Real World
www.please-get-a-life.com

Episode Report Card
Djb: D+ | 8 USERS: D
YOU GRADE IT
www.please-get-a-life.com

I like Kameelah this week. I always hate Sean.

This episode opens with the usual establishing shots of the lifeless trees, the ice-caked lakes, and the buckling sidewalks and highways that have come to so aptly represent the unfolding five months in this snow-ravaged Hellmouth (er, I mean "picturesque northeastern hamlet"). The beleaguered cameramen really can't help but settle on another frozen slick, no matter which direction they turn their equipment, and I stifle somewhere in the area of a dozen "iceberg, right ahead" jokes because, in reality, it isn't really still 1997. Which I briefly consider to be a shame, as the soundtrack offers the rare treat of an instrumental vamp of Jamiroquai's "Virtual Insanity," a favorite song of mine off of a favorite album, back in the day. As a result of this, I am temporarily lulled into the misbegotten belief that the sheer unpleasantness of watching this season may recede ever so slightly at some point. But then I note with a too-familiar sense of dawning horror that the producers have decided to continue airing footage of these seven horrible, horrible people kvetching their way through the four-hour days and ninety-hour nights this city has to offer. Oh, how I have tried not to hate them all. How resolutely I have failed. How my anger and resentment concerning all things in life has grown and grown as a result. Wow. Looks like Boston's not the only bitter thing around here after all. Anyway, kill me.

Inside the firehouse, Jason grills Elka on the brand spankin' new topic of "How someone at my age could be so solid in their beliefs." Elka, forced to defend her religious beliefs yet again against a cynical barrage from The Guy Who Knows Everything (let's make that a universal nickname for every guy in this house, shall we? And Montana, also), responds that she was "born into a family that was Catholic and that's how I was raised, and that's why I believe what I do." Over in a confessional, Jason reports that "I think her religion is something she's gripping to," and Elka reports in her own private musings that "Jason is still searching. And I'm not." Searching for what? Another Glamour Shots-sanctioned aqua sweater for your quickly developing line of monochromatic Confessional Gear it has become your independent crusade to assemble? And what's Jason searching for, then? The return counter and exit to the Ye Olde White Boy Clothing Emporium? Because that's where he needs to be heading, with his own confessional outfit of a gigantic flannel shirt and black gangsta hat. And he needs to bring his receipt for a full cash refund. Because if he shows up without it and all they can offer him is store credit, he's going to end up with something equally as hideous, and then things are really going to start getting embarrassing.

Anyway, back on the distant and tangent-free planet of Linear Recapping (population: never, ever me), Jason turns a full 180 degrees to offer Elka the full benefit of the other of his two faces in slipping into a free verse, spoken-word rant he believes exactly not one syllable of: "Christianity is your thing. And it doesn't oppress you, and it doesn't hold you back from being a human being. So man, cool, go with it. 'Cause if you've got faith, you've got something most people don't have." Her deliberate response to this is, no doubt, intended to be thoughtful and pondering, but she pauses that one moment too long after beginning, "When I get down on my knees," and I can't help erupting into hell-bound, godforsaken, oh-she-meant-for-praying giggles before I regroup and clear my throat and take on an aspect of utmost, reverent seriousness, stemming the impending tide of hate mail and Bibles being forwarded my way before anyone has a chance to figure out exactly the imagery I had begun to envision. So ha. Anyway, when Elka gets down on her knees, God listens to her.

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Real World

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