There's no time for five-minute mood-establishing weather montages this week, as we join the inaction already in progress inside of the Center For Center Center (CCC), where The High-Drama Strings of Passing Out Dittos rages appropriately on the soundtrack. Poor, Poor Anthony (who the Squiggly Hip Font of Character Introduction feels it must identify -- again -- so put-upon and poor is his poor, put-upon character) is surrounded by a troupe of CCC-dwelling waifs, who he tells, "I'm taking surveys, and I want to know truthfully what you think about the volunteers." Cut to the first of many, many shots of the Somber Seven during their daily routine at the CCC, this one featuring Sean wearing that it-came-from-a-porno-set-in-the-American-old-west-called-Lay-It-Again-Sam-or-some-such-thing leather cowboy hat. Yuck. He is also wearing a shirt with his name on it, because he is exactly twelve years old. And also because his intelligence level leaves him inclined to forget said name, and what better way to remind himself than by running to a nearby mirror and using said shirt as secondary source material on this matter. Though, considering what we know of Sean's intellect, I wouldn't put it past him to take a look in that mirror, gaze curiously at the shirt for a moment, and intone aloud, "'Naes'? Who the hell is Naes, eh?"
Still in flashback, the kids hang all over Sean for a reason I remain unable to discern, and he attempts to foist them off on any of the other uninterested CCC volunteers. Cut back to Poor, Poor Anthony, continuing, "You've voiced concerns before; this is the appropriate place to do it," which is so dripping with the undeniable subtext, "Hey, kids? If any of you is actually able to stir up some compelling controversy on this show, MTV can probably arrange to have Scary Spice do a cameo at your first communion. Pleeeeease?" Poor, Poor Anthony implores them to "be honest," seeing as "no one will know your answers, as long as you don't write you name on it." Or even if they do, provided Sean is not afforded ample time to very slowly sound out said names. Or, if they really want to be helpful, have their names ironed onto their shirts, "redrum"-style, so they read forward when reflected in the mirror.
A montage of Anthony coaching the kids to write anything that will actually come across as satisfying television viewing -- you can practically smell B-M bribing Anthony to tell the kids that "helps me with my homework" is spelled "B-A-D T-O-U-C-H" -- cuts to The Somber Seven sitting around a conference table after hours, listening to the results: "We have seventy-five kids here. Thirty-eight were surveyed, which is, like, fifty-one percent. Five percent of the people, nine through eleven, say that you never listen to them." Five percent? Dude, isn't that, like the margin of error? I mean, I hate the seven of them also, man; there's no margin for error there. And I'm still waiting for a .pdf downloadable version of that survey so I can register some of my very strong opinions of the wrongs these people have perpetrated against me over the course of the last seventeen weeks. But five percent of thirty-eight is, by my calculations, a grand total of 1.9 kids complaining about being ignored. So, y'know, wah wah. I mean, no one knows better than we do that there always has to be a complainer or two in the world (follow me to my MBTV in-box the day this recap goes up and follow the IP addresses of the hate mail right back to Philadelphia), but this is a really paltry attempt to cook up some drama right here. When I first watched this segment in its entirety, I was all prepared to end this paragraph with the sentiment, "Them sucking is now more than just an opinion...it's a statistic." But after crunching some numbers, I couldn't even rationalize it. Sweep up the hanging chads, baby. I demand a recount.
More facts according to B-M, as told by Poor Puppet Anthony: "Then I had three questions. The first one, which I should have received all positive results, was 'What do you like best about the volunteers?'" He quotes an answer, "'I like it when they are not screaming.' By an eight year-old." Cut to Syrus on the basketball court, telling kids to clean up, and yelling at them rather extravagantly, "No, no, no! You better not!" Cut back to Syrus in the conference room, defending himself with the shoulder-shrugging, "There are certain kids here who just don't listen, man." I think they cut out the heart of his defense: "I mean, I'm only asking for their mamas' phone numbers, man" because that forgotten subplot is, like, so Episode 9. Jason, now wearing Sean's Lay it Again, Sam hat, is so frightfully conscious of his as-yet-untarnished integrity in front of a national TV audience (yeah, RIGHT) that he steers hard-core into humility mode: "I'm realizing from this thing that I have been slacking. And I'm looking at some of these things down here, they're saying, 'They're nice, they're nice, they're nice,' and I'm thinking these kids are giving us more credit than we deserve." Yuck. He's the charter member of the kowtowing boy band *N Syncophant, so much of an ass-kisser is he. Cut to a montage of Jason and Kameelah in the middle of a spirited game of Jenga, the kids asking if they can play and Kameelah yelling back, "No, you can go build some blocks." Approximately 1.9 disenfranchised children skulk off in search of a pen.
Elka has some words for Poor Poor Anthony: "They act like we never help them with their homework and we don't do activities and we don't listen to them, which is not true." Montana tacks on a defensiveness rider, quietly adding, "I think I disagree with some of it, at least personally." Poor Poor Anthony retorts that they shouldn't "get defensive," passive-aggressively adding, "This is what the children are saying." Elka briefly voice-overs that she doesn't think the rest of the Somber Seven are adequately pitching in at the CCC, but admits that "working with children isn't for everybody. And I honestly think that a lot of the roommates probably try." Translation: "Montana sucks at this, but she can be a little vindictive and I want to stay friends with her after this episode airs." Hey, thanks for keeping the "world" so "real," Elka.
Over in the kitchen of the CCC, Elka and Montana cut some carrots, while Sean stands around with his usual level of productiveness as a human being. That being "slightly higher than seaweed." Montana notes that she has been trying to do "cool activities," and Elka concurs that life at the CCC can really be a challenge, adding, "Maybe I can't be a teacher." Sean, always angling for a punchline, judges the impressive carrot-cutting acumen of his roommate and tells her, "You can't be a chef, I'll tell you that." Elka deadpans her response, "I know I can't be a chef. I mean, I can't even cook." Um, Elka, don't you think that's exactly what he...well, never mind. I ignore him most of the time, too. Me, you, and somewhere in the range of 1.9 others.
Back at the firehouse, Sean lies on Elka's bed as Elka affixes a "Pearl Jam" poster to the wall to her only keepsake of Walter. So is she also dating Eddie Vedder now, or...well, forget it. Sean plot-develops, asking her if she's "freaking out" about Walter's impending visit and how much time they've spent together, and she answers his question one bad edit later, when it's suddenly Jason she's talking to: "Like, a week. We were in Greece for, like, a week, and I had met him, like, the first day." Two "likes," innumerable pauses, and a constant touching of her index and middle fingers to her lips. The verbal and physical equivalent of, "Look at me! I'm lying!" Because he is exactly twelve years old, Jason forges ahead with the personal questioning, "Did you guys do a lot of makin' out?" Fingers. Lips. Pause. Lips. Fingers. Pause. Lips. Fingers. Pause. Pause. Pause. Response: "Well, yeah. Y'know, of course." Sigh. Cut to an Elka confessional, in which she admits, "It's difficult to be a nineteen-year-old virgin in the 1990s. It's very hard. Very hard." Good thing that comment was contained to a voice-over and not part of her conversation with Jason, lest The Most Mature Man in Show Business have volleyed back, "Tee hee. You said 'hard,' and very 'hard,'" and the whole thing end in a huff. Jason continues on, asking her, "What happens if he comes here and it's not so cool?" Elka responds that that's something she has to find out for herself, "because what I feel for him, and what he feels for me is so strong." Feeling what way, exactly? Hard? Very hard?
Back at the CCC, the alt.love.Walter chat continues in the form of Sean asking Elka, "So, where is he staying, a hotel?" Elka responds that Walter will be staying with "a friend of his sister's," defending this decision to Sean and a mysteriously appearing Jason, "He knows that my father would be very upset." She says it would be "too awkward, too weird" if Walter were to stay in the house and not sleep in her bed. Word. Sean knows everything, so I make sure to care excessive amounts when we cut to him in a confessional, learning us all, "I think Elka wants to sleep with Walter in her own bed, but Elka's dad has a real problem with that." Well, it's all in the subtext, isn't it? If by "subtext," you mean "repeating verbatim that which everyone else has said, ever." Elka continues that she would rather Walter stay at the firehouse "until five o'clock in the morning, just chatting with him all night long." "Chatting"? Now there are some words of love for you. Why, I'll always remember those times when my SO and I would lie around in bed all day, just chatting sweet nothings in each others' ears. Sean continues with his pearls of exposition: "She could possibly lose her virginity to Walter when he comes, and she may not." Shut up, Naes.
Oooh, I love this scene. Cut to some ambiguous Back Room of Cluttered Discord back over at the CCC, where Montana speeches at Anthony, "Y'know, you're always saying you're going to take us all as individuals, but then you do, like, group surveys. To tell you the truth, it probably would have been more beneficial to me just to know where my personal weaknesses and strengths are." Anthony shoots back that he would just love -- LOVE -- to go over Montana's strength (note the singular) and weaknesses, and suggests that they retire to his office.
Cut to perhaps my favorite sequence in the history of the Boston season, with Montana following Anthony through a door and proceeding up about fifty flights of stairs, as if his office has suddenly been moved to the crown of the Statue of Liberty, just so they could up the dramatic ante in anticipation of this impending fight. The exterior of the CCC indicates that there are about three floors in the whole place, but Montana rants behind him for several more flights than that in one defensive stream-of-consciousness: "Everything has been real negative, too, and it's hard for me to buy, because I've always done well in school and every job I've ever had I've never been fired and I've always gotten stellar reviews in everything I've ever done," and our special tonight is a double order of pitypartycakes. Anthony walks ahead, claiming that "this is different," and stops only once to ask her if she's worked with children before. She has: "With handicapped children." Oooooh. Hold a place in heaven, people.
And we're inside Poor Poor Anthony's office. He starts off with a positive: "You're educated. You seem to know your stuff." He says something about dinosaurs I can't discern, then launches into the part about Montana being a "hyper-dramatic" "busybody" who is "very, very, very melodramatic." Let the venom flow. I know I promised once in the forums that I would never say anything mean about Anthony, seeing as he really was put out horribly by this experience, but I have to say that the venom he lets loose here -- justifiable as it is -- perhaps skirts the bounds of professional courtesy. Like, I kind of thought his "areas for improvement" would be things like "you could use some work on your finger painting" rather than "I banish thee, you abhorrent skank." She reacts thusly: "Telling me what I need to do is not an open invitation for, like, an attack on whether you like me or not." Sorry, she's right. She tacks on, "The more criticism that I get, the more it makes me just want to say, well, f@!% you." Only she doesn't say f@!%.
Cut to...goddamn, we're still at the CCC? I feel like I got caught fooling around in class and this is where they sent me for Real World detention. Anthony is in the process of announcing something about the children being invited to "the President's summit on America's future" in Philadelphia. To that what now? Like, fifty ex-Presidents are scheduled to attend, along with Colin Powell, Elvis, foreign dignitaries from warring nations of the future that do not yet exist in this dimension, the ghost of Jesus Christ, the entire MBTV writing staff, Rae Dawn Chong, Adam Rich, and my mamma. Cut to everyone looking really excited for a really long time. Okay, Real World...no need to get scrapy: It's an important conference, and we GET it. Elka voice-overs that she really, really wanted to go and meet Colin Powell, but that's the weekend Walter is coming. Cut to Elka and Sean in Poor Poor Anthony's office, where Anthony tells them that the theme of the conference is "community service" (which is really odd, because the arc of this episode would have us believe that the theme is "ambiguous plot contrivance"), so it might be nice if the volunteers all came along as chaperones. Elka regrets to inform that she cannot go, and we cut to Montana in the office reporting that Jason isn't going because "he doesn't want to." Sean falters that he has to "check his calendar." For what? Let's see: you suck today, you'll suck tomorrow, and then after that...nope, he's free. Way to hedge, Naes. He also asks if there will be hot tubs. What? They're staying in dorms, and Anthony reports, "You're lucky if there's one shower." Montana voice-overs that Anthony doesn't trust them, and that "he has to relax and have a little bit of faith." Gee, Montana, what do you suggest? I'm not an expert, but sometimes when I'm a little stressed out, a nice GLASS OF RED WINE always helps to calm my nerves. If you know what I mean and I think you do. Oh, you don't? See you week, dear.
Back in the firehouse, Elka is wearing a revealing nightie of some kind while she chats it up on the phone with Captain Catholicism, who tells her, "I'm gonna be praying for you the whole time he's there, that you'll be comfortable and not say or do anything that you'll be embarrassed about." SEX! Sing it out, Captain. I know it's hard, very hard, but it's coming. Ew. Sorry. Also, "comfortable"? Ew again. Elka tells us in voice-over that her mom instilled her with some very important morals, and that her father feels that she needs "to be reminded of all that." Cue montage of Elka feeling pretty and witty and bright, getting dressed and blow drying her hair. Kameelah insists that she add some more perfume. Downstairs, the rest of the house judges her appearance, Jason putting too fine a point on it, "You look good. Go and get your man." Shut up, Jason. Statistics conclusively show that he is at least 1.9 times more annoying than anyone else on the planet at all times.
Cut to the Airport of Emotional Manipulation, where Elka voice-overs that she wants this crucial reunion to go well, adding, "I was hoping that the picture that I had in my head of him hadn't faded." As opposed to all the many pictures and keepsakes that she doesn't have all over her room or in her wallet. And out of the gate he walks. He is wearing a black T-shirt and black leather pants, and besides his slightly Euro "Flock of Seagulls" haircut, he's a pretty good-lookin' feller. Tall. They hug. He tells her she looks great. Awwww.
Cut to the cab, where the two bond like the old friends they so aren't, and she tells him, "I have everything I want." Awwww redux. Cue aerial shot of Boston, to symbolize the high spirits abounding. Which I would have missed from the smiles, laughter, and frequent quotes of an "I am in high spirits right now" nature.
Back inside the house, all the roommates (except, I think, for Sean and Syrus) shake hands and introduce, and the overall effect of the sequence indicates that everyone in the house really did like Elka and wanted things to work out for her. They sit to each other on the couch, as Genesis voice-overs, "Walter definitely looks like he's from a rock band." Cut back to the living room, where Genesis is sitting on his lap and smoking a cigarette. Again, I become amused against my will. And then, the greatest line in series history. Not that there's much stiff (heh) competition for the prize, mind you, but it's a damned good line, nonetheless. And of course it's not supplied by any of the housemates themselves. Genesis asks Walter how his flight was, and Walter deadpans in that classic Irish brogue, "It was very good. But it was a bit tough riding a Virgin for nine hours." He then thinks on his comment, suffers through a brilliant moment of silence during which he registers that I-just-said-riding-a-virgin-didn't-I-yes-I-think-I-did look of horror directly at Kameelah, which is broken by Genesis looking down at Walter and noting, "Look at me!" Everyone laughs at the hijinks of her sitting on the lap of Elka's man. I laugh along in spite of myself. What? What are these feelings I am having? Oh, so this is what it feels like to enjoy the show you're watching. This is new sensory information for me. More merriment ensues.
Kameelah confessionalizes that "Elka and Walter look like total opposites. Elka is conservatively dressed, and Walter is just out there, raging." In a black t-shirt and leather pants? Was she raised as a Mennonite? They're just leather. She does make sure to comment that the pants were "nice," and we cut to Jason playing pool with Genesis and curiously adding, "I want to borrow his leather pants. Like I saw those and I was like, 'Those are hot.'" Hey, Jason? Heterosexuality called. They said that this comment not your first violation, and they just revoked your membership. Because, I mean, really.
Cut to Boston under the cover of darkness, Elka and Walter montaging their way around town to the Slow-Jams Groove Of Unlikely Love. Holding hands, strolling, awwwwwww. Elka's voice-over tells us that being with him was "indescribable," and we cut back to the two of them on a couch in the firehouse, Elka asking if he wants to stay the night and sleep on a couch. She kisses him goodnight and retreats to her room in her respectable, schoolmarmish pajamas. Cut to a close-up of Walter's face on the poster above Elka's bed, because...oh, so that's Walter! See. And I 'm sure I would have totally missed that otherwise.
Yawn. We're back with CCC's Governmental Policy Party To Go, as a short speech delivered by Poor, Poor Anthony can barely be heard over the deafening roar of Foreshadowing rummaging through my kitchen cabinets and banging all of my pots and pans together for no apparent reason. Anthony tells Montana, Kameelah, Syrus, and Sean, "Everyone's gonna be assigned one child. And basically you have to stay with that child for the entire length of the trip." Because this news comes as such a surprise to chaperones at a youth center, the four cast woe-be-it-to-my-martyred-self glances around the place while unnecessarily dramatic synthesizer music underscores their plight. Anthony continues that the campus they're staying on is "dry," which means "there cannot be any alcohol." Hey, thanks for that. I thought it meant that they were in no way allowed to be "wry" or "droll." Not to worry on that count. I guess their reputation precedes them from one second-string Northeastern city to another, then.
For what I can only imagine involves a lack of product-placement opportunities here in the waning days of the Boston season (Hal. Le. Lu. Jah.), a shot of a bus pulling up to the CCC gives way to the attendees of the summit stepping onto an Amtrak train. Cue tracks-oriented montage, which cuts to the interior of...a bus. Strange. Bus trip fun times follows on which Sean sleeps and sleeps, cutting to the "dry campus" they'll be staying on. Kameelah voice-overs something about the other three being drinkers. Not in my house they won't be, because Foreshadowing has already found the liquor cabinet and consumed the cumulative contents therein.
The crowd of impressionable children and their formidably corrupting chaperones walk down the darkened streets of Philadelphia. They see the Liberty Bell. A montage of Philadelphia's many, many other sites ensues, including, um, a Frozen Cheese Steak manufacturing plant, a boarded-up storefront with the darkened neon sign reading "Checks Cashed" barely visible above it, and a conglomeration of proud and dutiful men wearing tall powdered wigs and signing official-looking parchment documents with long, quill pens. Oh, sorry. That last one happened back in the day when Philadelphia actually maintained a sense of cultural and aesthetic importance in this country. That being TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO. Hey, a continuity error to call my very own, for once. Further hilarity and picture-taking ensues.
Summit day. Hey, this actually looks pretty cool. A large outdoor expanse looks upon this so-called summit (seriously, what is this thing even for?), and Oprah Winfrey stands at a podium and begins the festivities. Lots of famous political types (Colin Powell, aforementioned fifty billion former presidents) talk in brief soundbytes about "our great nation" blee and "our children's future" blah, and we cut to the audience to find Sean, bedecked in a yellow windbreaker brighter than the teeming light of a thousand suns, slumped over and in a dead sleep. Ditto Syrus. Ooooh. They're villains to our nation. Because I'm so above thinking political rhetoric is really, really boring. Whatever.
Oh, thank you, Squiggly Hip Font of Geographical Introduction, for without you I would have no idea that we were back in Boston, save for the pan of the skyline and the establishing shot of the front of the firehouse. And also the absence of gunfire, an automatic indication that we ain't in Philly anymore. The Cat of Vulnerability makes with the cute as Walter and Elka lie around in bed doing snuggly things. Elka pulls out The Pillow Talk Of The Dead in showing Walter her mother's rosary, and a tasteless Dead Mom As Aphrodisiac edit later, the two are lying intertwined on the floor of the living room and...oh come on. She tears up that she doesn't know if she can "let [him] go again," and he promises that they'll "work it out." Awwww.
Yay, Ben Folds! The fabulous "One Angry Dwarf and Two-Hundred Solemn Faces" rages on from the album "Forever And Ever Amen" (seriously, if the only song you know off that album is "Brick," you're just plain missing the point) as a Sean voice-over reports, "Syrus and myself met a couple of the guys on my floor and they told us some of the things we could do that night." Cue bar sequence, with many the college student experiencing the heathen-esque joys of the devil's poison for the first time just so they could say they partied with someone on TV. Or because Syrus and Sean are such engaging personalities in and of their own...oh, never mind. Cut to the morning, where the girls meet Poor, Poor Anthony to find Syrus and Sean missing. The buses are all ready to go (to where this time? I'm so confused), but the two are nowhere to be found. Genesis tells us, "I thought that was so irresponsible of them." Poor, Poor Anthony runs from bus to bus looking all concerned and hapless. Woe be it to the man whose life is so sad that the prospect of Sean's permanent absence actually makes it sadder. Weep. Weep for Poor, Poor Anthony.