Opening credits: My roommate and I have begun belting the shows theme song out in harmony, karaoke-style, and singing with that kind of passion requires me to close to my eyes. Sadly, I reopen them halfway through a commercial for Sleepy Hollow, realizing with a sigh that there will be no snarky comment about the opening credits this week.
Fade in on the Alienmobile making tracks, Roswell-bound. Max peers attentively at the road (read: please Liz dont talk to me please Liz dont talk to me please) as Isabel feigns sleep in the passenger seat (read: Liz dont talk to me either please Liz dont). Left with no one willing to listen to the garbled mess of generalities in which Lizs voice-over categorizes her day (someone should tell her to put that journal down and leave the recapping duties to the professionals where they goddamn-well belong), Liz faces backwards out of the Jeep and reminds us that she spent the night "engaging in general bonding with aliens." And I know theres nothing even vaguely original in my comment, and I apologize for the lack of linguistic subtlety or ironic cleverness when I say it, but shes really forced my hand here: shut up, Liz. Michael and Maria follow them in the magically repaired Jetta, where she tells him that last night she saw through the unbathed bad boy Michael pretends to be to the "deeply wounded, vulnerable guy" underneath. Michael, back in his cool-guy shell, tells Maria that theres nothing going on between them and blames his behavior on "the (mumble mumble) of the road." Oops, goodbye significant plot point. Thanks again, you master orator, you. Can somebody please dig up one of the sixty cell phones tossed around so cavalierly in last weeks episode and patch through an emergency call to the phonics folks over at 1-800-ABCDEFG? If we cant break down this emerging impediment to its most basic elements, Im going to be hard-pressed to quote one more sparkling syllable of dialogue out of this boys mouth. And we all know what a shame that would be.
Back at the posh Chez Evans, Max is playing "Bloodhound Gang" with his newfound files. Isabel, meanwhile, runs into his room with some dusty old photographs and reminds him of "when Mom and Dad took us to Florida that summer." Oh, goody, another familys vacation photographs. Shorthand for fun! I dont care how cool or interplanetary your family is, a picture (or, god forbid, a slide show) of your little boy in tears because the guy in the Goofy costume tried to shake his hand always has me running for the ether. Isabel reminds Max of a sculpture they made in the Florida sand (I guess the deserts of New Mexico dont have any sand, but I dont know cause Ive never been there), and implores Max to close his eyes and draw it before shell show him the picture. So he closes his eyes, up swells the planetarium vibraphone (an instrument I think I might have just made up, but should it exist, it would be the locus of all musical creation for all planetarium soundtracks), and Max sketches the design, sight unseen. It is of two unmeeting half-circles with a dot in the middle, a symbol that vaguely resembles the mark of evil in at least five memorable episodes of Buffy. Maxs drawing correlates to the photo of the sand drawing, which also replicates perfectly the necklace Isabel stole from Athertons house. But their chain reaction of discovery is disrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Evans, who tells the kids they look "exhausted," though they pretty much look to me exactly the same as always. They apologize for being out so late, studying. And by the way, Mrs. Evans -- before you start running around criticizing your kids looks, you might want to stop along the way and check your own reflection these days. Cause that hair of yours actually does look like the product of a whole lotta sleep. Like, say, three months or so face-down on those very problematic bangs of yours.