The Trap

Marry me, my Mysterious Hawaiian! We'll drink mai-tais, and lie and in the sun, and watch bad TV forever!

Fade up on the bitchy Bickersons, bantering back and forth about how they're completely and totally lost somewhere in the vast deciduous anvil tree forests of L.A.'s famed Griffith Park. Our intrepid (and symbolic!) couple has apparently gotten lost on a hike of some sort, and even though the Six Feet Under second unit is just over the hill shooting Ruth and Kathy Bates's hiking scene from a few weeks back, the Blairwitchersons both still express a worry that they might never find their way back to civilization. Yeah. Whatever. It's Los Angeles, people. Just walk south and you'll hit a strip mall eventually. The Lady Bickerson suddenly spies a rusted hulk nestled in a small valley amongst the gently waving anvil fronds, and they meander down the trail to investigate. It turns out to be the remains of an old VW Bug, and we immediately get our recommended weekly allowance of gimmick when they open the door to release a giant pigeon instead of the expected Ghost of Farfegnugen Past. "Why would someone have an accident and then leave their car to rot?" wonders Mrs. Bickerson. "Maybe because they're still in it," replies her browbeaten betrothed, as we pan over to see a set of skeletal remains wedged against the steering wheel. Farewell, William Aaron Jaffe. At least they didn't find you with your hand still on your stick shift.

Aaron: Yeah. So, I couldn't help but notice that this is the second time in as many seasons that you've killed a bitter, bad-haired Jewish guy named Aaron.
Alan Ball: Oh, I'm sure it's just a coincidence.
Aaron: Really? Well, is it also a coincidence that you've had a dorky, self-deprecating potential stalker mooning over Claire all season? Because he's got some pretty hinky hair himself.
Alan Ball: You know, you've got some serious issues with your hair.
Aaron: I have to look at Peter Krause all week, dude. That'd give fucking Dick Clark issues.

And speaking of our hinky-haired hero, here he is having a giggly little gab-fest with Claire in the back of Professor Olivier's art class. They're each working on a project, and Russell is gently teasing his beloved about the fact that she fell asleep while they were chatting on the phone the night before. We learn that Claire snores, which oddly enough endears her to me even more, and then Russell finally screws up enough courage to ask her to be his date for an upcoming family wedding. "I know it's kind of last-minute," he stammers, "but I was thinking maybe if you weren't doing anything, um, I mean, if it wouldn't be completely painful for you, tocome with me." Wow. You'd think a guy with that much grease in his hair would be a little slicker, but I guess not. Claire responds to this proposal so awkwardly that one might assume Russell had just blurted out, "Marry me, Lauren," and then agrees to join him with a resigned faux enthusiasm that geeky guys everywhere will instantly recognize as the only answer to "Will you go with me?" that's actually worse than "No." He tries to feed her the old "I would never do anything to hurt our friendship" line, but Professor Olivier interrupts to chastise them for all the "chitty-chat." Insert your own Chitty Chitty Bang Bang joke here. Olivier compliments Russell's work, telling him that he's finally drawing "what [he] sees, instead of what [he] thinks [he] sees," and I can't help but point out that what Russell is drawing is actually a picture of a very ugly, very evil-looking man. Heh. Olivier invites Claire up to the front of the room for a little conference, and Russell stares pointedly at them as she laughs and looks happy about something we can't hear. When Claire returns, she announces that Olivier has just asked her to be his assistant. "God, I feel like I've won something," she gushes. "I never win anything!" "Me neither," snots Russell, who obviously has some ideas about exactly what Olivier is up to here. Ahh, Russell. Don't feel too sad. At least you've actually won the right to stand to Claire and her super-cute Princess Leia hair buns. I'm still stuck here wearing out my pause button. Sigh.

Boy, David sure does love that coffin wall, doesn't he? He and Nate are standing there in front of it with the family of our long-deceased DGDJ, and David is taking great delight in preaching the virtues of various casket models. "I myself like the Deluxe Aegean," he suggests. "It's a little on the high end, but it's very calming. It's like a slow, lulling ride onon the Aegean, I guess." Hee! Insert your own My Big Fat Greek Casket joke here. Struggling under the heavy load of exposition she's required to deliver, the DGDJ's former wife takes a seat by the window and explains that "Aaron" disappeared twenty-five years ago when he went out to buy a newspaper. She assumed that he had just deserted her, because they were "one of those horrible got-married-too-soon-for-all-the-wrong-reasons couples." Finally! It's taken us five whole weeks, but Six Feet Under has at long last gotten back to its roots. Once again, it's always all about Nate. "The strange part is where they found him," she adds. "That canyon was ten miles from where we lived back then. What was he doing therelooking for a newspaper on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere? I mean, do you think he was seeing someone else?" Cut to Nate, who is totally thinking "Oh, I don't know about the "someone else" part." Heh. The former Mrs. Aaron is still undecided about which coffin she should select, although she does mention that her ex-husband was Jewish, which causes David to sigh with barely concealed frustration and mark down her choice as "The Sampson." "It's plain cedar," he explains. "It's like a slow, low-profit-margin ride on the strife-torn banks of The Dead Sea." Seeing as how we've already hashed out the religious reasoning behind that selection here, I'll just go ahead and move on to the scene.

Which features Ruth, finding a box of mousetraps deep in the back of a kitchen cabinet she's cleaning. There doesn't seem to be any Ecstasy or any other illicit substances in there along with them, so I'll just go ahead and move on yet again.

Down in the Body Shoppe (StC = 435), Claire is explaining to Rico that she'll have to quit her "job" doing runs for them because she's been given "an amazing opportunity to learn from Olivier Castro-Staal, and maybe even help him with his art." Of course, by "help him with his art," she actually means "fend off his sweaty and pretentious advances while he waxes philosophical on the vast discography of Corey Hart." Rico doesn't exactly hide his lack of disappointment with this turn of events, claiming that they have "enough actual employees" at Fisher & Diaz, and therefore shouldn't have to pay anyone extra to do work for them. Um, I hate to burst your bubble there, Rico, but technically speaking, Fisher & Diaz doesn't have ANY employees. You're all partners, remember? Claire hands over a big box of bones before she goes, saying that she just picked them up from the coroner and that they belong to one "William Jaffe." Oh, now that hurt. I mean, really. Would it have killed her to throw the middle name in there? I'm not asking for much here, people! And to think that I was all set to hook the TiVo up to my computer so that I could digitize her dulcet tones whispering my name and run it all day on an endless loop over my portable mp3 player. "Aaron [click] Aaron [click] Aaron [click] Aaron"

Heh. And you people think Russell might be a stalker. Please. That kid is bush-league at best. Oh, and feel free to insert your own "Say my name, bitch!" American Pie joke here.

Later that day, Rico has gathered his fellow "employees" together in the office to pitch a new idea: hiring an apprentice. "We were saving some by using Claire," he explains, "but we can save serious money with an apprentice. I crunched the numbers." "You can crunch numbers?" asks David. "Of course I can," replies Rico. "This week's StC, for example, is the lowest score for the season, and significantly below your all-time median of 754. Also, while your F_k coefficient has remained roughly steady all year, there has been a highly noticeable decline in both your Δ BS and POT * ∞ values. Looks like someone did some twelve-stepping during the hiatus." Nate doesn't like the idea very much, mostly because he doesn't want yet another person moving into the Fortress, but David seems quite enthusiastic. Ruth, however, interjects herself into the conversation to point out that she's the only one who "will be forced to co-exist with a complete stranger who could kill [her] in the middle of the night." And while that is a good point, we also shouldn't forget that at least he'd be able to properly embalm her afterwards. That's got to count for something, right? When she learns that Rico's "projections" indicate that they could save upwards of $10,000 per year, however, she quickly relents, with one simple caveat: "I don't want loud rock music in this house," she blurts. "And if he eats calamari, breaks any of my figurines, or talks about his nipples even once, the deal is totally off!"

David happily sits down with Rico to go over the rsums, but Nate follows his mom out of the room to tell her that she doesn't have to be "a martyr" all the time. "I agreed to do it for you. You need to make more money now that Lisa is a stay-at-home," she tells him, befuddling Nate and furrowing his brow deep beneath that giant jungle canopy of a forelock he's been sporting. Nate insists that Lisa is planning to return to work any day now, but Ruth seems pretty certain about this whole stay-at-home thing, even if she does admit to thinking it's "a horrible expression" that makes it sound as if "you have some bracelet on your foot that will ring if you leave the house." That's pretty funny, but on the other hand, you so totally know that Lisa would slap a GPS Lo-Jack on Nate in a heartbeat if she thought she could get away with it. Desperate to change the subject, Nate asks Ruth why she's holding a mousetrap. "I found a box of them," she reports. "Mice have germs. They deserve to die." Hee!

And speaking of germs, here comes The Ironic Segue Fairy, to infect us with an upbeat transition to the L.A. Gay Men's Chorus, bopping their way through a cheerful little ditty that seems to consist solely of the word "June." Since I'm still smarting a bit from Claire's failure to lovingly say my name a few scenes back, I'm just going be mildly narcissistic here and take that as a shout-out to my rapidly approaching thirtieth birthday. Send money, not gifts. Wailing Smithers concludes this rehearsal session with his usual flamboyant derision, and then calls David over for a private conference in which he counsels him about trying to make his solo sound "too perfect." "Just try to be more relaxed with it, okay?" he adds, without going on to mention that this same advice could really be applied to pretty much all aspects of David's life. No, that particular sad task falls instead to the Little White Sex Dork II and his new friend Sears & Ho-Buck, who have invited David out for a friendly post-chorus drink. These two also agree that David's solo could use a little work, although the Ho-Buck is a bit more descriptive than Smithers might have been. "It's prissy," he prisses. "It's like a little girl's dollhouse. It's like a kitty-cat greeting card. It's like a poofy white cutesy-pie." And he would know, I assure you. Noticing a cheering crowd of twenty-somethings gathered around the nearby foos-ball table, The Ho-Buck gripes aloud, "When did I become four hundred years old?" "On your last birthday," answers the LWSD II. "You know, in June." This is followed by an excellent little comedic bit involving a Cirque du Soleil reference, but unfortunately it's purely visual and wouldn't really translate into a recap very well.

The LWSD II excuses himself to hit the men's room and pick up their check, because he's "obsessed" with Trading Spaces and wants to get home in time to record some new Crying Pam sound bites for his upcoming banner ad buy. This gives The Ho-Buck an excuse to move in on David and dispel some of the awkwardness he's been perceiving. "I feel weird not acknowledging it," he says. "You know. 'It.' How we know each other." "From chorus?" replies a confused David. "Or did I maybe see you on C.S.I. this week?" Clearly offended by this lack of recognition, The Ho-Buck offers some additional details on their supposed meeting, which apparently involved David jerking him off eight years ago in the second stall of a men's room at Sears. Yeah. I know. And I was all set to launch in a long, morally indignant tirade about David's penchant for risky public sex, but then I remembered that (Recapper TMI Alert!) the first blowjob I ever received actually occurred in the men's room of a grocery store where I worked during high school. Fun bonus factoid: The girl in question is currently in prison. Anyway, David's expression of horror here is priceless, and he repeatedly insists that The Ho-Buck must be confusing him with someone else. This continues until the LWSD II returns, and David practically throws the entire contents of his wallet at the guy in an attempt to pay off the check and get out of there as soon as possible. Before he can leave, however, The LWSD asks if Keith will be attending their performance the night. David says yes, and the Ho-Buck offers an evil, poofy-white smirk as he smarms, "I can't wait to meet him." Dun dun DUN!

Aaron: Sears?
Alan Ball: So?
Aaron: SEARS?
Alan Ball: What's your point?
Aaron: I don't even know where to start with that one. Black & Dickem? Cum see the softer side of spooge? A quick "hand me your Makita" power tool/masturbation pun?
Alan Ball: Yeah, that's funny. And just what would you have used, Mr. I-Need-A-Cleanup-On-Aisle-69? Huh? Ball-Mart? Dave Sees Plenty? Montgomery Whored?
Aaron: Heh. Ball-Mart.
Alan Ball: Shut up.

The Boredello. Well, okay, it's not really The Boredello per se, but we had that damn nickname contest and I intend to get full use out of the results if it's the last freaking thing I do. Nate is struggling in the background to assemble a crib for Maya, and Lisa busy is in the foreground "circling problem purchases" on their Visa bill. Oy. Am I the only one who finds it odd that I could hate someone more for circling a few numbers in red ink than I would if I were watching them fuck the neighborhood teenagers two at a time? Yeah. That's what I thought. Nate questions some of the things she's marked as problems, most notably a lunch with David and the $80 he spent at a store called "Book Soup" because, as he puts it, "libraries are depressing." Okay, first of all, I'm not really sure why a library would be depressing, but that doesn't really concern me very much because using the TWoP Amazon link is so damn refreshing and invigorating. Buy something today! All the kids are doing it! And secondly, what the hell is Nate doing with $80 worth of books anyway? I mean, other than Charlotte: Light and Dark, I don't think we've ever seen him read anything more complicated than the Surgeon General's warning on his pack of cigarettes. It seems a little out of character, so I'm just going to assume this week's writer (Bruce Eric Kaplan, of cartoon fame) is friends with the owner of Book Soup and wanted to get them some free publicity. Anyway, Nate finally promises to cut down on his spending, although he does get in a nice little dig when he says that it's only until Lisa is ready to go back to work. Ooh, busted! "Um, actually, I'm holding off on looking for another job," she admits, looking guilty. Rallying what little remnants of pride he has left, Nate proclaims that she can't go around making decisions like that without his input. Lisa then proceeds to demonstrate that she totally can make decisions like that without his input by getting up to walk away without even pretending to discuss the issue. Run away, Nate! Run far, far away!

Crate & Quarrel. David comes home to find Keith camped out on the sofa as usual. Keith is dreading having to reveal that he's not going to be able to make it to David's concert because of a work commitment, but David, fearing the wrath of a Ho-Buck scorned, is more than gracious about the whole thing. "Thank you for being so aware that this isn't about you," says a grateful Keith, as they share an awkward embrace on the sofa. Heh. David and I actually rolled our eyes in unison on that line. Keith complains about his security guard job some more, bitching that he used to "make a difference" and "protect people's lives." Now he just "protects their stuff." Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I used to make a difference too, you know, and now I just recap other people's stuff. But you don't hear me getting all whiny about it, do you? Well, okay, sometimes you do, but that's not the point. "Work isn't everything," says David. "I give you some meaning, don't I? You give me meaning." "Of course," answers Keith. "But we can't be everything to each other. That just isn't possible." "Yeah, I suppose," replies David. "Now what do you say we head down to Restoration Hardware? I hear they just put new air fresheners in all their bathrooms. It could be fun!" Fade to white.

When we fade back up, there's a strange young man who may or may not be a distant cousin of The Addams Family wandering through the Formaldehyde Fortress. He makes his way down to The Body Shoppe, where Rico identifies him as "Arthur" and chides him for showing up "a little early." "Actually I was a lot early," answers Arthur. "So I walked around the block for a while. An elderly woman who was almost completely bald told me to get off her lawn." Heh. Bald women are always funny. Plus, they're good for my self-esteem. When Arthur asks what it was that made Rico decide to hire him, Rico explains that they thought he would "fit in" better than the others because of the way he spoke about his great aunt Pearl, who raised him after his parents died in a house fire. She "gave up everything for me," Arthur says proudly. "She home-schooled me." " Yeah, you seem a littlehome-schooled," answers Rico. Hee! And also, wow! This is two weeks in a row that Rico has been likable. I mean, what's ? The return of a repentant Brenda? Yeah, right. Like that'll ever happen. Rico returns to the corpse he's been working on, muttering that "these collagen lips are such a bitch." Arthur is hilariously mortified (and do you get it? "Mortified"?) by this profanity, and admits that Aunt Pearl would have "tarred" him for using language like that. Oh, I think it's safe to say that Arthur is going to fit in here just fine, don't you think? And just to prove that point, here comes Ruth, asking Rico if he knows where Nate might be. If you look closely, you can actually see Arthur's face light up at the presence of a matronly authority figure. Insert your own Harold & Maude joke here, which many of you have actually already done.