Travel Theme: Colourful

This week at Where’s My Backpack?, Ailsa has declared her travel theme to be “colourful”, in order to beat the doldrums that accompany the shortened days that come with winter. Is the lack of sunlight getting you down? Don’t worry! I’ve got some colorful plays with light, right here.

Starting off close to home, this is taken from inside the tasting room at a local winery, Fero Vineyards. It was a grey and rainy day, and I loved how this Italian horn pendant lamp was a bright spot against the weather.

A bright spot on a rainy day.

A bright spot on a rainy day.

While in Cleveland, City of Light, City of Magic, George and I were drawn in like moths to flame, to the bright lights in the alley that led us to the restaurant Zocalo. The food was…eh, OK. But the tequileria was superb.

What, like you wouldn't go check this out? #oohshiny

What, like you wouldn’t go check this out? #oohshiny

The subtle lavender-pinks and golds of a sunrise on Surfside Beach, SC, have to make a body feel better against the long nights. Check out my brother, looking all stoic and philosophical, one man standing alone to face the relentless forces of nature, yada yada yada.

IMG_0096-003

Waking up early pays off when you get to see something like this.

Staying in South Carolina…

We went to the Nights of a Thousand Candles at Brookgreen Gardens, all of which was INSANELY gorgeous. The gardens had lights dripping from anything that could hold a strand, floating on anything watery, wrapped around even the vaguest semblance of a trunk. And then they had this leaping goat-legged fellow.

I like the cut of his jib.

I like the cut of his jib.

Meanwhile, up in Vermont

Even in winter, you can find bright bursts of color. Here are some winter berries, dusted in frost and morning light.

Don't eat them. But they sure look purty.

Don’t eat them. But they sure look purty.

Go check out the rest of the participants in Ailsa’s travel theme! Or–hey, why not?–play along yourself. See you around the interwebs!

Here’s Randy Newman, singing about Cleveland, to play you out… 

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Bad Fashion Ideas: Peebles. All of it.

Normally, when I do these Bad Fashion posts I don’t focus on one store. Largely because I start in the mall and work my way around, but also because the concentration of terrible clothing per one store simply isn’t that great. Usually. Sure, there’s plenty of “Oh, hell no!” fashion, and even more “Bwa ha ha ha no” choices, out there. But to find shirt after shirt, terror after terror, in one place? It doesn’t happen that often.

Until last night.

George and I decided we needed a quiet, uneventful evening out, so we went to a local Italian place for some dinner and afterwards, stopped at this…store. Peebles. Yes, Peebles. Just like the pet store in Magilla Gorilla. It’s apparently in 40 states and has something like 900 stores, so this store is out there, quietly exuding its fashion menace upon an unsuspecting populace. The store near us has been open for about a year now and I hadn’t ever managed to make it in, until a heavy Italian dinner made me want to sort of putter around and walk a little of it off.

It must have been instinct that kept me out of there. Because once I walked in…oh, the horror, the horror…

OH MY GOD MY EYES! IT BURNS, IT BURNS..!!!

OH MY GOD MY EYES! IT BURNS, IT BURNS..!!!

As many of you are well aware, I have a particular disdain for embellished sweatshirts. I don’t like ones that have seasonal, “charming” decals because these shirts make a sad, tired statement about the wearer. If you’re wearing a poorly designed sweater with school houses or snowmen appliqued on it, you’re telling the world that you’re willing to look unattractive so long as you can project a dash of whimsy. Why do that to yourself?

Oooh, seasonal applique AND an attached double-collar? Quelle tragique!

Oooh, depressing seasonal applique AND an attached double-collar? Quelle tragique!

Please note: this little beauty is a heavy-knit cardigan, in dull winter sky gray. Festooned with…what I first thought were quilted Stars of David but au contraire! They are little ersatz snowflakes. On a gunmetal grey sweatshirt cardigan. With a dusty plum double-layered crew collar. Nothing says Seasonal Affective Disorder” like a shirt that emulates that depressive syndrome. Kill me now.

Though I suppose you could try and cheer yourself up with a shirt that looks like it was ripped from the reject pile at Thomas Kinkade, Painter of Light’s failed projects studio.

Ahh, so serene. Who doesn't want a carriage riding across her belly?

Ahh, so serene. Who doesn’t want a sleigh riding across her belly?

Shapeless? Check. Weirdly designed? Check. Touch of the ever-present whimsy? Check. This shirt has everything that I can’t stand. However, I must reiterate (largely because they had an enormous collection of bizarrely bedazzled wear)…I haaaaaate sweatshirts that are spangled. Why? Because it’s a goddamned sweatshirt. For sweating in. Sparkles, on the other hand, were not made for sweat. They’re present in our lives to add a little glitz, a little glamour. Bespangling a sweatshirt, well…

Who's a fancy lady at the gym?

Who’s a fancy lady at the gym?

It’s kind of like gilding the turd, isn’t it? And at $44, it’s not like it’s a cheap turd either.

The common theme that ran through most of the Peebles clothing was “boxy”. Everything was shaped like a box, like a square, without a curve in sight. It was kind of like shopping for a Volvo.

crazy-people-volvo

From the movie “Crazy People”. The fake ads were the best part of this movie. Image from blogcabins.blogspot.com

I mean, come on. I could chart Cartesian coordinates on these clothes.

Data points, anyone?

Data points, anyone?

How about a snappy vest? A well-tailored vest can keep everything nicely contained, provide a finishing statement to a casual outfit, and maybe even accentuate a lady’s waist.

Unless, of course, you’re this corduroy monstrosity, whose side pockets are designed to draw your eyes laterally. Who wants to look wider? No curves here, please.

I could have forgiven the corduroy if the cut was more flattering. Alas...

I could have forgiven the corduroy if the cut was more flattering. Alas…

And then there’s…well…let the picture speak for itself (at first)…

*yawn*

*yawn*

I don’t have a problem with a basic cable knit sweater, though I’ve seen them cut to look ever-so-slightly less like a shipping box and more like an actual article of clothing. I do object to this dull clay color (bad on almost everyone) and…if you only take one piece of advice from this blog, take this one…

…repeat after me…

FRONT PATCH POCKETS ARE ALWAYS WRONG. Always. But they’re particularly extra-wrong on knits, where they easily get stretched and misshapen. So, not only do you look wider than you might want, thanks to this sweater’s overall shapelessness, but it won’t take long before you’ll be irreversibly lumpy in the front from the stretched out pockets. If you need to tote things with you at all times, then 1) wear bottoms with side pockets or 2) carry a purse. There are solutions, people. Patch pockets are not a good one.

The unsexy box look wasn’t confined to tops, either. It made its presence known in dresses. I walked through row after row of shapeless dresses, sweater dresses that looked like a designer simply elongated the cable knit above (I thought sweater dresses were, by definition, supposed to be kind of slinky?) and evoked from me, at best, a disdainful curled lip. Nearly all of the dresses were terrible. Here are my two favorites.

First, this little maroon number was made of a super-thick, cottony, knitty, quilty fabric. It struck me as less of a dress and more like a moving pad you can get from U-Haul, to protect furniture from banging together in the back of a moving van.

I don't know whether to wear this or wrap a lamp in it.

I don’t know whether to wear this or wrap a lamp in it.

And then there’s…oh, dear God. What.

So this blue dress. This. This blue dress. Sometimes, we come across clothes that are perfectly adequate for covering our nakedness, keeping us warm in the winter, and keeping us out of jail due to indecent exposure. They also say unto the world that the wearer has nothing left to live for, except sucking oxygen and converting food to fertilizer. This blue dress? Is one of those items.

I can't go on, I'll go on.

I can’t go on, I’ll go on.

Do note: the shift dress part of the dress is attached, so it looks like a two-piece and yet is only one. It is as shapeless as it gets. This is an article of clothing designed to keep us out of jail and still gainfully employed, and entirely forgettable. If you’re looking for a promotion? Increased responsibility on the job? Any semblance of joy? Then avoid this outfit at all costs.

It’s not just the embellished sweatshirts or the boxy knits where Peebles design fails. It’s also in their more “fun” clothing.

This is all one shirt. ONE.

This is all one shirt. ONE.

They don’t even provide a fake collar at the top to complete the layered look. Guys, come on. Who gave this the green light?

Or this one, that looks like the worst of Mrs. Roper‘s wardrobe mated with a lace factory to create this lacy, yet shapeless, overdone…here, see for yourselves.

mrs roper

No.

For those of us who didn’t have to endure the era of Three’s Company, here is Mrs. Roper, for visual reference.

Hot cha cha! Image from merciblahblah.com

Hot cha cha! Image from merciblahblah.com

There was one shirt there I actually kind of liked. An open-weave sweater with a cowl neck and short sleeves, designed to be layered with a long-sleeved tee or some kind of camisole. It had the potential to be super-cute, and if the wall trimmers had done their job correctly, there would have been an entire, layered, salable outfit on the wall that customers could look at and think, “That. I want that.” Instead, they put it on a mannequin, unlayered. So what the customer gets is a bit of an artificial peep show.

Nice nipples.

Nice would-be nipples.

Seriously, people? The objective is to display things as they’d be worn, and unless you’re selling exclusively to the Sweater-Wearing Nipple Club, this is a lost opportunity. People like things staged for them. They like houses they’re checking out to look like someone lives there, they like to buy art in frames, and they like to be told what shirt can be layered with what other shirt. Because it’s easier that way. People have lives and kids and work and spouses that make them think. Buying clothes? Retailer, please. Put together that attractive package for the customer and send them on their happily coordinated way. Don’t make them think about what they’ll need to make their wardrobe nip-free.

But you know, I really should consider the store about which I was talking. Because oh, the horror, the horror (part 2). Front and center, right along the main aisle, right in the middle of everything, stood…

You sick bastards.

You sick bastards.

The polyester velour track suit. While I think the purple one with the cascading pearls is special indeed, I am overwhelmed by the ruched red number on the left. Part window drapery, part Sgt. Pepper’s, this beast is the sort of thing that haunts my retro nightmares. Peebles buyers, you should be ashamed of yourselves.

I need to go lie down now.

Remember: Just because it’s in a store, doesn’t mean you have to buy it. Just because someone designed it, doesn’t mean they know better. Define your own style, don’t let style (negatively, in most of these examples) define you. I’m just here to help.

XOXO

The Walking Dead, S 5 Ep. 6: Consumed

There’s this scene in the movie Back to the Beach (stay with me, this relates) where Annette (Annette Funicello), at the time estranged from husband Frankie (Frankie Avalon), learns that Frankie is planning to throw a bonfire/crazy goodtime party on the beach, and she (and her daughter Sandi (Lori Loughlin)) aren’t invited. Rather than being upset, Annette is elated. Her ensuing conversation with Sandi goes something like this (and it’s not verbatim, I can’t find the script online or a YouTube clip of this scene, so…here’s to my memory):

Annette: Don’t you see, Sandi? He wants me back! He’s throwing this bonfire for me! He’s trying to send me a message.

Sandi: So…when Dad wants to talk to you…he burns stuff?

Annette: Uh-huh.

And that, I feel, is much of what was going on in this week’s episode of The Walking Dead. Carol burned stuff, Daryl burned stuff. They metaphorically burned away negative aspects of their pasts (Carol’s abusive marriage, Daryl’s messed up childhood), and also, you know. Burned stuff. It was sweet, really, and an indication of what life will be like for couples in the zombie apocalypse (walkers, whatever). She finds the two of them a reasonably safe place to stay, he kills and burns the parent and child walkers scratching at their front door, so she doesn’t have to.

To be fair, they were far too creepy to let live.

To be fair, they were far too creepy to let live. Or whatever it is you’d call it that they’re doing.

See? Sweet. Though I suppose that’s sort of what house chores could morph into, in a dystopic hellscape like the world of The Walking Dead. Picture a night after dinner: Honey, could you…? Oh, you read my mind! Come here and give me some sugar, my zombie-burning man.

*grumble grumble* Rick NEVER has to take the zombies out.

*grumble grumble* Rick NEVER has to take the zombies out. *grumble grumble*

But it’s not all roses! Strangely, I find it comforting that we’ll still have those awkward, halting, strangely distant couples’ conversations in the postapocalyptic future.

So close...so close and yet...so faaaaar...

So close…so close and yet…so faaaaar…

But they’re trying (that’s a direct quote), and that’s the important part. This episode broke into two separate parts: the first was the tale of Daryl & Carol, the second revolved around the discovery of Noah and the beginnings of Operation: Beth Rescue.

This didn't start off very well between them.

Things didn’t start off very well between them.

Suspending disbelief for a moment (and this is tough), here’s what happened. Noah, all by himself, managed to get the upper hand on (geek alert: D&D reference coming), basically, a 15th level assassin and a 15th or 16th level ranger, stripping them of their guns and forcing them to fight their way back through the zombie horde. Of course, once they find Noah again they drop him under a bookcase and make him think they’re going to let a zombie eat his head, because you do not mess around with Cararyl.

Mess with the bull, you get the zombie teeth coming fo' yo' face.

Mess with the bull, you get the zombie teeth coming fo’ yo’ face.

 You like that? Cararyl? Because I just made it up.

For me, the real oomph of the episode came right at the end, when Carol goes out into the street ahead of Noah and Daryl…and promptly gets run over by a hospital car.

Ooh, that's gonna leave a mark.

Ooh, that’s gonna leave a mark.

The car was heading in the general direction of our intrepid band of adventurers, ostensibly because (Noah said) “they” must have heard a gunshot (from some Noah/Cararyl zombie adventures) and were coming by to check out the noise. Now. Carol walks out into the street, and we, the viewers, can hear the car tires squeal. Not to stop, no no, but rather, to speed up. 

And then the cops got a gurney out of the back of the car, loaded Carol onto it, and squealed back up the road to the hospital and to Beth.

We-e-e-ell, little lady. You're in luck! We just happen to have this stretcher, right here.

We-e-e-ell, little lady. You’re in luck! We just happen to have this stretcher, right here.

So this answers my one question, when I theorized that Carol was faking an injury in order to get indoors, like she was a super-sneaky secret spy. Clearly, um. No. BUT! Is that what these guys do? Is that how they got their hands on Beth? It could explain the cut on her cheek she woke up with. Beth’s narrative is that she was fighting a walker and then…nothing. She doesn’t remember what happened, which would be consistent with a trauma like that, which wouldn’t allow for the formation of short term memory. This subsequently wouldn’t allow for the short term to make the transfer to long-term memory. You’d think if the cops ran up next to her and fought alongside her, she’d remember that sort of thing. Instead…boom? And off they go? The stronger ones who survive wake up alone, in a strange place, essentially kidnapped, injured, and under the thumb of a dictatorial regime that doesn’t place any value on their captures as fully voiced, fully capable human beings.

The wards are just there to keep the officers happy, sez “we have to do this for the greater good” Dawn.

Ew. Which would mean they’re not just opportunists, they’re predators. 

Seriously, the people are the monsters in this joint.

And if Carol dies, we riot. #TeamCarol

See you next week!

To play you out, here’s a little “Jamaica Ska” from Back to the Beach. To lighten the mood a bit. You know. Kind of a pick-me-up.

Separated at Birth: Andrew McCarthy and…

OK, so. George and I were channel surfing, and in a fit of kitsch-fueled crapgasm, we stopped on a Hallmark Channel movie (don’t judge). This particular one stars Andrew McCarthy, whose clout peaked in 1986 with his role as Blaine in Pretty in Pink.

I love this scene. I still love this movie, though really, people, you and I both know that Andie totally should have chosen Duckie. And I digress.

George looked at the TV screen and said, “Oh, man. That guy. I never could stand his sort of sad-sack, hangdog look.”

And you know, ten thousand years ago, waaaay back in 1986, I, like, totally thought Andrew McCarthy was, like, totally super-cute ‘n’ stuff. But you know, he does look sort of depressive. World-weary. A little glum.

For real, people. He totally looks like Droopy Dog.

Andrew McCarthy

Hello, all you happy people. You know what? I’m the hero.

 

He even kind of sounds like him.

So much for any nostalgia-fueled ’80s fest.

Separated at Birth: Antonio Banderas and Ricky Gervais

And so, I have reached that surreal moment in my life when I have come to realize that the blisteringly hot international sex symbol Antonio Banderas, and kind of adorable but I wouldn’t say blistering international comedian Ricky Gervais...

Look a lot alike.

Banderas on the left, Gervais on the right.

Banderas on the left, Gervais on the right.

Mind = blown.

I’m not sure what to make of this.

And how is your day?

Image of Antonio Banderas from time.com

Image of Ricky Gervais from zap2it.com

The Walking Dead, S 5, Ep. 5: Self Help

SPOILERS.

A BIG  SPOILER, ACTUALLY, IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY WATCHED THE EPISODE (and/or read the graphic novel).

SO, YOU KNOW. SPOILERS. SPOILRRRRR. JUST CALL ME SPOILY McSPOILINGTON.

OK, so.

Here we are.

Episode five, season five jumps quickly to Abe in flashback, beating a man to death in a grocery store, with a lethal can of beans in his hands. The camera travels through the grocery store, which is littered with Abe-fueled death. We don’t know who these people are, or why Abe has snapped a tether. And we don’t really find out. We just know it has something to do with his family, and he has smote relentless death unto his fellow man.

Abe Ford, at the end of a very bad day.

Abe Ford, at the end of a very bad day.

And herein lies my MAAAAAJOR problem with this episode. It wasn’t the acting. I thought the acting was perfectly fine. Or the directing. I mean, the production values were generally as high as ever. But I thought the writing was sorely…sorely…lacking.

For those of you who don’t read the graphic novel and weren’t able to infer what was going on from Abe’s flashbacks, in the early days post-apocalypse, Abe and his wife and family had joined up with a group of survivors, all neighbors, all people he’d known for years and had barbeques and watched football with on Sunday afternoons. People you know and trust, right? So. He was out on a supply run and when he came back, discovered that his wife and daughter had been raped by his friends and neighbors. Boom. He snapped, and went all Skullcrusher. His relentless violence freaked his family out so much that they fled from him, figuring they’d take their chances in the great wide world. Which, of course, was a terrible decision, and led to them getting eaten by zombies.

Since I don’t read the graphic novel I’m sure you’re wondering, how do I know this?

They explained it all on The Talking Dead. Which I watch all the time and enjoy very much indeed, but–let’s face it–it shouldn’t be up to host and stand up comic Chris Hardwick to deliver relevant plot points from the TV show unto the viewers. Not that I don’t like Chris Hardwick; I do. He’s funny. He’s smart. And I’m not saying I needed to see a rape scene to make it clear to me what happened. But it shouldn’t have been Chris Hardwick’s job to get me that information. 

Anyway. Back to the show.

Aside from Abe’s backstory, the other significant plot point in this episode is that Eugene finally outs himself as a fraud (well, duh). Abe, obsessively single-minded in his purpose, launches himself into a vicious fight with Glenn over the next leg of their mission to get Eugene to DC so he could stop this whole apocalypse thing.

I AM SO ANGRY!

I AM SO ANGRY!

Eugene has been trying to cockblock the mission to DC for a while. Remember when he shot their old truck and rendered it unusable? Or when he convinced Abe and Rosita that they should help Glenn find Maggie? Or when he tried to get the group to stay with Rick Nation in the church? In this episode, he told Tara that he put glass in the fuel line of the bus they were in, so it wouldn’t run. Eventually, it seems a conscience has worked its way into Eugene’s mental mechanism and at last he’s done with the fighting and the lying and trying to figure out more ways to derail their DC jaunt. When Abe and Glenn get ready to come to blows (and seriously, they’re about to go at it, hammer and tongs) over the direction the DC crew should take, Eugene finally (FINALLY) yells, “I’m not a scientist! I’m not a scientist! I lied…I don’t know how to stop it…”

*cue the sound of a needle scratching across a record*

So. All the emotional investment Abe had put into Eugene was for naught, and the mission to get Eugene to DC–the only thing that propelled Abe forward–was pointless. Subsequently, Abe was pointless. And as a result, Abe saw it fitting to nearly beat Eugene to death, so much so that Rosita actually stepped between Abe and Eugene, hand on her pistol, ready to shoot if Abe made one more move toward him.

Hold on a second, there, Killer.

Hold on a second, there, Killer.

Even Rosita–who I don’t think has said more than a few words in any given episode, before this–now has a sense depth and a personal moral code. But as far as Abe goes, writers, you let me down. Abe remains one-dimensional. He’s a military guy and he’s been written as that thick-necked military guy who’s only got one move, which is HULKSMASH.

Image from rap.genius.com

Image from rap.genius.com

If they’d explained more successfully why Abe flipped a switch in the grocery store, or made him less likely to want to beat up Glenn or practically kill Eugene, then you know. OK. We all have bad days, but are complicated creatures underneath. I mean, even the Hulk suffered melancholic internal struggles.

Maybe some of the flashback was supposed to cover Abe’s emotional turmoil but again…it didn’t translate as well as I would have liked.

So. What’s going to happen now?

I would imagine Glenn and Maggie will turn around to try and rejoin Rick Nation. Why hang out with the dangerous, meathook-wielding borderline psychopath when hanging out with the cooler, more calculating, machete-wielding Ricktator is an option?

I’m pretty sure Eugene wasn’t beaten to death (largely because on The Talking Dead, Josh McDermitt–the actor who plays Eugene–was still in his Eugene hair, while in real life he’s non-mulleted and sports a kind of sandy blond hipster ‘do, and they’re in the middle of filming the second half of Season 5 now), though he certainly had his clock cleaned. I think Abe, Rosita & Eugene will also head back to Rick Nation, since what the hell else are they going to do? Abe is a man who needs direction and now doesn’t have any, and if I were the rest of his group I’d want to get away from Captain Unstable and his Flying Fists of Doom, ASAP.

As for Abe, he needs to think long and hard about what he’s about as a person and just how much he owes Eugene, whose calls for help–as we saw at the end of the episode–prevented Abe from eating a bullet. Eugene saved Abe’s life.

Abe=foreground, gun slowly coming out of his mouth. Eugene=mid-screen, barely ahead of some hungry walkers.

Abe=foreground, gun slowly coming out of his mouth. Eugene=mid-screen, barely ahead of some hungry walkers.

Particularly in the zombie apocalypse, it seems, no good deeds go unpunished.

The Walking Dead, S 5, Ep. 4: Slabtown

SPOILERS GALORE! BE FOREWARNED! ABANDON HOPE OF NON-SPOILAGE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE!

Have I made my point? Turn away, if you don’t want to know stuff.

And I’ve just completed two large projects and am currently away from my TV, so I can’t do my totally ratchet yet fun TV still photos. All images are stills culled from the vast resources of the interwebs.

Finally! Beth. Is alive. And in a hospital in Atlanta, far, farrrr away from the friends and family and life she’d gotten to know. And, boy, is she ever not having a good time.

The hospital is run by this woman, Dawn, a former police officer who assumed control after Hansen, her commanding officer, kind of lost it (so she claims) and had to be taken care of. Riiiiiiiiight. Convenient, that he “lost it” and created a power vacuum, one that Dawn (I am sure begrudgingly, with downcast eyes and somber appearance) was able to fill. Because…

…OK, look. Imma cut to the chase here. Dawn? Is the postapocalyptic, small-scale, ruling-only-one-building-instead-of-an-entire-country-sized version of a military dictator, like Josef Stalin, only without the resources of an entire country behind her.

Part Terminator, part small town cop. All Dawn.

Part Terminator, part yokel cop. All Dawn. Image from mysanantonio.com

(Hey, I was a Russian major. Stalin was the first dictator that came to mind.)

Here’s the deal:

Dawn is not afraid to use violence to manipulate others. Example: When she slaps Beth across the face the first time, they’re in a hospital room examining a patient on a gurney. Dawn tells the doctor to save said patient at all costs. Doctor says that he’s not sure if he can, the man’s injuries are severe. Dawn slaps Beth across the face, then turns to the doctor and says, “Try to grasp the stakes here.” She’s on a smaller scale so she’s not quite “I will shoot Beth and charge Maggie for the cost of the bullet”, but she’s totally willing to make Beth the doctor’s whipping girl. Emotionally, sending a bullet bill isn’t that much more of a leap.

Beth got a hurt on from Officer Dawn.

Beth got a hurt on from Officer Dawn. Image from TrashTalkTV.com

Dawn gives her officers carte blanche to do practically whatever they want, particularly with young women, in order to keep them “happy”. No, I’m not reading too much into anything. Dawn says to Beth, “The wards are nothing, they’re here to keep my officers happy.” Which begs the question: when Beth was “saved” on the side of the road (her take: I was fighting a walker, and then everything went black), was she “saved” with the intention of saving her, or was she “saved” with the intention of turning her into a sex slave? Ew.

Creepy Officer Gorman. We're glad he's dead. Image from anthonyvecch.wordpress.com

Creepy Officer Gorman. We’re glad he’s dead. Image from anthonyvecch.wordpress.com

And, Dawn has some glossy-eyed ideal of what makes up the concept of “the greater good”. Even worse, she is a self-appointed protector of said good, which creates zealotry and all sorts of justifications, as that thinking lends itself to the ends justifying the means. And the means can be anything from sex abuse to murder. So be it, right? Ick.

At the end of the show, Carol got wheeled in, seemingly unconscious, on a gurney. Her surprise appearance prevented Beth from stabbing the doctor (who, really, has it coming…some day…soooommmme…daaaaaay….) and surely getting herself killed in turn, which is a good thing. BUT. It also makes her vulnerable, because suddenly there’s someone on the inside that Beth cares about. Noah, the orderly she’d befriended, was on the successful end of their escape attempt, and Beth smiles as he runs through the fence despite her own position on the ground, handcuffed, about to be returned to the hateful Dawn and douchey doctor.

Forget your troubles, come on, get happy. Image from wtbuzz.com

Forget your troubles, come on, get happy. Image from wtbuzz.com

Why does Beth smile? Sure, Noah gets out and that’s nice and all. But mainly, she smiles because she is free. Noah can’t be used against her, Joan (another ward, who dies in the course of the show) can’t be used against her. Any actions Beth chooses to engage in (like getting stabby on a doctor) can’t be taken out on anyone else, and in a dictatorial system that’s strangely liberating. 

When Carol gets rolled in? That upsets Beth’s emotional freedom. It would be nice to think they’re going to take on Dawn & Co a la “Sisters are doing it for themselves” and bust a move all Thelma and Louise style. Instead. They are now each other’s emotional hostages.

Thanks for nothing, Carol! Image from www.craveonline.com

Thanks for nothing, Carol! Image from http://www.craveonline.com

So, who does Daryl have with him, that he tells to come out of the woods? My bet is, it’s Beth’s friend Noah. And what’s going to happen? Rick Nation is going to invade Atlanta and take back their ladies, and it’s going to be an unholy bloodbath. And that’s all the time I have this week because I have to get to a hockey game. Yay!

See you all next week, when I have more time…! :) 

Here’s a little Eurythmics featuring Aretha Franklin to play you out.

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