My recent re-obsession with Weeds is understandable. It’s got this impeccable grasp on people per se, the communio peccatorum, the communion of sinners, turned inwards on themselves for themselves, contorted. It ends up making us all the same in a startling way, and in a strangely comforting way, too. The introit to each episode begins with the same, eerily major-chorded song “Little Boxes,” which depicts this suburban uniformity–an unnoticed and sort of sunny-dayed sameness. And yet as the episode unveils, despite this sameness, within this communio peccatorum, there is an utterly desolate (and usually sadistically comical) individuality and isolation under each roof or “little box”. Each episode starts with the same song, and yet in the second season, as though to express the irony of its message, each episode is sung by a different artist to breathe personhood into the serial nature of it all–the one below is Engelbert Humperdinck. There is utter sameness in this communion of sinners, and yet a particular personhood calling for some form of particular mediation.