From my perch on Columbia, the youth are clearly restless. You can witness first hand the schism in our country that's so apparent heading into next week's election day, as citizens debate the issues. In Columbia Heights, the two sides have defined their terms: one side stating, unequivocally, that "pubic hair is gross." The other side deftly counters: "You're just a trifling ass bitch!"
These are the issues of the day that divide us, and absent a Bob Scheiffer to sort out the dispute, one wonders: "What are our officials going to do to bring a polarized nation back together?" Is Adrian Fenty ready for this challenge? Is anyone?
Now more than ever before, we need leaders who can take charge and help us to understand that we are a nation of people who, from time to time, are all "trifling ass bitches." Even "nosy ass bitches." Yes...verily, "bitch ass bitches" as well. And the sun shall shine on all the bitches, just as surely as it will rain thereon. And while pubic hair may not seem like the most ideal genital flora, it's a damn sight better than anything anyone else has suggested. I dream of a nation of people that will help each other pick pubes out of each other's teeth, when necessary. That's fuckin' teamwork, people.
With a few muffled shouts and at least one quick backhand to the dome, the debaters move on, but the debate remains.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
From my perch on Columbia, the youth are clearly restless. You can witness first hand the schism in our country that's so apparent heading into next week's election day, as citizens debate the issues. In Columbia Heights, the two sides have defined their terms: one side stating, unequivocally, that "pubic hair is gross." The other side deftly counters: "You're just a trifling ass bitch!"
- Best costume suggestion of 2006: "Slutty Gallaudet protestor." Sometimes, you read jokes that just redeem the whole damn blogosphere. [Why.I.Hate.DC]
- I share Rusty's disdain for "pub crawls." They are for people whose nights rarely take them anywhere. Last Friday, Fritz Hahn was on NPR talking up a pub crawl that had "everything from McFadden's to the Front Page," which is synonymous with "everything from 'suck' to the Middle English derivation of the word 'suck.'" That was on your Public Radio: a suggestion that flat out failed to improve upon a minute of dead air. Hey, NPR, next pledge drive, when I promise you $25 and then send you only $24.50? Well, you'll know why.
- Here's a real Meeting of the Whatever Word Conveys the Most Diametrically Opposite Meaning of the Word "Minds." [Metroblogs]
- Dear God. There are Naval Academy probies, currently chained to urinals, who have more manifest self-respect than Mark Halperin. And "The Note" hires interns from Bob Jones University? That explains...a LOT. [Glenn Greenwald]
- Amanda, I couldn't agree more. Ladybugs...I'm sorry...but they freak me the fuck OUT. [Blogs t r e t c h]
Posted by The Deceiver at 10/31/2006
The Washington Post today reports that the eminent malignable Florida Congresswoman Katherine Harris, currently attempting to outduel Alan Keyes' 2004 foray into Illinois to have the honor of losing to Barack Obama as the most inanely quixotic campaign challenge in U.S. history, is writing something of a tell-all book, in which she will have her revenge upon those who have wronged her--the GOP leadership who tried to talk her out of the race, the staffers who suffered her abuse, and the media who dared cover these events.
"I've been writing it all year," Harris says. And, believe it or not, the distraction of writing a hardcover slambook (working title: Fuck All'Y'all) is, nevertheless, the tiniest of factors in her being down 25-35% in the polls. (The margin of error for those polls, by the way, could not be ascertained because the margin of error is so sure Harris is going to lose that it's lending its support to the beleaguered margin of error in the Webb-Allen race.)
The Post quotes Darryl Paulson, a political scientist at USF, as saying: "The only way Bill Nelson could lose this is if he got himself in a drug-induced stupor and ran naked down the main street of his home town." So, on behalf of everyone who wanted to see this race reach the only place it had left to go: thanks for ruining everything, Darryl Paulson!
As for Harris' book, we can't wait to read it, and we hope that Harris is writing it without the aid of a ghostwriter. Partly because we want to experience the full force of Ms. Harris' undiluted literary talents, and partly because, based on her prior relationships with underlings, the Harris-hires-a-ghostwriter scenario sounds like a pretty salable treatment for Saw IV. One thing's for sure, Alex Pareene better get to blurb it.
Posted by The Deceiver at 10/31/2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
And they are telling us that Mr. Beck Hansen shall be playing a...well, not-so-secret show anymore, at the Black cat tonight at midnight. No word on whether the puppets will be there. So, there's a special treat for everyone without Decemberists tickets tonight. We were awaiting word about ticket prices and when they will go onsale, but now we must jet because we have our own show to go to. So, line up, right now, and bring money. How fucking hard is that?
Posted by The Deceiver at 10/30/2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Wow. From FREEwilliamsburg, via Defamer. Meet Brian Atene. Trained at Juilliard, cited here as one of the finest institutions of classical actor training in the land. In the contemporary sense, we find that to be true. However, this video would have you believe that it was a highway offramp educational annex catering to unemployed soda fountain installers.
As you marvel at this audition tape, consider where Atene works in the following characterizations into his monologue:
Actors: as this new millenium unfolds, this performance needs to be studied in depth.
The Rest Of You: If you've harbored affection for S.E. Hinton's novel The Outsiders, or the motion picture of the same name, you should take a minute to abandon all hope before you click the link.
Posted by The Deceiver at 10/26/2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Gallaudet president-select Jane Fernandes, eschewing her better judgement, gave a Live Chat to the Washington Post that, as DCist duly notes, is likely to make the embattled would-be president a whole lot more embattleder. Fernandes spent the chat calling for her celebration, quoting slave spirituals, recycling talking points she's already spread to the press, and otherwise continuing to pretend as if the protestors aligned against her haven't yet articulated a reason as to why they are protesting.
We don't pretend that there aren't elements of the protest we just don't get--but it seems as though the grievances have been pretty well-articulated. Honestly, the cronyism at play bothers us a whole lot more than the whole "deaf culture" angle--but that's only because we haven't spent even a second of our lives immersed in "deaf culture", for the obvious reason that we aren't deaf. Which begs the question, by the way: can a "culture" you cannot possibly share with the rest of the world be considered a "culture" at all? If a tree falls in a forest and there's only a deaf person around to hear it, does another tree sign, "Hey. Dude. Tree's down?"
Nevertheless, Fernandes does herself a disservice in the chat by coming across as alternatively pretentious and dickish, with a soupcon of entitled imperiousness ladled over top. Having been dissed by the student body and straight up served by a no-confidence vote from the faculty, you wonder who, if anyone, still supports her appointment. Well she has an answer for that, too. "I have a vast amount of support from what I see as a 'silent majority.'"
A silent majority? Maybe she'd be better off as the President of a school for the mute!
Posted by The Deceiver at 10/24/2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
JJ Abrams: Suzy, could you send in the two extras?Previously on LOST: Locke is crazy. He watched some videos, he got crazier. Eko started pushing the button: crazy. He stopped Eko from pushing the button, everything went shithouse.
Assistant: Right away.
[Two background actors, dressed as castaways, enter.]
Actor: Hi, Mr. Abrams. You wanted to see us?
JJ: That's right...uhh--actor. And actress. Why don't you sit down.
JJ: Look. I won't beat around the bush. You two have been with us from the beginning, walking around in the background of scenes, occasionally muttering things and running places. And, to the extent that you easily accomplished your easily accomplishable duties and, additionally, stayed sober behind the wheel, I'd like to start by saying, I got no beef with you.
Actress: Oh. Well. Thank you.
JJ: Now, because of continuity issues, we've always had to keep a certain number of extras on the set, to preserve the correct number of castaways.
Actress: Is that a fact?
JJ: Oh, yeah. Boy, all those fuckin' dorks out there on the internet have got this show catalogued six ways from Sunday. Why, Actor, you remember that day you were all pukey and we sent on the second assistant director to fill the background at Shannon's funeral scene?
Actor: [sotto voce to Actress] Poi. That shit is INEDIBLE.
JJ: Well, every fucking fan board lit up when that episode aired with the news that we had slipped.
Actor: Gosh. I guess we really are important to the show!
JJ: Wow. It's really funny that you think that. I'm afraid that there are limits to your importance, and fan criticism we are prepared to accept. That's sort of why you are here. We've decided it's time to add some new characters to the show, to give the audience some different stuff to focus on while I try to recreate the exact combination of controlled substances that revealed how this story's supposed to go in the first place. As a result, you two are no longer extras.
Actress: What? You mean...we'll be joining the cast.
JJ: What? Oh, good sweet God no! No, no, no. No, we have found actors who are much, much, much, MUCH more attractive looking than EITHER of you.
Actor: So...what? We're fired? Why us?
JJ: Well, as you know, like any network show, we conduct regular focus group sessions to help guide the development of the show
[cuts away to a focus group meeting, the empaneled viewers looking at a wide shot of a crowd on Lostie Beach]
Focus Group Moderator: Now, which of these out-of-focus, grainy blurs just aren't doing it for you?
[cuts back to Abrams' office]
JJ: According to the research, our viewers singled you two out as the least essential members of a group of extras who really aren't that essential at all.
Actress: So, that's it? Two years of service and we're done?
JJ: Hey. I understand your frustrations, and I am geniunely grateful for your work. That's why, to make it up to you, I'm going to give you an hour to rummage through the set. Take whatever you like that's not nailed down. Put that shit on eBay, and you guys will still have a nice Christmas.
Actor: I guess it's better than nothing. Is Sawyer's cache of pharmaceutical drugs real?
JJ: No. But mine is.
Lights up in the jungle interior. Locke awakes, having apparently survived the implosion of the Hatch. He pauses, takes stock of himself, and sits up. In the distance, he can just make out a panicky Desmond, running around sans clothes. Silently, Locke reflects on what has brought him to this lowly state. "What do I do now," he thinks. "Where do I turn to for belief? Pomo survivalism for the latte set? Island hoodoo guruism? I need my cant? Why can't I find my cant? Kant, I? No. I can't. Not that cant. What's this falling from the sky? It's Mr. Eko's staff. It's got Bible stuff written on it. Maybe I can follow this stick? Yeah! Why not? Hail, stick! Speak to me, stick? Tell me what to do." But it's not working.
So, Locke has another one of his crazy ideas. He returns to Lostie beach, where he sets about destroying his tent. Charlie stands with Claire, agog at his antics. "What is he doing, Cholly?" Claire asks. "Where has he been? What happened to him? Why is he doing what he is doing? What do the Others want? Where have they taken Jack? What is the Dharma initiative? Did you follow any of that internet shit over the summer, Cholly? What was that about?" Fuck you, Claire. Take a number and get in line.
Charlie confronts Locke but it turns out that Locke is unable to speak. There is a God after all. Charlie and Locke play the half-assed sign language game for a while, as Locke forces Charlie to guess wildly at what he's talking about. "You want to talk to the sand?" asks Charlie. Charlie would be the world's worst Pictionary partner. Finally, Locke makes himself clear. He needs to talk to the ISLAND. Oh, Christ. Here we go.
In order to talk to the island, Locke is going to need Charlie's help. Charlie reminds Locke that he kinda sorta despises Locke, seeing as how he recently attempted to beat his face into a million kabillion little chunks over that whole I'm Just Trying To Baptize Claire's Baby Affair. Locke waves it off as just another one of those things a Lost castaway is going to simply forget about as a matter of plot convenience. Locke has a plan, anyway--he's going to build a sweatlodge. A sweatlodge? I'm frankly surprised it wasn't one of the first things these douchebags built back in Season One.
With that, we head to Flashbackistan. Locke is driving, and he's listening to the blues. Because he's got that old timey suff'rin', boy. His woman done left him, and his dad took his kidney all away. Yeeeeeaahh, his woman done left him, and his dad took his kidney all away. He stops to pick up a random hitchhiker--because when you've spent your life being shit on by those closest to you, it figures you should take your chances with complete strangers. The hitcher's name is Eddie, and he's sort of pale version of Giovanni Ribisi. He says he's headed to Eureka--I'm presuming he means the show on basic cable--where he plans to cut timber.
A few minutes later, they are pulled over by a policeman. The cop asks the two of them to get out of the car, and he asks Locke what he's got in the back of his truck. "Guns and groceries," Locke answers. Someone's been to WalMart! Locke tells the policeman that the paperwork for all the guns--and there are a lot of them, haphazardly rattling around the back of the truck, mind you--is in a binder that he keeps in a duffel. The cop takes the binder, and subjects its contents to exactly the sort of investigatory professionalism you'd expect from the trained men of law enforcement whose job it is to keep you safe from gun crazy weirdos with one kidney--he opens the binder to a random page, gives it a cursory glance, and figures that everything just HAS to be above board. It's in a BINDER after all. He tells Locke that he could still arrest him for picking up a hitchhiker, but Eddie then claims to be Locke's nephew.
Back at the Beach, Locke and Charlie have completed building the sweatlodge, proving once again that there's no frivolous thing the Losties can't accomplish when they put their minds to it. Charlie is ordered to stand guard outside while Locke strips to the waist, eats some green goo he cooks up from an old Heloise column he remembers, and then goes inside to basically subject himself to some life-affirming smake inhalation. It's all so damned RATIONAL.
Locke, stuffed with druggy goo, covered with water, and immersed in smoke, starts to stare into the flames. It's not long before another presence joins him in the smokelodge. It's Boone! And he's surprisingly calm considering the fact that Locke got him killed, forcing Ian Somerhalder to take a role in the movie Pulse--where he and Veronica Mars had to fight off the evil advances of some weird Satanic version of the Blue Man Group that lived on the internet. Yes, Boone is surprisingly calm about all that. He tells Locke that he's got to "bring the family back together." And to do that, he's going to have to take a trip to Hallucinationville in his wheelchair. Really: given the opportunity to have the spectral form of a person you murdered show up and give you homework, it's surprising that we don't all build sweatlodges.
Boone takes Locke to the Sydney airport. It's a terrifying vision of my future. You just know that forty years from now, that's gonna be me, naked and hallucinating in a wheelchair at the airport, furtively jerking and pointing at random people. Locke points at this character and that, each time being told by Boone that it's not the person he needs to help. It's all one long bore because WE ALL KNOW WHO LOCKE'S GONNA END UP HELPING. Christ--I read about it in the TV Guide! Didn't need to ingest any homemade LSD, either (though, to be honest, homemade LSD only improves the TV Guide reading experience).
He's got to save Mr. Eko! I mean, duh. Locke only personally contributed to Eko's near-death. But I guess there are two types of people in the world: those who take moral direction from conscience, logic, and a sense of obligation, and those who need to be told by a Boone-covered-in-blood at the top of an imaginary escalator. So, Locke emerges from the sweatlodge with his voice back, determined to right sins not tragedies.
Locke and Charlie set off, tracking Eko's path through the jungle, even though, theoretically, it's pure dumb luck that they find the trail in the first place. Locke finds Eko's crucifix, and surmises that he was dragged off by...a POLAR BEAR? Oh, you have to be kidding. Here we thought that Locke was going to confront something more vaunted, like Black Smoke Stompy Monster or something, and all we're going to get is another effing polar bear? Locke suggests that Charlie stays behind, because bad things happen to people when they are with him. Things like, hopelessly mundane plot developments.
We return to Flashbackistan. Locke and Eddie drive up to some sort of encampment, and right away, we know we are dealing with some sort of communal separatist community--a combination of the Branch Davidians and Schrute Farm. And, guess what--they have their own sweatlodge! Fantastic.
Eddie and Locke sit down to dinner with the rest of the Branch Schrutians, all of whom are done with their daily work of sowing seeds and hoeing crops and silkscreening "Quit Your Bitching and Start a Revolution" t-shirts. The guy at the head of the table, Mike, noting Eddie's T-shirt, asks if he likes Geronimo Jackson. Christ, who doesn't? Locke is asked to say grace, which he does--thanking God for helping him to not be so angry and for providing him with a family. Heh. Locke never learns. Anger is the one thing EVERY family produces by the bushel. Read your Anna Karenina, people. Or your Douglas Coupland.
Back in the jungle, Locke and Charlie arrive at the imploded Hatch, which looks impressively concave. There, they find a boar that has been freshly killed. Locke surmises that the bear has killed the boar with the intention of returning to it, and, right on cue, growling is heard from the surrounding fronds. So, Locke and Charlie run run run, far away--and it will never be addressed that in doing so, they leave Eko's trail far behind. They stop, and, feeling like the bear is close by, Locke blindly hurls his knife into the jungle, where it strikes the canteen of a very surprised Hurley.
Hurley brings Locke and Charlie up to speed on current events where Jack and Kate and Sawyer and Walt and Michael are concerned, but soon moves on when they reveal that they are out trying to find a polar bear lair. Locke finds another puff of cottony fluff--which means that they are following either a polar bear or a giant, homicidal pillow. Either way, Hurley wants no part of it. Charlie drops some Brit lingo on the folks at home, talking about getting high and watching "nature programs on the Beeb," and driving lorries, and sucking on ice lollies, and wrapping things in aluminium foil to preserve their freshness. Just then, they come to a cave.
Back in Flashbackistan, Locke and Eddie are walking around the Branch Schrutian compound when Eddie asks about the mysterious greenhouse that he's not been allowed in thus far. The Schrutians are up to something suspicious. The presence of stockpiled fertilizer makes Eddie think they mean to blow something up. Two Schrutians are observed building the case for this possibility by fumbling a bag of fertilizer and then acting all, "Whoo, we dodged a bullet there when we managed to prevent this bag of fertilizer from hitting the ground!" Duh. Fertilizer doesn't EXPLODE when you drop it, dumbass. And, hey, here's a clue, Not Exactly Keen Eddie, you don't need to store fertilizer in a greenhouse if you intend to make bombs with it. But Eddie thinks he's sussed out what the Branch Schrutians are all about, and he wants in. Locke laughs long and heartily at the idea that they are terrorists, but he tells Eddie that he will talk to Mike and Jan about letting him in on the big secret.
Back in the Jungle, Locke and Charlie are having some sort of spat over who is going to go into the cave. I'm going in, says Charlie. No you're not, says Locke. Yes, I am, retorts Charlie. On and on they go, until the requisite amount of screen time is taken up. Finally, Locke smears some schmutz on his face for no discernible reason other than, I guess, to look a little badass, and goes in with a lit torch and a can of hairspray. He makes his way into the spacious cave and is proceeding slowly downward when he steps on something metallic. He looks down at what appears to be a toy dump truck. Uh-oh, Locke. Looks like a trigger! Best prepare yourself for...
A return to Flashbackistan. Locke strides across Schrute Farm, bound for the Greenhouse of Secrets, looking for Mike and Jan to tell them that, in his esteemed, never-wrong judgement, it's time to let Not So Keen Eddie in on the deep mysteries of the Branch Schrutians. The Schrutian at the door tells Locke that Mike and Jan were looking for him. But when he walks in, Mike and Jan are yelling and hurriedly packing up files. Locke's all, "What's up, dawgs? How are you on this beautiful day?" But Mike and Jan wheel on Locke, tossing him nothing but mad glare. "You bald, half-assed twit," they say, "It turns out Not So Keen Eddie is a cop!" And for the nine-millionth time in his life, Locke realizes he's been played.
It turns out that the Branch Schrutians aren't engaged in terrorizing anything more significant than a few willing brain cells. The greenhouse, as it turns out, is their central front on the War on Not Being High. We see Mike and Jan packing up bags of high-quality, hydroponic bud. For pot enthusiasts, though, Mike and Jan sure are a pair of tightly wadded dicks. They blame Locke for crapping cop-juice all over their tidy operation. Locke, though, asks them to calm down, and he promises that he will fix this problem before Not So Keen Eddie can find out what's been going on.
And, with that, we may as well relate the resolution to this week's central conflict. Locke finds Eko, bloodied and barely conscious. It turns out the polar bear is right there. The polar bear growls menacingly. Locke takes the hairspray and the torch and uses them as a makeshift flamethrower. The bear, singed, retreats. Locke grabs Eko. They run. He runs outside, finds Charlie, and he joins in the running. They run and run. And so, seventy days into their stay on the relentlessly mysterious, endlessly weird La Isla Encanta, we can say that the Losties have just about mastered fending off polar bears. Hooray.
Hurley, having found and clothed the naked Desmond in a grungy tie-dye T-shirt, exchanging exposition that we are frankly better off having been spared. You feel bad for Hurley, because he's already had to give the rundown of what happened with the Others to Locke, and he'll probably have to go through it about fifty more times when he gets back to the beach, and, now that Desmond has told him what happened with the Hatch, he'll probably get tasked with that responsibility too.
Hurley expresses worry about Jack and company being gone, what can be done about it, and how many freaking episodes its going to take to resolve. Desmond tells him not to worry, that Locke is going to go after them, he said so in his speech. That's when Hurley squinches up his face in the universal expression of "WTF, dude?" saying, "Speech? All Locke talked about was saving Eko and killing bears." Desmond, AS IF HE HAS INADVERTENTLY SAID TOO MUCH (!!!) lets the matter drop.
Charlie and Locke walk back to Lostie beach. "It'll be a long time before that bear comes after us!" Locke muses. Yes, that polar bear would have gotten away with it if if weren't for those meddling, sweatlodge-building, Boone-hallucinating, polar-fluff tracking, Aquanet wielding kids! Locke muses on the benefits of the sweatlodge lifestyle. Charlie replies that he speaks as if he's had to "clean up a lot of messes." Oh, no, Charlie--that was a pretty loaded comment! You know what that means!
It's back to Flashbackistan. Locke and Not So Keen Eddie are in the woods, a'deerhuntin'. Locke tells NSKE that Mike and Jan have given him the okay to see what wonderful things await him in the Greenhouse of Mystery. Eddie seems stoked.
Locke feints as though he's seen a deer behind Eddie, who lives up to his not so keen nickname by wheeling around. Smooth move, Ex-Lax. Way to turn your back on a man with a loaded gun. Eddie soon realizes that Locke's got the drop on him, and has, for good measure, not loaded his rifle. Locke asks, "Did they choose me?" That's Locke, always acting as if he is the center of the universe. "Yeah, they chose you," Eddie replies, citing his recent arrival to the Schrutian fold, his lack of a criminal record, and the fact like he practically wears a sign around his neck that says, "I AM LOOKING FOR ANYONE OR ANYTHING TO JUST BLINDLY PUT MY TRUST IN! ASK ME ABOUT MY KIDNEY!"
Locke and Eddie stand in the stand-off. Eddie tells Locke that he's going to walk away. Locke tells him that he is going to kill him, but Eddie says he doesn't believe it, that he's a lover, not a fighter, a farmer, not a hunter, and anyway, we gave the writers a break this week, so why don't I use the same line Connie used on Sun last week: "You're not a murderer. You're a good man." Unfortch for Locke, it turns out to be true. Eddie walks away unscathed, to totally wreck the Branch Schrutians dream of hosting the awesomest Phish concert ever.
Back in the jungle, Locke lays Eko down against a tree as Charlie heads off to get some water. Locke tells the unconscious Eko that he's sorry he didn't believe him, sorry he lost his faith, sorry he failed to protect and/or save Jack and the others. Eko suddenly awakes and tells Locke that he still can save them. "After all, you are a hunter." Charlie comes back, but Eko lapses back into semiconsciousness, if, indeed, he ever really was awake.
Locke, Eko and Charlie make their way back to the beach. The Losties are all abuzz at their return. Hurley has been struggling to relate all the goings on, and, amid the hubbub, we hear two voices talking that WE HAVE UP UNTIL NOW NEVER HEARD: Nikki and Paulo.
Nikki: Hurley, why didn't you tell us about this?
Paulo: Yeah, Hurley. You always tell us about everything that's going on.
Nikki: There's been a rich tradition of you telling us things Hurley.
Paulo: Ever since the first episode. We've been here that long.
Nikki: And you have always told us these things!
Paulo: Why are you acting like you've never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever seen us or talked to us before?
Nikki: About the things!
Paulo: Yes, the things!
Nikki: I have over seventy days of memories of you telling us things! Don't you, Nikki?
Paulo: Uhm. You're Nikki, Nikki. I'm Paulo. You know, Nikki and Paulo.
Nikki: That's right! Nikki and Paulo! Oceania has ALWAYS been at war with Eurasia.
Paulo: Ohhhh, boy. I can't WAIT for my first Flashback.
Hey, everybody. Meet Nikki and Paulo.
Locke, tired of how disconcertingly meta everything's getting, gathers everyone's attention and speaks. He tells them that tough times are ahead and that they have to save Jack and tangle with the Others, but that they will do these things another day. Right now, the priority is making sure Eko returns to health.
Hurley watches Locke say these things, weirded out because this event seems to dovetail with what Desmond said about Locke. Charlie, making double extra super sure everyone in the viewing audience gets it drops a massive Anvil of Dialogue: "Wow, that was some SPEECH! Eh, Hurley? What a SPEECH that was. It's been a long time since I've heard such a SPEECH! SPEECHIE SPEECH McSPEECH!"
Hurley turns and watches Desmond as he idly tosses rocks into the ocean. Most of you probably realized by now--Desmond predicted a future event. Here's the part you'll want to take special note of: he did so even though he wasn't near enough to hear Locke.
It's almost as if Desmond has heard this story before.
NEXT TIME, on LOST: In order to save their compatriot Connie, the Others turn to Jack and his awesome powers of Coldplay to save the day. Does this mean Jack's going to end up in another toxic, co-dependent relationship? Also: Desmond builds a weird device that will hopefully make some people start watching The 9.
Posted by The Deceiver at 10/23/2006
Friday, October 20, 2006
Wow. We arrived just a few minutes too late. Soon enough to hear the scuttlebutt on the sidewalk, but we wrote it off as just aural hallucination until we read this item confirming how close we came to meeting.
Let me break it down. You: the tongue-tied, soft-headed leader of the free world. Me: Regionally recognized dick. We came in looking for a Diet Dr. Pepper. The place: the CVS at Thomas Circle. For heavens sake, Mr. President...what were you doing there? Were you picking up some Kools for Condi? Hitting up the semi-functional ATM? Not buying beer, right? because, you can't, you know? Also, I hear you don't, also. I can tell you, that particular CVS has a strange layout--doors that dump you out on different streets, load bearing poles that are poorly placed in places people should obviously be standing, aisles that seem to taper to a point--not the ideal place for someone who's got no skillz when it comes to exit strategy.
It's too bad we showed up late to your unexpected appearance. We curse our timing and the brief meeting we had to take to resolve an issue with a bunch of audio files that kept us from being there at the same time. You see, I've always dreamed of asking you a question that no one in the press corps has ever asked:
"Why is it that you, a New Englander, walk around talking with a fake Texas accent?"
Posted by The Deceiver at 10/20/2006
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Do I much care for the baseball? No. Only Cardinals baseball. The greatest team in the history of the Majors are returning to the World Series (where, chances are, they'll get chewed up by Detroit). But a seven-game win over New York? We'll take it. Though it must be said--that Endy Chavez catch was OFF THE CHAIN (and before we get too impressed, let's not sleep on the throw that got the additional out). Between that and Rolen deciding to hurl that grounder all the way to Islip, I was pretty sure that the momentum had turned. But Suppan got them out, and Molina stepped up. We're so happy. I'm quite sure Will Leitch over at Deadspin is in the throes of catharsis, so go wish him the best.
And remember, no matter who wins the World Series, any league that allows designated hitters cannot really be considered American.
Posted by The Deceiver at 10/19/2006
Next week, on a Very Special Episode of the F.W. Thomas Performances...
When F.W. Thomas, struggling to find himself, falls in with a group of seemingly genial potheads, he thinks he's finally found a way to fit in. But when the fun suddenly turns to PCP, hookers, and a dead nun in the utility closet, it's up to his father (played by Jonathan Coulton, Scientific American) to face up to his anxiety about being a single father and, with the help of kindly old Coach Larrabee (played by David Rees, Get Your War On), teach F.W. an important lesson about growing up. With special guests Adam Mazmanian as the malefic cholo Turko and an uplifting performance by the Harlem Boys Choir (played by John Hodgman, The Areas of My Expertise).
Tuesday, October 24, 7pm
@The Warehouse Theatre
1017-21 7th Street NW
Take Green/Yellow to Mount Vernon Square Station
or Red to Gallery Place.
Posted by The Deceiver at 10/19/2006
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Tis true. We have, in the past, heaped a pile of scorn upon the inexplicably named music site Big Yawn--DC's halfhearted stab at combining the "everyone's a WINNER (esp. us)!" ethos that makes Pitchfork intolerable with two scoops of glaring spelling and syntactic errors.
All that said, it would be stunningly unfair of us if we did not heap a twice-as-big helping of praise on the latest thing to come out of the Big Yawn camp and offer a deserving ovation to their upcoming DAM! Music Festival, coming the weekend of October 26-28. It is an unabashedly wonderful thing.
For lovers of both local music and independent rock in general, DAM! is a pre-Halloween treat that's going to leave you wanting more even if you manage to max out your involvement. This festival has been meticulously and brilliantly curated. From the local music scene, they've chosen acts that offer a real backbone of relevance, artists who can speak to DC's rock past and it's future--Len Bias, Travis Morrisson, Laura Burhenn, The Dance Party, Bleeder Resistor...
And the bands from out of town are a bunch of fantastic selections as well, and we particularly admire the fact that it's not just a bunch of bands whose throats are full of blogger jizz. Sure, there's bluzz (Cold War Kids, Cloud Cult)--but there are a lot more bands that've fallen through the cracks in the hype machine, like De Novo Dahl, Longwave, Pela, and my personal favorite, Bishop Allen. The bills are full of bands like this--they've garnered a fair-share of attention, sure--but they are the types of acts that deserve a champion other than the idle-fingered keyboardist. The whole crew behind DAM! deserve a lot of credit for stepping up behind these acts.
And that's to say nothing of stepping up to bring a festival to DC that has a whiff of relevance, and a sense of the sort of freshness that we felt during Cap Fringe, as well as positioning itself as the de facto coming out party for the part of the city that I gather we're all supposed to refer to as the Atlas District.
Where does this leave the city's other musicky festival--the one best known for inciting a famous "very special episode of the O.C." moment between its eternally aggrieved volunteer organizer and Chris from Full Minute of Mercury? Uhm...maybe forgotten about entirely. DAM! threatens to remove a phrase from our vocabulary: "...is what best passes for a DC music festival."
So, with humility, we offer nothing but rah-rahs. Hit up their website to get a full listing, copious band info, and lotsa samples of this-n-that. Be warned: You will have to make some hard choices. That's a good thing, and speaking personally, be glad that you don't have final dress rehearsals all weekend long and will be stuck in a dark theatre while all this is happening. Like, uhm...someone I could mention.
The Divine Miss K submits this work, "NoVA and RoVA: Welcome to a State of Disagreement", to be added to WaPo's 2006 collection of Dubious Uses of Newsprint. I'm not sure it competes with the famous "Wingman" article, but it's up there. Appropriately, the piece has been assigned per curiam authorship, so we'll never really know who to blame.
This is not to say that the differences between the Northern Virginia counties and the other parts of Virginia aren't a ripe subject for many jokes. But this isn't one of them:
"In RoVa, they like freshly killed venison. In NoVa, they like Alfred, Lord Tennyson."Wow. Have you no sense of decency, Style staff?
By the way, in "NoVa" no one uses the term "NoVa" unless you are referring to the Northern Virginia Community College.
Who would have thought that I'd be reading Right Wing News today and find myself in total agreement with something they said? In summing up what the Republicans can fall back on to win the midterm elections, the blog identifies what arrows the GOP has in its quiver going into November:
The first is their vaunted, "Get Out The Vote," program. The second is their significant cash advantage over the Democrats.... If the GOP is going to win the election, we're probably going to have to beat the Democrats 4 to 1 in districts that look to be toss-ups right now. The good news is that with the kind of cash advantage that Republicans have, pulling off that kind of winning streak isn't out of the question.Excellent. Then we're agreed: if the GOP wants to win they've got to make with the gladhanding and the gift baskets. After all, you'd have to be a thumbsucking idiot to suggest that the GOP were going to win based on their six years of running the country and their record of cogent policy decisions. Truer words were never blogged.
- What's up DC blogosphere? Ears burning? Save the date. 10/17/07. On that day, we settle all family business.
- Hey, did you hear that Representative Peter King (R-NY) said today that Baghdad was just like Manhattan? Christ, what New York Yankee pitcher crashed his plane there? [ThinkProgress]
- Hey, did you hear that Bill O'Reilly came up with a clear inductee for the top ten things to come out of his mouth that aren't actual dog poop? Apparently he said that a woman's life could "never be in danger" from a pregnancy complication. What fucking witch doctor voodoo HMO do they use at Fox? Uhm, preeclampsia much? Could I hear an ectopic pregnancy? I mean, shit. Has the guy never watched ER? Because every pregnant woman on ER has something lifethreatening happen to them on that show. And it is just a TV show, but it used to be produced by Michael Crichton who, I believe, is the O'Reilly sets go-to source on global-warming quasi-truthiness. Oh, well, everyone send your old cassingles of "Lightning Crashes" to the Fox News Channel at 1211 Avenue of the Americas in NYC, and don't forget to include "care of Bill O'Reilly is a Poncey Fucktard" in the address. [Media Matters]
- Hey, by the way, Media Matters, a question: I bet nailing O'Reilly in that circumstance was so easy that you guys had plenty of time to tidy up your bathrooms today. Am I right?
- Mind you, the way its designed, after the sixth time you bobble the head of the Jarvis Hayes model, it breaks in half and takes about a year to replace. [DCist]
Previouslies: Sayid assumes responsibility for all Walt-rescue-related badassey. Jack ends up in a shark tank, wondering where Sawyer and Kate are.
We begin in Flashbackistan and find Sun as a sweet bird of youth:
SUN: Yes, I have a bun in the oven.Yes, I have tricks up my sleeve. But I am the opposite of those assholes on Grey's Anatomy, monologuing us to death and fighting with each other on the set about who's prettier and who has better actor training. To begin with, I can go to Flashbackistan, to a quaint period where I was just a little girl in Korea, totally pinning the wreck of a glass ballerina on our maid. I don't feel bad about it either. Fuck the maid.
In Korea, there was this crazy bad codependent relationship I had gotten into and an affair I was having with this bald guy on top of that. Here on La Isla Encanta, there are only Others, and black smoke stompy things, and this crazy plan to rescue Walt.
But this is Flashbackistan, and as it is a flashback, it is set in Korea , and filled with subtitles. And midway through the show, it maybe becomes Jin's flashback, not mine--for no good reason. I can't figure it out. What the fuck, writers? Consistency is all I seek. But that's another story.
I am the narrator of some parts of Flashbackistan. The other characters are my husband, Jin, my father, Mr. Paik, and a gentleman caller who will eventually get the snot beat out of him but good.
The writers of this show have a poet's weakness for metaphor, hence the slow motion descent of the doomed ballerina, the fragile piano fingerings, and my eventual decision to blame the maid for the broken tzotchke. It's all supposed to mean something. But fuck me if I can figure it out.
You'd think the rest of the show would explain it. If so, you've obviously not been watching this show.
We return from Flashabackistan to see Sun, below deck on the Elizabeth washing her face after having a bout with morning sickness. I guess we're going to have to get used to daily visitations to these matters because with the way time moves on this show, Sun's birth will be taking place around Season Nine, and that season will open with a three-episode recap of Sun's bun journey through the birth canal and flashbacks of it as a zygote. We'll all still like Sun's fertilized egg more than Ana Lucia, so this is not without upside.
Above deck, Sayid is doing a little bit of spot mapping. Jin is concerned for Sun and wants to turn around and go home. But Sayid is unwilling to leave Jack behind--he wants to go north and set another fire--just to show off that the Losties have mastered a few rudiments of basic civilization. Jin's all, "Yeah, well, I'm the one who knows how to sail." But Sun intercedes and sides with Sayid telling him that she knows how to pilot the boat as well.
Meanwhile, in the Sharktank, Jack receives another bowl of soup from Juliet. Jack doesn't have much to say about this, and Juliet leaves. She runs into Ben, who snides, "You never made soup for me." It's all a reminder of the colorful past these two have as, I suppose, former squeezes who differed radically on whether Stephen King should be included in their book club. Just then, another woman, who'd clearly Ben's new butchier squeeze, interrupts. She's Connie, the convincing contrary consigliere to Ben and romantic foil for Juliet.
Connie informs Ben that "the Iraqi" found their fake village, and that he's got a sailboat. Ben makes WTF-faces over the sailboat. "How'd they get a sailboat?" he asks. Oh, you haven't seen the spread over at Lostie Beach. They've got golf courses and shit. Given enough time, they'll be giving out sailboats as strings-free rewards for participating in Rape Caves Timeshares presentations. Ben wants Connie to put together a team--but, shit, man--this is Connie we're talking about! She's already put together a team. A crack team of Iraqi-evading sailboat takers, don't you worry. No one needs to tell Connie that "a team" needs to be put together. "I want that boat," Ben says.
Back at the Other's panda enclosure, Sawyer's introduction to Kate is proceeding well. He's stopped flinging poop at her and is instead exuding pheromones at a high rate. Soon, the Others will mate them and produce little Skater babies that will be the size of a stick of butter. But first things first, and that is another early morning breakfast of fish biscuits.
This glorious repast is soon interrupted by the arrival of Others, armed and carrying tools. These are the Others who didn't draw the plum assignment of being on Connie's awesome team. They take Sawyer and Kate from their cages and lead them into the jungle. Along the way, they stop to pick up some provisions. Sawyer notices that the guy who seems to be in charge has some sort of lady friend--a spouse or a girlfriend--and so he points the only gun he has in his possession--his powerful cock--at them. Lady friend seems to notice Sawyer's Danger Hair infused stare, and, seeing this, the guy wheels on Sawyer before he can totally plant the seeds of future coital conquest.
Back on the boat, Jin continues to have grave misgivings and small craft warnings, but Sun charms him with a little dose of sweetness. Of course, never does a tender moment come with these two that doesn't hurl them into the regretful world of Flashbackistan. We arrive there to find Sun, naked and laying in bed with her Gentleman Caller, Jae. Don't know if this is post-coitus or pre-coitus, but Jae definitely has a mind to re-coitus. Sun offers up her best, "We can't. We mustn't." Their house was not meant to stand! But Jae shushes her--Paik's kid don't cry!--and tells her he doesn't want to share with Jin anymore. She knows English, so she can come to America and only be harassed by Maryland State Comptroller William Donald Schaeffer for her fine, fine ass. Jae offers Sun a pearl necklace.
No. Not that kind.
Just then there comes a stern knocking at the door from someone who failed to note how the hotel room was a-rocking. Jae answers it, and, in what figures to be a big detriment to his prospects of remaining alive, in walks Mr. Paik. Jae collapses in apologias as Paik enters and orders Sun to get dressed. His eyes scream "Deception! Deception!" Paik clearly is shamed by Sun. Here he thought that she was off at Rubicam's Business College while all this while she's been getting schtupped by Baldy McEnglishspeak. It'll be a long while before Paik can show his face at the Daughters of the Korean War.
Back at Camp Others, Sawyer and Kate learn that the law, though fought, has won, and, as a result, they shall break rocks in the hot sun. The guy whose lady Sawyer was macking on let's him know that he is The Shocker, and if they step out of line, he'll give 'em two in the toot, one in the poot. Just to show he's serious, he rewards Kate's snark by giving Sawyer the first Shock of the day. Dig The Shocker's crazy-mixed-up style of justice and punishment! He's angry! He's unpredictable! He's the Shocker!
Meanwhile, back in Flashbackistan:
Sun: After the fiasco at the hotel room, the idea of killing my gentleman caller to the deadeth degree imaginable began to play a more and more important part of my father's calculations. It became an obsession, like an archetype of the universal unconscious or some cultural referent Lindehof and Cuse drop into the scripts just to make the fans all fuck off to Google it like some predictable Charm City monkeyboy.
Father was a man of action as well as a man of words. Actually...he was more a man of forcing other people to do his dirty work, as well as a man of subtitles...many many subtitles. But I digress. He began to take logical steps in the direction of eradicating his shame.
I have no idea why this is in MY FLASHBACK, but, my Dad called Jin into his office one day. He showed him a picture of my gentleman caller, and told him that he had been stealing and that Jin needed to put an end to it. As in "This is THE end, my balding friend, the end." Jin refuses and tells my father that he'll quit. You can hardly blame him...Christ, Mark Foley's a better boss than my dad. But my dad countered Jin's refusal by calling Jin his "son" for the first time and that as his son, his shame was Jin's shame. That's us Asians and our mythic fucking shame spirals. It's all a big cliche. Believe me, we don't all act as if we were the last fucking samurai.
Back on the Elizabeth, Sayid spots the dock from the end of last season, and makes the decision to moor the boat there and build a fire. It will turn out to be a collossally stupid decision, but, then, I've been saying that all along about Sayid's crazy, "I'll let you guys walk through the jungle with a traitor whilst I cruise around the island on this totally sweet boat. We'll meet up, kill the Others, and then enjoy some Pirate's Bay rum!" Whatevs.
Elsewhere, Sawyer and Kate continue to do whatever this work is they've been forced to do. It's not clear if all the rock pickin' and hole diggin' has anything to do with anything other than maybe making Kate and Sawyer feel demeaned and enslaved. And I know that the Others continually insist that they are the "Good Guys"--but really, I just think they're dicks. So hoping Sawyer goes Spartacus on their asses.
But what Sawyer is doing is staring at Kate's ass. Don't do it, Sawyer! Don't be lured by the siren's call of Kate's shapely crack! Concentrate on the matter at hand. Sawyer's long lingering stare gets the unwanted attention of The Shocker, who tosses Sawyer some mad glare and tells him to get back to work.
Just then, Kate's attention is taken by Alex Rousseau, who's suddenly appeared and seems to want to talk to Kate. Alex asks after Karl--the young kid that used to occupy Kate's cage and who executed the most perfunctory of escape attempts in the last episode. Kate doesn't know anything about Karl--she was off eating the Worst Continental Breakfast Ever with Ben when all that was happening. Alex remarks that the dress Kate is wearing used to belong to her, a fact that fills Kate with no small amount of distaste. After all, it's bad enough being stuck wearing an off-the-rack Laura Ashley knockoff from twelve seasons ago--you have to go and learn that it's a hand-me-down from the daughter of some crazy French woman.
Back at the dock, Sayid's behavior--being something cloudy, something clear--finally inspires Sun to call him out, and Sayid finally admits that he's changed the game plan. He's certain that Jack and the gang have been captured--at least as certain as anyone could be knowing that Jack and the gang getting captured was the most likely outcome of one's crazy plan. What he wants to do know is set a trap for the Others, and he has it mapped out in exacting detail. He will capture two of the Others and kill the rest of them. Then he will play each of the two off against the other in a battle of Who Wants To Survive Sayid's Loose Ass Interpretations of the Geneva Conventions. Given the fact that it's been notably hard to dispatch an Other thus far, not to mention that the Losties have been basically been straight up pwned by the Others at every step, it's a bold plan, that, let's face it, on one level, is going to rely on the Others LETTING IT HAPPEN.
We return from another episode of televised mercantilism to find ourselves in Flashbackistan. Jin comes home, having had The Grudge 3 laid on him by Sun's father. He's quiet and surly, and it doesn't take long for it to come out that he has to go "deliver a message." Sun doesn't want him to go. She wants him to run away to America, start a new life, and that he doesn't need the job her father gave him.
But does she think Jin's crazy about the job? Does she think he's in love with being her dad's pain delivery boy? That celotex interior? With fluorescent tubes? Why sometimes he'd rather someone pick up a crowbar and batter out his brains than to have to go out at night...with a crowbar...to, uhm, batter out someone else's brains. Everytime Sun says "We can start a new life, we can start a new life," it makes him say to himself, "Wow! How lucky dead people are!" Oh, and that reminds him, it's time for the long goodbye...gotta go beat some bald guy until his inside parts are mostly on the outside.
Back at Ambush Beach, Jin is starting to piece it all together. He can just tell by the way Sayid is building the fire that's something's up. He goes on a subtitle free binge of calling Sayid and Sun out. Sun translates for the home audience that Jin knows English better than he lets on. Sun is all arch about it, but, shit, Sun--let's not start loading the Trebuchet of Resentment Rocks inside your very thin glass house, okay? Or has your Flashback, thus far, taught you nothing?
Jin insists that he participate in the coming ambush and convinces Sayid to order Sun back to the boat. Sayid pauses to remind her that there is a gun tucked away inside a tarpaulin on board. Why Sayid did that is anyone's guess--I suppose during his planning of this absurd plot he remembered: "I'd better take one of these guns and just stow it inside a random tarpulin in the kitchen. Some future plot device may require it." Still, it's great to see an Iraqi cop to concealing a weapon--since Hans Motherfuckin' Blix isn't around. Of course, that hidden gun represents the best WMD find to date where Iraq is concerned.
Back at the Others Correctional Facility, kate and Sawyer are still participating in their Others-mandated auto da fe when Juliet gets Sawyer's attention, presumably because she has a working vagina. She looks back, and tosses him a canteen full of water. Sawyer takes the canteen and dumps out the contents in full bad-ass mode. Sawyer 1, Refreshment 0!
If the next thing you heard was the distant sound of a million Skaters all loudly saying "SQUEEEEEE!!" together, that's because Sawyer, in a fit of glorious, rebellious pique, strides up to Kate for an abrupt and luxurious demonstration of the title of Cole Porter's most famous musical. He's come to wive it lustily in Kate's throat, in other words. But The Shocker and his gang of angry Others are on that shit before anyone can admonish, "Why can't you behave?" Sawyer starts scrapping, and despite getting poled in the back of the head and receiving a mild shock, manages to grab a gun. For a second, things are coming up Spartacus, but then Juliet gets his attention, using his real name, James. He turns and Juliet's got a gun pointed at Kate, and Sawyer, always true to Kate in his own fashion, drops the gun. The Shocker sets his shocker on "He Hate Me", and Sawyer is down and convulsing.
Time passes and it's now night on Ambush Beach. Sayid and Jin have taken up cover in the jungle, executing their plan that is twenty-seven wagons fulla stupid. Why they think they should stand and wait there is anyone's guess. Sun waits on the boat, and right about now, you wonder why it is that Sayid, a supposed military expert, and Jin, who wants very badly for Sun to be kept out of harm's way, never suggested that maybe Sun, who can sail, should take the boat and anchor it offshore, far away from the sneaky Others--as opposed to leaving it right on their dock with a big sign that says "Why Not Just Walk Right Up To This Motherfuckin' Boat and Board It?" Sure enough, as Sun prepares to make tea, the Others, like cats on a cool sailboat's roof, are stealthing their way on board.
Back in Flashbackistan, Jin sits in his car, waiting for the moment to enter the hotel and meet up with Jae. "Agh," he thinks, "I'm a hired assassin. I carry a tommy-gun in my briefcase. I run a string of cathouses in Daegu. They call me Killer--Killer Kwon. I'm leading a double life--honest employee by day, by night a dynamic czar of every once in a while havin' to choke a bitch so my boss doesn't ruin my marriage. Why and how is this a part of Sun's flashback?!"
Jin goes in the hotel and confronts Jae, and then basically works him over pretty damned good. It's not long before Jae has been forcibly juxtaposed with pieces of furniture, thrown through anything in the room that a man can be thrown through and is bleeding and crying. "Blue roses!" he cries, adding, "I didn?t even know you were Shakespeare's sister! Didn't we have a class in something together? I never heard any clumping, I SWEAR I NEVER HEARD ANY CLUMPING PLEASE DON'T BE KILLING ME. WAAAA-AAAH."
And, once again, Jin can't bring himself to kill the object of his father-in-law's rage. He tells Jae that he needs to leave the country and never come back, start a new life and stay the fuck away. Jae agrees to this, and Jin goes back to his car. And then, a few minutes later, Jae also decides to go back to Jin's car, only Jae took A Streetcar Named Expire--straight down, from a great height, all among the windscreen, clutching the pearl necklace. No. Not that kind.
Meanwhile on Ambush Beach, Sayid and Jin's plan to stand in one random part of the jungle and resolutely stare half-assedly into space isn't succeeding. The clue train doesn't stop there anymore. The Elizabeth is now swarming with Others, who've only been to happy to walk right up the welcome mat onto the boat. Sun, finally spooked by the obviously menacing creaking going on, fetches the gun from the Tarpaulin of Plot Contrivance and hides. Soon, we see Connie. Sun emerges, gun pointed at Connie and tells her she wants off the boat. Connie, constant in her contrariness, says that ain't gonna happen.
Sun points out the gun, but Connie, contemplating in a contrasting context, conversates that she knows Sun isn't a killer, and that she won't shoot her. So, Sun shoots her. Good. Jesus, Connie: pompous much? Sun, realizing that the boat is going to depart from the dock, shimmies up to the deck and leaps overboard, even as the dude who used to look like that guy from that Kansas album fires off a few poorly aimed rounds.
Jin and Sayid, by now, have come running, but they are too late to stop the Others from taking the boat. As Kyle Leafblower points out, we can only imagine how well it's going to go over when they return to Lostie beach to confess that they sailed away as a part of a crazy plan to rescue Walt, only to return without Walt, without Jack, without Kate, without Sawyer, and, OH YEAH, without the, uhm...BOAT. The one that could have been pointed in the direction of OFF THE FUCKING ISLAND? Yeah. That'll be a fine conversation.
Jin leaps in the water, and begins yelling in untranslated Korean. We imagine he is saying: "I am in the water. I am swimming. I would fain ask the boat to stop, as my spouse is currently on board, and I do prefer spending time with her, a need that cannot be met if she is transported away from my person." He yells this several times. God, Jin is just so erudite, you know? Finally, Sun calls out: "Jin. I am in the water. Your fears of my being on the boat, while sensibly grounded, are, through circumstance, misplaced. And by the way I had an affair with this bald guy back in Korea...What? Did you fail to catch that last part? I was trying to relate to you...oh dear, I forgot what I was saying."
In Flashbackistan, Sun attends Jae's funeral, where she is confronted by her father. He tells her that she shouldn't be there. She asks her father if he will ever tell Jin about her indiscretion. He replies that it isn't his place to tell him, just manipulate him into killing her lover. Good thing Sun doesn't connect the Jae shaped dent in Jin's car with the car sized bruise on Jae's body, huh? Was it just a trick of memory, or the memory of some trick? Ahhh, blow out your candles, Sun. Blow out your candles.
Right about this time, Sawyer and Kate are being returned to their lodgings at the Others Correctional Facility. It's been a hard day for them both, but it was nevertheless endlessly satisfying watching Sawyer bloodying The Shocker's nose.
Kate is all WTF-cakes about the Kiss. Sawyer starts off flirty, but then remembers his crippling intimacy problems and tries to play it off like he was using it as a way of provoking the Others so he could size them up as far as what sort of fighters they were. What Sawyer says sounds like all sorts of unfounded conclusions, but I guess we're to accept that he is some sort of Stephen Hawking of fisticuffs. Two things not lost on Sawyer: Juliet is a stone killer and Kate tastes like strawberries. I KNEW IT! Kate smirks that Sawyer tastes like fish biscuit. Which is, I guess, a subtle way of letting the ladies know that Sawyer's the type of guy who will, unlike Paul Bremer, not run away from the, uhm...Green Zone. Sawyer says the next step is to wait for the Others to make a mistake, but what he doesn't know, is that he's being watched and listened to by Ben at that very moment.
Ben leaves his media room to have a conversation with Jack. We get the whole cliched, "Why, a week ago, we were in the opposite positions" conversation. Yes, Ben, we get it, the fly is became the spider. Whoopdeedoo. Nevertheless, Ben wants to lose all of the eccentricities of a Henry Gale and deal straight with Jack, so he introduces himself as Benjamin Linus. He tells Jack that he's lived on the island all his life and that no one is trapped on the island--that the Others have free and open contact with the outside world.
Jack, is, of course, doubtful. So Ben runs down the calendar, telling him that it's November 29, 2004. The United States re-elected George Bush, Christopher Reeve was dead, the DCeiver was enjoying being DCist's least important contributor, the kids in Brooklyn had finally all come to realize that Fischerspooner sort of sucked ass, and the Boston Red Sox had won the World Series. He spares Jack the news that Jimmy Fallon was in the process of making a shitty, Red Sox oriented movie adaptation of an otherwise awesome Nick Hornby book, so he's not a complete monster.
Jack of course, laughs at Ben, saying that he should have picked any other major league team than the Red Sox if he wanted to sound plausible. But Ben's got the whole thing on videotape, and Jack watches, stunned, as Boston wins the World Series. I can't wait until next year, when Jack sees the fucking White Sox win. That's going to blow his goddamned MIND. And, maybe, he'll be able to enjoy it from the comforts of his broken home, because Ben tells Jack that if he cooperates, he'll get to go home. Ben will take him home. In his beautiful balloon. And buy him a puppy.
Jack is obviously mulling these prospects as the lights go down. Dude. Did he not hear who we elected President?
Next week: We get a stern letter from Tennesee Williams' estate. Also, "Claire is shocked to find Nikki and Paulo in Jack's tent!" Also, we find out: Who the fuck are Nikki and Paulo? La Isla Encanta lands two more SAG contracts.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Gosh golly, peoples. It's been a while. I ended a joyful Columbus Day weekend and immediately had to go to work and make about eleventy kabillion webpages that, in toto, took me long into the nights. The double-edged sword of vacation. Then, rehearsals. Most of which were hott. Then the most worst UVA game, like, ever. Paul--now THAT'S Groh's version of the 28-point blown lead to Clemson. Though, for reals--how was that INT return for a touchdown NOT pass interference? I didn't know college defensive backs were, uhm, ALLOWED to stomp an intended receiver to the ground a full five minutes before the ball arrived, but, shit, I guess you learn something new every day. Oh well.
Tomorrow, there'll be posts. Including the new Tennessee Williams-themed Pompatus and the latest thing Mark Foley has done to make me vomit in my own mouth a little bit.
And, by the way, the new Hold Steady record? Sooooooo good.
Posted by The Deceiver at 10/17/2006
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Hope you're having the best weekend ever, too, people. Go COLUMBUS!
PS: Uhm, Travis...there was some "NEWS" that you must have "FORGOTTEN" to tell me, luckily yr wife "DID." (CONGRATULATIONS!!)
Posted by The Deceiver at 10/07/2006
Our colleague, director Grady Weatherford, lured us to see The Woodpecker this past summer with about the best bait you can ever hope to put on the line: he said it was the most DCeiver-like play he'd ever read. Needless to say, that was enough for us to call all the people in our lives who end up on our schedule and say: "Clear me out some space, bitches. I gots to gets to the DCAC afore the staircase done burns to the ground!" Which it did, a few months later, but as always WE WERE NOT TO BLAME. We almost never are.
And, lo, we gazed upon The Woodpecker and we deemed it not just good, but awesome. Add it to the list of G. Dubs' Great Works (along with Beard of Avon and the forever forthcoming Frank Lloyd Wright is...).
But, as DCeivery as it was, and it was, indeed, DCeivery, there is now competition. We speak, of course of what's coming STRAIGHT OUTTA ATEX to the fine, fine stages of our own Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company--the simply awesome Get Your War On! For those of you who are--I don't know--TOO SUCKASS to know what we speak of, we are talking about a staged adaptation of the wonderfully simple yet white-hot comics by David Rees (NO RELATION. I PROMISE YOU WARD 3). They boil DCeiverism down to its essence: 1. Identify hypocrisy. 2. Hurl profanity at it.
Now, Austin's own Rude Mechanicals--featuring the rootin' tootin' BIG ART talents of Ms. Amy Miley, among others--have staged this shit, apparently into a scabrous ballet of overhead projectors and carefully hidden bad attitudes. We cannot wait to see it. The fact that we are waiting to see it is just an unfortunate collision of actuality with semantics. But we will be seeing it, Saturday night at 8 sharp. The show runs until the 14th of October, and you MUST SEE IT. (Then, you'll must see MONSTER at Rorschach.)
Hey. Am I a fucking calendar? For details on the whens and wheres--go here.
Posted by The Deceiver at 10/07/2006
Thursday, October 05, 2006
- Indeed, word of this came too late for us to stop it from happening. Or even to ask the hard questions. Questions like: Why are two of the women seemingly in need of extra vowels? "Trenholm? That's a joke right?" How many of these dudes have said, in the past 48 hours, "My dad totally owns a dealership?" Why does the second sentence of Ms. Wheeler's bio appear to have been written by Borat? "You dream of shotguns? Really? Because, you can just drink some NyQuil to clear that shit right up." Anyway, it's for a good cause, so I'll be sending the manservant Clayton down to Smith Point to examine the young men's jaws and the women's birthing width. I'm just going to assume that everyone's anal cavity is unsullied. [LateNiteShots]
- Uhm. Even if the intent WAS to draw a clear line separating DC's crime from Baltimore's, in an effort of have our Ottobar cake and eat it too while smugly shrugging off the bad side of the equation, it was impossible because there was no statistical breakdown for Baltimore's crime in the document, WHICH WAS THE POINT OF THE ARTICLE (the tendency of statisticians to accord DC "statehood" in statistical matters when it could be compared alongside municipalities). (And in truth, I don't think anyone doubts that DC's crime is worse than Ballmer's anyway). So you sort of went of half-cocked here, didn't you? Now...to avoid accusing someone of saying or doing something that is a factual impossibility, next time, let's try a little READING for COMPREHENSION. Still, I appreciate, as always, the little bit of hurdy-gurdy dancing you always do, so, as a reward, HERE'S A TASTY CRACKER! That's right...eat 'em up! There's a goood boy! Yesss you are! [Twit.]
- Call Meridian Hill Park by it's colloquial, better known name? Them's fightin' words! Luckily, fights in that park never last too long...[DCist]
- If you've ever wanted to know what a "Dick Wadhams" is, here you go. Bring ointment. [I Apologize...For Nothing!]
- Mandymattos and That Woman From the Cover of the New Joanna Newsom album: Twins? [Blogs t r e t c h]
We learned about the new tip line for the Mark Foley matter from Wonkette today. Because we take the safety of House Pages seriously at least three days out of every week, we thought we'd leave a message.
Hi. Uhm. Yeah. I had some information that doesn't appear to have really sunk in yet. There may be persons still at work up there that may have known about Foley's improprieties and harbored him from scrutiny. Let's see...there's Dennis...Hastert...D...E...N...N...I...S...H...A...S...T...E...R...T. And John Boehner. Boehner spelled B...O...E...H...N...E...R. Looks like it shoud be pronounced "boner," but it's not. Ironic, isn't it? Anyhoo, I hope that was "slow" and "clear" enough for you to understand, but, if it isn't, just call up the NSA ask them for a transcript. Toodles!
How exciting it is to be back, to know that this season will not be shot through with reruns every other fortnight, and to have J.J. Abrams back from his last quixotic assignment--leading the Clown Prince of Scientology through his latest Mission: Implausible. That must have been weird for J.J., every day working with THAT cuckoo. We imagine that most days on the set were like this:
JJ Abrams: Okay, Daniel. I appreciate how committed you are to speaking Korean, but you have to remember, I can't understand anything you are saying.
Production Assistant: Uhm, Jage? That's not Daniel Dae Kim.
JJ: What? It's not?
PA: No. That's Tom Cruise. It's just impossible to understand whatever the fuck he's talking about.
JJ: (Sigh.) That's like the fifteenth time I've done that, isn't it?
Tom Cruise: WHOOOOOBEEEE! Gimbledeedee! Winnowcrack! Flurn! Goobeegoobeegoo!!!
JJ: God, I hate that guy.
Last season, we couldn't help but constantly remarking how fucking casual all the Losties were living their lives. The entirety of last season basically documented the next two weeks from where the first season ended--a time when all the denizens of La Isla Encanta were in holy terrorizing fear for their lives. Then, they all woke up the next day and decided to loll and gambol about as if it had never happened. Life was pretty fucking easy for those people. Shannon's weird death, and Walt being gone, and Michael freaking out and the Tailies showing up out of the blue didn't seem to affect them at all.
Now, the Hatch is imploded, which means no more laundry or showers or books or records or parachute food drops. So I hope life gets back to a certain degree of difficulty. And, if you are Third Man from the Left on Lostie Beach, you have to be waking up on Day One of Season Three worried about how your little community is going to continue, because all of the main providers for the community are missing, kidnapped or possibly dead. Let's consult Lostie Beach's prospectus as far as core competencies go, and consider my castaway Starting Eleven.
- Jack: Doctor, de facto decision maker, and primary care physician to everyone, handles all major instances of brooding, possesses the powers of Coldplay. STATUS: Kidnapped.
- Sayid: Soldier, engineer, guy you want on your side in a fight. Was a torturer before torture was cool--that is, before a bunch of cowardly Americans threw their moral values and the soldiers of all freedom loving nations under a bus so that they could become just like every other rogue state on the globe. STATUS: On a boat somewhere.
- Locke: Survivalist, hunter, Keeper of the Button, blind follower of whatever crackheaded dogma spells itself out in his morning Alpha-Bits. STATUS: Imploded, maybe dead.
- Kate: International woman of mystery, super fucking hot, can handle her shit. STATUS: Kidnapped.
- Sawyer: Possessor of the Danger Hair, can dole out nicknames that stick, snarkier than Jessica Coen. STATUS: Kidnapped.
- Michael: "Artist who works in the construction industry," which somehow means he can build boats, excavate caves, construct aqueducts, and shit like that. STATUS: On a boat somewhere, leaving the island.
- Sun: Gardener, pharmacist, has magical uterus, HOLY SHIT DID YOU SEE THAT MAXIM COVER, MAH GAWD! Status: On a boat somewhere.
- Jin: Fisherman, hero to the common people, mafia-esque enforcer, speaks Korean. STATUS: On a boat somewhere.
- Eko: Massive, muscled, righteous as all get out. One of the few people to have successfully killed an Other. The only Tailie who's added real value to the Lostie's enterprise. STATUS: Imploded, maybe dead.
- Hurley: Diplomatic, will do the work no one wants to do, built a golf course, is rich as Croesus. STATUS: Wandering alone through the realm of the Stompy Monster.
- Walt: Can astrally project, summon animals with his fuckin' mind, man! With his mind! STATUS: On a boat somewhere, leaving the island.
See. Those are people you can't afford to lose! Plus, Desmond, that scrappy rookie with potential, is also imploded. So, if I'm a Lostie, I'm shitting my pants right now, because everyone who ever wiped my ass and made sure I got fed is GONE. We're down to the second string: flibbertigibbet Claire, ethereal Rose, her charisma hole husband, and Charley. Charley's like, the TOP DOG on Lostie Beach! Which would be all well and good if the Other's demanded they perform some Britpop-tinged wuss rock. Shit, if he didn't have all the distractions of monsters and weird baptism dreams and heroin addiction, Charley would have successfully founded Travis weeks ago. But the Losties are fucked if somehow Charles gets put in charge of their days and their nights.
Anyhoo. Previously, on LOST: The OTHERS are BAD. Don't believe me? Here's a fuckin' MONTAGE, yo. Deal with that, asshole! Wu-Tang!
Lights up in Flashbackistan. We meet a blonde woman, who looks like Kate Warner from 24 but isn't, who we will come to know as Juliet. She has been crying--which is probably the most important thing we get to see this episode, so ENJOY. She puts on a Petula Clark CD that's she's curiously housed in a Talking Heads CD case and cues up "Downtown" and then sets about arranging chairs. An alarm goes off, and she notices that she has burned a tray of muffins. This causes her to have another mini-breakdown, because, fuck--how hard is it to cook some muffins? Was that the timer or the smoke alarm? Because if it was the oven timer, next time, set it to go off a few minutes BEFORE your food is ruined, brainiac.
Anyway, she is living in what appears to be a typical suburban community--maybe not one that was planned with fascist regard by Robert E. Simon--maybe more like Burke, Virginia. And she's hosting a book club meeting, where they give Stephen King a huge shout-out for his LOST fandom. Some dude named Adam starts giving her static about the book choice, about how "Ben wouldn't even read it on the toilet." And she snaps back that it's her favorite book, so suck it, Adam, and furthermore the fact that Adam hates it makes her feel awesome. Zing! Bring on the rest of the desperate housewives!
Just then, there's an earthquake and a noise from outside. The book club takes cover from all of the clatter, and then goes outside to see what the hell is the matter. People come streaming out of their homes, and that's when you see Ethan Rom, and Henry Gale, and other leading luminaries of the Others Community. And up in the sky, there's poor, doomed Oceanic Flight 815, breaking up and crashing in a balletic arc above them. Once the plane is down, Henry Gale springs into action, ordering Goodwin to the tail section and Ethan to the fuselage. "There may even be survivors!" Oh, Henry, we're immune to your dramatic irony. Goodwin, incidentally, is specifically told that he can make it to the Tail Section in an hour if he runs--Mr. Kyle Leafblower officially calls bullshit on that contention, and, on the face of it, he would seem to be right--Goodwin appears to arrive a LOT sooner.
After Gale sets these events in motion, ordering Ethan and Goodwin to bring back "lists withing three days." He notices Juliet, still holding the book, and drily intones: "I guess I'm out of the book club." Awesome catch phrase. I can imagine Gale, post-coitus, pulling out, wiping off, looking down at my partner and snarking, "Heh. I guess I'm out of the book club." Or just before he caps somebody. Or the last line of some awesomely awful episode of some dumb sitcom. "I guess I'm out of the book club." Kick ass.
As the camera pans back, we see that the Others live very close to La Isla Encanta, in a beautiful matte painting, now marred by Flight 815s downward descent. If you are a proponent of "the Others are the islanders from the graphic novel The Watchmen" theory, your spidey senses are tingling just about...now.
We return from commercial. Dr. Jack is in Flashbackistan, skulking around spying on a playground--which is a total shout out to Mark Foley, y'all. He watches as his estranged wife, Ed's Julie Bowen, cavorts with some other man.
And, poof, Jack awakes to find himself in some sort of cell. The door won't open--which makes a certain kind of sense--I mean, he was captured, so it stands to reason they'd lock him in somewhere. But you have to try. It's human nature. Like when you lock your keys in the car and you touch the pane of glass on the driver's side window as if some heretofore unknown hole is going to appear and allow you to reach in? Like you're suddenly gonna pull some Criss Angel shit? Mindfreak you Honda Accord? We've all been there. Jack walks around the room and strides right into a plexiglass wall. The blow is sufficient enough that it activates Jack's default mechanism, which is to loudly and blindly start yelling for Kate.
Kate wakes up in some sort of locker room. The dude who used to look like that guy from that Kansas album is there, just as bright and cheery as ever. He tells Kate to take a shower, which Kate refuses to do in front of him. The dude who used to look like that guy from that Kansas album just laughs. "You ain't my type," says the dude who used to look like that guy from that Kansas album. Dude, the dude who used to look like that guy from that Kansas album must be CRAZY.
Meanwhile, Sawyer wakes up in what looks like a Butterstickless panda enclosure at some outdoor zoo. This doesn't sit well with Sawyer. His danger hair parts itself in a most incensed manner. Across the yard, he spies another cage with some kid sitting in it, with his back turned. Sawyer attempts to engage this kid in conversation, but the kid won't answer. Kid's all EMO and shit. Sawyer shall call him "Chachi." Sawyer looks around the cage and sees an assortment of buttons and pedals, one of which appears to offer food. Sawyer presses the button, and he gets a recorded voice that says, "Warning!" He tries it again with the same result. Chachi pipes up that he'd better stop doing that, but, honestly: does Sawyer ever listen? Of course not, and the next time he pushes it, he gets a huge electric shock that sends him flying across the cage.
Back in Flashbackistan, Jack is meeting up with Ed's Julie Bowen, presumably to discuss their impending divorce. Jack isn't taking this at all well. And neither are we. Sorry, but this part of the Jack backstory is getting played out. We love the flashbacks, but most people want to see stuff in flashback that either directly pertains to La Isla goings on or play up the way these characters are interconnected--because the really fascinating thing to consider is whether these characters were MEANT to come to this island, if there's some sort of higher purpose that explains Why These People and Why This Island. Other TV executives have caught on to the way this fascinates people--witness shows like Six Degrees and The Nine. I mean, we KNOW this is all stuff that speaks to what makes Jack tick, but let's get ON WITH IT!
Anyway, Jack wants to know what Ed's Julie Bowen's new beau's name is, and she won't tell him. She probably has a good reason. Maybe his name is Ferdinand or Teablossom and people make fun of him all the time. Maybe she just wants Jack to move on and understand that she's not coming back. Maybe ol' Teablossom is nothing more than an understanding guy whose managed to teach his wang how to coil up and dance like a cobra, making every lovemaking session a veritable Jeff Corwin Experience. Anyway, she gets up and leaves.
Anyway, Jack zips back to the cell, where Juliet encounters him and attempts to get him to calm down and stop pulling on a chain that hangs from his cell. Get it, he's "YANKING A CHAIN" and he should "STOP" because the quality of his flashbacks are growing MASTURBATORY. Maybe Juliet is, like, the Other's show-runner or something. But Jack won't stop yanking on the chain. Not ever.
Meanwhile, Kate finishes her shower and is intructed by a post-it note to put on a dress, and, as dresses go, it's a pretty damned good one. The dude who used to look like that guy from that Kansas album comes in and takes her down to the beach, where Henry Gale sits in an open-air tenty thing with a table set for breakfast. He's got a French press, AND handcuffs! Pregame for the Folsom Street Fair, ladies and gentlemen!
He starts in with Kate, who wants to know where "Sawyer and Jack" are. "Sawyer and Jack?" muses Gale, adding, "Why Sawyer and Jack?" Ugh. Is Gale just a fanfic writer or something? Stupid Skaters. Stupid Jaters. Gale says he burned her clothes and got her a new dress so she'd feel like "a lady." What? Is the full Pygmalion treatment coming? "I have made a bet that I could rid you of your Canadian accent by the time we host our coconut ball, for which Juliet will be making her famous Burny Muffintoasts."
Actually, he tells her that he wants her to have one last moment of comfort, because "the next two weeks" are going to be very unpleasant. Wow. He must be intending to make them watch last season's Tail Section recap episodes!
Back in Flashbackistan, Jack has somehow gotten hold of Ed's Julie Bowen's cell phone and is lamely prankcalling everyone on her sim card in the hopes of finding out HIS NAME...HE MUST KNOW HIS NAME! HE WILL ENSLAVE RUMPELSTILTZKIN and then, THEN!...Ed's Julie Bowen will LOVE HIM AGAIN!
Jack's father walks in and sees what he is doing, and they argue as to whether he should continue acting like a psychopath or not. He tells Jack to stop being so obsessive, which, in this case, is sort of like telling a drowning man not to get wet. Jack discovers that Ed's Julie Bowen has his father's number in her cellphone and freaks out, seemingly failing to realize that it's not at all unusual for a spouse to have their in-law's number on their cellphone and yet never even receive any oral. "Let it go," Jack's dad says.
Back in the cell, Jack is playing with the communication box, and on the third press of the button, hears his father's voice saying "Let it go." Just then, Juliet walks in with food for Jack, but Jack won't eat the food and he won't let her come into the cell. When asked about his occupation, he tells her that he is a repo man (and then goes on to explain what a repo man is for all the morons out in TV land who don't know what one is and who haven't seen the AWESOME movie of the same name). He eventually tells her why he was in Sydney.
Back at the panda enclosure, Sawyer is working at figuring out all the buttons and pedals when suddenly, Chachi escapes. Even after seeing these events play out, we kinda feel like there's something inauthentic about this escape attempt. Chachi unlocks Sawyer's cage and directs him to run in the opposite direction. Sawyer does so, but then makes two critical mistakes that I always teach the first day of my prison break class at the learning annex. One: after you've started escaping, go on and KEEP escaping. Spend at least a first solid hour just on the escaping part. You'll find it's worth the time. For God's sake, don't STOP escaping.
But Sawyer does stop, and, in so doing, runs into Juliet, who tasers him. Which brings me to me second lesson: when escaping, do not stop to chat with the person with the taser. Sawyer is knocked out and dragged back to the camp, where Brad (nee Chachi) is forced to apologize for
"involving him in [his] escape attempt." Great. Now, when is someone going to aplogize to me for those stupid Hanso Foundation ads?
Juliet returns to Jack's cell to try to get him to eat, telling him that the side-effects of the medicine he received include dehydration and hallucination. To us, this sounds like the best tab of Ecstacy ever, but Juliet is concerned, concerned enough to convince Jack that he isn't defeated if he does what she asks this one time. Jack's right to be wary. After all, word of Juliet's muffin burning problems are probably graffitoed on the walls of Jack's cell. Still, he dutifully goes and sits in the corner.
This, naturally, prompts another trip back to Flashbackistan. Jack watches his Dad as he talks and laughs on a cell phone call, and of course, this totally proves that his Dad is yet another one of the horde of men pumping his ex-wife. Jack follows his dad to what looks like a hotel room, and sees him going into a room with a sign on it that says, "Friends of Bill W." Now, we're quite sure that this sign caused a million TiVos to stop, rewind, freezeframe, zoom as thousands of Lost fans said as one: "Friends of Bill W! Jinkies! A clue! What part of the conspiracy does this fresh menace indicate." But, it's not a clue. "Bill W." refers to Bill Wilson, one of the two men who co-founded Alcoholics Anonymous. And if you go to large conferences or trade shows, or go out on a cruise or stay at a resort, you'll often see time and space reserved for the "Friends of Bill W." That just means there's a meeting.
Jack, who should know this, barges in anyway and confronts his dad in front of everyone. They argue back and forth, until the woman running the meeting says: "You must be Jack." She all but implies that Dad has labelled Jack as the reason he drinks. Frankly, we're a little surprised how snarky and confrontational she is about it. She should ask God for the strength to mind her own business, the serenity to shut the hell up and the wisdom to know the difference between ending this calmly and provoking Jack into taking a swing at his dad, which is precisely what happens.
Back in the cell, Juliet comes in the door and, with a quickness, Jack is all over her, with an arm around her neck and a knife to her throat. He forces her out the door and demands to know the exit. She won't say, but Jack fixates on a bulkhead door and tells her to open it. She won't do it, saying that if she does, they'll die. Henry Gale emerges from around the corner and says the same thing. So, we have a consensus among the Others, but Jack doesn't believe them. he warns Gale that he'll kill Juliet, but Gale could give a fuck, because if he opens the door they'll all die anyway. Finally J.J. recognizes that we've milked the scene of basically every ounce of door tension that could be mustered. Jack tosses Juliet to the ground and starts opening the door himself.
Immediately water starts streaming into the hallway! I mean, WHY EVEN HAVE A DOOR? When new hires tour the facility, does the HR guy say, "That's the copy room...you'll find the fax machine and postage meter in there...and, yeah, here's the door that you open when you want us all to drown..." Somehow, Jack and Juliet get the door closed. That's two people versus the ocean. After the flooding has ceased, Juliet cracks Jack good across the face, knocking him out.
Sawyer, using a rock, has figured out how to make the food dispenser work, and is disappointed to receive what looks like a dog biscuit in the shape of a fish, several handfuls of popcorn, and water that flows into a trough. Just then, dude who used to look like that guy from that Kansas album brings Kate to Chachi's old cage and locks her up. Sawyer brags to the dude who used to look like that guy from that Kansas album that he figured out how to make the food thingy work. "Aw, you got a fish biscuit?" snarks the dude who used to look like that guy from that Kansas album, who goes on to tell Sawyer that it only took the bears two hours to solve the problem. Which means, relatively speaking, the author of the DCist Go Home blog would have starved to death.
Sawyer and Kate have about as tender a moment as these two can have under these circumstances. Sawyer asks Kate if she wants a fish biscuit, and tosses her his leftovers. I'm guessing that the first time Sawyer ever imagined the moment he and Kate would enjoy a "fish biscuit" together, it happened a lot differently.
Jack wakes up from getting decked by Juliet back in his cell. He surmises that they are in an aquarium and Juliet tells him he has surmised correctly. They are in, she says, the Hatch known as "The Hydra" and that it was an aquarium a "long time ago." Long time ago?? They were meeting in book clubs, like, a month ago!
Anyway, Juliet cops to having a file on Jack containing everything there is to know about him. She knows that he's a spinal surgeon, that he graduated early from Columbia and that he was married once and contested the divorce. She also says she knows all about Ed's Julie Bowen, so why not ask her something?
Jack has a final flashback, where Ed's Julie Bowen comes to bail him out of jail after his Beatdown at the Alcoholic Anonymous Meeting. She walks outside and Jack follows. Her new bf is there, and Jack once again wants to know his name, his occupation, and how he makes his Jeff Corwin Cobra Cock dance in that teasing, pleasing way. Ed's Julie Bowen wont cave. She tells him that when his dad called, he was three hundred sheets to the wind, so congratuations Dr. Coldplay, now you have something to fix.
Back in the cell, Jack asks only one question, "Is she happy?" To which Juliet replies, "Duh! Uhm, hello? Jeff Corwin Cobra cock, much? She's ECSTATIC." Jack obediently heads for the corner so that she may enter and leave the food.
As she enters the hallway, she sees Henry Gale lurking outside. Gale offers thanks for a job well done, to which Juliet edgily ripostes, "Thank you, Ben."
Uh oh, looks like someone's back in the book club!
[Next week: Sayid tries to lead a daring rescue attempt as Sun struggles to explain to Jin that Sayid is trying to lead a desperate rescue attempt.]