“Rizzoli & isles” Subtext Recap (4.10): My kingdom for a kale salad

 
 

Back in the autopsy room, Maura has prepped the victim like the Thanksgiving turkey while using cutesy flowered oven mitts. He’s still 205 degrees Celsius and too hot to handle, literally. Hence, the mitts. As they wait for the body to cool, BT BT rolls into the back of the morgue to perform the car autopsy.

Now it’s Jane’s turn to tease Maura, and she grabs the meat thermometer to poke her and check for “subtle signs of sexual arousal.” Maura says he’s a very nice man with a PhD in applied physics who practices yoga, but she still prefers over-caffeinated alpha female homicide detectives.

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When next we see our lovebirds, Jane and Maura are attempting to get fingerprints from the dead man’s charred hands. Maura has–and I hope you’re not eating–pealed the skin off the fingertips and put them on her fingers. When I tell you they fit like a glove, I’m not kidding. Just then BT BT walks in. Maura ducks down to hide, because only Jane is allowed to see how she fingers. Ahem.

BT BT barges in anyway, and notices the Maura’s fingertip fingertips. He’s excited to see it in action. Jane tells him there’s always action in the crime lab, but he’s definitely not invited to watch most of it. Maura gets a usable print, but then gets distracted trying to fake flirt with BT BT. Making your girlfriend jealous is hard work, yo. Jane notices and snaps Maura back to her fingers, where they belong.

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In the café, Giovanni is eating up all of Mama Rizzoli’s spaghetti with meatballs. Jane tries to get more information about the racers out of him, but just gets a nickname for the victim’s competition. But he does manage to let slip that Dad Rizzoli, henceforth known as Cad Rizzoli, has a new lady. This earns a slap from Jane. And then he gets a slap from Mama R. And then another one from Jane, for good measure. See, now this is how the show should treat its overabundance of meatball male characters.

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In the car morgue, Maura and BT BT provide lengthy exposition about how wireless bombs are rigged and examined. All the while Maura makes eyes at her latest Beard of the Week. Fine, BT BT has a nice smile and knows technological acronyms. So what. He isn’t the reason anyone watches this show.

I think the writers’ insistence that we’re interested in Jane and Maura’s so-called romantic lives with men is beyond boneheaded. And not only because I’m a gay lady who wants them to be gay for each other. We’re interested in this show because it has two smart, funny women who work well together and banter in ways we wish we could banter with our friends/partners/loved ones. We’re here for their unique chemistry–whether perceived as gay or straight–not for their Teen Beat boy problems.

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Back on the case, Korsak and Frost meet with the victim’s parole officer who helps break the news to his family. He was “one of the good ones” which means something fishy is at play. Also I’m pretty sure something is wrong because the parole officer is still wearing the oversized collar of her blouse on the outside of her dress jacket lapels. That or we’ve stepped into a rip in the space-time continuum and traveled back to the 90s. Should I go get my oversized flannels out of storage? Oh, who are we kidding? I’m a lesbian–I still wear oversized flannels.

At the Dirty Robber, Jane and Maura are processing and eating kale salad. That’s even more gay than my flannel collection. Jane is rightfully disdainful of the thing on the salad bar that no one used to eat but is now inexplicably cool. Look, I actually like kale when it is cooked down. But raw kale? Just cut off a tree branch and chew on that, it’ll be just as hard to swallow. Just like all this beard business. Hey, maybe it’s a secret metaphor.

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Maura admonishes a whining Jane to eat her dark leafy greens and get tested because of her family’s history with cholesterol. Hey, quick question, do you know the genetic DNA family histories of any of your friends? Nope, didn’t think so. But you probably do of your girlfriend/wife, now don’t you? Just checking.

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