Holy holiday theme show, Batman! The opening montage in this "On a Very Special Valentine's Day..." episode contains shots of ice-skating couples, parka-clad couples holding hands, kissing couples on the street soon to be on their way to Boston Memorial to have their frozen lips pried apart in a treacherous process including the jaws of life and numerous shoulda-known-better references to the kid who put his tongue on the flagpole in your elementary school class, and the typical and unrestricted free-range grazing of the once-thought-extinct woolly mammoth, who lives only in taxidermed form at The Museum of Natural History and in the dwelling-on-the-ice-cap climate of Bunim-Murray's vision of the American northeast during this and every single other freakin' day of the year. Cut to inside the CCC, where the Somber Seven help the kids make Valentines out of construction paper and markers while asking them numerous derivations of "Who's gonna be your Valentine this year?" in a way that totally means, "Get thee to a confessional, lest it not be All About Me and my Valentine's Day hang-ups for a minute." And so we are obliged, beginning with Genesis: "I really don't know what Valentine's Day means to me. I've never had a good one before." Sigh. Much as she's never had a happy birthday, a white Christmas, an egg-hunting Easter, a relaxing Boxing Day (Canada), an, um, emperor adoring Emperor's Birthday (Japan), an afikomen-filled Second Day of Passover and blah blah blah lumpofcoalinmystockingcakes. What. Ever. Kameelah, meanwhile, keeps her kvetching more in the present tense, which I like, telling us, "So far Kameelah is sitting at home for Valentine's Day." Yeah, get in line, sweetheart. And stop referring to yourself in the third person. Then get back in line.
Over the strains of the little-known Ben Folds Five favorite "Uncle Walter" (from their eponymous first album, which, even if you think "The Battle of Who Could Care Less" is the gayest song since the soundtrack of Legs Diamond, you must go out and buy RIGHT NOW, so brilliant it is ["Word." -- Wing Chun]), we cut to the firehouse for further exercises in whining. In fact, rather than sitting though the stultifying experience of hearing Montana rationalize her way into cheating on Vaj on Valentine's Day, the night before he comes up to visit, let us revel in the brilliant lyrics to the middle eight of the little-known Ben Folds Five favorite "Uncle Walter," a pithy little hymn about a smarmy old bastard who thinks he rules the world and knows everything:
Your Uncle Walter tells me everything he'd do if he was [sic] President
Oh, what a perfect world this world would be
If he was President.
But he's NOT.
Anyway, back in the world of linear recapping, Montana sits in the living room, telling Sean, "This is the last chance I'm gonna have in my life to date anybody," which sounds to me very much like a tacit admission that she knows darn well that her dating prospects are poised to dry up considerably when the producers peel the "Property of MTV" sticker off her backside and the little red light on the camera goes dark at the end of the six-month stint. Too bad, so sad. Sean outlines the logistics: "Vaj is coming on Saturday, and you're going out with Matt on Friday. I think that it would hurt Vaj's feelings, that the night before he gets there, you're seeing someone else." Dang for Montana. Fresh out of legitimate excuses for wanting to lose the Pox of the Pocks once and for all, Montana thinks on it for a minute and resorts to this bizarre new rationalization: "I wish Vaj could be here on Valentine's Day. But y'know what, he can't be, 'cause y'know why? 'Cause he's working. Y'know what? That's always the [expletive, probably "cratery," deleted] case with Vaj. It's work work work work work work work work work work work work work, all the time." That's right. She said it thirteen times. Thank you, "paste" feature. Now, however, both my "Ctrl" and my "V" keys are permanently broken, and I think I'll probably be forced to refer to Montana's boyfriend as "Aj" for the rest of this episode. Stupid Aj, having to go get a real job and go to work while his girlfriend sits on her ass in the middle of the day, polishing her nails and complaining that her man can't come visit (er, I mean "isit") because he, like everyone on the planet besides her, has to work. That sounds like carte blanche for an affair to me. Psychopath.
Kameelah enters the room, and Montana complains, "Sean thinks I should be sitting at home pining away for Vaj [whatever, the 'v' key is fixed now] the night before he comes." Sean corrects her by saying that there are other things to do besides sit home or go out with Matt, with which I will grudgingly agree. Kameelah says that an outside observer would probably think that Montana was "ho-ish," but thinks it's all good as long as she and Matt "don't get fresh." Sean thinks he is agreeing with her when he deadpans -- DEADPANS -- "All right, if it's just kissing, but how about if you're like, feeling boobies and cooter, and stuff like that?" Kameelah cracks up just as I start weeping, but those reactions are really just two sides of the same coin, as we each express our own defense mechanisms for the sorry, sorry future of the woefully endangered Planet Enlightenment. ["This man married, people! He spawned a child! Think about that. Then try to sleep tonight." -- Wing Chun] Kameelah screams with laughter: "He said 'boobies and cooter.'" 'Nuff said, don't you think?
Jason and Elka lie platonically in Elka's bed (the "she Catholic, he gay" undertones have never come across so plainly as they do here), and Jason whores himself out to the B-M personnel department once more in doing just what the producers ask. You can practically here the "And...ACTION!" before Jason begins, "Let me get this straight. Your boyfriend lives in Ireland, right?" We learn that Elka landed herself an Irish rock star while traveling abroad in Greece, and that he kissed her before they'd known each other for an hour. Jason admits that he's "a little confused" about how she can consider this "Walter" her boyfriend, which of course means that he does not believe a word of this, and at this point in the series, neither did I. At all. She claims that their relationship has blossomed over the phone, and Jason asks, "So there's lots of contact?" Which, again, seems like something he should already know, considering this episode marks the halfway point of the Boston season and they live in a house with one phone. But anyway. Elka hopes that Walter will come visit her in America, but her sincere sentiment is drowned out by the deafening roar of this episode's viewing audience raising its one collective eyebrow and quietly muttering, "Yeah, that'll happen." Jason asks whether Walter considers Elka his girlfriend, and she does nothing to make her case look more credible when she answers: "Yeah." Glacial pause. "Pretty much." Oh. No. Jason thinks not being the center of attention is for suckers, so we're back in a confessional where he tells us, "He might be a cool guy, but I seriously doubt we're gonna meet him. We might. I doubt it, though. She swears she loves him. She's got the poster on the wall." Yup. Just the poster. And not even of just him, but of him and his entire band. Now there's a personalized gift from the heart. And, as I've repeatedly pointed out, that is the only proof of the existence of this person. She would have done well to have brought, oh, I don't know, a photograph of the two of them together to prove that they've been so much as introduced. I've got posters and other wall-hangings all over my room too, but that sure as heck doesn't mean that I'm dating half of Neve Campbell's black and white face from the promotional poster of Scream 2 or that I'm practically betrothed to the little girl carrying one of her shoes and walking down a street in an oil painting hanging above my mantel that my grandmother painted in 1965. Note to Elka: Buy yourself a disposable camera and a plastic frame from Target. It'll lend a little credence to this knotty "boyfriend" argument, and the whole investment will put you out, what, seven dollars? Because right now, no one believes you, Elka. No one.
Meanwhile, Elka non-enjoys a phone conversation with her father, Captain Catholicism, who undermines and belittles Elka's every attempt to convince dad that she and Walter are serious about each other. Um, has he perhaps never been introduced to a little token of their love called "the poster"? It seems not. Elka tells us in a confessional that she doesn't talk to her father about Walter because "he kind of thinks the whole relationship is ridiculous." Three cheers for unconditionally supportive parenting. I know that I too am poking more than bit of fun at this relationship, but I really think I'm absolved of a lot more guilt for it, considering my all-important role of "not her dad." Captain Catholicism actually laughs at her. He thinks it's downright crazy that they only talk on the phone, but that they have only spent, like, nine seconds in the same room together.
Outdoor montage proving that some people do go outside, just don't go looking for them in this cast. To the background strains of "Blister in the Sun," we see Vaj approaching the house with a wrapped bouquet of flowers. Say, shouldn't "Part-Time Lover" have been a more acceptable montage song for Vaj's walk to the house? Actually, come to think of it, considering the well-documented epidermal issues Vaj has been forced to confront, any song with repeated references to the word "blister" seems more than appropriate.
And, as it turns out, his girlfriend, she's at the end, she is starting to cry [clap clap, clap clap]. Vaj comes to the door of the firehouse, bereft of luggage (oh, maybe he's only come for a minute?), and she hugs him noncommittally as he tells her to hurry up and get ready so he can start "hanging on her for three days straight." THREE DAYS? She reacts almost as violently by this prospect as I do: "Three days straight? When are you leaving?" Ouch, but good for her. She tells him that his visits are really stressful for her, and that she'd rather have a pleasant day and a half visit rather than a problematic longer visit. He jokes, "I could go now, if you want." Ha ha...seconded! Cue Jason's spoken-word voice-over, in which he begs her to "make a damn decision." Jason, no stranger to screwing over vulnerable mates reviled by an audience on a national scale, could probably offer some tips on how to do this in the most grotesque and reprehensible way possible.
Meanwhile, Elka calls Walter and happily informs him that Captain Catholicism has offered to pay for half of a plane ticket to visit her in Boston. Well, that's right Christian of him, isn't it? But Walter acts all the alt-rock-downer in telling her that he'll "do [his] best," but that essentially he doesn't want to take charity from Elka's father. Besides, if he had to fly all around the world visiting every single person who has ever bought a poster with his face on it, he'd have to go visit, like, three whole people. So that's a logistical crisis right there, as well. Anyway he promises to do his best, asking her, "Does it sound like I'm saying no?" And, in fact, it does sound very much like that indeed.
And we're off to the John Jefferies House, a swank hotel in which Vaj has procured a hotel room for his weekend getaway tryst with Montana. Do we have a read on why they're in a hotel? Because, as a housemate, I think I would have reacted violently after his last visit where the two of them sought to shatter every world record from the Loud Sex Olympiad, and I think I would have wanted the world to know all about it. Once in their room, Vaj offers her a gift that's wrapped in brown paper bags. Well, it's all about presentation with classy Vaj, is it not? I guess he wants the gift to evoke memories of her fourth grade social studies textbook or something. He could have at least gone the extra step and wrapped it in the Sunday comics, so the poor girl would have the fleeting opportunity to enjoy a chuckle or two from Cathy as she opens up her...oh, for the love of all things holy, what the hell is THAT? It's a painting that he painted for her, and I don't know that much about the world of fine art, but it evokes the notion of Picasso's retarded twelve-year-old brother getting in the paints again while poor Pablo is trying to get some real work done. Anyway, it's terrifying, abstract in everything but its wholly concrete badness, a painting of what appears to be a downcast face of a man holding his own engorged, bleeding heart. But there's a moon in the corner with what appears to be a little smiley face, so that's cute enough to completely offset, say, the engorged bleeding heart. She responds in a way I'm sure she perceives as being kitschy as hell: "It's very romantic and at the same time totally gruesome." Totally. Except, clearly, for the "romantic" part. He rambles on: "There's a reason it's only halfway finished. 'Cause when I painted it, my soul was only halfway full." Or halfway empty, depending on your perspective on how much Vaj is the devil's spawn. He tells her to "promise" that they'll be together through this experience, and she says she can't promise anything. Shot of the closed hotel room door as Vaj asks Montana if she still loves him and her response: "You know I do." He does? He shouldn't. He's wrong.
And, back at the firehouse, Montana sleeps in her bed while Genesis answers the phone and puts Adam on speakerphone for some strange reason I'm at a loss to fully comprehend. Genesis tells Adam that Montana's boyfriend is at the house, and he deadpans, "Which one?" Melee ensues, and Montana sleeps right through it. Hee. I knew Adam was my favorite for a reason. Now if he could only take care of that one tiny little problem that drags him down constantly and lowers him in my esteem ever so slightly. What's the name of that little problem again? Oh, yes, that's right: "Genesis."
And while you're chilling on cdnow.com picking up that Ben Folds CD from back in the first scene, make sure you're fully stocked with Portishead's Dummy, an album no human being aware of the existence of recorded sound should be without. "Glory Box" tries to make me forget about the unending visual horror of watching Montana and Vaj do anything at any time ever, and we discover her in the firehouse's bathroom shaving Vaj's head. And he's not wearing a shirt. And I just shorted out my computer keyboard with the latest tidal wave of bitter tears I simply cannot seem to keep at bay this afternoon. Over in Montana's room, the deed is done, and Vaj sits on Montana's bed bearing a downright frightening resemblance to Giovanni Ribisi in Boiler Room. Except that this scripted dialogue is far crappier. Believe it, people: "You've just been so distant. Y'know, I don't even feel like I should be here. I feel like I'm just impeding on your life." And then, whispered, pensive, Oscar™-worthy: "You're just so silent." He once again puts forth the offer, "If you want to keep it short and sweet, I can catch the twelve o'clock bus." And I know I've said it before and all, Vaj, but how are we supposed to miss you if you WON'T GO AWAY? Vaj says he's putting up with a lot right now, and Montana lies in the bed, all consumptive and dying unshowered, telling him the he needs to trust her and "be confident" in her feelings for him.
Adam (who the producers again think needs the Squiggly Hip Font of Character Introduction to alert us as to his existence) sits on a couch in a room I think was just built, considering I don't think I've ever seen it before. Genesis strokes his hair playfully (Whatever. No comment. See last week. I'm so done with that shit) as Elka throws darts really hard at a dartboard. Adam smartly tells Elka that Walter lives his life in the arts, and she can't expect that he'll just be able to pick up and fly halfway around the world when there are gigs to play, songs to write, posters to pose for, and so on it goes. She throws the darts very hard. She calls him, and Walter tells Elka that he was just trying to get through but got a busy signal. Wow. That's a lie. He tells her he's coming. Huzzah. And not only that, but he's not accepting money for a ticket from Captain Catholicism. Adam takes the phone and is very funny. She hangs up. Hugs and more hugs. Adam rocks. No one else cares.
Sometime later, Elka picks up a ringing phone to find Matt is on the line. Vaj and Montana are asleep on a couch mere inches away from them, so Elka whispers, "Is that you, Matt?" Elka, I think, wakes Montana up, but it seems like this phone conversation is the product of a completely different day. Montana takes the phone, and it really sounds like Matt is drunk and hanging out in his frat house with every last one of his friends and called her on a dare. He's super-flip, laughing at hilarious questions Montana lobs at him, like, "How are you?" Ha. She leaves the house to "work out," and tells him she'll stop by on her way back. He shrieks "LATER" and hangs up. Then he does a keg stand and calls every local radio station within a fifty-mile radius of Boston metro. Then he stops all that, 'cause he's gotta lotta high-fivin' to do. Oh, Matt. You great, incorrigible, egg-headed, opportunist bastard, you.
And so Vaj departs. Or "hit[s] the bricks," as he tells Elka. He takes his bag and makes for the door, and by Montana's reaction, it seems she had no idea he was leaving either. She walks him downstairs. They sort of kiss goodbye. She voice-overs, "He left feeling very sad and feeling very angry and confused. Not feeling good about the visit as a whole." Gee, I wonder why that might be. Morose close-up on the painting. His soul is half-full. His painting half-awful. Except for the "half."