Strenuously adhering to its one New Year's resolution to not piss me off entirely and in a wholesale fashion at all possible moments during both my wakeful as well as my sleepful hours, The Roswell Show finally does something right in featuring the music of John Doe (whose set I so enjoyed when he opened for Aimee Mann at House of Blues a few Mondays back) tonight, rather than some crappily derivative over-before-they're-over band like Matchbox 30 or Bride Of Smashmouth or Majandra And The Kit Shickers or whatever. But then they at The Roswell Show go terribly, terribly wrong by airing a brand-new episode on New Year's Frapping Day, while I'm on a plane and on Valium. Which is a mistake larger than any John Doe could correct. Which is a mistake larger than any anything -- up to and including the Roswell production staff somehow arranging for the cast of Ocean's 11 to come to my house to perform the entire film, in my bedroom, completely in the nude -- could correct. Especially if they sent Elliott Gould. Ew. Hey, Elliott? Keep those pants on, friend.
Geoff "Slackjaw" Parker (I just learned that his name is actually spelled "Geoff." Actually, I pretty much just learned that his name was "Geoff") sits in the empty Crashdown, strumming a guitar and singing contemplatively about postcards and three little words and pictures and pathos and America and the nature of all things true, real, and right in the universe. While this song vamps into an instrumental bridge, we cut to a tight shot of a hand putting a key in a door, and a caption that reads in Microsoft Word Font Alien Bold, "New Year's Day 7:31 AM." I have never understood the need for that possessive apostrophe. Who is Mr. New Year and why is this his day? Really. And is Mr. Easter upset that no one remembers that it's his Sunday? Right. I thought not. Anyway, we learn that the key belongs to one Jesse "Should Auld He's Gay Not Be Forgot" Ramirez. He opens the door to discover his blushing bride, Isabel "Should Auld Acquaint Ourselves With Her Loser Plot" Evans sound asleep on the couch, snuggled in the lap of one Kyle "Should Short Acquaintance Wear Lifts In His Shoes A Lot" Valenti. Jesse stares and stares. He wonders if maybe an annulment to this whole sham is the gift his wife forgot to give him on Christmas's Day. For those of you who haven't been keeping up, that's the day that's owned by Mr. Christmas.
Over to another bed, we discover a sleepy (and I believe shirtless, which wouldn't be my first choice, necessarily, but it sure has this whole Elliott Gould thing squarely beaten, at least) Michael "Should Auld Acquaintance Be For Pot Belly" Guerin trying to wake up. Into the room walks Liz "S.H.O.U.L.D. A.U.L.D. A.C.Q.U.A.I.N.T.A.N.C.E. B.E. ROBOT" Parker, and we discover -- horrors! -- that Michael has been sleeping in Liz's bed. Swathed only in a bathrobe, she sits on the bed and wishes him a hearty but firm "Good mornink." In turn, he offers a detached "Hey." She asks him how he is feeling, backstorying for the good of an audience about to watch Michael have "quite a night" in heinously hackneyed flashback, "Quite a night you had." Michael notes that she had herself quite a night as well, quickly turning the conversation by asking, "What about Maria?" Liz responds that "she and Max spent the night together." But it's not what you think! Because you think it's good. And you're quite, quite wrong.