We cut back to the teenage girl's room, to the posters on the wall: one for Pink features a drippy spraypainted font that suggests blood. A man's voice whispers, "Joan...Joan!" She stirs, wakes, and whips into a sitting position. She pants as she looks around the room. A low-wattage lamp is on; no one's there. She lies back down, snatches her teddy bear, and clutches him close. She grabs her headphones and turns on the music as she pulls the covers over her head...leaving her body looking much like that of the corpse at the crime scene. The music for the credits is -- no surprise -- a re-recorded version of Joan Osborne's "One of Us." Aw, you knew that's what they'd use. I wish, however, they'd used something like XTC's "Dear God." I don't mind the Osborne song (though I preferred the original) but I'd rather hear XTC every week. But the Osborne song's a much bigger, grabbier hit. The credits are at least somewhat interesting to look at, with clips of momentous things like the pyramids and the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and the moon landing and people like Eleanor Roosevelt and Shakespeare and Bob Dylan. We see pictures of Nelson Mandela and the Dalai Lama as the line "just a slob like one of us" is sung. Hee. Still, how many shows on TV have the Dalai Lama in the credits? Frink and I hope that's promising. The credits segue into shots of the cast: Joe Mantegna, Mary Steenburgen, Amber Tamblyn (who is really good in this role), Jason Ritter, and Michael Welch. They end with a shot of the family clowning together and then Joan alone, turning around and smiling.
Joan's in her room, getting dressed for school. She's wearing a pink tank top and trying on one shirt after another to wear over it. As she whirls around her room changing clothes, grabbing her hair up and then putting it back down again, Frink asks me, "Is this normal?" I assure him, "Oh, yeah." Myself, I don't do it much (er, anymore), but I can still get into that state where absolutely nothing looks or fits or feels right. Actually, probably nothing looks right on me much of the time, but for the most part I don't care anymore. Anyway, on the odd occasion when this comes over me, I usually protect Frink from the whole horrid scene and banish him from the bedroom while I have my meltdown. That way, he only has to listen to me natter on about it for the rest of the day, without the accompanying visuals.