Ravi is, quite honestly, not being very helpful. He's still peering in one of the more reflective pieces of glass as he moves his hair this way and that, trying to determine if his home being struck by lightning has caused a rather permanent change in the way his hair stands up. He could swear it looks different than before, but being without hair gel does make a man use whatever comes across his plate.

"I still think it's changed," he rambles, for what's the third time since he'd come by the hospital to visit Helen, "it's very 1990's," he says, judgmentally, "all I need are frosted tips and I'll fit right into a nascent boy band as the cute one."