Another Voice

You just can't have Billy without Elton these days, right?

Fade up an attractive young woman, stepping out of an L.A. nightclub to head home for the evening. She's cut straight from the Alan Ball sassy-redhead cloth, and she's soon attracting whistles and catcalls from a group of men loitering nearby. Her face initially betrays just the slightest smile at their obvious attraction, but that soon disappears when they turn the corner to start following her. Because it will be important later on to your capacity for assessing the believability of this scene, here's a random sampling of some of the comments they make as they tail her down a darkened street: "Hey baby, where you going with that ass?" "Slow down, bitch! We just want to have a good time." And, of course, my personal favorite pick-up line: "Bitch, you know it's going to happen." That last one proves to be the final straw, and she darts out into the street to get away from them. As she does, the men suddenly start calling her by name, and reveal themselves to be "friends" who were just "joking" with her. Unfortunately, however, a car soon comes barreling down the street, and despite that fact that its headlights were on full and our young lady friend was wearing lots of reflective shiny black leather, it still manages to smack our hapless victim straight into The Ironically White Title Card of Death. Farewell, Callie Renee Mortimer. And let your death be a lesson to us all: If you simply must have assholes for friends, at least make sure you can identify their voices.

We come back to see the L.A. Gay Men's Chorus, crooning an old jazz standard that's vaguely recognizable even to me. Unlike last week's Gilbert & Sullivan serenade, however, Google wasn't exactly very helpful in identifying the origins of this song. In fact, the first ten search results alone contained links to versions by James Taylor, Ella Fitzgerald, Nat King Cole, "The Department of Sunshine and Rainbows," and a wholesale muslin canvas supply company located just outside of Dallas. The choir (whoops, "chorus") director, who looks for all the world like a younger, gayer Harry Shearer, delivers a scathing (and frequently both prissy and hilarious) critique of their performance. Young Gay Harry (or "Wailing Smithers," as I like to call him) then dismisses the group, but David is intercepted on his way out by the Little White Sex Dork II: Electric Choraloo, who invites him to a party by promising that "it won't turn into one of those sloppy scenes where everybody ends up naked in the pool and you have to deal with the image of their soggy pubic hair in your mind for the rest of your life." Well, thank God for that. Despite the fact that Foreshadowing is standing right behind them waving a print-out from the Television Without Pity Personals that suggests they'll one day make a perfect choral couple, David declines the invitation, citing the fact that he's "going away" and thus won't be able to attend. The LWSD2 smiles and suggests that they see each other at the practice instead, and then proceeds to lovingly check out David's ass as he walks away.

And speaking of asses, here comes JP, moaning and groaning and loudly thanking Claire for providing him with an orgasm that he can only describe as "a really great one." Sigh. There are times when I truly hate this job. Then again, I've spent most of this week cheating on Lauren Ambrose with my first recapping love Barbora Kodetova, so I guess I can't complain too much. They're in Claire's room at the Fortress, and when JP asks if "both" of her orgasms were as great as his, I'm inordinately pleased to hear her reply that she had only one, and seemingly can't muster a description of it any stronger than "good." Nothing on this earth is more gratifying to the ego than discovering that your fantasy TV girlfriend's skanky boy-toy isn't anywhere near as good in bed as he thinks he is. JP seeks and receives permission to spend the night, but Claire does warn that he can't use the bathroom because her mom "gets up to pee like five hundred times a night." This, of course, only makes JP need to urinate even more than the expected post-coital bladder pressure might cause, so Claire suggests that he avail himself of the open window, which is precisely what Nate used to do when this was his room. Boy, that Nate sure seems willing to whip it out just about anywhere, doesn't he? Claire does, however, have a simple request: "Try to avoid the avocado tree, because we eat those." Heh. Viewers across America lovingly check out JP's naked ass as he walks to the window, but I'm too busy wondering what's up with this whole Season of Scatology vibe we've got going this year to really notice.

"My ass is killing me!" exclaims Kathy Bates, thereby causing all of you who were still gazing lovingly at the twin mounds of J.P. Pitoc's buttocks to encounter a mental image far worse than any soggy pubic hair might have been. She and Ruth are taking a hike through the scenic Bettina's Backstory Canyon just outside of Los Angeles, with Ruth telling a story about a terrier Nate once had named "Yippee" who crawled under a bed and died on the day she first brought David home from the hospital. Aww, poor Yippee. Although if Nate really was as gassy a child as we've been told, perhaps Yippee now finds himself in a far, far better place. I'm just saying. Anyway, Ruth and Kathy make their way to a large bench, and sit down to hear Kathy detail her experiences with marriage. Husband #1 died at 25 after a ten-year bout with cancer, Husband #2 tried to sleep with all her friends, and Husband #3 had a heart attack despite jogging five miles every single morning. Flickahhhh. We're also told that Kathy's daughter tried The Plan, and is now "hoarding firearms in a compound in Montana," but that her son "turned out fine," even though he once burned their house down. Meanwhile, I amuse myself by counting the joggers who vanish into thin air behind them every time we cut to a new angle. Ruth tries to bring this little exposition session to a close because she has a job interview later in the day, but Kathy quickly cons her into blowing that off for the $3.99 breakfast special at the French Marketplace. Hmm. I wonder if they serve "freedom fries" there?

Back at the Fortress, JP is showing off his tattoos to Ruth when Claire comes downstairs for breakfast. Mom is just about as impressed with The Giant Bird Of Time Try Viagra as I am, but the look of alarm on Claire's face when she sees them together makes it all worthwhile. Ruth, however, is actually acting pretty blas about the whole thing, and even goes so far as to ask the kids for dating tips on when she should call Kathy to set up another outing. "Wait," suggests JP. "It's really bad to be, like, begging for it." Ahh. So maybe that's why Lauren never returns my calls. Then again, I've found my various attempts at maintaining an alluring aloofness are often greeted with a response somewhere along the lines of, "I'm sorry, who are you again?" Ruth internalizes this little bit of advice with all the irony you might expect, and then leaves the youngsters alone to discuss their plans for the evening. Claire wants to see A Clockwork Orange, which Russell (who is becoming more and more a surrogate version of me everyday) claims is "mandatory viewing for all humans." JP and Ashes To Ashes, however, have a gig lined up at the Korova Milkbar, and he doesn't think Claire would enjoy watching because he has some "other friends" coming she might not want to meet. Schmuck. They agree to hang out Friday night instead, but I truly don't understand how any man alive could ever turn down a night of Kubrick and Claire. That just doesn't make any sense.

David, much like myself, is one of those people who should not wear sunglasses. They make him look like a really polite Terminator somehow. He and Keith are in the car, setting off for a getaway at the "romantic refuge that is Los Lomos." Heh. You totally know Alan Ball wanted to slip the "H" in there, but wisely decided against it. David hopes they have shuffleboard, because he was really good at it as a kid. Keith is interested in the antiquing nearby, and they're both really cute when they bicker good-naturedly about David's singing and Keith's tendency to say "calories" and "carbs" a lot.

Sticking with our car motif, however, we soon come to a scene that's considerably less cute than the one we just watched. Nate pulls over to the side of a suburban street somewhere, unzips his fly, and as America lets out a collective "He's not really gonna do what I think he's doing?" he proceeds to do exactly that. Just for kicks, here are a few of the hits I got from a Google search on "euphemisms for masturbation": Giving the naked mole rat a noogie, getting special sauce from Mayor McCheese, flibhabbling the winkerpoodle, corsaging the blue dress, lightsaber practice with Captain Solo, manually targeting the rebel base, and, for the women out there, clubbin' the nubbin, gilding the lily, and Joycelyn Eldering. Director Michael Engler cleverly frames the shot to keep Nate's hand out of view (thereby sparing us from any significant eye injuries) while also putting the open window in the center of the frame, so as to better build up the "Will he get caught?" tension. Hmm. I wonder if he taught this technique to David?

He does, however, come home to The Boredello (tm phxchic, who wasn't properly credited last week) with his shirt untucked and his hair all rumpled. Hell, he's practically smoking a cigarette. Flickahh. The Ironic Segue Fairy is there, helping Lisa operate her breast pump, just so that she can tell Nate she's been doing some "pumping" of her own. Heh. Nate greets this news with a hearty "Mooooo," which reminds me of Gabe, and makes me wonder if maybe Nate didn't marry Lisa because he thinks her nipples dispense beer. What? It's no more crazy than some of the other explanations we've heard. He also calls Lisa "a fountain of life," which is just too disgusting to even contemplate, and agrees to do his "part for peace" by blocking traffic on various downtown streets instead of in Carol's driveway.

David and Keith, meanwhile, have checked into their hotel and decided to hit the pool. David emerges in a robe (StR=937) that could put Tony Soprano's to shame, but he's soon overwhelmed by a feeling of dread when he sees all the happy heterosexual couples relaxing in their lounge chairs. This leads to a classic dream sequence in which the boys make their way through the crowd as various homophobic taunts are thrown their way. One guy even pukes, and a mother covers her young son with a towel while shouting, "You can't have him!" Heh. A quick snap back to reality reveals that most of these people are too busy practicing to give Zonker Harris a run for his money at the George Hamilton Open to care what David and Keith might be up to. And just out of curiosity, is there anyone out there who actually got that reference? This is by far the funniest scene of the episode, and even the tiny moments are great, like when a mother in the background tells her son to "turn over" onto his stomach just as they walk past. Keith finds an empty spot in the corner, and makes David even more uncomfortable by announcing that he's found some shade for his "honey." David, meanwhile, borrows a lounge chair from a nearby couple, and winces at the hilariously hideous screeching noise it makes as he drags it across the pavement. He's concerned that everyone will know that they're gay, because he thinks "people here might be a little uncomfortable about it." Keith rightly points out that no one really seems to care one way or another, and in yet another nice little touch, a random girl walks by in a gay-pride-colored rainbow bikini. Coincidence? I doubt it. The scene ends with David reluctantly posing for a picture with Keith's arms draped around him, to the complete and utter indifference of everyone in sight.

Kathy and Ruth go shopping. It's just as exciting as it sounds. Kathy tries in vain to liven things up with yet another wholly unnecessary reference to pubic hair, and if you're interested, a Google search on "euphemisms for pubic hair" turned up: the secret garden, the beetle bonnet, Einstein's wig, gras blong kok (in the Bislama language favored in the Vanuatu Islands), and the cunning linguistic tidbit that the modern word "cotton" is actually derived from the ancient Cushitic word "kw'it-al," which was used to describe the curly hairs surrounding the male genitalia. Can somebody please remind me to clear my browser logs when this recap is finished? Thanks. At Kathy's behest, Ruth tries on a black outfit that involves capri pants, and I think the less said about that, the better.

Art school. Claire is quite annoyed to discover that the semi-famous teacher she was expecting for her "Form In Space" class has received a travel grant to Israel, and therefore won't be teaching the course. Instead they'll be getting one Olivier Castro-Staal, whom a nearby classmate describes as "awesome." As an interesting side note, the first time I watched this episode I totally thought the classmate was being played by the same guy who did Lonnie in Flirting With Disaster. The resemblance is uncanny. But then I remembered that Glenn Fitzgerald already played Aaron Buchbinder last season, so it obviously couldn't be him. That's not really funny or anything, but it was too weird a coincidence not to mention. Anyway, Olivier soon arrives, and after some brief befuddlement over whether or not he's in the right place, he storms into the classroom to become the best damn substitute since Dustin Hoffman played Mr. Bergstrom. "I don't do lectures," he announces. "If anyone needs a lecture, for whatever reason people have for these things, then go now. I won't be offended." Well, in that case, buh-bye, Olivier! Okay. Just kidding. I can't leave yet. "We're going to make art in this class," he adds, while flouting the established curriculum guidelines set down by the registrar's office. "If this upsets your sense of order, then go now. I won't be offended." You certainly don't have to tell me twice! Well, okay, actually you do. I still can't leave. A scary-looking, pink-coiffed young goth girl in the front row, however, does decide to get out while she still can. Buh-bye, Pinky Tuscahairo! Mr. Bergstrom orders the remaining students to sit on the floor and take five minutes to draw a picture of the "most horrible" day of their lives. I can do it in thirty seconds. It's me in front of the computer, with six and a half hours of recapping still to go.

Down in Ye Olde Body Shoppe, Rico is working on the DGDJ (StC = 1,387). Nate comes in, and they banter a bit about work-related business before Nate wonders aloud if Callie might have panicked a bit more than necessary when the guys were chasing her. "I don't know," says Rico. "Vanessa gets scared all the time. Even when she's out with the kids she gets it. Ask Lisa." Nate doesn't think that sort of thing happens to Lisa very often, which then leads into a highly awkward conversation about whether she's hot or not. And since that sort of thing is really more Alex Richmond's area than my own, I'm just not going to comment either way. I will say, however, that I got through this entire scene without saying "Shut up, Rico" even once. Aww. Remember when we all loved this guy? Yeah. Those were some good times. Rico assures Nate that some turbulence is perfectly normal for the first year of marriage. Then they get into a screaming cat-fight about whose hair is worse this season, and both end up bloodied and unconscious with no resolution in sight.

We cut to a photo of Carol with Bill and Hillary Clinton, and then pan over to see Carol herself, seated on the divan reading scripts. Like all crazy Hollywood producers, she starts each one on the last page. Heh. Lisa comes in (with a stroller-bound Maya The Leviathan in tow), and immediately starts cleaning up the disgusting chocolate and white linen remnants of the morning's cake-fest. She also delivers Carol's "poopy shake," which was late due to a lack of psyllium. Interestingly enough, Googled euphemisms for diarrhea include: bum gravy, anal hot chocolate, the Schlitz, ass puking, the chunky sputters (which is totally the name of my band), fecal burps, and the Nestle's splat. Lisa tries to be all business, but Carol is clearly at the extreme depressive end of a manic-depressive mood swing, and soon enough the neuroses are flying like so much "percolating butt coffee." "When I hired you for this job," she screeches, "you were totally unencumbered, and now there's Nate and his dirty car, and[Maya], and her needs!" Hee! "Dirty car." Now THAT'S funny. Carol rants and raves some more about how Lisa is totally insensitive to her emotional needs and blah blah get-this-woman-some-Xanax-cakes. "If I'd known you were hiring me to be your fucking wet nurse," screams Lisa, "I would have asked for health insurance!" And with that she stomps out the door, and presumably out of Carol's life forever.

Back to art school. NotLonnie is up in front of the class showing off his "most horrible day" painting, which features a lot of red squiggles and depicts the time a friend of his OD'd. Mr. Bergstrom takes one look at the picture and immediately orders the entire class to write down the name of their favorite artists on a sheet of paper. He correctly guesses NotLonnie's selection, proving that he's not just dramatic and cool, but also telepathic. Damn, this guy is good. He guesses Claire's , and even though he was wrong about her favorite artist (Modigliani, for trivia fetishists such as myself), he does correctly assume that she attended a show by Edward Hopper earlier in the week. "Every work you make has to be a surprise to the earth," he insists. "A seeing that has never happened before." Um, yeah. Clearly this guy has never read a recap.

Kathy and Ruth are still in the dressing room, with Ruth insisting that she won't buy anything that doesn't already match her carefully selected look. Which means, of course, that she'll never buy clothing again, because I'm pretty sure they stopped making most of that stuff sometime around 1957. Or maybe she'll never buy clothing again because, like Kathy, she'll just be shoplifting it. Yep, that's right. Kathy shoves a $350 scarf into her pocketbook, and then for some reason also decides to pilfer some eyeglass frames before informing Ruth that "it would really help if [she] tried to look a little less suspicious." I totally couldn't care less about this plotline, but Frances Conroy's little squeal of horror at the end of the scene is absolutely priceless. I'm not really sure when this started, but lately she's been giving Michael C. Hall a serious run for his money as the best comedic actor on the show. Go Frances!