Searching For Signal: #164 - “Big Brother” - Season 12, Episode 24

Editor’s Sad and Tragic Note: Yes, I realize that I’m a bit behind with this review. The episode actually aired Wednesday night. Well, let me qualify that. It may have aired, but it wasn’t received in all places. There was an issue.

You see, Terry and I joined our friend Tiffany at 7 Salsas in Coppell, Tx. We laughed, we drank, we made disparaging remarks about our mutual friends that are really on our nerves right now. Mid-festivities, a storm rolled in. Tiffany squealed with delight, because she has a questionable love of atmospheric disturbances. In contrast, Terry and I looked at each other with horror. “Big Brother” was set to record on the DVR, but we live in a part of town where the slightest breeze can disrupt communications with the outside world. We crossed our fingers and ordered another round.

Later that evening, we sallied forth to the home front, and the finger-crossing proved fruitless. The recording of “Big Brother” went splendidly well for the first two minutes. Then we began seeing odd pixilation, with House Guests looking like Picasso paintings. Then the whole episode leapt ahead 35 minutes, evidence of a dead zone where the satellite signal went askance. Well, there was no point in watching just the final moments of the show, especially from a blogging perspective, so we had no choice but to watch the full episode online at a later time.

This meant a delay in both the viewing and the posting. Neither of us can watch such things while at work, so we had to wait until Thursday evening when we both got home. We did our duty, and I took copious notes. Then we raced into the den to watch Thursday’s new episode, only to find that the un-thoughtful local CBS affiliate had decided to run the show on theirs sister station. The DVR is not set up to record from the sister station. Why would we think to record on the sister station? It’s supposed to be on the regular station.

So anyway, we have no idea what happened on tonight’s episode. We don’t know who went home. All we know is what happened Wednesday night. So the following review, already dated and musty, must suffice for now. Please accept my humble regrets and apologies. I’ll review Thursday’s episode as soon as possible.

We start out with the standard review of the last few episodes. The Brigade, populated as it is by the dimmer bulbs in the string of Christmas lights, doesn’t really understand what is going on but is firmly convinced that they have this thing in the bag. Britney still seems to think that she is appearing on her own talk show. And Ragan cries.

Series of Diary Room confessions.

Hayden: “The Brigade is right on schedule! I’m in the final four!” (Dude, anything can happen at this point. You are not in the final four until that fifth person is securely out of the house and playing patty cake with Julie.)

Lane: “It’s time for Ragan to go home.” (That’s right, send home the one guy who has some compassion. Hayden and Enzo are completely unaware that anybody else exists in the planet.)

Enzo: “I don’t understand.” (Of course not. Your self-appointed nickname consists of animal noises. Why would we expect any more out of you?)

Ragan: “I’m the ultimate target!” He then looks sad and wistful.

Ragan and Enzo, somewhere, fussing about being nominated. Ragan continues to be sad and wistful, while Enzo is blustery and outraged. How dare they do this to him? (Easy. You suck.) Ragan in the Diary Room: Enzo’s nomination shows that he is the most expendable. Now I know where to move. Very savvy thought, kudos to Ragan. You might still have a chance if you play your cards exactly right.

Then we learn that Enzo’s week-long confinement to the penguin suit is about up. As the rest of the house claps their hands and screams “Shun!” (obviously some type of inside joke that we’re not privy to), Enzo marches out into the courtyard for the disrobing ceremony. He makes a speech that he thinks is clever and amusing, but it’s really just stupid. Then he tosses the costume aside. The only thing I get out of this experience is wondering if Enzo shaves his chest. Because that sure looks like stubble.

Ragan in the Diary Room: He’s feeling very alone, but he’s not giving up. “I have to study my butt off!” Then we have shots of him memorizing details about the game-play up to this point. And shots of him lifting weights in the courtyard. “I feel like I’m Rocky Balboa!” Not really, Ragan. Totally different thing.

Time for the Veto Competition.

People mosey out to the courtyard, and we have “Otev”, a giant clam that is singing Broadway tunes. (I am not making this up.) In this bit of madness, there are tons of CD’s scattered all over the place. Otev, because he rolls that way, is going to sing songs, with each song being about two houseguests. Once he starts warbling, the players have to race out into the fake jungle and find a CD with a title that combines the two houseguests names. If you pick the wrong CD or you are the last to find a CD, you’re out.

And off we go.

First Song: Ragan is actually the last to find his CD, but it’s the right one. Lane has found the wrong CD, and is the player eliminated. Ragan, surprised, dries his tears and prepares for another round.

Second Song: Hayden is last. He’s gone.

Third Song: Britney is last. She stomps off to the side and calls Oprah, asking her what you should do when the people on your talk show don’t cooperate.

Final Song, with just Enzo and Ragan left, which is interesting since they are the two folks on the block: When they hear the song clues, they both seem to know exactly where the required CD is located, and they thunder in the same direction. But since Ragan weighs about 3 ounces, Enzo slams into him and knocks him through the air, bobby pins flying about. Enzo grabs the right CD and makes it back to the singing clam first. He wins Veto.

Ragan, hearing the news and losing his normal demure demeanor, throws his own CD at the clam. It bounces off and dings Enzo in the head. This amuses me.

Enzo in the Diary Room: “Meow-Meow is starting to play!” (Really? Five people left and NOW you’re starting?)

Later, Enzo tries to go talk to Ragan, who is holed up in the Daybed Room, clutching his pearls. Ragan wants none of it, because you shouldn’t seek conversation with divas who are experiencing personal tragedy, and muttering “Leave me alone!”

Ragan in the Diary Room: “I’m helpless. I’m in the worst possible position.” Then we have several shots of him about the house, looking forlorn and unwashed.

Lane, Enzo and Britney, somewhere. Enzo is very proud of himself for winning, bellowing things about the beast being back in the house. Lane: Your win “just made up for everything!”

No, it didn’t. Enzo won because he knocked somebody down who is smaller than he is. That’s not a triumphant move. That’s an elementary-school-playground flashback.

Quick scene with Britney and Hayden. They are celebrating Enzo’s win like it’s the Second Coming. Britney: Who do you think Lane is going to put up as a replacement. Hayden: Probably me. And that’s fine.

Both of these people are lying.

Britney goes to Lane in the HOH Room. She pleads her case while Lane is preparing to get in the shower. Britney does make some valid points for keeping her, but the rest of us are distracted by the apparent fact that Lane’s pre-shower ritual is very complex. Lots of mystifying steps. Is he really that dirty? Why does he keep stepping into the shower and then back out, without really doing anything?

Enzo and Hayden. They are babbling about actually keeping Ragan for now, and back-dooring Britney to quash her hold on Lane. Oh?

Then we learn about Punishment #2, the second fallout from Lane getting gaga over the money tree in Pandora’s room. For the next 12 hours, the house guests have to use sock puppets whenever they speak. If anyone fails to do this, everyone will be on slop for a week. So then we proceed to several sequences of people holding the sock puppets up whilst they speak.

Of course, we see Ragan lying about the house in various states of swoon, limply waving his puppet about to indicate that he is crying. Then we have Britney, Enzo, and Lane in the HOH Room. Basically they are talking about golf, and the fact that Enzo has no clue on how the game works. Normally boring, but they have to use the sock puppets, which puts a fun spin on things. And then the producers start blurring out Enzo’s puppet every time he cusses.

I rolled. It’s the little things that get me.

Next we have Britney getting fed up with the condition of the house. Apparently, Kathy and Brendon were the only two house guests who even bothered to pick things up. Now the place is a sty. So Britney wheels in a giant garbage can and starts throwing out expired food products in the kitchen. Within seconds, the bin is full. These people are just nasty. And on national TV to boot. There’s simply no shame in the BB house.

And we learn about Punishment #3. For the next 12 hours, any time that the house guests hear music, they have to dance until the music ends. This is actually very funny, with shots of house guests leaping out of bed or bounding out of the hot tub, doing pathetic dance moves every so often. The winner in this mess is Enzo channeling “Saturday Night Fever” while he’s in the shower.

Lane and Hayden in the courtyard. Lane: Are you okay with going up? Hayden: Not necessarily. Lane: I really don’t trust Enzo. Hayden looks at Lane as if both of them just passed gas. (Lane in the Diary Room: He actually figures out that Hayden and Enzo might be trying to angle for Britney going home. I’m stunned. He did this on his own? No cue cards?)

Lane and Britney in the HOH Room, babbling about who should go up on the block. Britney: “You guys might turn on me. You like Hayden better.” Lane looks very confused, but this is normal, so we really don’t pay attention. Britney: “If you take Hayden to the Final Two, he’ll win.” (Very good point. Hayden has some mystical lock on the house guests, apparently based solely on his hair, which is a perfect analogy to the current state of American politics.) Amazingly, Lane seems to be listening to Britney’s very valid points.

Lane in the Diary Room: “I might want to take Britney to the Final Two with me.” Then one of the cameramen, bored, makes a mooing noise, and Lane instantly races off to hog-tie something and throw his hands in the air.

And we have Enzo, staring at the House Guest wall, which is very sparse by now, pretending to decide how he should use his Power of Veto. This is totally bogus, because of COURSE he’s going to use it on himself, but the BB producers insist on the little charade.

Which leads to more Diary Room confessions.

Enzo: “I hope that Lane puts up Britney.” (Then he fondles his jewels. Perhaps someday, in a different context, a clinical doctor can explain to all of us why New Jersey males have an incessant need to grope themselves. Is this why that one governor of theirs resigned?)

Hayden: “Deals could be struck, and I could go home.” (Then he blankly looks off to the side, because he has no idea what he just said. It’s the hair. With follicles that deep, there’s going to be thought-process obstructions.)

Britney: “I can see Hayden and Enzo trying to get me out of the house.” (True. And I can also see Hayden and Enzo standing in unemployment lines in their future. But that’s just me.)

Time for the Veto Ceremony.

Enzo removes himself, natch.

Lane: “I couldn’t ask for better people” to still be here at this point. Yes, you could. I would ask. Repeatedly. “I have mad respect” for the person I am nominating as a replacement.

And he fingers Hayden.

Wow.

Final series of Diary Room confessions.

Hayden: “I will do anything I have to do.” (Because you’ve been SO triumphant with the competitions so far. Good luck with that.)

Britney: “I’m SO excited.” (Then her stylist rushes onstage, because there’s a tiny smidge of foundation that hasn’t been blended well with the rest of her makeup. Production shuts down for three hours while a more pleasing shade of base is air-lifted in.)

Ragan: “There may be fractures” with the Brigade. I need to take advantage of that. (Suddenly rooting for Ragan, despite the tendency for crying and melodramatic poses on various furniture placed about the house.)

Lane: “Maybe my best chance is Britney next to me” in the Final Two. (Then he hears another cow mooing, and his focus is totally destroyed.)

Roll end credits.

10 Types of People That Should No Longer Be Allowed in the Local Supermarket

1. The people who are coupon freaks.

  Okay, I’m all about saving money. Go team. But there’s a limit to everything. And that means you, crazed woman in front of me with enough little slips of paper that I expect election results to come over the store intercom. The poor cashier has to pull over a chair, because we’re all going to be here a while as she scans hundreds of rectangles. This is when you need Wi-Fi at the checkout counter, so I can stream “Gone with the Wind” while this mess is going on.

  Seriously, do you really need five different kinds of pickles? If you consume all that salt, you are going to be flat-lining in the ER within a week. And what about the low-fat soy squash substitute? You can’t do anything with that. The air freshener that is programmed to squirt any time it senses a flushing toilet in a 4-block radius? The multi-vitamins designed specifically for “37-year-old mixed-race female sumo wrestlers with hypertension and a folic acid deficiency”? You’re 65 and haven’t wrestled anything, ever.

  Here’s a news flash: Just because there’s a coupon for something in your Sunday paper, it does not mean that you need or even can use the advertised product. I don’t care that you can save twenty cents. If you’re never going to use it, you just wasted the rest of the purchase price. This is why you end up confused when you pay bills every month, wondering how your grocery tab is higher even though you faithfully used coupons. Because you bought a family-size jar of multi-grain cheese spread even though you can’t stomach dairy or have a family. Because it was “Buy one get one free!”, you now have a set of bookends.

  And another tip: All that time you spent searching and reviewing and cutting and clipping the coupons out? The hours and hours spent falling into the evil clutches of false promise based on the expectation that if you just BUY this thing you don’t really need, or at least you don’t need ten of them, your life will be instantly better. If you had spent that time out in the backyard, growing your own food, you wouldn’t need the coupons OR the money. Buy some seeds.

2. The people who are cheating coupon freaks.

  The jerks who think it’s okay to sandwich coupons for items they didn’t buy in between coupons for things that are actually in their basket. This used to be a fairly lucrative deceptive practice back in the day, when management had to depend on tired, overworked cashiers to stare and compare between the coupons and the actual purchases, which is an iffy proposition with some of these workers. (It’s hard to concentrate on fiscal concerns when you’re just trying to figure out who might be the father of your children.)

  But now it’s all computerized, Lying Lisa. The register is going to make an alarming noise if the listless cashier drags a coupon across the scanner that does not find a match. It beeps, people. Quite loudly. An angry emoticon will appear on the display. You have been caught and we all know it. Take your bogus coupons back and shut up.

  Don’t stand there and try to claim that you really did buy something that you did not, pretending to dig through your plastic sacks (when you should have asked for paper, another sign that you are an evil person), looking for something that you know is not there. You bought some premium steaks? Really? I didn’t notice those in the midst of your 40 cans of cat food. The fondue set? I only saw flour and eggs. Perhaps you were planning to go home and create this set in your oven kiln, and simply got confused.

  Sadly, some of the cashiers, fed up with life and the bitterness of nowhere jobs, will do a manual override and credit the customer just so they will shut up. This causes hate transference. I now want the cashier to suffer painfully. Meanwhile, Moral-less Mary gets away with her crimes and is free to wreak the same havoc on her next visit.

3. The sloth people who have an ad circular from 2007.

   They don’t want to listen to the increasingly impatient store clerks who are trying to explain that the item in question hasn’t been on sale since we had a different President in office. They wave around the wrinkled, stained flyer, bellowing about it being “right here on page 3!” Well, yes, it is indeed there. And it’s been there a very long time. See this date on the back? That’s when the sale ended. For you, that was probably two husbands ago.

  Well, they are NOT going to give in, resorting to lies and falsehoods. “I just got this out of the paper two days ago!” Uh huh. We’re supposed to believe that a three-year-old sales flyer fell off a shelf in the newspaper printing plant and happened to land right there in your paper. Happens all the time. Say, did you see these products on this page over here? They don’t even make them anymore.

4. The people who can’t wait until they get home.

  What in the HELL did you just do in that bathroom? Good God, are they going to find all the villagers years from now, our bones fossilized in volcanic ash?

5. The people who can’t close doors.

  Quick training session: Over here, ladies and gentlemen, we have the frozen food section. Notice how they have nice, pretty glass doors? The kind you can look through? Guess what? That’s so you can review the selection while the door is closed, and THEN open it when you’re ready to snatch something up and slam the door again. The intention is not for you to open the door and just stand there, overcome with confusion and loss of direction. With me so far?

  And why do we not want you to do that? Well, there’s the business of you letting all that helpful cold air escape into the stratosphere. Makes the electric bills go up, and down the line you will pay more for your bean dip. But more importantly? Your worthlessness is causing frost to build up on the doors, and now NO ONE can see what’s inside without opening the door, and eventually the temperature inside and outside the case will be the same. It is no longer the Freezer Section. It is now the Lukewarm Section, with sogginess.

  This makes people crazy, because their pizzas will now taste funny.

  And yet you are surprised when you walk back by and someone has scribbled in the frost “Kill the woman in the fuchsia leggings. Hate her.”

6. The people who use the motorized shopping carts when they don’t really need them.

  Again, in and of itself, the motorized carts are fine and wonderful things, improving access and mobility for people who might be otherwise challenged. All for it. Not for? The lazy people who snag one of these things because they aren’t motivated to do any physical labor, like the kind that is required when you actually walk to the pork rind display.

  You know these people are faking it, not even bothering to breathe heavily or have any use for a cane prior to walking into the store. They hop onto the contraptions with surprising agility, speeding away and tooting that damn horn that scares the hell out of the non-lazy, productive members of society.

  Speaking of the horn, we do have a subset of motorized-vehicle users with anger management issues. They may or may not have actual disabilities, it’s really not important. What’s critical is that they are pissed off at the entire world. They will purposely try to run you down, just because they can. And those carts are fast these days. You can be innocently comparing hand soaps, and the next thing you know your ass is in cosmetics and something is bleeding.

  And I understand that carts can perform differently, but it’s basically the same concept. If you can’t quickly figure out how to drive something, you shouldn’t be on it. If you are running into things, you are doing it wrong. If you can’t reverse direction with a simple three-point turn in an aisle, then stop trying. Find a main thoroughfare where there is more room, or just go home.

7. The people who don’t put things back where they found them.

  Why is there a box of tampons shoved in between the green beans and the pinto beans?

8. The people who are mystified by choice.

  There should be a time-limit in every aisle. If you can’t decide between the flour tortillas and the whole-wheat tortillas within 30 seconds, a bell should ring and you should be forced to wait in a special time-out zone until you’ve made a decision. Flummoxed by the varied potato chip selections? Time-out zone. Overwhelmed by the number of ingredients that can be used in hot dogs? Find a Wi-Fi spot and figure it out. Bottom line, if you can’t make a quick decision, you are stopping the progress of humanity.

9. The people who come in here drunk.

  Seriously, you’ve knocked back a few, and for entertainment you pile in the truck and head to Target? Belching and staggering around, fascinated by the blur of lights and colors. And of course, people in this state have never made proper clothing choices. Butt-cracks and flip-flops seem to be defining couture guidelines. Oh, and body odor is the designer fragrance. This is truly the shining pinnacle of American society.

10.  The people who talk when they are not actually requiring medical assistance.

  I don’t know you. At all. Why are you compelled to talk to me? Do I look like your therapist? Is there anything, anywhere on my body, the tiniest sign, that indicates I might care about your life experiences and the decisions you’ve made about such?

  Let me answer that for you. No.

  Do not come near me with your vocal cords engaged. Do not assume that I am invested in anything that you might have to share. I have pepper spray. And I’m pretty sure I can find a shotgun in that truck of drunk rednecks that just pulled up outside.

  Thank you for shopping your local Wal-Mart.

Oak Cliff Confidential: Chapter 28

  Sharon wondered if she would ever get away from the constant reminders that she had once done questionable things with a giant zucchini. Why couldn’t people just move on?

  “Did you hear me?” asked Ruby. “Still there? Need to get back to work. You comin’ down tonight or no?”

  Sharon shook off the memory of leg warmers, torn sweatshirts and Duran Duran music. “I’m sorry, Ruby. Having a bit of a flashback. Um, give me just two seconds and I’ll be right back with you, I know you’re busy.” Sharon lowered the phone and surveyed the scene.

  April was now wearing just her panties, and riding on Alejandro’s back as he crawled around on all fours and snarled at Raz and Theresa, who were pretending to be prehistoric handmaidens cowering in a cave and dealing with unwelcome beasts attracted by their campfire. This was really getting out of control. “Excuse me,” said Sharon. “Could we focus for a minute?”

  Alejandro leapt to his feet, apparently forgetting his clothing-optional occupant, and April once again flew through the air, ricocheting off a sturdy console table and slamming into the wall. “My bad,” said Alejandro to Sharon. “Got a little carried away. I’m all yours now, as always.”

  Sharon just looked at him. “This is probably a stupid question, but are you in any condition to drive?”

  Alejandro nodded vigorously. “I’m totally good. Never been better. Where do you want to go? Brazil?”

  Sharon sighed (I forget the total number of sighs at this point, just go with it). “That pretty much answers my question. You’re looped. Okay, keep playing your reindeer games and we’ll figure out how to get home later.”

  From her crumpled position up against the wall, April had her own question. “Allie, if you’re done talking to Tight Ass over there, can you help me out? My damn leg’s in the wrong place again. Probably should see somebody about that.”

  Sharon raised the phone again. “Ruby? Thanks for waiting. Looks like we won’t make it tonight. Maybe tomorrow? Will you be there?”

  Another ding of the spittoon. “Yep. Always am. Ya gotta do things to make money. But you know, tomorrow’s better anyway. Them Wiccans will be up in here. Maybe you can talk to them and figure out whatever the hell it is you’re trying to figure out.”

  “Oh?” considered Sharon. “Are they having a meeting? What time?”

  Sounds of shuffling paper. “Party of nineteen. Back room. Eight o’clock. Vegetarian. Say, that sister of mine still eatin’ that vegan crap?”

  Sharon glanced through the doorway into the kitchen, empty bags from the Spiral Diner tossed about. “Well, you could say that. We had some tonight. It was very good, though.”

  “Figures,” muttered Ruby. “That girl never does anything half-ass. She gives up meat, she gives it up all the way around. Anyhoo, I think something’s on fire behind me, probly oughta check that out. See ya tomorrow. Eight sharp.” Before the line went dead, Sharon heard Ruby asking Bessie if she had a stick up her ass or what.

  Sharon closed her phone.

  Alejandro was still standing there, expectant.

  Sharon waved her hand. “Go put Humpty back together again. We are now officially here for the beer and nothing else.”

  Alejandro scurried to assist April, who was now talking to a new batch of dust bunnies located under a china hutch.

  Sharon glanced at Theresa, who was clearly engaged in a passionate lip-lock with Raz. Apparently reenacting the exploits of primitive mankind was somehow arousing. Sharon waited patiently until they came up for air.

  Once they did, Theresa, wiping saliva off her face, turned to Sharon. “Oh. You’re still here. We thought you were going to the diner. Sorry.”

  “No problem at all,” said Sharon, even though it sort of was. No one likes to see that other people have compatible sexual partners. It’s irritating. Anyway. “Can we talk about the first fire at the soda shoppe? Or would you prefer that we leave, so that one of you can successfully locate the other’s tonsils?”

  Theresa laughed. “Oh, please. We have sex all the time. No big. Now. What’s up?”

  Sharon took another swig of her happy lemonade. “Well, why does that building keep burning? Ruby said it’s happened a bunch of times. Apparently I don’t watch the news, because I didn’t know this, but still.”

  Raz cleared her throat, which was probably clogged with Theresa backwash. “Yeah, it is kind of weird. All those fires. And people end up selling. But hey, it means I got a good deal when Ruby and I bought it. Cheap.” Then she glanced at Theresa, and both of their eyes lit up with frenzied lust over the mention of the word “fire”. And maybe “cheap”.

  Sharon held up her hand. “No, please, enough with the tonguing. Theresa, Ruby also said that some waitress named Delta Jo said that-”

  “We LOVE Delta Jo!” exclaimed Theresa. “She is so sweet. A little simple, but who wouldn’t be after standing on their feet for 60 years? She does this one thing where-”

  Sharon interrupted. “I don’t care about Delta Jo’s talents, whatever they may be. This is about me. All eyes on me. Delta Jo said that the first fire was in 1985. Right at the time of the Zucchini Festival. I don’t remember that. Why would I not remember that?”

  Theresa suddenly seemed to be a bit nervous. “What DO you remember about that night?”

  Sharon pondered. “Well, I remember going to the festival, with Trainsley. And I was still mad that YOU had flirted with him that afternoon.”

  Theresa turned to Raz. “That was a long time ago, sweetie. I haven't wanted steak in a long time. I know you worry about that.”

  Raz, obviously still worrying, chose to study one of her sandals and not make an immediate comment. There would be discussions later. And probably accusations. These things happen. Theresa turned back to Sharon. “And you remember what happened to my pig? Brian?”

  Sharon nodded, her heart suddenly pounding. “Yes, I remember that.”

  Theresa nodded as well. “I always blamed you. You know that, right? Just being honest.”

  Sharon shook her head. “But it wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. I spent the whole time with Trainsley. I couldn’t possibly have… Oh my God, you blamed me?”

  Theresa nodded again. “Why wouldn’t I? You were so mad, thinking I wanted your boyfriend, when I was just trying to get your attention. And you didn’t spend the whole time with Trainsley. Remember? Because you walked up on us when he was flirting with me. And you got even madder.”

  Sharon’s head was spinning. Why didn’t she remember this part? How do you forget something major that apparently happened? And how major was it? Sharon felt sweat break out on her forehead. She looked at Alejandro. “Honey, go get Momma’s pills. We might be having an anxiety attack. Now!”

  Alejandro sped out the door.

  April and her perky breasts hobbled around the corner of the sofa, eyeing Sharon suspiciously. “I know that look. You done something bad. And from the way you’re about to snap the arm off that chair, it was pretty serious.” April plopped down on the sofa. “So spill.”

  All eyes turned toward Sharon.


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