Joan of Arcadia
Drive, He Said

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Deborah: B | 1 USERS: A-
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My Sister's Keeper

After the commercial, Will comes to, slightly. He's got a bloody hairline gash on the left side, as does Cheddar Bob, who's still out, or dead. Will reaches over and takes the gun, and then looks at his abductor for a moment. Then he takes the wallet out of his hand, and opens it up to a picture of Bob with a young blonde girl, maybe eight or nine. He tucks the wallet back in Cheddar Bob's hand.

Joan and Luke are driving through the dark. Luke sighs and suggests they go home now. Joan: "Relax! Who knew I'd be such a good driver?" She starts fooling with the radio (and we notice it's 6:37 PM). Luke lectures her, "The probability of an accident is directly proportional to the number of distractions." She asks why he's so nervous. He explains that for the TriMathlon, he designed a probability scenario, factoring in age, gender, driving experience, temperament, and familiarity with the vehicle: "I computed the probability of my sister having an accident on her first day of driving, and guess what? We're on borrowed time." Joan wonders if having an accident is as likely as getting struck by lightning. Luke says it's higher. Joan: "Shark attack? Drowning? Meteor hit? Mom getting pregnant?" Luke replies, "Yeah, more likely than all those."

We see Will trudging along a dark road, exhausted and bleeding.

Luke: "Why does Mom have a map of Florida in her car?" Frink: "'It's America's wang!'" Joan says, "Oh my God. Friedman was hitting on me because he thinks I'm a goer." A goer? That's a nicer word for it than any of the words we had back in the day. Luke starts to deny telling Friedman any such thing, but Joan interrupts, "I am not having sex with Adam Rove!" But it's only a matter of time, right? Right? Luke: "Then what's with this intense relationship you have with Adam?" Joan: "It's something else. I don't know." Luke sighs. Joan asks, "When -- when do you plan to start having sex?" Luke: "Oh, at my first opportunity. You?" Maybe you should do a probability study on teenage pregnancy, kid. Joan: "I don't know. It may not be up to me." What a great line. She says it lightly, but given her relationship with God, there are a whole lot of ways you can take that line, a whole lot of implications -- up to and including the idea that she recognizes she could be raped, like her mother was. I don't know if the writer meant the line to be as ambiguous as that, but I love it anyway. Luke sneers, "Who do you think it'll be up to, Joan? An arranged marriage? We're not Hindu." I know some viewers were offended by the reference to Hindus here, so I just want to say that I think if you're going to equate anything with the idea of arranged marriage, "Indian" would be more appropriate than "Hindu," since arranged marriage is very common amongst Indian Muslims and Sikhs (and possibly, for all I know, Christians and Jains), not just Hindus. I think a lot of Westerners have a somewhat distorted notion of what arranged marriage is, so I'll just clarify that by "arranged" I mean that parents and/or other family members are at the very least consulted and their input, especially a veto, actually counts. There are, of course, much more extreme (and oppressive) forms of arranged marriage, and while I don't personally agree with the custom, it's not necessarily always something horrific, so I don't think it needs to be taken as a huge insult. It is also common in a number of other cultures, but India, probably by virtue of its populousness and the Bollywood movie industry that props up various romantic myths, is the pre-eminent representative of countries with arranged marriage.

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Joan of Arcadia

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