Joan of Arcadia
Friday Night

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Grace and Luke are in the science storage room, making out. Grace stops to complain about Joan's big date with Adam: "They are so seriously twisted, dude." Luke wonders why she cares. Grace: "Because they're just mindlessly following these random sociological constructs." Luke admits, "Well…I was going to ask you out…tonight." Grace: "Who do you think you're twisting tongues with, dude?" He shows her a poster for "Schlock-a-palooza," a festival of the all-time worst films: "Plan 9, Robot Monster, Catwoman From the Moon…I mean, these are serious classics." Grace says she's got a meeting tonight. She hands him a little flyer with an anarchist symbol on it and Luke reads, "'Anarchists Unite'? Isn't that contradictory?" Grace: "Anarchy is about shedding false conceptions, so it is not at all contradictory, brain drain. Maybe if you came, you'd be less politically dense." Luke's comeback: "Anarchists should have an appreciation for the chaotic ineptitude of schlock cinema. It's the very definition of anarchy." Um…no. Grace: "Don't twist political philosophy to manipulate me into a date." Luke thinks that's what she's doing: "Trying to get me to your meeting?" Frink: "His night would be much more fun." She takes his chin in her hand and says, "Find new lips, creep." She gets up as Luke says, "Come on, Grace." He refers to the flyer: "Look, we're supposed to, uh…'harmonize our divergent agendas.' You can see the strings on the flying saucers!" She waves as she closes the door.

Helen's in her classroom looking at a large lurid painting of an eyeball. Joan, juggling balls in hand, comes in and asks if she's busy. Helen tells her she has to grade papers and clean out the supply closet. Joan: "Yes, or no?" Helen decides she's not: "Sit." Joan pulls up a stool, shifting about in a protracted fashion, until her mother finally says, "Honey! What is it?" Joan: "All right, I'm going to ask you something, but you're not my mother, okay? You're just some random old lady." Good start. Helen: "Well, I'm not…old." Joan sighs: "Fine. Elderly." Helen wisely lets it go. Joan asks if she remembers her very first really big date. Helen gets all smiley and schmoopy: "Oh, sweetheart…" Joan: "No mother stuff!" She bangs the desk a bit. Helen sobers up and gives her testimony: "Yes, I remember. My memory is still quite good for an elderly person." Joan wants to know what it was like: "Because Adam's going to take me out tomorrow night, and yeah, you have this whole fantasy about how it's going to be all romantic, where you look at each other and you both know that this night was meant to be, and you say all the right things, and he looks at you like you're the only person in the whole world and all the other couples are totally jealous because they're just pure leftovers next to you, and when he takes you home, he gives you that kiss, that kiss that never leaves you…was it like that?" Helen, whose smile has been slowly fading: "Sure." Joan: "Oh my God. You're totally lying." Helen claims she had a wonderful time. Joan wants to know what really happened: "Did you throw up on him?" Hee. Helen admits that her hair caught on fire. Apparently it's something she can laugh about now, because she's giggling at the memory of leaning over to kiss this guy in a restaurant, and igniting her hair in the flame of the candle. She jumped up, tipped the table over on her date, and the waiter doused the flame by pouring water on her. Now Joan's really glad she asked for advice. I personally love it when I talk to someone for support and I come away with anxieties I hadn't even thought of having.

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Joan of Arcadia




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