True Blood

Episode Report Card
Jacob Clifton: A+ | 1 USERS: B
YOU GRADE IT
Resting Places

Tara laughs at them again and again but they keep pushing, like the woman at the store when we first met her, and finally she gives in. "Shit. Are you even listening to what you're saying? You can lie to yourself and everyone else but when you go to bed, you are just as fucked up and miserable as I am. And going to church, and wearing a crazy-ass hat, ain't gonna make you a better person." She stomps off, and Lettie Mae confides that her daughter has a demon in her. Mabel nods sagely: "My granddaughter had a demon in her. They everywhere!" It's not that religious people are stupid, it's that stupid people are religious, because it's easier, which is a very different -- an opposite, in fact -- proposition. Real religion, like anything else, means your brain doesn't stop. Engaging with anything, from a TV show to another person to God, isn't a one-time effort. Fuck my legless grandmother or not, there's another Buddha at the next intersection, pulling you along.

Arlene's sad on the phone, calling her disappointing babysitter "sugar" and "baby," and when she hangs up she's clearly exhausted on multiple levels. "You know," Terry says nervously, sweetly, "I like kids..." He nods, and turns a conversational corner: "Donuts, too." Arlene actually accepts with a maybe, but only if he brings a lady friend along: "Lisa likes a female in the house." Terry comes closer, drinking her in: "I ain't had a lady friend since I come home." She watches him staring at her and, because he's so damned quirky and weird, has no idea where it's going; the next corner he'll turn. "That's some bad luck for you, I guess?" True indeed. He keeps staring. "Did something ... happen, there ... that you been keeping to yourself? 'Cause you could talk to me, you know, if you're wantin' to..." It's too much. He shivers and turns it again: "No, I'd... I'd just as soon sit here and listen at you. I like your voice." If Dawn was parakeets and angels, Arlene is late '70s sitcoms and violins tuning up. "...And your clavicles." She's touched, and weirded out, and takes that as her cue to leave.

Bussing tables, Sookie tries for like an entire second. "I've been admiring your necklace all day." Amy nods, pleased. "Oh thanks, it's a lariat. I made it." Sookie's grudgingly impressed, and Amy offers to make her something, but Sookie's still in her interracial dating phase -- something Amy surely recognizes -- so she takes it on the offensive: "Thanks, but I don't think my boyfriend much likes silver." Amy wearing a silver lariat: noted. They move to the next tables, and Sookie turns hooded eyes on her. "You know my brother's a dog, don't you?" Amy's surprised. She brings out the worst in him. And vice versa. Sookie gets closer and closer, won't blink or drop her gaze: "He's all charm and smiles in the beginning, but the second he gets tired of you, he's gonna stop callin'. Before you know it, he's off with some other floozy." Amy smiles, she knows this part. She knows how angry Sookie is, he told her. And she knows this is not exactly charitable either. Sookie realizes what she just said: "Not... not that you are one! But trust me, it's as regular as the seasons." She shrugs: hate him as much as I do, please. We can both get out of this alive. Otherwise, you're the pretty girl in his life, and I am an orphan, and you're taking him away. What interests me is how, this time of all times, we don't hear Amy thinking, responding to this. "You seem like a sweet girl. I don't want you to get hurt."

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True Blood

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