Six Feet Under
Coming And Going

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Large And In Sarge

Brenda "If I Haven't Slept With You, You're Probably Also Dead" Chenowith sits on the couch while Justin Ther-geaux sits in an adjoining room playing what I'll guess is a cover of the Thompson Twins classic "Cuckold Me Now" on his French horn. She looks over at him and suggests, "Let's go away for a little while." He asks where she wants to go, and it occurs to me that there's no travel agent that knows the way to Nate's pants without changing in Atlanta, so Brenda instead muses, "North?" All right, Miss Tessmacher, where in the so-called ambiguous "north" would you like to go? "We could leave tomorrow and..." Joe cuts her off with a curt "can't," because he rightfully hates her and I don't know why he's still there anyway. He tells her, "I'm scoring the new Jet Li movie tomorrow." In one day? Is it a sequel made from leftover footage of a first film? The Two? Cradle 3 the Grave? I don't understand Joe's job. He tells her she won't be seeing him that much over "the next couple of days," and she utters a chastened "Oh." He apologizes but doesn't mean it, softening the blow: "Afterwards. Maybe. Cambria. Carmel. Monterey." Mmmmm...caramel. Sorry. If we weren't going to watch an entire episode of The Simpsons later, that would be a lot more lame. He built those cities on rock and roll. The rock and roll of the electric French horn.

Nate holds Maya and sits at the kitchen table while George holds his arms over his head and asks of someone, "If you have no interest in the past and you don't read history, how can you possibly comprehend the present?" He's talking to Anita, who sits on the top of the stove (just turn the thing on, Ruth! Do it now!) wearing a black skirt and a lacy tank top that screams "Fuck me, Mr. McAllister" to everyone in the room, including the baby. ["I think it was actually worse even than that; to me, it looked like a slip she was trying to pass off as a dress." -- Wing Chun] Anita snarks back that history is "not what really happened. History is some stupid, war-mongering, patriarchal idea of what happened. Who give a shit about that?" George is tickled, and Ruth sees it right away when she comes in, waiting no time before suggesting to Anita that she's forgotten to wear at least some of her ensemble. Anita responds, "I was gonna wear a t-shirt over it, and then I was like, eh, fuck it." Either Anita's mother is somewhere feeling very, very ashamed right now, or we just found out exactly why we have no idea where Anita's mother was. She was killed by the bad seed and her head is in a hat box at the top of the pantry next to George's nostril pot. In the meantime, Nate tells David they have a body coming in, and explains, "He was sitting in the driveway in this mint '60s Lincoln with a pre-need form sitting right on top of the dash." With the exception of automobiles, I haven't heard anybody use the word "mint" as an adjective since my sister used it. In the '80s. To describe a plethora of good and great things, many of which often centered on the Jack Wagner. Many of which, I remember, I was inclined to agree with. Ruth, meanwhile, tells George she though his day "was going to be filled with important activities," and he tells the many ladies in his life, "There's always time for a healthy debate." Well, he's definitely a Democrat. At least they've cleared that up. Anita, from the hot seat, notes, "There's no debate. I'm right, you're wrong, game over." Cue the music of the Pole Position car dying. To play, please deposit twenty-five cents. Prepare to qualify. Doo...doo...doo...DOOOOO!

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Six Feet Under

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