Review: Heroes, Episode 7, Season 3

The twists and turns in Heroes had been known to give its viewers headaches, but this season is bound to give them migraines. It also feels like the series is back to it’s full former glory, which was slightly tainted during season 2. Actually, I’d like to correct myself: I think that Season 3 of Heroes just might be better than Season 1. I’ll let you know when the season is over, the DVD is out and I have watched it, oh, say, five or six times?

A couple of noteworthy points:

The fact that Claire might be losing not only her physical sensitivity (as demonstrated by her inability to feel pain) but that she might be also losing her emotional ability explains how she had become, in the future we saw earlier this season, a killer with no remorse. While most people would love to have her ability – imagine, healing and feeling no pain! – it’s a heads up to her upbringing that Claire is fighting to keep her humanity. Hayden’s great portrayal of Claire Bennett makes it all the more poignant (has anyone else noticed how Claire’s eyes seem dead, except for rarer and rarer moments of ‘humanity’?).

I feel sorry for poor Sylar, being manipulated by all those whose acceptance he craves. It might be that at the end of the day, only one person will stand by him: Peter. Sylar’s mother might be using him, and so might his father. If he had been normal up to now, he would probably have gone a little loco after this. Makes you wonder how, in the alternate future we saw earlier during the season (the same one with Claire-the-killing-machine Bennett), Sylar managed to become so, well, nice. It can’t be only because of the love he had for his son – which reminds me of some more questions: who was the mother of that child, and why was his name Noah?

And I finally figured out that the ‘African Man’ has a name, and it’s Usutu! Yay! Now if only they would specify where ‘Somewhere in Africa’ is…

Chronicles of a sprained ankle: the case of the ’stolen’ eggs

Everything is so much more complicated when one is on crutches. For example, I went to buy eggs today. As I hobbled into the grocery store, I realized that I hadn’t thought out how I would bring the eggs to the cash. So I took a plastic bag from the front, thinking that I would be able to attach it tightly enough to one of my crutches to hobble my way back to the front.

Yeah, right. I won’t go into the details, but no, it didn’t work. Plus, someone had to put the eggs at the furthest possible point in the grocery store, so by the time I got there, I was a little out of breath (I was in a hurry and going as fast as I could).

Since I have been carrying around a messenger bag since the day I was condemned to use crutches, there seemed only one solution: to put the eggs in the messenger bag. But I didn’t want to be accused of stealing. So I stood there for a couple of minutes and when I finally spotted one of the employees, I smiled at him and motioned him over.

“Hi! I just wanted to tell you that I am going to put eggs in my bag to take them to the cash and pay for them.”

His response? He started laughing and told me that were a security guard accuse me of shoplifting eggs, he would vouch for my innocence.

So off I went, all the way back to the front, a little slower than before (I didn’t want to pay for scrambled eggs), thinking midway that the employee could have offered to take the eggs for me to the cash instead of me suffering from intense tachycardia at the thought of going to jail for something I never intended to do. But in the end, it was worth the look on the cashiers face. She watches me approaching and then stopping.

“Hi,” I smile at her, reaching for my bag.

Her face was a mixture of “What the heck?” and “Poor girl” with a dash of “Is she a psych ward escapee?”. I pulled the eggs out of my bag; at this point I should mention that I had already put them in the plastic bag, too.

“Returns are over there,” she said, pointing behind her.

Are you kidding me? I couldn’t help it – I started laughing. “No, I’m not here to return eggs” (seriously, do people even do that?). “I had to put them in my bag to carry them all the way here. I swear, I didn’t intend to steal them and I have nothing else in my bag.”

The poor girl had probably been working for awhile, because she just stood there blinking at me, totally lost. Thankfully, the client behind me had a sense of humor and started teasing me about pretending to have a sprained ankle, and the incident finished with me sitting in my car laughing for a good couple of minutes.

I’m about to head out again – let’s see if anything else happens to me.

Another day, yet another question

So I’ve been wondering (surprise, surprise). Am I the only one that seems to think that we live in a society in which we are wired to worry? It sometimes feels like worrying has become a sport. Although the mental image associated with an Olympic event of worrying is quite amusing, the reality isn’t quite the same.

It reminds me also of the fact that it sometimes feel like we live in a society that is proud of being tired. The more tired you are, the better of a person you are: it means that you are working hard and deserve success – or, if you don’t have success, that life just isn’t fair. If you aren’t tired it means that you are not working hard enough, and that the success you do have isn’t deserved – or, if you are not successful, that you deserve to be unsuccessful.

Speaking of which, where are my Wake-ups?