I have already heard an almost uncountable number of insanely dumb things so far this short year, but the comment "Just shut up and play 'No Myth'" is far and away the dumbest among them. ["You mean last night's overheard 'later days, better lays' doesn't top the list?" -- Sars] ["We'll call it a tie." -- Djb]
In the most brilliantly meta TV-within-a-TV moment to hit the airwaves since Max Headroom's final programming hour, we fade up on a shot of a TV flipping channels seemingly all by itself, from a Home Shopping Network-esque hawking of some genuine faux pearl ring (call 555-IVTV for more on this) to a black-and-white Western (How The Pecs Were Won, perhaps?) to a rock band rocking out in what I hope is The Whitss: Behind The Music, which would, at least, finally shed some light on the location of the erstwhile Alex Whitman ("With his father's funds fueling the band's effort and the song "I Wanna Rock Out…Of The Opening Credits" a #1 single in Sweden, it seemed like nothing could stand in their way"). Cut to inside Chez Evans, where Isabel "Rack And Pinion Steering" Evans brandishes the remote and proclaims everything on the screen "crap." She's sitting in a wooden chair with a ramrod straight back, staring across an equally unforgiving table at the smallest TV I have ever seen inside a suburban home. Which is totally always how I prefer watching television as well. Jeez, Roswell director, let the girl recline on the damn couch and unwind every once in a while; she's an alien, not The Elephant Man. Sitting next to her on his similarly watching-TV-during-a-Russian-winter furniture set, Max "Pecscalibur" Evans (tm Wing Chun) sits, his hands barely keeping his well-muscled head from snapping right off his dangerously disproportionate pencil neck and slamming right into the table. He comments, "I must have fifty channels." I? Oh, I'm sorry. I must have missed that whole episode where Max became reigning king of the sovereign planet of Teeny-Tiny-TV-ania. Maybe I'll just read the recap for it, which I can find here on…nope, says here that episode never happened. Isabel flips and flips: "Crap. Crap. Boring." Hmmmm. I guess they're rerunning first-season Roswell reruns on her local WB affiliate. Oh, what's that? You say you wanted me to just go for the easy joke back there? Well, there you go, then.
Isabel drops the remote and stands up all defiantly, informing Max, "I'm gonna take a stroll. See what people are dreaming." Ooooh. Dream walking. I had forgotten all about Isabel's magical powers therein. And so had the "writers," until five seconds ago, it seems. Max practically looks directly into the camera when he fills in the gaps and very carefully alerts the audience, "Haven't you been overdoing that lately?" Isabel tells him not to worry, and then eyeballs the lens herself when she fills in the gaps and very carefully alerts the audience, "It's harmless." Hey, thanks, Renee and Georgette Exposition With Their Dog After The War. I now get it. As Isabel retires to her room to prepare for her stop-and-smell-the-cerebral-cortex stroll down Other People's Memory Lane, Max looks after her and begs, "Stay away from Liz, please." Hey, buddy, no problem there. Just as long as she promises to make good on her side of the deal and stay the living hell away from us. Hey, guess what. I just wrote that sentence. And then I disconnected my e-mail. With a rusty hatchet and kindling from my print-outs of nineteen closed threads including keywords of the "stop making fun" or "you're a meanie poopypants, Mr. Poopypants" or "everyone knows you can't spell 'pretty' without 'L-I-Z'" variety. So don't. Even. Bother. Because I'm so not in the mood. Anyway, Isabel leaves and Max resumes flipping, inciting general hilarity in the audience of not ever me, sadly intoning, "Crap. Crap. Crap." A final, micromanaging look at the channels on the Evans' TV (oh, I'm sorry…Max's TV) reveals that, on the day this episode took place, the Dow Jones Industrial Average had an up day, climbing 49.18 points to end the afternoon at a blistering 3497.85. And I know absolutely nothing about the stock market outside of the latest figures for my ever-climbing MBTV stock options, but…3497.85? I'm sorry…did I miss the part of the episode where Isabel decided to forgo the whole Liz Parker brain spying and instead thrillingly chose to dream-walk Lyndon Johnson? Golly, I hope so.