameras show up and start rolling. Instead, I will choose to believe that Cool is genuinely interested in making these lives as full as possible, and that every time a young, out-of-breath woman runs up to him and assures him that she is, in fact, "not psycho," he drops whatever he's doing for a nice, extended meet and greet with the fans. Repeat after me, idealistic types: this is not a publicity stunt. Here I go, believing that: "Awwww. Look at Cool go. Go Cool, go. I might just change my own name to IL Cool J, because at this moment more than any other, I too really love cool James." Cool! Cool! Cool! Cool! Cool!
Meet and greet montage. Have I mentioned my fondness for Cool? Yes? Good. Autographs are signed and photos are snapped. Moments after the publicity stu-- I mean "altruism and good will toward these, the children of America" -- Kameelah and Poor, Poor Anthony share a hug, Kameelah pronouncing the entire experience "so dope." And now to some kind of sporting stadium, the bleachers filled with people and the chaperones accompanying the children across the crowded field area. An announcement informs the throngs that "LL Cool J is in the house," and the place goes wild. Genesis and Kameelah laugh and share a few haughty "been there, done that" high fives, because they had the forethought to sign the intellectual property that is THEIR LIVES over to MTV for half a year in exchange for the opportunity to shake hands with a few celebrities. So, y'know, go them.
Oh, a confessional! Speak, Genesis: "Kids were asking, y'know, 'Where is [sic] Sean and Syrus?' And the only explanation I could possibly give them was that they got the times mixed up and they were gonna make it later." Cut to a dumb close-up of a concerned-looking kid, as if he's supposed to be thinking, "Where oh where are the great Sean and Syrus?" If he's thinking about them at all -- which he's not, Clever Editing Supervisor -- the concern is entirely on account of him wondering, "If he's not here now, does that automatically mean that Syrus is off somewhere bonin' my mom? And if so, does that make him my new daddy?" Just then, the announcer celebrates the presence of "America's number-one volunteer couple, Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter!" I'll bet Jimmy Carter has like ten zillion mugs with that written on it. Just at this moment, Sean and Syrus march up behind Genesis and Montana. And not to strain the visual metaphor too much, but the juxtaposition of those two cast members and the Carter introduction really drives home the analogy that Sean and Syrus are to The Real World what Jimmy Carter was to the U.S. presidency. The whole Boston season is like the Jimmy Carter of Real World seasons, in fact. Not that we've actually been in Boston in recent memory.
Montana asks Sean how the hell he knew where to go to find them, and he fills her in that they "cabbed it." I...oh. That explains everything. Because it's the frequent time I have hopped in cab and announced, "Take me to the place where I don't know where I'm going," only to find myself at the appropriate destination a short time later. I hope they gave that guy some kind of killer tip. And, nice jean shorts, Sean. I know this was, like, 1996 and all, but I'm writing this from my lofty perch of retrospect and I think you look like a dork so ha ha ha, dork. A non-contrite confessional offers Sean's internal monologue on the matter: "I guess I'm setting an example for these kids, and I'm showin' up late. So I was in big trouble." Anthony wilts when Sean asks, "Are you disgusted with me?" (correct answer: "yes"), offering that cop-out of undisciplinary parents and passive-aggressive girlfriends everywhere, "I'm a little disappointed." Tell me about it. Pushover.
What is this, Pop-Up Real World? "The Squiggly Hip Font Of..." feature is in freakin' overdrive this week, introducing everything in sight. An aerial shot of Boston alerts us that we're in a place called "Boston," and a shot inside of the firehouse alerts us that Elka is lying on the couch with someone named "Walter." Because she's so often to be found cohabiting with so many different men (often over the course of one episode...often over the course of one scene) that it's important someone come along and clarify who she's with right now. Whatever. Lying together on the couch, Walter offers, "It's breakfast time. I'm glad you came down and brought me my cup of tea." Heh. Brits and their tea. Elka, still practically asleep, offers that she needs to learn how to make coffee, and Walter believes that she has just said that she is going to make coffee and coffee bean hilarity ensues at this conversational juncture.
Timber shows up out of nowhere on the couch in the pool room and asks Jason, "So, how long is Walter here?" I know this show isn't that big on last names, but I'm going to have to go ahead and guess that hers is "Exposition." Jason, whose own romantic relationship is bedrock sturdy, doesn't hear the irony alarms go full blaze when he launches in with the criticism: "They met in Greece, fell in love, and have been dating ever since. And he says he's been faithful to her, but he's got a rock band over in Ireland. Some fans, too. And she's a virgin. See what I'm gettin' at?" Oh my God, I so don't. Maybe he could draw a chart on the TV screen with the squiggly white pen and I'd understand instantly. Speaking of which, said font lets us know that Jason is talking to "Timber, Jason's girlfriend." Because that is just exactly all she is. Oh, wait. I didn't think she was even that. I wonder if she's up to step nine of her recovery program yet. That being, "Apologize to friends for the white pants you're wearing right now." This whole Jason/Timber subplot has become so totally Jimmy Carter I can't even stand it.
Outdoors on a sunny afternoon. Are you sure we're still in Boston? Elka and Walter are lying on a blanket in what looks like some kind of park. First they're wrestling, then they're gazing, now they're lying down. Elka wishes they had planned a picnic. Walter begins his response, "Just when you though it was safe," a comment I have become conditioned to believe means, "We have to get inside anyway. It's about to start snowing, I think." But then he pulls two pears out of his bag, and Elka celebrates, "You thought of everything."
But he did not, apparently, remember to think of a certain dating chaperone and spiritual presence I like to call...well, God. Cut to ChurchCam, once again deployed to catch Elka in the presence of prayer, this time with Walter by her side. Elka's confessional fills in the blanks: "I just wanted God to recognize that we are in love and we needed His blessing. Because this distance thing is very hard." More church shots. Elka begins to cry and Walter comforts her and awwwww. The faces of the people sitting closest to them in the pews are blurred out, and I briefly consider the irony inherent in someone being a closeted Catholic because...well, y'know. Back outside, Elka explains to Walter that when she goes to church, she "can just let out everything. All the anxiety, all the nervousness, all the hate, all the anger, and all the fear, before God. I feel so much better when I come out. It's great." Walter kisses her. Awwww times a million. I'm so glad she took him to the service with her, and I'm even more glad he went so willingly. Because this man is honestly about to qualify for sainthood.
Oh, you can just tell by Kameelah's tone of voice in this confessional that she was arduously beginning to recount her version of The Legend Of Drunken Youngsters and the ensuing tragedy: "We came to Philadelphia and one of the banquet halls and all of the best restaurants in Philadelphia were represented." Oh, best restaurants in Philly, eh? So that would be, what? The Arby's across the street from one of the city's many correctional facilities or the Chuck E. Cheese to the smoking potholes and flaming barrels near the glass repair center and the Off-Track Betting? Oh, I know I'm misrepresenting the city horribly and I apologize for it. After all, that Chuck E. Cheese was condemned by the Board of Health and locked up years ago. Oops. Sorry. Cut to inside said banquet hall, where the volunteers barely watch the kids (natch) while shoveling free food onto their plates. Kameelah forges on: "Montana and Sean were drinking in front of the children...I don't know, like, what they were thinking. Or if they were thinking at all." Dun-DUN-duuuuun. The plot stomps on California grapes, adds preserving sugars, ages in an oak barrel for three to five years, and thickens accordingly. Inside the banquet hall, meanwhile, Montana talks to a man holding a wine bottle and asks, "Can I try some of the sauvignon?" Something about the way she says it strikes me as so inherently hilarious that I start saying it in her exact tone of voice, and soon find myself completely unable to stop. Days from now, concerned friends will accompany local police into my apartment and find me spinning around in my desk chair giggling maniacally and repeatedly intoning, "Can I try some of the sauvignon?" over and over and over again. Because this is what happens to a person when he's subjected to nineteen episodes of this show without consuming gallon upon gallon of sauvignon himself. It's my mantra for the depths this season has hit. My "All Work And No Play Makes Djb A Dull Boy" for the new year.
Oh, they took Amtrak? Just kidding. The train to the bus finally rescues us from The President's Summit On Why Is This City Such A Dump, and we turn up back in Boston under the cover of darkness. I can't wait to wow all my friends with news of my visit when I proudly wear my new "Don't Be A Cheese; Lay Down Your Steaks In Philly" t-shirt on casual Friday at the MBTV corporate offices. It will go really nicely with my bumper sticker reading "Gang Violence: It's Not Just For Otherwise Intriguing Cities Anymore," I'm sure. This and other paraphernalia to be found on the Pennsylvania Official Tourism Website, found at whatisthekeystone.com. Enjoy.
Cut to (okay, it's day now) Anthony talking to Kameelah and Genesis. He asks, "You guys didn't go to the Taste of Philadelphia at all, did you?" I going to go ahead and deduce from my context cues that that's the drunken brawl with the central plot and the sauvignon. Anthony continues by asking what Montana and Sean had "in their hands," and Kameelah tries to cover for them with a guilty giggle and an unsure, "They had Cokes. I think. I don't want to say." Anthony counters that it's too late, seeing as "the kids already told [him]," and Kameelah adds, interestingly, but not too interestingly, "I didn't even think about it." Genesis adds in voice-over, "I made eye contact with Anthony and he just kind of gave me these looks like, 'They screwed up again.'" And then, back outside (it's, um, night again, people), Anthony preaches to the choir of Kameelah that he specifically warned the chaperones about alcohol before they left. He's mad enough to really let out, "That's just a lack of common sense." Ooooh. So at the beginning of the episode, it was Sean and Syrus made to look like villains, but now at this crossroads, Montana's in the hot seat. Way to pull off the ol' bad guy bait and switch, Real World. Your subtle art is bafflement to me.
The Police Car Of Ambiguous Metaphor sails in front of the firehouse, sirens blazing, because someone's about to be in troooooouble. Syrus, Sean, and Montana climb back into the house, all haggard-looking. Hangovers can be a bitch, baby. I'll bet those young'uns bounced back a lot faster than you did. Elka asks Montana if she had a good time, and Montana blissfully, ignorantly responds that "it was pretty cool." She then remembers that the conversational exchange actually requires asking about the other person every once in a while, and Elka responds to Montana's inquiry about her weekend, telling her that she and Walter did "all kinds of crazy stuff." Montana voice-overss that Elka was "glowing," and we cut to Sean whispering to Montana in the kitchen, "I wanna get the good sexual stuff what's goin' on when he leaves." Was that even a sentence? You're fired, Sean. Actually, I think you are.
Elka continues her I-like-her-so-I'm-handling-it-as-best-I-can habit of referring to Walter as "babe" every single time she addresses him. That'll do, pig. He tells her that he's going to get ready for bed, which translates to him...er, riding virgin air once more, down in the pool room. But that room, you'll remember, has a camera in it (duh, because the rest of the rooms don't?) that broadcasts the actions of its inhabitants on a monitor upstairs. Or downstairs. Four episodes from the end and I still haven't figured this house out. Genesis helps: "She's downstairs reading poetry to Walter." Not. Montana and Genesis regard the grainy monitor, which is showing their favorite program, "Barely Legal Virgins: Tonight On The Surveillance Channel!" Montana and Genesis gaze in silence for a moment, then commence in screaming. Elka looks up at the camera and gives them the finger, at which point Jason gets all incredulous because he has the opportunity to do so in a public forum, yelling at the girls, "I can't believe you disrupted that. Leave her alone, dammit." But Montana and Genesis keep laughing and screaming and putting their hands over each other's mouths like the lifetime best friends they so obviously are not. Jason marches downstairs and grabs a sock off the floor, placing it over the camera and confessionalizing, "I grabbed a sock." Thanks. "I went down there and covered up the camera. Because I thought that was just acting like a little kid." Spare. This. Recapper. You hideous hypocrite. Montana giggles and mourns, "We can't see nothing now," which is played for laughs and actually amuses. A quick cut did-they-or-didn't-they montage has Kameelah and Montana believing that Walter and Elka didn't have sex, and Jason left unsure with a "maybe they did, maybe they didn't , I'm not sure." Ew. That's so what Timber said after the first time you and she...oh, never mind. Jason makes me five years old. Everyone pipe down so I can hear Jamiroquai.
Morning. Montana, Syrus, and Sean sit in one of the many small rooms containing an Ikea couch and a phone, listening on speakerphone as Anthony (the phone is labeled "Anthony," much to my endless amusement) tells the three of them, "Stay home today. We'll hook up on Monday." This conversation is chopped into so much conversational suey, but another cut later finds Sean crouched by the phone all but begging Anthony to tell them exactly why they shouldn't come into work: "Does it have to do with a child or the dorm?" Not that he's implicating himself in every available wrongdoing. Montana confessionalizes, "Anthony called us and suspended Sean, Syrus, and myself without any explanation other than it has to do with the safety of the children." Anthony passive-aggressively (remember last week when he told the volunteers that he thought they were doing a bad job because that's what the children told him?) stumbles and bumbles that he doesn't have enough "information" about their wrongdoing to discuss the matter further. Montana has no idea what she could have done wrong, because post-binge blackouts are a bitch like that, and Anthony attempts to placate them with the utterly beguiling, "If the information proves false...I will pay you for today." Pay them? Pay? Them? Can we address the nature, then, of the word "volunteers" I hear bandied around so casually, then? Anthony offers no further information and terminates the phone call, promising they'll talk "on Monday." Ouch. Public perception of them hangs in the balance for a whole weekend. Sean wonders aloud, "I can't think of what...I can think of a few things." Syrus posits some of their possible infractions, my favorite among them, "Me messin' with big boy." I'm sure that's it. He also thinks it might be "the sipper," which I imagine means the wine tasting until Montana wonders if the trouble might have been caused by "having something to drink while [they] were with the kids." Syrus doesn't think that has anything to do with it. He thinks it's the sipper. I think it was big boy. When oh when will people learn just NOT to mess with big boy? Wait. He's talking about Jimmy Carter, right? 'Cause that's who I'm talking about. That's who I'm always talking about. Right?
It's the day of reckoning at the CCC, where Syrus sits in Anthony's office. Anthony kicks it full-tilt Real World Boston: An After-School Special in threatening Syrus, "I'll give you the topic...alcohol!" Syrus laughs. Sure as hell yes he drank on the trip, but never in front of the children. So Syrus is in the clear. in the chair is Sean, looking like he borrowed a short-sleeve polo shirt from one of the eleven-year-olds, and while I try to physically pack my lunch back down my throat by hand, Sean owns up to drinking in front of the kids. A quick cut to Montana in the chair finds her owning up to drinking "one of those sample glasses." Anthony point-blanks, asking if the kids tasted alcohol at any point, and Montana snickers ever so slightly and -- oh my what a coincidence -- just happens to remember a point at which she heard one of the kids say, "ew, gross," and then, as she tells it, "I see that Jeffrey, at that time, had a glass of wine in his hand and they had both sipped it." Anthony guilts that he could "lose his license" because kids drank alcohol in the center's care, and a Montana confessional tells us, "I feel really bad. I feel like I've let people down." Duh? Duh. Back in the chair, Sean asks if he's very, very fired and Anthony tells him that Sean can stay, provided he gives "a hundred and ten percent" in the future. I hate that expression. I think that expression is my "third wheel." Montana's situation, however, is "the most serious of the three." So Montana will stay on suspension, and Anthony promises to call her tomorrow. I'm not saying "personal vendetta," because it's obvious that what Montana did was very, very wrong, but he just seems to be loving this a little too much for professional courtesy to allow. Who's the Big Boy now?
Montana bemoans the situation to Elka and Walter, who are lying together in Elka's bed. Walter asks, "Have you heard from the center yet?" Awwww. Walter cares about everybody. Elka claims that the worst that could happen is that Montana will get fired, and Montana again lets the world know that she's never been fired from a job before, "and it would suck to happen now." Which I guess means "on television," and no, I'm not kidding. Elka helpfully reminds Montana from the horizontal position, "Well, you have to be real careful around children" before turning the topic to Walter's departure and her misery therein. Walter's leaving tonight! Cue the tearful montage.
Tearful montage. At the Airport Of Emotional Manipulation, Walter and Elka share a blissfully time-consuming hug while LeAnn Rimes's "How Do I Live" makes me wonder just how airport personnel would respond should a junior prom spontaneously break out as a result of this egregious soundtrack error. She weeps, "Why are we always saying goodbye?" "Always"? Or by the official tally total: twice. Doing something twice does not constitute an "always." I have never in my life spoken the sentence, "Why am I always going to Vegas" or "Why am I always seeing the Mets play in the World Series?" Twice. Seeing the faulty logic here? The fuzzy math? Walter comforts her accordingly, promising, "Nothing's gonna change." Also true, meaning from 3,300 miles away he and Elka will be having the exact same amount of sex as they've been having while living together for the past week. Walter walks through the gate. Tally-ho, Irishman. Elka confessionalizes that she's in love and that she feels it "in the pit of [her] stomach" and "in [her] heart." She lies in bed and cries and cries. The Walter poster above the bed stares down as if to say, "They're called I-Zone Cameras with Sticky Film, babe. Take a real damn picture of me already." And whenever those are invented, perhaps she will.
The Phone Previously Known As Anthony has now been rechristened (and not a moment too soon for a little religious rite) "Elka's Dad." Elka tells him that Walter will be in Vegas over the summer (hello, shout-out. Whatcha knowin'?), and she wants to go spend some time with him there. Captain Catholicism is on familiar territory, and he knows just where to take it: "No. You're not going to Las Vegas. You're not going over there by yourself." But. Wha. Fah. Heh? She's living free of parental strictures now, isn't she? Realizing his levels of psycho-parenting perhaps require a little more focus, Captain Catholicism extrapolates: "You gonna start living together? Unacceptable. That's not acceptable behavior." She cries that she wants to be with him and can't handle this pressure from her father. A confessional tells us, "I'm gonna follow my heart on this one, and I'm gonna do what I feel is right." Word, Elka. Back on the phone, the Cap'n apologizes for upsetting her, offering the escape clause of all parental platitudes, "If it's meant to be, Elka, it's meant to be." Well, he picked a hell of a time to go all laissez-faire on her, but at least he's off her back. Sorry, buddy. You may be the captain, but you're no big boy. The role of Big Boy is so already filled. Step. Off. Jimmy. Carter.
Firehouse. Sometime later. Sean scarfs a big fat fast-food hamburger and can't even feign further concern when Montana says, "I'm happy that you guys are not gonna be fired, but in a way I wish I wasn't [sic] burning alone." Through a mouthful of love handles, Sean responds that it's good she told the truth. Which she didn't. Cut to Montana on the phone to the computer (this phone is apparently named "Vaj"), fretting, "I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get fired." We learn through Vaj that another social worker pretty much admitted to Montana that she was already in the can. Vaj utters some words from his bedside copy of Chicken Soup For The Enabler's Soul (I mean, she gave an eleven-year-old alcohol, people ["Hey, Robert Downey Jr. smoked pot when he was six, and he...oh, right." -- Wing Chun]), reassuring her that this would be a good time to "grow from it" and "learn from [her] mistakes." She tells him that she will look for another job, which is what Sean counsels her to do as well. She's sad that she won't have the opportunity to redeem herself, and a cut to an answering machine message from Anthony whisks us back into his office at the CCC, where we learn that the two kids in question asked for a sip of wine, "Begged for it. And you gave it to them." Vehement-denial-cakes. She's sticking to her story. Anthony reads a transcript from one of the kids, which confirms to him that she told the kids, "A small sip. But don't tell anyone." Further denial. But Anthony still thinks the situation is serious enough that her employment with the center must be terminated immediately. She's so canned. She walks out of the center, and just happens to run into three of the kids with a mom accompanying them to the center. One of them hugs her, and she brutishly brushes her aside and promises she'll see them later. Another kid stares almost into the camera and wonders aloud, "Where's Montana going?" The woman responds, "Home. I guess." By way of straight to hell. Of course.