Taller Than The Washington Monument

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A Fantasy Suite In The Lincoln Bedroom

Right, so they're both 'tards. A shot of Jesse and Tara on the ice shows them holding each other up and generally falling, though it's supposed to be more endearing and "aw, shucks-y" and less "Hey, everybody! Look at this! It's that boy who laughs at everyone. Let's laugh at him!" though it veers way further toward the latter, in my house anyway and I sincerely hope in yours. Tara's confessional predicts otherwise (even though it was taped after) when she tells us, "I just assumed since Jesse's from Canada he's done that way more times than I have." Because he's from Canada. Boy, does that assume a lot about Canada. Like Jesse's going to be all, "Well, I can't skate, but it's only because every time I tried to learn a Chinook would kick up from The Peg to Hogtown and I'd be as bad as if I'd spent all my loonies and toonies on a case of Labatts and went cookie on The Basketweave at a hundred KPH!"

This show is so choad.

Anyway, Tara quickly comes to learn that skating is not automatically in the blood of a Canadaman, revising, "He's not good, either." And while I'll grant them the fact that he's not a hockey player, shouldn't there be some kind of natural agility behind being a professional athlete that allows you at least to fake it from sport to sport, like when Michael Jordan decided he wanted to play baseball and everyone was all, "Now, that is adorable!" But alas, Jesse Palmer: I served with Michael Jordan. I knew Michael Jordan. Michael Jordan was a friend of mine. Senator, you are no Michael Jordan.

"I like the snow. It's so pretty and romantic."
"I like it, too."

It's over. Someone just remind Fleiss to lie the hell down already.

The nine hours they spent trying to coax one romantic moment out of Jesse and Tara on ice has been condensed to a much shorter period of time in which that did not occur, so we're off to our next venue: a giant house made of ice that has a big ice door and a big ice living room. There, Tara and Jesse watch ice-crystal holograms of Krypton's wisest sages, who mourn the impending end of life on that selfsame cold planet. Actually, what they accomplish there calls to mind a more appropriately cheesy movie (more cheesy than the first Superman? Read on!) when Tara notes that they were ensconced in their "own private ice castle." Except they're both the blind ice skater. And now I have the Melissa Manchester version of "Looking Through The Eyes Of Love" skating around the back of my head. And now, I am sobbing.

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