Six Feet Under
The Secret

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I'm not dead yet! (It's just a flesh wound.)

It's also new set week on Six Feet Under, and we now get to see Nikolai's place for the very first time. It's pretty much what you'd expect: dark, dingy, and with clothes strewn all over the floor, although Ruth says "it's so…it's very…it has a lot of charm." Hee! Frances Conroy gets all breathy as she warns her boyfriend that he could be attacked by more "ruffians" at any moment there, and Nikolai assures her that he'll be able to pay the mob back because February is the biggest month for flowers. It's February already? Man, L.A. needs seasons in the worst possible way. Anyway, Ruth makes it clear that she's having a hard time letting go of having Nikolai around 24-7, but he finally manages to shoo her out of the apartment. Despite her concerns about "ruffians" from three sentences earlier, Ruth blithely leaves the front door wide open as she departs, seemingly for no other reason than to provide cool lighting for the next shot, wherein Nikolai collapses into his favorite recliner. And then farts. Twice.

Oh, and just because it doesn't get said enough: I hate Ruth, but I lurve Frances Conroy. That is all.

Moving on, we now join Claire and DangerSlut in a darkroom. I can't even begin to tell you how many dreams I've had that start out that exact same way. DangerSlut goes on and on about how great Claire's photos are, and we -- well, those of us who didn't watch the previews at least -- are informed that Claire has been taking pictures of every corpse that's passed through Fisher & Sons for the past few weeks. She's putting them together for a school project, which she describes as being "really geeky," but DangerSlut remains effusive in her praise. "They're genius," she says. "You could really do something with this." And then she reveals the real reason why she's buttering up Claire, which is that she's been accepted to Yale, presumably on the strength of her falsified SAT scores. You know, I was going to do a whole rant here about how high SAT scores in no way guarantee your admission to the Ivy League, but that would have prevented me from pointing out once again that I scored higher than resident Princeton alum Sars. I also scored higher than Strega, by the way. Which is why I get the classy HBO shows, and she's stuck over on the WB writing about vampires and their wacky baby-related subplots (as opposed to funeral directors and THEIR wacky baby-related subplots, that is). As Nelson Muntz would say, "HA ha!" Claire doesn't take this news very well, especially once it's revealed that she herself didn't even get into UCLA (go Bruins!), and as a result will be stuck at East Valley Community College for at least a year. "Hey, I'm gonna be a famous photographer and make a gazillion dollars taking pictures of anorexic models and fucked-up actors," she says. "So maybe I don't even need to go to college, right?" Well, I don't know about that. While Claire is clearly the exception that proves the "smart is sexy" rule, a college diploma does tend to come in pretty handy in life. Trust me, I know.

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Six Feet Under

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