LAC Arts by the shining light of intellectual superiority. Anita and Russell share a positive comment each regarding Claire's photographs, and then Anita digs a little deeper, asking if perhaps they're "too staged." Professor Probably A Lesbian (she has a PhD in the "Foreshadowing Arts," people) asks Claire if they're staged, and Claire tells them, "It's kind of hard to take a candid self-portrait." Anita clarifies: "Stagy." And here we get our first full-on glance of the shots. And the word they were all groping for and kept overshooting, I think, is "bad." They're wildly pretentious pictures of Claire crouching meaningfully in various background locations. Claire crouching meaningfully in a lonely yard. Claire crouching meaningfully in an alley. Claire crouching meaningfully on a blanket. Claire crouching meaningfully in a box. Claire crouching meaningfully with a fox. I do not like that Claire's a sham. I do not like it, Sam I Am. A girl we've never seen speak before shares with the class that she finds the pictures "dead," and Professor Probably A Lesbian shares that she finds them less "dead" and more "empty." Again, professor, I think you mean "bad." Claire says that she wasn't going for "empty" at all, but was instead out to capture "the stillness I sometimes feel." Professor Probably A Lesbian points at one in particular and asks Claire what she was thinking in that picture, and asks Claire, "Do you really want to perpetuate the idea of 'woman as a vacant vessel'?" The girl who thought Claire was dead asks the professor, "Is this more lesbian stuff?" in the same blazingly ignorant way she will one day ask, "I mean, is there any place on earth that's better to live than Williamsburg?" Professor Probably A Lesbian shoots back, "Yes, I have to meet my quota so I get my toaster oven." Oooh, good one! Better than a Home Depot line, at any rate.
Ruth sweeps the indoor steps of the house, probably only to spite the steps after they asked to be left alone. The doorbell rings and Infinity enters. She had to leave her pole in the car, probably, to avoid getting stuck on her way in, the way they put the poles on supermarket shopping carts to keep people from stealing them. Yes. This is exactly like that. She meets Ruth's eyes and tells her she's looking for Rico. Ruth asks, "Federico?" No, Ruth. Rick O., funeral home partner and singer of the garage rock punk trio, The No No Nos. Despite her own surfeit of names, Infinity seems perplexed by Ruth's question, and after grabbing a mint from a nearby table and sticking it in her mouth (you'll notice that there is no plastic on it, for maximum enjoyment), all but shouts, "Rico Rico." Ruth scoffs slightly; maybe she would have been more willing to welcome Infinity into the family had the hooker with the minty breath filled the bowl with human excrement.