pagooey

F*ckin' Larry is waaaay too volatile to win this thing, methinks; when even the chyron is like "Mood swings...*cough*..." you know ya gots yerself some Larry! That said, I laughed and laughed at his manic declaration that he was going to name his Paiute traps! Give them names, awesome devastating menacing names! and then came up with Slayer and...Slayer II. Come on, that's comedy gold. Bless that crazy f'in man. I'm sorry to see Randy go...but his exit reminds me of something I've wondered since the beginning. For tappers with well-established campsites, there's that traditional time-lapse dolly shot where the shelter and site are taken down by magical elves someone to leave no apparent trace. I assume production does that, but it's so quick and seamless I can't quite figure out how. Do they truck in a whole demolition crew to remotest Mongolia and do it in an afternoon? Do they toss all the debris just beyond the parameters of that shot? Sam's hunker-down-and-starve-em-out strategy seems effective but utterly boring to me, and I keep waiting for Dave to need medevac services. I guess I'm in the tank for Britt? He seems to be the only one who's remembered some lessons from his first go-round, and is still considering and modifying his approach on a daily basis.

All right, I'm powerless to resist this damn show--I keep coming back week after week. Ernest Goes to the Dermatologist's shoulder cyst was the first time I covered my eyes, though: holy mother of god. Oatmeal??!? With respect to the good doctor, WHAT THE F*CK KIND OF OATMEAL YOU BEEN EATING LADY? I'm also stymied by the people who want to look at or HANDLE whatever glop has been extracted from their bodies; I would have ralphed right into that convenient emesis basin on top of...that. The woman and her brother with neurofibromatosis were absolutely devastating. I cannot imagine living with such a condition, and I wish them all the help and comfort anyone, anywhere can provide. I also think that this show is a quietly scathing indictment of the US healthcare and insurance system or lack thereof. People should NOT have to live with treatable conditions for years or decades, simply because they couldn't afford treatment until TLC stepped up to foot the bill. The patients we see with severe dental problems underscore this; even if you manage to get basic healthcare coverage, dental is a whole other ball of wax, handled separately if at all. I can't imagine the ongoing pain these people endure...neglecting a giant face boil or whatever while their teeth rot out of their heads. Medicare for all, goddammit. This is appalling. To end on a happier note, Dr. Lee is a saint. Maybe she's a little too sweet in hour-long doses, but I can only praise her compassion for and treatment of every patient, however troubled they might be. (Note to vericose veins woman: oh honey. Live your truth and more power to you...but I'm a year older than you and that Hot Topic lewk is not your friend. )

Yeah, shrieking "Calm the fuck down!!" at THE WIND is pretty much peak Larry. I give him major props for having the patience to make that net, though. (Maybe he does needlecraft in his spare time, to mellow out? I don't care if he does, actually--I want him to take it up, and for that to be a show, Fuckin' Larry embroidering a sampler.)

Jesse, you ATE A LOG in the space of 36 hours...and then you were felled by your inability to convert that log to a log. Ouch, man. I come from a long line of people with the tendency to get bound like a book, but two weeks??! Dear god. I guess I wish you Dr. Oz-quality perfect poops for the rest of your life. Fuckin' Larry, I want to keep liking you but please calm down. Perhaps screaming your nuts off over a single fish contributed to the head rush, my man. Maybe you could eat a little bit of the side of ham you seem to have brought with you? That might be my complaint about all of this season: the returnees are all too camera-conscious from the first go-round, and so the experience isn't fresh for them or for us. I appreciate that this show is trying new configurations in real time, but none of those seem to be working as well as the pure, gripping original-recipe Alone. Maybe it's run its course...? Sam is building the Three Little Pigs' house of straw. I think that none of the feeds are live, but they're all wearing some kind of motion-sensor monitor. If they go blank for a certain length of time, that triggers an alarm. Similar to the devices firefighters wear, that so memorably and horrifyingly were going off everywhere when the WTC towers fell. ETA biomonitors! Great minds think alike, etc. :)

Even bleeped! Heaven it would be. She did say "rat's ass" so maybe there's hope. I'm sure she says it in her head often enough. Occasionally she gets away with Yiddish that the censors don't know what to do with. I know she made my entire day by pointing out someone was schtupping someone else, once. :D

Brad, turns out you're made of a trendy haircut, sorry.

Aw, Fuckin' Larry! Never change! And actually, I believe he has changed a lot, so that EVERYTHING is not riding on this experience. His arc is still the most compelling, to me. But I laughed my ass off when he emitted an entire paragraph of bleeping, because...it was hot out. And the snare wire was annoying. He is a character! I enjoyed Britt in his last run, especially his demonstration of his son's evocative wedding dance. (I loved that, in the family footage, the kid was encouraged to bust a few more moves for posterity, bless him.) But I didn't remember him being this entertaining, or as natural and witty on camera. When he paused to indicate where the informational chyron should go--and then responded to it--I again laughed out loud. And Brad, oy vey, eat a bug, ya dope. I assume you have never experienced a minute of adversity in your short, pretty life...may the rest of it be this easy breezy, I guess. To paraphrase a friend's dad, "If that's the worst thing that ever happened to you, consider yourself awfully lucky." Aside from nonentity Brad, who has conveniently kept me from needing to have an opinion of him, I am very invested in all of the returnees! I don't hate anyone on sight, and am rooting for everyone pretty much equally. (Okay, Dave's "I am QUIRKY, tee hee hee!" qualities still get on my last nerve. Going commando for two decades is TMI, nature boy.)

Damn. Carleigh is a bit of an odd duck, but getting felled by pure dumb bad luck is crushing. And that girl has ovaries of steel to last 20 hours with a grimy fishhook in her dominant hand, still trying to MacGyver her way out of it. All of her efforts with the GIANT KNIFE--I was terrified that it was going to get a thousand times worse. I didn't appreciate being spoiled by the teaser...but then again, whichever woman it was who did actually damage a tendon chopping up kindling? They teased the closeup of her bloody hand for weeks, and I used all my teevee investigative skills to identify the sleeve of her jacket and spoil myself, so I can't completely blame them. The area they're in is gorgeous. I'm a dumb American, so the sum total of my prior knowledge of Mongolia was steppes/yurts/yak milk. It's fascinating to see so much more.

I didn't realize the new season was cued up until it surfaced on the TiVo, yay! I am of course in the tank for Fuckin' Larry!!1!, although I honestly don't think he'll endure as long this time. I found his reflexive gutter mouth hilarious, last time, and his overall midlife-crisis-esque arc was compelling and devastating both. I could really relate to hating the tedium of a day job...but realizing that when it's juxtaposed with real hunger and loneliness and despair, it starts to look good. He seems happier, seems to have evolved and learned how to love an ordinary life, and I'm delighted for him...but I suspect that that lesson will prove to him that he doesn't have to torture himself, sooner than later. Hell, maybe he'll surprise me and gut it out, cussing up a storm and styling his new kookoo ZZ Top beard like Yosemite Sam. Just a bit. Dave cleans up pretty--a decent haircut remains shocking on that guy!--but his overall demeanor has never suggested "rational thinker." Did I hear correctly, that he quit his job and started living in his truck? I'm in Seattle, where homelessness and people sleeping in their vehicles or on the street is a crisis of astronomical proportions...so I tend to look side-eyed at people who elect to do so apparently for sheer quirkiness. Those two and Carleigh stand out most to me, just in terms of the returnees I previously found interesting (for good and ill) to watch. I want to hear Alan pronounce "MonGOAULia" 1000 times. :D

Yoshino cherry trees are beautiful. I've long dreamed of putting one in when I revamp my janky yard...and if some nitwit butchered TWO that I'd been tending and cultivating for years, JJ'd be adjudicating her first murder trial. I found The Love Song of Liver Cirrhosis Popeye and Methica Rabbit painful to watch; those are some miserable beat-down lives endured, there.

This made my entire day, jilliannatalia! Can you please borrow me this phrase, and I'll pay you when I get my taxes back? Meanwhile, I haven't been to a Six Flags in almost 30 years, but the thought of TRYING to eat three "meals" a day there, presumably between roller coasters, turns my entire digestive system inside-out. Gah.

The elegant Roseanne/ABC burn gives me life.

Now, now--they can totally BUY stuff! They just can't PAY for the stuff!

...I would consider fighting over my Le Creusets. Their warranty extends past my life expectancy--that's good stuff! ;) Jumping a turnstile is one thing. I bet he wouldn't methodically steal thousands of dollars from you, like a pro. That other little bastard your kid worships might, though. I remember you talking about that one! (When I was growing up, my mom lamented the existence of "That Bridget" in our universe. I don't like you hanging around That Bridget. She was correct, AND I am amazed not to have seen That Bridget as a litigant on JJ or any other court show. Yet.

1. This is adorable; I want to hear a little schmoop saying all of these things. 2. I first learned to tell time by the t.v. schedule, so the daily routine packs in more lessons than you might realize!

I grew up with a kid named Rhea, pronounced ree-ah; she was a snooty, snotty little thing and you bet your custom rims we called her Diarrhea behind her back and maybe occasionally to her face.

Colorado David, did you see the S11 opener, "My Struggle 3"? Mulder drove that Mustang a lot. Lots and lots and LOTS of driving. (Which, I appreciate a badass muscle car too! And a beautiful hunk of Mulder behind the wheel of it, sure! I'd be delighted to see either or both turn up in my driveway! But that doth not a coherent story make.) Excellent pluraling. ;D Gods bless Gillian, meanwhile. Be the Carrie Fisher we lost, girl--the torch is right there waiting for you to grab it.

Lordy. I dipped into the spoiler thread last week and thought, Nah, those are way too DUMB to be true. Fool me twice, I guess. That's not how any of this works, CHRIS. Since all y'all have already noted the many many ways in which this was a complete shitpile, I'm going to wish this episode into the cornfield and express some positive gratitude instead. Chris Carter, please retire and, I dunno, surf and toke away the rest of your brain cells. BUT. Thank you for: Your one good idea in the early nineties. You gave us Mulder and Scully, and they took on a life of their own and got completely away from you. LET THEM. Launching Duchovny and Anderson on this ride that, all things considered, was more great than crappy. Giving us the rare Darin Morgan gem, and fostering the genius of Vince Gilligan. David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, thank you for working that goddamned hard, even when you had to sell 10 pounds of bullshit in a 5-pound bag. You owned those characters; you GAVE them a life of their own and did your best to rescue them from their hapless creator. You have inspired me as a person, and you both have more than earned the right to put Mulder and Scully to bed (seewhatIdidthere). Please run out to the store for ice cream and never come back. I love you. Mitch Pileggi, you always seemed to be having the best time behind the scenes, and Chris did you dirty. Peace out, you sexy beast. Willam B. Davis...well, it was real nice of you to have that acting school centre up in Vancouver all those years.

I never make it to the live thread in time, living on the west coast...but I read through a bit after it's closed. There was nearly a whole-page flurry of OW MAH LAIG posts and comments that erupted at the appropriate interval in the thread, and that made me howl too. :D

This episode got me to thinking about the real estate boom in Vancouver over the last 20 years--dank, seedy murder!cult apartment buildings must be a LOT harder to find these days. The case itself was gruesome and campy and I am overthinking it: are we supposed to believe that Barbara is really 85 and it...worked? And which part of eating/being surgically attached to/making organ smoothies out of cult victims was the One Weird Trick doctors don't want you to know? But I'm okay with it, because Mulder and Scully got to have thoughtful, meaningful conversations--about themselves and each other and their relationship--and they looked beautiful while they were at it. I'm kind of a secret sucker for the "BUT WHAT DID SHE SAY??!?" feint in a story, so I'm willing to leave them to their whispered privacy. (That said, "I want to come home" is my guess.) I was most moved by Mulder, standing there and saying in every way he could that he was still all in, #OTP, one in five six billion--that even though Scully (and he) has made all sorts of choices, struggled, faltered, gone away, drifted back...he doesn't see, or want, any other ending but her. Scully's always been more hesitant to admit her heart, but I think she's there too. Adding "living apart from Mulder" to her Fail List, now. Also, the image of baby Scully praying "eh, my baby brother seems to be on the mend, how about a puppy?" is wonderful and sidesplitting.

Yeah. I can't get over the big sister being 30, and still living at home with mom and Mt. Stepdad. And both sisters were allegedly employed, contributing to rent and household expenses. That they thought those two internet goons were their best ticket out of Dodge gives me all kinds of willies about what their home life was like. No indication that either of them had attempted secondary education or getting out of the house before? Mom, suing them for leaving a mess and sneaking in BOYS!!1! to their ROOM!1!1? I sensed super-weird control issues going on there; got a The Virgin Suicides vibe from the whole thing. I dunno; I hope the sisters gain further independence and, as JJ said, forget what their rodent-faced Prince Charmings look like inside the next decade.

I dunno, I found this one stilted and too self-referential/congratulatory. Running around in the woods! Creepy clowns! Creepy kids! Devil worshippy witchcraft stuff! Hey, hiya, Officer Agent Roger Cross, the hardest working actor in Canada! And yet...nothing seemed to hang together. We had horrifying vigilante mob justice. We had two slaughtered kindergarteners. I should feel something stronger than "meh" about this. And usually, Mulder and Scully's reactions to and processing of the MOTW nightmare helps me to connect to that. This one didn't. It felt like an old-school X-file, but they didn't feel like themselves, or didn't have time enough to talk to each other like themselves, what with all the other scares and references crammed in. I wasn't convinced. Mulder referencing his grown son was a tiny glimmer of the emotion I expected. I was surprised that Scully seemed far less affected, especially by the brutal death of a little girl named Emily, for chrissake. So the sex offender failed to register with the police when he moved to town, which the angry cop discovered by...looking him up...in a sex offender registry...for their town. Wait. What? Show me a child who would not run SCUH-REAMING from that Mister Chuckleteeth nightmare monstrosity, because HELL NO.

LOL, excellent point. I too was astonished at her cold modern bland house; it looks like a model condo for the sales office. I figure that's the decor-in-a-box version you sign on for when you've left the cozy Unremarkable House in the boonies to save your sanity. Electronic within an inch of its life, and never personalized. Impermanent, in other words. On that note, I suspect Mulder's quip about it's niceness was a Duchovny ad-lib too funny to leave out. I mean, he knew how to drive there, right? I think in my middle age I'm much more willing to accept the handwaving at continuity and...basic sense-making, yeah--provided I get to laugh as hard at an episode as I did in this one. Scully/GA's goofy, drunk-y laugh is PURE GOLD, and I will forgive a great deal for that wonderful rarity. And although broad continuity has never been this show's strong suit, I honestly LOVE the very subtle thread running through season 11 of Scully, a badass, independent, fifty-something, sexual woman who has both a vibrator and a hot soulmate she now allows herself to reach for when the AA-battery version does not appeal. There's an element of defiance in it--a rejection of the Blessed Virgin Saint Scully portrayal she labored under for years--and I am HERE FOR IT. Scully no longer gives a shit, y'all. You go on and put that beautiful man to work, girl. I also found the storm of insectoid drones, and the blithe tip-tapping robo-dogs, extremely creepy. Something emotionless and relentless, scuttling AFTER YOU FOREVER, has always given me the willies. I went to bed thinking about this episode of The Twilight Zone, specifically for its little scrabbling spacemen. And then when I woke up, I remembered that it also features virtually NO DIALOGUE at all. I see what you did there, 1013!

I must have seen this in its original airing (dear god, I'm Old), because I remember being allowed to stay up past my bedtime for it. My mom was a stickler for bedtimes, so I am sure me and Sis were HYSTERICAL WITH TERROR at Carrie's fate. I was about six, and this was some gripping Baby Jessica shit. Very surprising, to grow up and find the world was not riddled with abandoned wells, mineshafts, and pools of quicksand imperiling your every step!

This made me laugh. In my family we had particular nomenclature for those kids; allow me to introduce That Nathan and That Bridget, respectively. Try it with the name of your teen nemesis today!