pagooey

To dookie it out, as it were. ...I'll see myself out.

Sucks to your asmar! (Also, I love you for this reference.) Nobody's talking yet about the willow-weaving hippie hobbit and his gate easement, getting a beatdown from neighbor 1980s Stacy Keach?

Nicely put. I hope it's deliberate, but it could just as well be something that Mitch Pileggi is bringing to the table when he gets the less-frequent opportunity to put on a showcase. Kind of like DD and GA just started playing the relationship as obvious to them (and us) circa season 7; they own and inhabit their characters so well that they can turn it on at will, and show much more than is written on the page. Mitch probably feels as grounded in Skinner; he just doesn't get to show it as much. I like, too, that even recently we've seen Skinner barking dad-like at Mulder and Scully, about how all the other agencies are giving him the bad dirt. He is their boss and their authority figure, but they've been through such shit together that he must also feel paternal, too. But as their authority and superior, he's stood in their way roughly as often as he's saved their asses...so I can see their relationship to him not being as visibly fond. Anyway, Skinner is a total badass, and until recently I had no idea that MP was 65. I'd never have guessed it; he looks great! Other stuff: I found Haley Joel Osment incredibly compelling as both Kitten and Davey, despite all the dangling questions (which one did the bulk of the killing? what did happen to mom? did Kitten make the monster suit based on his initial gas-induced visions?). He may have aged out of "preternaturally gifted adorable moppet," but he clearly still has the acting chops he did as a wee thing. I'm glad he's still working, and that he's not a tragic child-actor headline. Spontaneous nosebleeds are SO old X-Files; the new X-Files is plucking your bloody molars out of your skull! I remembered Skinner's Vietnam story of being prematurely zipped into a body bag, but I'd forgotten the part about him blowing away a child. Kudos to whoever got the details exactly right, and yikes, that we watched young Skinner shoot a boy in the head, in prime time. (Aside: we can see this, but we can't have two actors' implied postcoital nekkidness onscreen at the same time? 'Murica!) Stop it with the chemtrails bullshit, 1013, seriously. ETA: when the first victim fell into the spike pit, did anyone else holler "I fell in a HOOOLE!" at the TV?

This. I found myself thinking about a tidbit I'd heard about "Beyond the Sea," eons ago--that TPTB were considering replacing GA, so Morgan and Wong wrote her something to really tear into and she CRUSHED it. I have very mixed feelings about this iteration of William/Jackson...but everything Gillian put out there in this episode made it clear that she's honestly outgrown this goony little alien boogeyman show. The look on her face, watching that final surveillance tape! How does she even DO that? I don't understand why she isn't a huge superstar, to be honest, although I suppose that life brings miseries all its own. She gave James Wong a gift in return, tonight. So, teenage Jackson is a bit of a two-timing horndog pickup artist? Whose adoptive parents are dialogue-free ciphers dead on the floor? I'd expect the boy to be a leeeetle more FREAKED RIGHT THE FUCK OUT over that. Maybe we can attribute his bland affect to poor parenting? ;) On the other hand, he's a hot weirdo with dorky space-monsters-and-fanfic interests, and failing to manage these varied aspects of his self? That's Mulder's kid! Did I hear it right, that he's driving cross-country? Back to Wyoming, I take it? And how did the Van De Kamps end up in Norfolk, where the Navy and the DOD have a huge presence? Maybe his adoptive parents were heading east to turn him over to nefarious forces, which would temper his grief I suppose. Quoting this because I hope you're right, and for the Chekhov's _______ phrasing, which I also use frequently. I think the weirdest version I ever found myself saying was "Chekhov's pygmy deer."

Oh my lord, I LOVED THIS so much. I'm in the Darin Morgan = Genius camp, for sure; I enjoyed Were-Monster last season, but the way that it had been retrofitted from some other show to shoehorn Mulder and Scully in felt a little too obvious, to me. This one, on the other hand, was pure joy. I like Darin Morgan specifically for his bleak, bittersweet outlook on life: that nostalgia can bite you in the ass; that the mundane minutiae of working and paying bills and going to the dentist and what the kids call "adulting" is both boring and hard, so disappointing that we invent narratives (or...watch them) to obsess over instead; that you should cling to love and brief delights in the moment, because they're too rare and in the end we are all alone. Chris Carter famously brags about not keeping a show "bible" or a proper writers' room...but it's okay because Darin knows this shit backwards and forwards, and lives to occasionally turn it inside out. This was a veritable basket of Easter eggs, for the X-Files in general and for his episodes in particular, and I need to rewatch it a few times to keep finding them. That was the Ovaltine cafe in the cold open, made famous in Jose Chung and still operating in Vancouver BC. And that cold open was a spot-on Twilight Zone...parody? satire? invocation? Twilight Zone is the first t.v. show I remember obsessing over from a...writerly point of view, I guess, even before I was quite old enough to realize that--I knew that I'd be scared, and I knew that there was a twist coming, so that only afterwards could I pick it apart in my head and see how we'd been led and lulled to that point of surprise. I'm also totally down with parallel universes; I adored Fringe too. So I was all in from the get-go, I'm saying. I love his episodes because they're dense and wordy and silly, underscored with genuine melancholy. I get the sense that he loves Mulder and Scully because he knows them that well, and has bothered to recognize that their lives are ridiculous and pitiful, from any rational perspective...and so he lets them have fun. His Mulder is hot, but bonkers, and everyone is a tiny bit in love with Scully, from Bruckman to Chung to Eddie Van BlundHt to Guy Mann (still cracks me up, that name) to Reggie Something. And Morgan's love for these characters lets Duchovny and Anderson bring their A-games, too. They're obviously having a blast, crackling with energy. Mulder disconsolately lying on the ground kicking just about killed me. To me, this felt like a love letter to the fans (and our disparate opinions and favorites), and a fond farewell to the series as a whole. I LOVED IT.

Someone upthread (sorry to be vague, I'm skimming at the office haha) said that Mulder and Scully were their first 'ship, and I feel like that's playing into my reactions this morning, too. They're my OTP, and the first relationship I was wholly invested in as a grown-ass woman myself--though I look back now and realize that I was practically a baby in 1993; GA is not quite a year older than I am. Anyway: I love them and I want them to be happy, and I understand that these are two mature people who have loved each other for decades, have weathered fights and huge losses and terrible grief and periodic estrangement, have risked and/or run for their lives...and in spite of everything, drift back to each other always, always, always. This is it; each of them is the be-all end-all for the other. And while their relationship is flavored with a lot more weirdness and flukemen and golems and psychic shenanigans, it's not unlike a marriage. It's a forever thing, a long, long, long-term thing. They might not be having room-wrecking, furniture-busting newbie sex on the daily, any more...but they know each other well enough to get it plenty right, these days. I adore them. Go git it, you two. As for the separate rooms/beds: I can easily believe that Scully still tries to maintain Professional Appearances while officially on a case. She's fooling no one, and this is far from her first wine-and-cheese fraternization party...I like to think that Mulder finds this hilarious and goes along with it. Though they could save the FBI a lotta money sharing, as he noted in an audit in, like, 1999? I also loved that Scully logicked her sinister doppleganger vision away, while Mulder had to engage in fisticuffs with his. Still sticking his fingers in everything, that one. And I liked their maudlin, rueful pillow talk; I think that was pure reassurance, for both. You're still it? Yeah? Good, me too. I do not want this particular little tryst to end up in a magical miracle pregnancy, though. That woman of science is pushing 54 by your calendar, Chris; I will accept all manner of paranormal alien hoo-ha, but these people are TIRED now, dude. Let them reunite and build a relationship with their actual teen child and call it good.

Shopping list: Bran muffins Coffee Yogurt Tuna Limes Spackle (for patching bullet holes. These two never got back a security deposit in their lives, man.) ETA ibuprofen, because of all the ass-kicking.

Thanks, Bailey! I knew I "knew" this from somewhere, but probably never would have found it on my own. I enjoyed this. Cinematic and gorgeous to look at, the cold open especially...and while I am not sure that Mulder and Scully should be kicking quite so much action ass at their ages (if I jumped down a flight of stairs like that, I am pretty sure my legs would just both snap off at the hip), it was hella fun and beautiful to watch. The table slide was glorious! M&S, communicating their every move over the psychic soul bond they OBVIOUSLY have? Magnificent! And I'll be the first to admit that I would just as happily watch an hour of Mulder and Scully pivoting from couch naps to coffee shops to dive bars or even IKEA, bantering and theorizing and comfortably, sexily flirting with each other. Somehow, my favorite moment was them returning to the general wreckage of the Unremarkable House, picking up a few strewn files (how many times d'ya think these two have picked up scattered/burnt/shredded/stolen paperwork?) and then shrugging and giving up and going to grab another quick snooze together. Their affection and comfort in each other really struck me, in this episode. I careth not, about the conspiracy. Poor Langly. I still miss the Lone Gunmen. Even you, Frohike, you old dirty bastard. One severe nitpick: I'm an editor by trade. So seeing Byers' headstone reading John FITGERALD Byers gave me a tiny rage stroke. I paused the DVR to make sure, and then it wasn't even some sort of clue. FITGERALD. YOU HAD ONE JOB, HEADSTONE SPELLER. GET IT TOGETHER.

I love all the theories! And I'm sure we're thinking about it much harder than Chris Carter ever has, but hey, hope springs eternal. ;) Thinking more about this, ganesh...what if it's like the Cubs' World Series win as prophesied in Back to the Future II, where they got SO CLOSE but were off by a year? If the Bills go all the way, and then CSM finally croaks during spring sweeps, I will be a very tickled 'phile indeed.

Just pulling this out because it made me laugh out loud. Good old young Mulder, jumping onto moving trains, getting holes drilled in his skull FOR THE TRUTH, and sticking his fingers in everything. The current "weariness" he seems to be projecting kind of makes sense in this context! Anyway I'd still climb 55-57-y-o DD like a ladder, given the opportunity. I've aged 25 years too! I put these two quotes together because, last night, something FINALLY clicked for me: CC IS THE CSM. CC sees himself as the puppet master of this world he's created...but he let the lightning out of the bottle and it got fully away from him in about 1997. Think about the "Musings of a CSM" episode. We're supposed to believe that CSM personally assassinated both Martin Luther King and JFK and controls the outcome of every Super Bowl...but he'd give all his earthly power up for a shot at being a writer. And he's TERRIBLE at it: a BAD writer, pecking out lurid spy bullshit in purple prose in his lonely apartment. He gets a nibble from some bloviating Amazeballs Tales publisher and drafts his resignation from the global conspiracy! And then, what? He fanboys up to the newsstand for his story and discovers, horrors, that it's been edited. Someone had the gall to prune his literary genius, and so he's all butthurt and, welp, guess it's back to destroying the world. So I'm taking this entire episode as an extended metaphor that probably goes deeper than CC himself realizes. Oh, yeah, I faked the moon landing too! Me, CSM! All me! My monologues are beautiful, and the biggest. Here, have some more! Also I'm the father of Scully's baby, yeah, that's the ticket! It's all bullshit. This dude couldn't plan his way to the lunch truck without help. And now we've gotten it handily out of the way. That said, Chris, since you can't read a room: #timesup, my friend. In particular your time yanking Scully around on the Madonna/whore spectrum is up, up, up, over, done, finito, get lost, goodbye. ----------------------- Okay, other thoughts: Mulder's apparent midlife crisis has certainly gotten him a nice set of wheels. I guess he's recovered from sulking and bearding out in his home office? So CSM doesn't need a trach port to smoke through any more? Is most of his face still detachable? Is Jeffrey's? Never mind, who cares, let's drive that 'Stang some more! Monica, are you evil or not, pick a lane. Speaking of lanes, how about that Ford Mustang TM that Mulder's driving? Whh...hy did Mulder have to slit that bad guy's throat? with a handy scalpel that was...there, for some reason? HE IS ARMED, after all. Why did they give Scully a lab coat to wear over her scrubs? In case she regained consciousness and had to run off to do some medical doctoring? This, from GA's Instagram, made me howl last night. Even if she's Over It, she's making her own fun, and that's a joy to see. I wish social media had existed back in the day. https://www.instagram.com/p/BdgoO0MAixb/?taken-by=gilliana I can't help myself. I love Mulder and Scully (not you, Chris, shoo). I will take whatever I can get, and I will root for their happiness always.

Angela, hey, as long as you have an insurance card (of any vintage) in your wallet, you're golden! I'm sure it won't have lapped until the day after y'all arrive at Comcast.

Miss Jennifer's teeth-sucking, chicken-neck-bobbing, side-eyeing attitude was EPIC, but to me the best moment was the plaintiff, citing the defendant's first complaint about plumbing conditions: "It was very very stink in the house." This Thanksgiving I am grateful for my DVR, so that I could run that quote back ten times and then record it on my phone and text it with zero explanation to my sister. Ahh, the miracle of technology!

The Clutter house is still standing and was sold and/or renovated within the last...decade, I think? I knew I'd seen something about it as a real estate listing, and then Google turned up this WaPo nightmare gem all about "stigmatized properties." Great read, and I may never sleep again. Happy Thanksgiving! https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/murder-houses-the-haunting-final-chapter-in-true-crime-stories/2015/11/02/3a2dbe70-7de1-11e5-beba-927fd8634498_story.html?utm_term=.61734744a2dc

Belatedly...for some reason I felt sorry for Marquette. An ankle bracelet at 16, yikes--but she was so subdued and frighteningly articulate and accurate about her timeline, when she'd been handed around from Grandma to Mom to foster care and back so often it's a wonder she knew who had custard of her at any second. She had the details down, and somehow it hurt my heart that this was the only story this kid had to tell. No one in that cycle was equipped to take care of her and raise a decent human being. Ugh.

In my favor: I got my prom dress for ~$40, at the local hippie/"ethnic"/lots of batik store. Plain black cotton tank top, with three-tiered ruffle miniskirt in said wild batik--it was the 80s. My mother could not possibly have given less of a sh*t. Not in my favor: Mom wanted to name me Brandie Leigh. We just barely got one foot outta the trailer park, y'all! (Back in my favor: my Grammy talked her out of it, thank the heavens.) Re. the battling Hammer-pantses: is this some kind of LulaRoe pyramid scheme?

That little puppy was sweet as pie, hanging out in Byrd's arms and melting his icy heart one kiss at a time. The litigants were neglectful dumbasses, but the verdict in the case--JJ essentially saying "MINE NOW"--was almost as delightful to me as the legend of Baby Boy. TBH it would be great if JJ could yank children away from heinous parents as easily.

That was a HARLEY DAVIDSON beer mug, though! A price above rubies, that.

Can we give a quick nod to scooter lady's perfectly feathered hair helmet? Farrah Fawcett is rolling in her grave.

So if it's 11:38 on Sushi Tuesday, god help ya.

If JJ's seen the inside of a grocery store since she was paying cash in a Brooklyn bodega, I'll...I'll...uh, I'll write a check at the grocery store! I did laugh and laugh at that whole exchange she had with Byrd, though. My late Grammy--a tiny ringer for JJ herself!--both walked to our local supermarket almost daily, AND wrote a check every. single. one. of those times. For $5 over the total, so she could have a smidgen of pocket cash. ATMs and debit cards were on the long list of technological gizmos she didn't trust for a second. Luckily, all the checkers and staff at the market knew her after years and years of these interactions, and indulged her. One lady traded stacks of romance novels with her for years (nothing too smutty, Grammy wasn't down with THAT!), and wept openly when we had to return the last batch to her after Grammy passed. ETA that Teen Dad Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel broke my entire heart when he sobbed over his baby in the hallterview. Those poor dumb kids--all three of them. Teen Mom rather less so, though.

God, Wig Mom (and her similar pile-of-nylon-doll-hair Wig Witness) enraged me. I grew up po', but with a mom who was very susceptible to exactly this kind of mean-girl appearances bullshit, to the point that she'd try to head it off by telling me outright "I wanted to do ____ for your birthday, but it was too expensive." I suppose she was trying to impart that it's the thought that counts, but...thanks? Anyway. Once, the birthday I didn't get actually included renting a limo, so this case pushed a lot of my buttons. Those harridans would be well-served to spend less on their third-graders' whims and more on hair that doesn't come from the Halloween dollar store. (Seriously, what was up with those wigs? I was honestly wondering if they were some weird offshoot of Orthodox Jews, for a second.)

This! I'm sure production thought that the interpersonal dynamic would add something to the show...but perhaps they didn't realize it would do so at the expense of introspection, and self-motivated sink-or-swim problem-solving. I do still find Team No, YOU Are annoying, with their childish bickering dynamic firmly established, hungry or not. But hell, my own dear sister and I would have murdered each other by this point. I could probably cope with hunger, but enough sleep deprivation turns me into Bitchzilla.

Also, production is checking up on you two idiots every week or so. Oy. I figured Camp Numbnuts would be destroyed (read: tarp on stick toootally knocked ooover, eh?) when they finally came to blows...but the Butt Brothers might fool me by getting too weak to pummel each other first. Major kudos to Brooke for staying calm enough to kick/push out the burning chimney from the inside and save the cabin and everything they had. My first instinct would definitely have been "run screaming out of burning structure," so...reason 1,468 why I am not on this show.

My dad consistently got my birthday wrong. It was entrenched as tradition, that he'd call me a day or two before, or after, chuckling "Happy birthday, sweetheart!" and then we'd debate who was actually correct. DAD YES I AM PRETTY SURE OF MY OWN BIRTH DATE. I don't have much to add, because this season has just been such a bleary, lens-smeared meh. I still would love to have been a fly on the wall in production, as 1. crappy video rolled in and 2. everybody up and quit in two lousy weeks. They must have been in full-blown panic. Here's hoping they've learned not to mess with success, because this season's concept is a total dud.

I'm amused that I myself found the duck dispatch unsettling, because I'm a meat eater and none of the other hunting/killing at a distance has bothered me on this show. Maybe having to look it in the eye was the uncomfortable part? Or the knowledge that it was too injured or ill to resist? Brook at least handled it with a calm quickness, which I respect. (Then she cooked it like my grandmother, who worried about worms/germs/parasites/assorted invisible dangers and thus cooked the bejesus out of everything, always. I was an adult before I ever encountered a nice medium-rare steak.) The Ginger Bros are absolutely going to come to blows. I'm guessing it's 50/50 odds that they roll around pummeling each other and knock down their whole shelter tarp on a stick in the process. And I haven't been camping since Girl Scouts either, some thirtymumble years ago, and I still know not to carve towards myself, ya dumbass. I suppose they're comic relief, if you can tolerate their "no, YOU are, dude" conversational stylings. I'm still just not feeling it, with the pairings. The little reunions are charming, for a split second...but the way so many participants have been holding back, waiting for their partner to contribute has been so disappointing. Now, I suspect they'll all talk more to each other than to the camera, cutting out so many ample hours for introspection and education that we got from the first three seasons. The experiment was worth a try, I suppose, but is nowhere near as compelling.