Real World
Don't Forget to Right

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Djb: A+ | Grade It Now!
Go Away

A light and breezy soundtrack ditty featuring synth-y drums and a lush "doo doo doo laa" choral arrangement masks the lead singer's horror at finding out his band was being passed up to pen the newest Mentos ad campaign and would instead be product-placed in that mirage of the Fame Desert known as "The Real World!!!! (final episode of the Boston season)." A pan of the firehouse under absolute darkness ensures that no other sense is engaged but that which forces us to listen to the latest of vaguely European cheese pop bands that briefly came to power here in the late '90s, pumping out record after identical record exported from that ambiguously international location known as "Foreignia" and into record stores, each band with the approximate shelf life of the amount of time it took me to process and learn the lyrics to the aforementioned "doo doo doo laa" song. They were cute and fluffy for a while, until suddenly one day "ABBA without the heady intellectual investment" mysteriously stopped being a respected musical genre unto itself and a world of artistic dabblers actually remembered something called "musical instruments" had been invented. Just ask The Cardigans. If you can find them. Doo doo doo laa, indeed.

And...action! We're inside the firehouse, where the non-photogenic four of Sean, Montana, Elka, and Syrus discuss arrangements for a final house dinner. Sean sits on the couch, partial custody of The Ill-Fitting White Wifebeater his responsibility tonight (at least this means Jason will be forced into something in a "sleeves"), querying, "Let's talk about Saturday night. Are we all gonna go to Artu?" Elka sits next to him on the couch, an eleven-gallon cowboy hat threatening to Venus Flytrap her entire head off, the contrived final reminder that her forgotten "Down-home, Brownsville, Look Paw, No Maw!" character the editors worked so hard to piece together remains somewhat continuous, at least from a headgear perspective. In regard to Artu, Montana notes from somewhere off-camera, "I'm hip!" Oh, and you so are [cough] "hip," Montana. In that way that "hip" hasn't been used unironically (except when referring in crossword puzzles to something grandmothers have replaced) since the early days of American Bandstand, back in the 1950s when Montana was just a teenager. CGI Syrus, spliced into the firehouse for the first time since February, smiles a smile that's less of a non sequitur when you realize he's reacting to the conversation for which he was present back in February. And then Sean pipes up again, and look out! Run, Chicken Little! Exposition is falling from the dark Fargo skies! Sean outlines his plan for the night: "We'll do our thing, go to Artu, hit some of our spots, talk about some of our moments, relive a little bit of our experience." Um. Isn't that what you just did?

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Real World




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