Forsooth, ye knaves! The other day, someone told me I was as good a writer as Shakespear! How kick-ass is THAT? Oh, wait...who the hell is "Shakespear?"
We open this week inside of the firehouse, where Bunim-Murray sanctioned "Other" and drag queen extraordinaire Adam/Eve counsels his giddy audience of Montana and Genesis on make-up tips for the aesthetically uninitiated. Montana complains, "I don't know how to do eyeshadow," and Adam indicates the area just above his eyes and observes, "You have a gorgeous ridge, and that's all you need to know." Because he is a drag queen and consequently every word he speaks is intended to be played for high camp, Montana begins to laugh uproariously, right there in his face, until Adam feels the need to drop his voice a few octaves and speak the sentence again, very self-consciously: "Your ridge is gorgeous." We cut to a confessional, where Montana lets us know, "I like her drag queen friend, Adam, who is Adam by day and Eve by night." Wow, Cliff's Notes Boston, thank you for telling me that. Again. S/he (Adam/Eve) has nailed down more face time than several members of the house combined. Informing me exactly who s/he is again would be akin to Montana informing us, "My name is Montana and my Bangs of Steel can be strategically employed to smite my enemies like some latter day Bond weapon for the millenium, and have I mentioned that my name is Montana?" Look, Red, I'm sure that getting complimented on your looks -- by a real live boy, no less -- makes you ten different kinds of giddy and garrulous, but consider that the speaker of that sentence lives his life in a culture where the word "gorgeous" is used with the regularity and fluidity of how the Smurfs tossed around the word "smurf" in their everyday conversations. Your ridge is gorgeous. The new Liza album is gorgeous. Elton singing at Diana's funeral, Madonna having another child and at least three out of every five members of 'N Sync? You got it. "Gorgeous." So if by "gorgeous," Adam means that her ridge is "unexpectedly visible, unlike the rest of the upper third of her shelf-of-hair-concealed entire face," he makes a valid point, but alas one of very little import. Now calm down, Montana, cut yourself a nice big piece of gorgeousberry pie, and think real hard about the parts of your face this poor man didn't bother to deem gorgeous, smurfy, or anything in between. Lemme give you a hint: BANGS.
Genesis tells us that she and Adam get along real well and have lots and lots of things to do together, such as being subtly maligned by the rest of her psuedo-liberal housemates whenever she's not around to defend herself for the crime of having a friend. Case in point: Genesis and Kameelah sit upstairs, and Genesis shows her roomie a picture of Adam as Eve in a spicy black number and a bright red wig. Kameelah's reaction to Genesis: "Ha ha ha. Oh, my gosh. Ha ha ha." Well, that's benign enough. Kameelah's reaction to us: "It just really strikes me as confusing that she likes drag queens, and she knows perfectly well that these images underneath it all are men. It just doesn't make sense to me." Back in Genesis's room, Kameelah makes sure to put way too fine a point on it in, finishing the topic up for now as she stares into the photo of a rather becoming Eve and loudly exclaims, "Oy vey!" Which I guess is a clear sign that Adam/Eve has so distorted the overall identity politics of the house that Kameelah has accidentally become a Jew.
After a raucously original time-passing montage of an exterior shot of a clock followed by numerous street scenes of Boston after dark (why not just make with the flying calendar pages and get all of the time-passing clichés out of the way at once?), we're right back inside of the firehouse right in the middle of -- ACK! I'M BLIND! It's Sean, who I believe I've already implored to just keep his clothes on every once in a while, standing in the middle of the living room bedecked only in boxer shorts of the American flag (burning the flag is against the law, and this travesty isn't punishable by death? Where IS the justice?) while his own, er, Union Jack is one thin layer of cotton away from us and God and everybody. And, if this supreme level of torture inflicted upon the unsuspecting television viewer weren't enough, Sean is actually rubbing lotion all over himself, while informing us in a voice-over, "My whole arms and chest were filled with just a whole bunch of red bumps. And I've never had hives before. It was, like, freakin' me out." Which is quite a coincidence, because I'd never had hives before I sat through this scene, either. ["And you're also freakin' out! At last, you and Sean have something in common other than both being carbon-based life forms." -- Wing Chun] But now large welts have broken out all over my body as well, and I can't stop shaking. Naked bumpy Sean makes me cold. Oh, so very, very cold.