I like Kameelah this week. I always hate Sean.
This episode opens with the usual establishing shots of the lifeless trees, the ice-caked lakes, and the buckling sidewalks and highways that have come to so aptly represent the unfolding five months in this snow-ravaged Hellmouth (er, I mean "picturesque northeastern hamlet"). The beleaguered cameramen really can't help but settle on another frozen slick, no matter which direction they turn their equipment, and I stifle somewhere in the area of a dozen "iceberg, right ahead" jokes because, in reality, it isn't really still 1997. Which I briefly consider to be a shame, as the soundtrack offers the rare treat of an instrumental vamp of Jamiroquai's "Virtual Insanity," a favorite song of mine off of a favorite album, back in the day. As a result of this, I am temporarily lulled into the misbegotten belief that the sheer unpleasantness of watching this season may recede ever so slightly at some point. But then I note with a too-familiar sense of dawning horror that the producers have decided to continue airing footage of these seven horrible, horrible people kvetching their way through the four-hour days and ninety-hour nights this city has to offer. Oh, how I have tried not to hate them all. How resolutely I have failed. How my anger and resentment concerning all things in life has grown and grown as a result. Wow. Looks like Boston's not the only bitter thing around here after all. Anyway, kill me.
Inside the firehouse, Jason grills Elka on the brand spankin' new topic of "How someone at my age could be so solid in their beliefs." Elka, forced to defend her religious beliefs yet again against a cynical barrage from The Guy Who Knows Everything (let's make that a universal nickname for every guy in this house, shall we? And Montana, also), responds that she was "born into a family that was Catholic and that's how I was raised, and that's why I believe what I do." Over in a confessional, Jason reports that "I think her religion is something she's gripping to," and Elka reports in her own private musings that "Jason is still searching. And I'm not." Searching for what? Another Glamour Shots-sanctioned aqua sweater for your quickly developing line of monochromatic Confessional Gear it has become your independent crusade to assemble? And what's Jason searching for, then? The return counter and exit to the Ye Olde White Boy Clothing Emporium? Because that's where he needs to be heading, with his own confessional outfit of a gigantic flannel shirt and black gangsta hat. And he needs to bring his receipt for a full cash refund. Because if he shows up without it and all they can offer him is store credit, he's going to end up with something equally as hideous, and then things are really going to start getting embarrassing.
Anyway, back on the distant and tangent-free planet of Linear Recapping (population: never, ever me), Jason turns a full 180 degrees to offer Elka the full benefit of the other of his two faces in slipping into a free verse, spoken-word rant he believes exactly not one syllable of: "Christianity is your thing. And it doesn't oppress you, and it doesn't hold you back from being a human being. So man, cool, go with it. 'Cause if you've got faith, you've got something most people don't have." Her deliberate response to this is, no doubt, intended to be thoughtful and pondering, but she pauses that one moment too long after beginning, "When I get down on my knees," and I can't help erupting into hell-bound, godforsaken, oh-she-meant-for-praying giggles before I regroup and clear my throat and take on an aspect of utmost, reverent seriousness, stemming the impending tide of hate mail and Bibles being forwarded my way before anyone has a chance to figure out exactly the imagery I had begun to envision. So ha. Anyway, when Elka gets down on her knees, God listens to her.
Montana's far-from-requested confessional comes crashing in, uninvited as a stripper at a bris, to let us know for the four billionth time that "Elka's voice may be overlooked in the house, because we are all very outgoing and outspoken and loud." And by "everyone" she means "her."
Cut to Elka on the phone with her domineering, sanctimonious father (herewith "Captain Catholicism"), complaining that her boxes haven't arrived yet and that the only clothes she has are the ones she brought with her. So, whereas other people label their boxes "kitchen" and "bedroom," I guess Elka utilizes the complex filing system by which the only box that dutifully followed her to Boston was labeled "Aqua." Because that one seems to have arrived in town with nary a misrouted incident. Sean, meanwhile, is lying on a couch in one of the firehouse's trillion rooms, telling Montana that he "was able to start smelling Elka's underwear after she went four days with her crusty underwear," and he unhilariously improvs his way into a nickname of "Crusty Undies Elka." Elka hears all this from the room, but Sean think it's all in fun. But of course Elka has to go and get all offended, because nothing has really happened to this cast so far at all, so the technical experts had to go and splice some interest together with scotch tape and bubble gum and boring boring blee blah. Anyway, Sean tells us that the moment Elka became offended by this trifling development, "I knew that I couldn't joke around with Elka at all." Cut to the inevitable confrontation, where Sean asks if she's mad, and she responds, "I just refuse to talk to somebody who mumble mumble mumbly-jumbly." Er, speak up, please? Way to fight for your right there, trooper. Suddenly, the four girls in the house are sitting together discussing said undie situation. Montana asks incredulously if they just shouldn't joke with her at all, and Kameelah defends Elka on the basis that Elka is "kind of more feminine" and doesn't like talking about the vulgar things in life. And y'know what? I hate Sean, right? Right. But I have to admit, and though it pains me terribly to say this, that Elka overreacted, and I'm going to have to go with him as the victor of this particular argument. Because no matter how unfunny and misguided his attempt at humor was, he was just kidding. Egregiously, really. But kidding nonetheless. Damn. I feel like something has just been ripped out of me. Genesis, meanwhile, sits silently, kind of rolling her eyes, wearing a sweatshirt reading "Total Bitch," in some real clever visual preparation for the sequence.
Genesis is on the phone with her girlfriend, Tammy. She complains that "everyone is so well-educated" and worries that she is "stupid" when she sits silently listening to "all these weird discussions about moral issues and political issues." And, um, which one of those two umbrella topics does "crusty undies" fall under? Anyway, Genesis finds her confessional voice in telling us that she "had a bad childhood," and I take yet another moment out of my busy, bloodletting, recapping day to feel just a little bit bad. For myself, for having blown my load of "Aw, shucks for you and your terrible, terrible pasts, y'all" commentary somewhere in the course of my last four recaps. So, right: She didn't really have a good childhood, and she wasn't really mentally abused, but her mother was an alcoholic and also a drug addict of course, and nothing came easy to her, and so she was forced to uproot herself completely and move to Mississippi to live with her grandparents in the forest somewhere. Hey, did I just flip over to Lifetime by accident? And if so, at least is Golden Girls on ? Outside now, she admits to Jason that everyone is really irritating her, even though no one is "really doing anything." Sympathizing with her almost pathological irritation with everyone in the house, and a consequent inability to fully put her finger on why the resulting chemistry is so intolerable, I will admit that Genesis is still the least of all evils in this house. No question. And I'm warning you now, to stem the tidal wave of incredulous hate mail later, this will continue to be so, even when she comes pretty much completely undone. Back in the house now, Genesis sits on the couch and looks more sulky than usual. Sean, who is well on his way to paralyzing himself mid-keg-stand, trying to distinguish himself in the house as the party guy who just loves to party, tries with a train-wreck-disturbing bravado to convince Genesis to come out drinking with him. She volleys that it would take hours for her to get ready, and Sean even goes so pathetically far as to offer "free drinks" if only she'll come along. He tells her she looks fine the way she does right now, and she gets up on the flat-out rejection that "if I'm going out, I'm dressing up." And she's not dressing up. So guess what.
Alone in the house and in a completely different outfit, in what is probably a completely different month, Genesis sits in front of the house computer in the process of typing the sentence, "I really want a picture of you," in a chat room called "Transgender Chat." She tells us that she doesn't know anyone in the house that well, and so she has found her sanctuary in internet chat rooms. Sigh. Over at a bar called the Back Bay Brewing Co., the questionable trio of Montana, Sean, and Jason are acting all crazy and zany, running in and out of the bathroom and singing. They return boisterously to the house, and I think I might be able to enjoy this display of sheer SOMETHING going on until Montana screams the gag-worthy, "That was the most painful dry hump I've ever had!" And then Sean's pants come down, and a downright inexcusable tighty-whitey dry-humping routine ensues right over to the pool table, all to the accompaniment of the Squirrel Nut Zippers destroying the hallowed memories of music from the 1940s by allowing a bunch of dumb frat guys, who were in college contemporary with the original airing of this show, to think they "discovered" swing. And speaking of dumb frat guys, Sean continues to use the pool table paraphernalia on Montana in ways I would prefer not to have delusional fever dreams about for the rest of my remaining days, and Jason quickly remembers that he thinks he is much, much cooler than the other two and separates himself to doubtless go tell someone how ridiculously he thought they were acting. From upstairs, Genesis watches the video screen of the pool room, glares at Sean and fabulously comments, "Like he feels the need to show all of his family jewels and his flat, white ass." Dare you doubt the reasons I love her over and above any other? Meanwhile, Sean and Montana retreat to Elka's room to goad her even further, closing the curtain and climbing on her bed while she screams for them to "get out of here!" Sean continues to put his ubiquitous undergarments all over Montana's skank self. And he says Elka's undies are crusty?
And then there's a commercial. And then we're back. In the exact same place as we left a mere nine promos for the MTV Movie Awards ago. Ugh. Still humping? You can practically see the producers making that universal hand motion to "stretch it out," before needing to invent an entirely new motion of industry sign-language to incorporate the addition of the phrase "into the world beyond the human mind's capacity to reason eternity." Because that is how long this sequence has become. They hump and roll some more, Elka wails in protest, and my VCR's counter suddenly changes from the time elapsed thus far in this episode (11:56) to the sideways "8," indicating we have slipped inexorably into the realm of infinity. Sean and Montana continue their coital simulation all over Elka's bed, as the oppressed good girl comments in a confessional, "I have never seen drunk people be so crass and vulgar in my entire life. Not even during spring break!" Montana counters in a confessional of her own that "the point of doing it on Elka's bed was to show what a spoof the whole thing was." Oh, you envelope pushing, Andy Kaufman-esque ironist, you. That's just what you are. Or you're just real hard up for some good, good lovin' in this city and you'd rather seek some temporarily affirming physical contact with Sean the Yawn rather than preserve some semblance of moral dignity, while your pocky boyfriend is two-hundred-fifty miles away, employing the help of some other charitable-though-misguided female to apply the Clearasil to his back for the five months that you're off gettin' freaky with the geographically-closest male to give you, your haggard body and your soccer-mom bangs the time of day to begin with. Anyway, Montana, you're one of those two things. Montana continues that "we're all trying to pull Elka out of that shell. She wants to come out so badly, she's peeking her head out. And it's not quite working." Elka screams for them all to get out. And so they all get out.
Inside Jason and Genesis' room (I've read numerous unsubstantiated internet rumors that a guy named "Syrus," or something, used to live in this room as well, but nothing that has transpired thus far in this episode has contributed to proving this theory. Not that I'm complaining. Just observing), Jason inquires about her late-night internet forays, and she tells him that she was online until 4:30, and has another internet date with the same guy later this evening. She tells him that her chat with him was "probably the best conversation I've had since I've been in this damn city," a claim I would posit as an absolute metaphysical certainty, considering the only other person she's spoken to since her plane touched down on the Logan runway is Jason. Proof positive for me. Over in the living room, Sean asks thinly-shrouded suspicious questions that he thinks pose as genuine interest in Genesis' life. We learn through these inquiries that her internet boyfriend's name is "Joline" (or so spells the closed-captioning) and that he is a married bisexual whose wife is "asleep right to" him. Again, sigh. Kameelah looks on in similar horror.
After finishing up his dinner of what appears to be a plain, congealed pasta dish of some kind (de-LIC-ious!), Sean retires to the bathroom for a well-deserved cigarette, to discover Montana is inside and not opening the door. Why oh why? They finally let him in to our faux-shocked discovery that Elka is inside with Montana, and Sean couthlessly (why do I even bother qualifying?) screams, "Elka's smoking in here?" From over on the couch, Kameelah accuses her of inhaling, and Elka yells back that she is most certainly not smoking. Cut to Kameelah in the kitchen, preaching to Montana and Sean that Elka was most certainly smoking. Montana defends Elka's presence in the bathroom by virtue of preaching right on back that "after her mom died, she was like, 'I'm not going to do that to my body.'" Drama. Warning: smoking may be hazardous, leading to my being criminally bored for the remainder of this episode and my life.
I'm sorry. Is this discarded stock footage from You've Got Mail? Genesis sits again at the computer, mid-transgender-chat, as Elka worries to a holier-than-Earth Jason: "Is she gonna be on with that guy forever or what?" Jason tells her that "she's getting something from him that she can't get here that she needs." Cue a tight-as-good-abs close-up on Genesis while the song "I'm Not an Addict" rages on as the soundtrack. Oh, Bunim! Oh, Murray! Y'all are gonna clever yourselves to death!
Poor, poor Genesis. In non-explosive, driving sideways, mini-conflict #6432.54b of this episode, Montana runs out of the bathroom, virtually braying that someone started a fire in the garbage when said someone failed to fully extinguish a cigarette. Montana determines that it was Genesis, and emerges from the bathroom and preaches, "Genesis! It's not that difficult! GEN!" Genesis holds off for a moment, but is finally prodded to respond, and does so: "I hear you and I understand, thank you [expletive, probably "...and nice fucking bangs," subsequently deleted]," and Montana tries to keep the tone light in telling her that there is "no need to get pissy." Except there is, for we learn from Genesis in a follow-up confessional that "when Elka and [she] were in the bathroom smoking, we were just having a cigarette, talking." Cut to Genesis in the kitchen telling Kameelah that "I'm the one getting screamed at by Montana, but I can't say, 'Hey, you're the one who was in there with me, and you're the one whose part of the cigarette fell out,'" because Elka doesn't want anyone in the house to know she is smoking. Except Montana, who she was smoking with. And Genesis, who she was smoking with. And Kameelah, who Genesis is telling, and Jason, who is skulking near the refrigerator clearly listening to every sentence of this conversation. How the hell many people does Elka think are in this house, anyway? And is she aware the place comes equipped with video surveillance equipment, from which Kameelah is sitting upstairs in the bedroom, watching her smoke? Has she been informed of these knotty plot points just yet? Kameelah observes that Elka's smoking is, for some reason, "so annoying." Yeah, well, roll your eyes and add it to the list. 'Cause that's pretty much the only method of self-preservation we have left.
Over in Montana and Elka's room, Elka leads us further down the pathos path in taking Montana through a guided tour of the last few minutes of her mother's life, adding that she was buried with a rosary that Elka, like, smelted from the ore around Vatican City or something. Montana tells us in a confessional, "I can't imagine being in this situation right after my mother had died, and also this being my first experience away from home. I would think that that would almost be too much to handle." Elka says that she took many of her cues of how to behave in her everyday life from her mother. Montana goes on in her confessional by saying the words she just said in her last confessional, but in a slightly different order. They hug and then they hug some more.
Hey, look! It's Syrus! Apparently today is the first morning of the school-age program, so the house reconvenes for the first time this week and travels en masse to the center. My "I miss college a lot sometimes" heartstrings are tugged ever-so-slightly by Shawn Colvin's "Sonny Came Home" la-la-la-ing in the background. Speaking of sadness, Montana quietly informs the rest of the house that today is the two-month anniversary of Elka's mom's death. So be nice, you. But Kameelah has decided to put her hair up this morning, and I have to tangent off here again to comment that I think it looks totally fab. So that should make everyone feel, like, at least a little bit better.
Once inside the center, and following Elka's season-thus-far-recap-VO about where they're all going and why, they enter the "East Boston Social Center" to meet the director of the program, "Anthony," who appears to have a great deal more hair and far less-obvious black bags under his eyes than he will when the seven of these underqualified, self-obsessed, jeopardize-the-welfare-of-a-child-at-every-given-moment narcissists finally roll out of town. A dramatic chord strikes and a yellow school bus pulls up in front of the center. Actual slow-motion shots of Elka and Genesis looking terrorized are followed by actual slow-motion shots of children wreaking havoc on the poor lives around them just by virtue of stepping off the bus. Help these children. Someone. They are in grave danger. Ah, screw it. Just manufacture some pre-made milk cartons with these kids' pictures already on them and ship them out in advance. The damage has already been done.
As I may have neglected to mention, Anthony has himself some kind of New England accent. But I like him anyway. Anyway, more children's center drama ensues in an epic montage of the cast getting to know the kids. Elka is sad in the corner, and Montana nicely volunteers to take her to the bathroom if she needs to cry. Syrus gets in his first and last line this week, and it bears no importance in recapping. Other than that, everything seems to be going well, especially for Genesis, who tells us in a confessional that she values the attention and acceptance that the kids offer to her. Elka concurs. At the end of the day, Anthony asks Genesis how her day was, and she responds to his fleeting delight that "it was probably the best day I've spent since I've been here." Don't work too hard to exercise the muscles that toiled in tandem to create that smile, Anthony. You won't be needing them again until May.
Kameelah and Genesis are taking the T home together. Genesis again bemoans that she has nothing in common with anyone in the house, and that she doesn't know any gay people and blah blah blahpinktrianglescakes. The hateful "One Headlight" (it's by the Wallflowers, a band I really thought I liked when "Sixth Avenue Heartache" first hit the airwaves. But I just detest this song wholly. Which is doubly strange, considering the two songs sound practically identical) rages on as the woman behind them on the train tries to pretend that she doesn't know she's on TV, while Genesis and Kameelah speak faux-casually of carefully chosen and custom-tailored "issues" to painfully remind us that they are. It doesn't bother Kameelah, she attests, that Genesis spends all of her time in transgender chat rooms, but she's afraid it's going to become an addiction. Kameelah reminds Genesis that she's dealing with "a man, and they can lie." And so goes the female bonding for all time, forever and ever amen.
Sean and Montana play pool, and Montana tells Sean that Elka acts all goody-goody because she's trying to live out the modes her role-model mother set up for her. Like Elka told her before. This scene is extremely short.
Kameelah uses the word "goody-goody" as well, as she and Elka sit on the floor of the living room, eating ice cream. Kameelah thinks Elka is a bit of a "spoiled little rich girl," and Elka says that she knew everyone was going to think that about her because, well, that's exactly what she is. Kameelah continues that Elka needs to "learn how to deal with conflict, because that whole religious image was being broken down." Like what? "Like the fact that I saw you smoking, and I remember distinctly you saying you didn't smoke, because I didn't smoke either." Over in a three-second bathroom shot, Genesis tells Montana that she's resolved to start "breaking out of [her] shell." Genesis exits the house to some as-yet-undetermined location. Elka exits the house and enters a nearby church, arriving doubtlessly to reaffirm her faith in God and to shore up her privately held belief that if she just waits and prays, one day it shall be on Earth that her missing luggage will finally arrive, and the weak shall inherit the undies.