Six Feet Under
In Place Of Anger

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The Naked And The Dead

In the house, Nate enters the dining room to help Ruth remove the inserts from the table, a chore I've performed with my own mother many a time. Without so much as a thank you, Ruth begins berating him for not using his grandmother's ring to propose with. Hmm. I guess we know it wasn't a toe-ring. "God knows your brother isn't going to use it," she says, "and who knows if Claire is ever going to settle down…You are the first-born, and probably the only opportunity for grandchildren that I will ever live to see." Nate makes the very reasonable point that Mom never even told him about the ring, and then adds that the real source of her discontent is that Ruth doesn't like Brenda. "Is she pregnant?" wonders Ruth, and the psychobabbling of Mare the Psychic a few weeks back aside, Nate insists that she's not. "But she is the woman I love, Mom, and you may not think that she's the best person for me, but I do, and I need you to accept that." And with that, Nate stalks off, leaving Ruth both actually and metaphorically alone as we fade to white.

Fade up on the Fortress the next day, as the Widow DJ has returned to Fisher & Sons. She's still whining about finding the best price, and also asking if she can see her husband's body. David explains that it's beyond restoration, but she doesn't care. She's also taking the opportunity to psychobabble a bit herself. "You think it's a day like any other. You don't realize that anything can happen. And then it does. It happens. [Shot of Nate's anvil-infested brain.] And so much is left unsaid. And it was all just wasted time." That's a pretty apt description of this subplot, by the way. Nate busts out his "gift" once again, this time by quoting C.S. Lewis: "'No one ever told me grief felt so like fear.' Also, would you like your husband to be buried through the looking glass, or in the wardrobe with the lion and the witch?" Just kidding. But really -- C.S. Lewis? Whatever happened to "semi-literate"? Nate also insists that everything is going to be all right. "No it's not," says the Widow DJ, over yet another shot of Nate's brain. Ugh.

Now we get a jump cut to the boys alone in the sitting room, discussing the fact that dealing with the bereaved never seems to get any easier. They're interrupted, however, by the arrival of Mitzi Dalton-Huntley, who wants to know why they've never thanked her for buying them the casket wall. Nate is not impressed, however, and quickly asks, "What the fuck do you want?" And thank God, because I think that's only the second or third time he's said "fuck" this week, and I was beginning to worry that we wouldn't make our quota. "What the fuck do I want?" asks Mitzi. "I want you boys to come the fuck with me on a little fucking trip. What do you fucking say, huh?" Fuck. So much for not making the quota. Alan Ball should be very fucking proud of himself. The boys don't seem too interested in joining Mitzi on her little fucking field trip, until she points out that they've run yet another unlicensed ad in the paper for the last three weeks. That changes their mind pretty fucking quick.

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Six Feet Under

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