A series of rather impressive thunderstorms rolled through the Chicago area yesterday afternoon, flooding some of the side streets, knocking down power lines, setting fire to random ranch homes in Schaumburg, and generally making the evening commute hell for all those SUV-driving tools from the suburbs. My new office is on the top floor of the tallest building for blocks around, and my desk sits directly beneath a very large, very old skylight. At the height of these storms, when the sky turned an eerie greyish-green and the floor beneath my feet vibrated each time a thunderclap erupted overhead, I found myself wishing a lightning bolt would shatter through the skylight above to strike me dead, just so I wouldn't have to watch this wretched episode again.
Shut up, Phoebe. No, I mean it: Shut UP! BabyCam, with the extra-special bonus fish-eye lens. Charmed's resident hag lady leans over the left side of The Done One's frilly white bassinet, babbling, "Oooh, I could eat him up! I swear I could -- with a little ranch dressing!" Stow it, shrike. Piper, at the bottom of the frame, seems as annoyed with her sister's behavior as I am, and snarls, "Please don't, okay?" "I can't make that promise," singsongs the Feebs before pulling away from the camera to allow the Dolt's gigantic gargoyle head access to the lens. "Don't listen to your aunties, okay?" he coos. "They're a little kooky!" What's with this "they're" shit, Dolt? From what I can see, Phoebe's the only jackass "auntie" present. Thus far, Raige has been staring down grimly from the upper right-hand corner of the screen, no doubt cursing the day she decided to look up these morons in the first place.
The shot shifts out of the bassinet as the Dolt straightens himself up to add, "Us guys gotta stick together, don't we, Peter?" "'Peter'?" Piper yowls incredulously. The Dolt insists that he's "just floating" the name as a possibility, and through this we know they have yet to saddle The Done One with a permanent moniker. As this episode was originally meant to air a month ago, I won't wonder why it's taken them six weeks to decide upon a name. Phoebe immediately nixes Peter as an option -- she once dated a Peter in high school, you see, and her memories of the experience are anything but pleasant. Way to make naming your sister's baby all about you, you selfish, self-centered twit. When Raige reminds them that Peter is also "the name of the appendage he has that surprised us all so much," the Dolt caves. Raige wonders why they never considered "P boy names," leading Piper to wax nostalgic about her trip to the future, wherein she had a daughter named "Prudence Melinda." Uh-huh. Except for the "Prudence" part, honey. Phoebe goofs that a boy named Prue might as well wear a sign that says "Kick Me In My Non-Existent Nuts" to school, and while she has a point, she's so irritating about it that I'm compelled to tell her to cram it sideways. Again.
Apropos of nothing save the impending demonic conceit of the evening, Raige notes that should the little cracker get bullied by hateful preadolescent thugs, "he could just zap them onto the roof like Harry Potter would." The four discuss The Done One's as-yet-unknown powers. Because I couldn't care less about that particular topic if I tried, I'll discuss the wardrobe choices for the evening. Piper's in a very subdued chocolate-colored button-up blouse over alarmingly tight jeans that make her look hippy; Raige sports a white top with unfortunate cap sleeves, over a pair of low-rise cargoes accented with a cherry-red apple-shaped belt buckle; and the Dolt's surprisingly trim from the waist up in a form-fitting long-sleeved shirt with dark green rugby stripes. Shockingly enough, the clear winner of tonight's fashion lottery is the Feebs, who hasn't looked this good since the early part of Season Four. She's clad in an calf-length midnight blue skirt with a ruched, diagonal front seam, under a relatively low-key cranberry-toned top that features a strip of gauzy white fabric around the bottom hem that almost shields her navel from our view. Her hair's smoothed back into a matching cranberry snood studded with tiny faux seed pearls, and the makeup, for once, is subtle, with lightly-applied eye shadow and lipstick. Was Eilish an early victim of the SARS, or something? ["I do what I can." -- Sars]