The most cursory examination of even the most progressive organs of
information reveals a curious inability to recognize women as
newsmakers, unless they are young or married to a head of state or
naked or pregnant by some triumph of technology or perpetrators or
victims of some hideous crime or any combination of the above. Women's
issues are often disguised as people issues, unless they are relegated
to the women's pages which amazingly still survive. Senior figures are
all male; even the few women who are deemed worthy of obituaries are
shown in images from their youth, as if the last forty years of their
lives have been without achievement of any kind. If you analyze the
by-lines in your morning paper, you will see that the senior editorial
staff are all older men, supported by a rabble of junior females, the
infinitely replaceable 'hackettes'
There are spoilers here. You should know this by now but I'll be nice and warn you anyway.
There's nothing like being in a room where the Devil is going to manifest when you close your eyes and then on a plane when you open them. It's about as fun as the moment when the pilot yells out, "Holy Crap!"
This is a tough episode. So much crap has just unfurled on the Winchesters and the world but humor is still there. Becky had me torn between laughter and being grossed out. Morethanbrothers.net. Makes me squidgy just thinking about it. Dean's strength to keep saying "no" to Zachariah even though saying yes would be easier and less painful (kind of). It would be hard not to respect the strength to hold on to your independence and free will and still go out and do the right thing.
Quotes from Sympathy for the Devil
Chuck: So...you're ok? Sam: Well, my head hurts. Chuck: No, I mean, my last vision, you went, like, full on Vader. Your body temperature was 150. Your heart rate was 200. Your eyes were black. Dean: Your eyes went black?
Chuck: Is that a molar? I have a molar in my hair. This has been a really stressful day.
Dean: You just keep your distance, asshat.
Dean: Cram it with walnuts, ugly.
Sam: Lucifer needs a meat suit?
Dean: Supernatural methadone.
Becky: And then Sam touched...no...caressed Dean's clavicle. 'This is wrong,' said Dean. 'And I don't want to be right,' replied Sam in a husky voice.
Becky: Sam, it's really you and you're so firm. Sam: Do I know you?
Sam: Uh...Becky...can you stop touching me? Becky: No.
Dean: You're kidding me. That guy looks like Cate Blanchet.
Meg: I always knew you were a dim, big, dumb, slow, pain in the ass, Dean.
Dean: Oh, thank God, the Angel's are here.
Zachariah: It's you, chucklehead. You're the Michael sword.
Zachariah: What? You actually thought you could kill Lucifer, you simpering wad of insecurity and self loathing? No, you're just human, Dean, and not much of one.
Dean: Oh yeah, life as an angel condom. That's real fun.
Zachariah: How are you... Castiel: Alive? That's a good question. How'd these two end up on the airplane? Another good question because the angel's didn't do it. I think be both know the answer, don't we?
Bobby: Unlikely to walk? You snot nosed son of a bitch! Wait until I get out of this bed. I'll use my game leg to kick your fricking ass. Yeah, you better run.
Dean: What if we win? I'm serious. I mean, screw the angels and the demons and their crap apocalypse. Now they want to fight a war? They can find their own planet. This one's ours and I say they get the hell off it. We take them all on. We kill the devil. Hell, we even kill Michael if we have to but we do it our own damn selves. Bobby: And how we supposed to do all this, genius? Dean:I got no idea. What I do have is a GED and a give 'em hell attitude and I'll figure it out. Bobby: You are nine kinds of crazy, boy. Dean: It's been said.
Dean: I tried, Sammy. Man, I really tried, but I just can't keep pretending everything's all right because it's not and it's never going to be. You chose a demon over your own brother and look what happened. Sam: I would give anything, anything, to take it all back. Dean: I know you would and I know how sorry you are, I do, but man, you were the one that I depended on the most and you let me down in ways I can't even...I'm just...I'm having a hard time forgiving and forgetting here, you know? Sam: What can I do? Dean: Honestly? Nothing. I just don't...I don't' think we can ever be what we were, you know? I just don't think I can trust you.
We, who are so schooled in the art of listening to the voices of
others, can often hear our own voice only when we are alone. . . For
many women, the first choice, then, is to give ourselves the necessary
time and space in which to renew our acquaintance with our lost voice,
to learn to recognize it, and to rejoice as we hear it express our