This week on Roswell: I got my first real six-string. Bought it at the five-and-dime. Played it till my fingers bled. It was...oops. Sorry. Wrong "Summer of..." End egregious Bryan Adams cross-referencing here. Yeah. RIGHT.
Fade in on a shot of a rocky promontory under a blue desert sky, sitting so still and lifeless against the surrounding environs that it doesn't even require the self-evident screen caption, "Liz Parker in repose." Cut to the back room of the pod chamber containing Isabel's discovery from the end of last week's episode, where the Kubrick-is-dead-and-yet-his-lawyers-live-on "Granolith" gleams. Into the room walk Isabel, Michael, Tess, and their fearless intergalactic leader, Max "And when I get that feeling, I want pecs-ual healing" Evans. Tess comments first that "it sounds like fluorescent lights in Bio lab." Michael wants to know if Nasedo "ever mentioned a rock collection" (a comment I can't say I entirely understand, particularly considering that Nasedo in his default "Evil Ed" human configuration really seemed like more of a "stamps" guy), and Tess muses further, wondering if the inanimate object can "hear" them. Max gazes upon the gleaming (unlike the thousands of previously recapped orbs that merely "glow") black cone, kept perfectly maintained and without a speck of dust on it by some kind of intergalactic housekeeping crew with the help of "Windex Surface/Glass/Granolith" for the better part of the last fifty years. He stares into it and his own reflection stares back, each taking a forgotten moment to flex their equally imposing shoulders and silently muse, "My, aren't these coming along nicely," before returning to the matter at hand. He orders the crowd, "We'll come back after school."
Cut to -- wait for it -- school. Max recaps the previous scene for MightyShortAttentionSpan.com in again asserting to Michael that "after ninth period, we'll go back." Michael takes this and all other opportunities to test his acting range by adding the new "caustic" to his previously established "acerbic, sardonic, and cynical," sniping back, "Way to prioritize, Maxwell." The two are soon to run into Maria, who pauses after looking at Michael and cracks herself up, "New gel?" Yep, in fact it is, but between him and Max, there's simply no more Second-Grade Class Photo Brand grease-down left for Maria over at Hair and Make-up today. Which is a shame, considering her own increasingly teased-out eighties extensions, a style less in line with her so-hip-it's-1998 proclamation that "Portishead tickets went on sale this morning" and more expressing a would-be joy that "Tiffany tickets went on sale this morning" before breaking into the side/side/chin/chin dance popularized in the video for "I Saw Him Standing There." Anyway, Maria wants to know, "You get my messages?" Michael sticks around just long enough to utter a noncommittal "yeah" and skulks off. Oooh, so now he's got "cutting" tacked on to the ol' acting résumé as well. Say, does the golden sheen of an Emmy qualify as a "glowing orb"?
Their Walk Of Blame down the hallway now resumed, Max sarcastically deems Michael's attitude toward Maria as "nice" (hey, Max? You leave "snarky" to the professionals and stick with the "bland" and "vanilla" your strange Granolith God gave you, k?), just as they run into the Earthbound manifestation of nice herself (it's Liz, by the way. Duh), who tells Max, "I don't know what to do. Calls keep coming into Congresswoman Whittaker's office. I mean, should I return them, or..." But she too is soon to be cut off by Michael, who positively bites her head off (hope you like vanilla, Crankitola Khomeini) with a resolutely evil, "Not. Now." Liz skulks off as well with the giddy, flirty promise, "We'll talk in trig," leaving Max and Michael alone again. Max searches futilely for a pre-departure zinger possessing a modicum of originality, and parts from Michael with less the pre-departure zinger and more the Spencer Gifts t-shirt: "Mean People Suck." Not to say King Max shouldn't search for alternative methods of keeping his royal subjects in line, but the best way to garner respect in any universe probably includes the strenuous avoidance doing so via a collection of bumper stickers read off of the back of a Ford Pinto while looking for a parking space at a Grateful Dead concert. So let us briefly bask in the palpable relief that Max didn't choose a parting shot of "Keep your laws off my body" or "Don't blame me, I voted for Mondale" and get on with our recapping day.