Joan of Arcadia
Silence

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Desolation

Joan's bent over in the hallway, pants leg hiked up, scratching the hell out of her rash. Grace wanders up: "Ew. What's with the flea bites? STD already? I thought there was an incubation period." That's the Grace we know and love. Joan snipes, "A little louder, please." Yay! "Written by Barbara Hall." Joan's wearing a lemony-yellow top which I think must have been selected, for plot purposes, to accentuate her sickliness, because it is not a flattering colour on her. They start walking as Grace observes that Joan seems a little sweaty. Joan: "All this blatant flattery, I feel really great about myself." Grace: "Does this have anything to do with 'the do'?" Joan: "What 'do'?" Grace: "That you did with Rove." Joan: "But I didn't." Grace: "Everybody knows about the hotel." How, exactly? Who would have known enough to tell anyone? I doubt Adam's telling anyone, and Joan's parents seem unlikely suspects. Who else knew what they were contemplating, other than Luke and Grace? Neither of whom probably knew specifically about the hotel. Luke might have overheard his parents' argument with Joan that night. But seriously -- why would he blab that?

Just then Friedman comes up behind Joan and puts his arm on her shoulder: "Congratulations! And thank you for putting the subdefectives on the map." Joan: "Whoa! Nothing happened, okay? Adam just…cleaned the carpet." Friedman considers that and says, "I like." He kind of gestures to Joan's body and adds, "And the carpet seems very shiny today." Ew. Can I get an emesis basin, here? I wonder if the front desk has any. Also: Shut it, Friedman. Joan smacks his face lightly and calls him a pig, as Grace slaps the back of his head on the other side. Heh. Can I get a loop of that? Sars notes that he is again wearing a turtleneck dickie under his polo shirt. What is with that? I mean, it's weird enough under a long-sleeved shirt, but with short-sleeved shirts, I truly don't get it. They run into Adam in the hall, who's carrying a big stack of oversize art books. He doesn't really stop, explaining that the books are overdue and he'll catch her later. When we watched this in the hotel room, I complained that the books seemed to be way too light for him to be carrying them so easily. (I've carried a lot of stacks of books in my life, people. Take my word for it.) But I've now decided that he's just a little beefier than we give him credit for. He's not just a sensitive artiste. All that carpet cleaning and garbage-emptying is paying off. Joan says, "Sure," as Friedman interjects: "Ouch. Post-coital avoidance." Joan: "There was no coital!" Friedman: "You just went from a Persian carpet to a throw rug." I honestly can't understand why Grace hasn't yet ripped his dickie off and fed it to him. Grace puts her arm around Joan and asks Friedman, "How would you like to be a throw rug?" She leads Joan away as Joan complains that she doesn't feel very good. Grace: "Friedman is a termite. Come on, buck up. You can't miss the liberation festival on the lawn. Student-faculty egg-and-spoon race, hmm? Who needs drugs?" Well, I think Joan might, but for other reasons. She says she feels kind of dizzy. Friedman, still hanging around like a bad cold, adds, "And hot." Joan: "Shut it!" Hee! I yell that that's a shout-out. He says he meant hot. I guess he gathered her body temperature from that all-too-quick smack on the face. Joan says she going to go do some puking: "I'll be back."

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Joan of Arcadia

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