"You should piss Lindsay off more often."
Oh, Flack, I love you so. That line is a thing of beauty, and more importantly, it sheds some light on the Danny/Lindsay relationship from the perspective of someone close to Danny. It was intended as a joke, certainly, but it also intimates that Lindsay might be what Vince Vaughn called a "Class 1 Clinger" in Wedding Crashers. It implies that Danny hasn't socialized much recently. Whether his isolation is the result of his grief for Reuben or of his involvement with Lindsay is unclear, but it warms my heart to think of Lindsay as the human equivalent of the grabby, priapic face-hugging, life-killing chest-burster from Alien, and so I shall.
Speaking of decidedly unpleasant metamorphoses, the writers have succeeded in making the formerly likeable Reed Garrett into the stereotypically sullen, vainglorious, short-sighted douchewad. I was mildly dismayed when he presumed on his personal relationship with Mac to further his budding "journalism" career; I was markedly more unimpressed when he shamelessly thrust Mac into the untenable position at the press conference for the sake of mugging for the cameras and generating hits; I was nominating him for character kindling by the time they squabbled in the crime lab. He struck me as presumptuous and ungrateful and hopelessly naive. Unfortunately for him, it seems that naivete and Gen Y faith in the ability to change the world with the mighty keystroke has landed him in very deep and troubled waters.
And now...it's time for me to lose my metaphorical shit and caper and howl like a baboon on a strict regimen of LSD and crystal meth.
Like an anal wart on a high-priced call girl, the Danny/Lindsay phone call stuck out and was horrifically painful. Danny misses her? When has he had time to miss her between his justified grief and his ill-advised trysts with Riki? And what has he missed? The writers haven't shown her being there for Danny in any capacity. Ever. Even in "Snow Day", it was all about her. Her angst. Her woe.
That trend has continued throughout this season as well. She claims to have tried to give him space, but Flack's comment that pissing Lindsay off was a good thing implies a truth altogether different, and if she has given him space, I'd wager it was because she was butthurt and determined to punish him by withdrawing. She reminds me of a cat scraping litter over a particularly ripe turd, turning up her nose at the offending dropping and showing it her ass with feline joie de guerre.
It's always all about her. The conversation tonight provided ample proof. I can't do this. It's affecting my work and breaking my heart. Me, me, me, mine, me, mine. It's irksome and off-putting, and it boggles my mind that Danny misses someone capable of such staggering narcissism.
Then again, Danny's once strong character has been so thoroughly demolished and contorted by the writers' obsession with this deathless embarrassment that defining canon Danny is impossible. If you had told me in S2 that Danny would make a weepy, spineless, blubbering phone call, begging forgiveness from a cold fish and navel-gazing succubus like Lindsay, I'd've laughed at you hard enough to break wind. Yet there he was, groveling like a lovelorn tween. It was embarrassing, like watching your drunk relatives apologize for their shortcomings right before they piss in the potted plant or barf down the priest's cassock. Or like watching your toddler nephew reach into his diaper, pull out a fresh deposit into Le Banque Du Huggies, and proclaim it his greatest invention.
As Flack said last week, "Stop, OK? Just...stop." That scene nearly destroyed what was otherwise a solid if unremarkable episode.
B for the case, but C- for overall effect.
Oh, Flack, I love you so. That line is a thing of beauty, and more importantly, it sheds some light on the Danny/Lindsay relationship from the perspective of someone close to Danny. It was intended as a joke, certainly, but it also intimates that Lindsay might be what Vince Vaughn called a "Class 1 Clinger" in Wedding Crashers. It implies that Danny hasn't socialized much recently. Whether his isolation is the result of his grief for Reuben or of his involvement with Lindsay is unclear, but it warms my heart to think of Lindsay as the human equivalent of the grabby, priapic face-hugging, life-killing chest-burster from Alien, and so I shall.
Speaking of decidedly unpleasant metamorphoses, the writers have succeeded in making the formerly likeable Reed Garrett into the stereotypically sullen, vainglorious, short-sighted douchewad. I was mildly dismayed when he presumed on his personal relationship with Mac to further his budding "journalism" career; I was markedly more unimpressed when he shamelessly thrust Mac into the untenable position at the press conference for the sake of mugging for the cameras and generating hits; I was nominating him for character kindling by the time they squabbled in the crime lab. He struck me as presumptuous and ungrateful and hopelessly naive. Unfortunately for him, it seems that naivete and Gen Y faith in the ability to change the world with the mighty keystroke has landed him in very deep and troubled waters.
And now...it's time for me to lose my metaphorical shit and caper and howl like a baboon on a strict regimen of LSD and crystal meth.
Like an anal wart on a high-priced call girl, the Danny/Lindsay phone call stuck out and was horrifically painful. Danny misses her? When has he had time to miss her between his justified grief and his ill-advised trysts with Riki? And what has he missed? The writers haven't shown her being there for Danny in any capacity. Ever. Even in "Snow Day", it was all about her. Her angst. Her woe.
That trend has continued throughout this season as well. She claims to have tried to give him space, but Flack's comment that pissing Lindsay off was a good thing implies a truth altogether different, and if she has given him space, I'd wager it was because she was butthurt and determined to punish him by withdrawing. She reminds me of a cat scraping litter over a particularly ripe turd, turning up her nose at the offending dropping and showing it her ass with feline joie de guerre.
It's always all about her. The conversation tonight provided ample proof. I can't do this. It's affecting my work and breaking my heart. Me, me, me, mine, me, mine. It's irksome and off-putting, and it boggles my mind that Danny misses someone capable of such staggering narcissism.
Then again, Danny's once strong character has been so thoroughly demolished and contorted by the writers' obsession with this deathless embarrassment that defining canon Danny is impossible. If you had told me in S2 that Danny would make a weepy, spineless, blubbering phone call, begging forgiveness from a cold fish and navel-gazing succubus like Lindsay, I'd've laughed at you hard enough to break wind. Yet there he was, groveling like a lovelorn tween. It was embarrassing, like watching your drunk relatives apologize for their shortcomings right before they piss in the potted plant or barf down the priest's cassock. Or like watching your toddler nephew reach into his diaper, pull out a fresh deposit into Le Banque Du Huggies, and proclaim it his greatest invention.
As Flack said last week, "Stop, OK? Just...stop." That scene nearly destroyed what was otherwise a solid if unremarkable episode.
B for the case, but C- for overall effect.
