The L Word recap: Light My Fire (season 3, episode 4)
(Original airdate: 29 January 2006)

THIS WEEK'S L WORD VOCABULARY:

• Politics: The thing this show was missing.
• Playing with fire: What everybody does, but nobody quite does right.
• Ms. Porter: She's back.
• Googling: Foreplay.
• Fingertip: The incredibly erogenous zone.

THIS WEEK'S GUEST-BIANS: Alan Cumming tells it like it is; Dana Delany gets so so close to the holy grail; Alexandra Hedison makes me say "Portia who?"; Billie Jean King represents.

The warnings — Have you noticed that we almost never get all the warnings? It's always TV-MA, but usually for just a few reasons. Queer as Folk managed to hit four most of the time, and sometimes five. Three is just kind of mediocre. This show is all mouth and no trousers.

The circle of anti-life — Some Catholics are talking about the eternal fire of damnation that is the special province of homosexuals. I dunno; I've always wondered about that. I mean, everything gets old eventually, and pain tends to dull the longer you bear it. If you were stuck in eternal flames, wouldn't you eventually shrug and roast marshmallows? The same goes for the heavenly chorus: all that lightness and joy would become so much wallpaper and you'd dream of an earthly night with a Ramones album and a nice big spliff.

Anyway, one of the women (with her 1984 hair that actually isn't even cool by 1984 standards) is in the Catholic circle because she wants to get over her gay-ness. I guess I didn't realize there were "ex-gay" groups in 1984; I thought that was a more recent monstrosity. And I thought maybe the Baptists would be the first ones to form the anti-gay circles, not the Catholics. Never mind: the point is that now we're in a bed, and the one with the hair (Agatha) is the nun from last week, and is now making out with a rather pretty young thing, as well as a guy named Frank who seems to have gone from gay to omnivorous. "It's better than hell's fire," says the pretty young thing. What kind of a recommendation is that? I mean, you could say that about sex with a beet. Or, since it's a threesome, a beet and a parsnip.

A shocking admission — There's something I like about the theme song. One thing. Or two. The drums and the bass. Okay, I'm done.

The bonfire of the vanities — Jenny is burning her book. Yes. Pages and pages of Schecter synecdoche are succumbing to the sweet sizzly flames. Listen to them crackle and crinkle! Oh, and the title of the book is Some of Her Parts, which is sorta clever but mostly not.

Look at Jenny's glasses. She's the queen of the uncool oculars. These are not as bad as those owl things she used to wear, but they're still off-putting.

Moira shows up and says "I hope you backed that up on your hard drive." Now we know she's not really a geek: a geek would just say "I hope you backed that up." Or "good thing you, like most wise computer users, do a weekly backup." I mean, really, who says "hard drive" nowadays? So uncool.

Apparently Moira has been gone all night. Jenny's not happy about it.

Jenny: "Where the fuck were you?"
Moira: "I was hangin' out at the beach. Look, I was like sleeping in my truck; you know, trying to figure out what I'm doing here in L.A."
Jenny: "What are you doing here in L.A.?"
Moira: "I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing anywhere. I don't know who I am anymore, actually."
Jenny: "You know what? Nobody knows who they are. You know? That's what life is about. You walk through life, and you try to figure it out. And you probably won't figure it out.
Moira: "Seems like you know who you are."
Jenny: "Absolutely. I'm, like, I'm the picture of togetherness and sanity. You know, I thought that I was supposed to be a writer. And I'm this fuckin' loser that can't even get a publisher to call them back about a stupid manuscript."

Oh no. Did Jenny just mock herself?! I don't know what I'm doing anywhere or who I am anymore.

Moira says you don't have to get published to be a good writer. From your mouth to God's ears, S/he-Ra (see footnote). Jenny's glad to hear it, because she's going to be serving coffee at The Planet. Great: would you like some pretentiousness with your praline latte?

Ooh, pause for the director credit: Lynne Stopkewich did Kissed, which is one of the best and most unsettling films I've ever seen. It's even got Peter Outerbridge in it: he was "not a fucking drag queen" in Better Than Chocolate, which brings us back to a season 3 guestbian, Anne-Marie MacDonald. This show is like a chart of Canadian film connections.

And a pause for the writer credit: Cherien Dabis had a hand in The D Word, which just goes to show that snark rules.

Moira shows her support by throwing another page on the fire. You really are my hero, S/he-Ra.

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