Back at the firehouse, Montana continues with Operation Hangover, reporting, "It's a little bit frustrating. Nobody's really getting back to me. I keep playing phone tag with people. I set up appointments, people cancel them, and I'm very anxious to get this new volunteer thing underway." Wonder why that would be. I'm sure if you just press on using that tone of voice and informing people that you really don't care who you help as long as you can close the book on this whole "volunteer thing," that any number of like-minded individuals will throw down the cotton they'd been using to swab sores on AIDS patients or lay down their ladles once employed for the purpose of administering soup into the cupped palms of the poor and bowl-less and help to make sure you don't lose face with the 18-34 year-old demographic when the show about you living rent free in a fully furnished apartment airs. Charity is charity, after all.
A way-too-girly cry of ebullience (the castrati timbre mostly compliments of, duh, Jason) accompanies the pick-up truck crossing the border into Maine and riding into a town called "Ellsworth," and in a flash we're pulling into a large plot of dead, wintry earth with a welcoming sign reading, "The Great Maine Lumberjack Show." Nobody seems the least bit curious that the words directly underneath that homespun sign reads, "See you in 1997!" Which, as we learned a few short television moments ago and also a few short months from now, is that it's been 1997 for the better part of four months. Maybe they just haven't taken down the sign yet. Silly, silly hicks. We meet Sean's friends, Tina and Bill, who help load a "twelve feet long, seventeen inches in diameter logging log" onto the back of the truck while Jason stands aside like the diva princess he is, cultivating his usual look of, "Yeah, I know it says 'barn jacket' on the inside lining of the coat, but in the Abercrombie catalog no one actually goes near a barn...all they really do is play touch football with each other and tussle shirtlessly a bit. Which, quite frankly, I wouldn't much mind doing in this coat at all." Or something. Did I at least make it clear that he wasn't much for helping? An axe-throwing competition briefly ensues. Jason throws like a bit of a girl and goes way wide of the target. Because they didn't do that in the A&F catalog either.
Okay. We're juxtaposing. We get it. Back in Boston with lonely Montana, she's mid-interview with a woman named "Laura" from the Red Cross, which we learn in voice-over would involve "doing things at blood drives, blood banks." Montana admits to Laura that she "can't look" at blood, and Laura doesn't roll her eyes and spit because all volunteers are inherently good of heart. Juxtapose. Back in Maine. Logs rolling. Axes throwing. Jason, confined to the sidelines now, looks on as Sean and Syrus stink up the pure Maine air with the fetid reek of secreted testosterone. Jason stares at the tight-jeans, machismo spectacle and has to look away and think about baseball. Er, women's baseball.