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Things are going well for Luke and Lorelai. Or at least for Lorelai, which is really all that matters. Norman Mailer is making Sookie crazy by sitting in the Dragonfly's dining room all week and ordering nothing but iced tea. Seriously, it's really Norman Mailer. I don't know. Rory's cub reporter bit bores even her, so she abandons her feature story idea for a new one that involves (a) a Yale secret society, and (b) that smarmy Logan guy, who's working at the paper now. I'm sure that plot line will more than make up for its pointlessness by being extra time-consuming. Christopher's wife abandons him and their daughter, and he discovers that karmic payback is a bitch. But Lorelai isn't, so she runs right over to his house when he calls her for help. Emily and Richard totally bail on Friday night dinner, and Lorelai exacts a diabolical revenge, sort of. Rory's not happy to hear about her mom's visit to Chris, so she goes over to tell her dad that Lorelai's having a good relationship and he therefore needs to stay the hell away from her. Oh, and Sookie can't just pee on a stick like everyone else. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Previously: Pamie rocked. You know, my wife Trash met up with her and Stee when we were in California last May. I was the wheel man for an evening excursion up the freeway into downtown Los Angeles. Pamie and Stee were in the back seat, and some nights I wake up in a cold sweat thinking how much trouble I'd be in with you people if I'd gotten in a car accident and killed them.
Lorelai answers a knock at her door and gets a kiss from Luke. You can tell they're going out on a date because he's not wearing a hat. Lorelai promises that she's "almost" ready to go, as soon as she finds her keys and finishes the laundry. "That doesn't sound like 'almost,'" Luke frets. "That sounds like we'll speed to the movie, park illegally, you hit the bathroom while I grab the popcorn, we meet back at the seats all sweaty and aggravated." He says "sweaty and aggravated" like it's a bad thing. Also, if it were me doing the laundry, we'd be lucky to catch the movie on DVD. Or whatever comes after DVD. A 3:00 AM. showing on TBS, maybe. Luke further points out that Lorelai left her headlights on (dirty!), and she explains that she did that on purpose because her porch light is burned out. Luke tips the couch up so that she can look under it for her keys; nothing doing. I'd suggest looking in the Jeep with the headlights on, but that's just me. Luke reminds her that car batteries die, but Lorelai's way ahead of him: she knows the battery takes twelve hours to drain, which is two hours longer than it'll be before she leaves for work at 8 in the morning. They're going out at 10? On a school night? When Luke asks why Lorelai doesn't just change her porch light, she launches into a spiel about being afraid of moths and this whole long story about the nonexistent sequel to The Mothman Prophecies that runs almost as long as it takes me to do laundry. Lorelai breezily confesses that the porch light has been out since Rory broke up with Dean the first time: "He was the last one to change it. Jess never changed the porch light, by the way." Well, that might be because Dean is tall, whereas Jess, by contrast, is a prick. The search for Lorelai's keys moves into the kitchen.
"You left your keys in the stove?" Luke demands, and if he's a guy who is supposed to know his way around a kitchen, why does he say "stove" when he means "oven"? Anyway, the oven is where Lorelai left her socks to make them "warm and toasty." And yet they're still damp. She wonders if her oven's broken. Luke wonders if her dryer's broken, a question which seems to strike Lorelai as irrelevant. But she's got her damp socks on now, so she's happy and ready to go. Luke reminds her that her keys are still missing. She wants to just leave the door unlocked, but Luke tells her that's not safe. She insists that it is. Seriously, I don't know what Luke's worried about. It's Stars Hollow. What does he think Kirk's going to do when he wanders in, anyway? But it's okay, because Luke has found Lorelai's keys sticking out of the lock to her kitchen door. I never leave my keys sticking outside the door like that, especially if you've figured out how to find my street address online. Lorelai now remembers: she had to come in the back because the porch light was out. And we've come full circle. Meanwhile, Luke has discovered that the keys are stuck in the door. "Yeah, that happens," Lorelai chirps, and she drapes a kitchen towel over the keys so that they can leave. "I can never pick you up here again," Luke moans.
Credits, featuring several people who aren't in this episode. Sadly, unlike Pamie, I have no wedding planning stories to share with you, since my wedding happened many years ago, but I can tell you I'm a dad now. It's true! M. Tiny was born two weeks before this episode aired, and we just brought him home today. I'm writing this instead of holding him right now. I'll see if I can figure out a way to work him into the recap. Maybe if there's a scene with a baby in it or something.
As Rory comes into the newspaper office, Paris greets her with "I had a dream about you last night." "If this gets dirty, feel free to keep it to yourself," Rory says, speaking for...well, someone, I'm sure. It seems that Paris dreamt that Rory cooked dinner for Doyle, the editor, and thereby stole the paper's Religion beat from Paris. Why Paris wants the Religion beat in the first place is beyond me, but then so is a great deal about Paris. Rory assures Paris that she doesn't want Religion, she wants Features, but Paris is dead set on stressing about something, per normal, and she isn't put off until someone else from her dream happens to walk by and snags her attention like a grappling hook. Now Rory is free to stand and listen to Doyle "gushing" about Glenn's having gotten a piece published in the New York Times. Glenn's trying to downplay it, but Doyle and Rory aren't having it. Especially Doyle: "It's absolutely amazing that I spent all summer in Indiana working my ass off at the Muncie Messenger, and you went from Star Trek convention to Boba Fett fan club symposium, and yet, lookie here. The New York Times. Isn't it great, Rory? Aren't you seeing how great it is?" If Doyle grits his teeth any harder, he's going to bite his brain. Glenn's cell phone goes off and he moans, "Oh, man, it's R.W. Apple again. God, does he have anyone else to talk to? What?!" Glenn bitches into the phone as he storms off. Doyle complains to Rory, "It's like Being There. He's Chauncey Gardiner." Writers, what has Pamie told you about explaining your jokes like that? Rory, never one to miss an opportunity to suck up, reminds Doyle that if he hadn't done such a great job editing Glenn's piece in the first place, the Times never would have picked it up. Doyle agrees: "It's because of me that he's gonna be Bob Woodward. I made it happen. So, someday, when I'm running the circulation department at the Muncie Messenger, and Glenn is accepting his Pulitzer Prize, I can point up at the screen at the local bar where I regularly stop on my way home to get drop-dead, blind drunk, and say, 'I helped him get there.' Then I can fall off the stool and throw up." I like that actor. I was sad when he got killed on Buffy. Exeunt Doyle, pissy, throwing the Times article down on her desk. Rory picks up the article and starts reading it, also pissy.
Later, Rory lets herself into her dorm room and crashes onto her bed, still reading Glenn's Times article. She looks miserable. Which is understandable, since she's apparently had some kind of brain aneurysm and it takes her all day to read one newspaper article. I had an aneurysm just last weekend that left me able to speak only gibberish for, like, hours. Or maybe it was just a migraine. Speaking of migraines, Lorelai calls. She's got a non-rhetorical question: "Do you want to laugh?" We see that Lorelai's sitting in her kitchen, looking at Luke, who has apparently decided to pull a Sylvia Plath rather than go on another date with Lorelai. Or maybe he's just fixing her oven. Lorelai tells Rory about a "bit" that Luke just did, where he banged his head inside the oven. Luke is of the opinion that banging his head in a way that hurts like hell does not constitute a "bit." Luke, when you're dating Lorelai, everything is a bit. Also, he's still calling it "the stove." Is that a New England thing, or a sloppy writing thing? Since I'm just subbing I'll give it the benefit of the doubt. Lorelai senses that something's wrong with Rory -- "You have Bambi voice," she says, which sounds to me a lot like normal Rory voice, and Rory complains about being behind because everyone else at the paper did journalism stuff while she "ran away to Europe with Grandma...to deal with [her] own personal whatever." Some of us have been spending a lot more time waiting for Rory to deal with her own personal whatever. Lorelai assures Rory that she'll catch up: "You're catch-up girl. Not to be confused with ketchup girl...You were a mustard-and-relish girl from day one. A little condiment humor for you." Yeah, damn little. Luke bangs his head in the oven again and lets out an "Ow! Jeez, what the -- aaaaaaargh!" straight out of vaudeville. Lorelai giggles and asks him to do it again louder for Rory. Rory tells Lorelai she sounds happy. "I am, kid," Lorelai beams. Must be the boyfriend's cranial trauma. I know that when I was in the emergency room with my aneurysm last weekend, my wife Trash was climbing the walls with glee.
Norman Mailer's in the Dragonfly. I don't know why, okay? He just is. It's Norman Mailer, playing Norman Mailer. Some young sycophant -- who I assume is being played by Stephen Mailer, whoever that is, because the opening credits listed "Norman and Stephen Mailer" -- is interviewing him over iced tea. Mailer is being all crusty and crotchety, as he is, though not in a particularly entertaining way. Lorelai breezes past on her way to the kitchen, where she tells Sookie that Mailer's here "for the third time this week." Which is weird, because it sounded to me like that interview was just getting started. Maybe they just stared at each other the first two days. Lorelai's all excited about the Dragonfly's imminent future as a literary hot spot, but Sookie's not sharing the love. In fact, she's kind of grumpy that Norman Mailer is sitting at a table for four and ordering nothing but iced tea. Lorelai tries to cheer her up, but Sookie's already been spoiled by the days when Billy Joel would show up at the Independence Inn and pack it away. "There was a man who knew how to eat," Sookie says approvingly, "and he was almost able to hide it." Lorelai wishes Sookie could see the cool factor of having a respected and thirsty, if not particularly hungry, author in the house. Looks like she's just going to have to keep wishing.
Doyle is passing out beats at the newspaper office. Paris gets the coveted (by her) Religion beat, so she can make a big production out of pretending not to have wanted it. Rory gets her Features and Glenn gets Crime, which earns a "Hm" from him. It's just an excuse for him to name-drop Maureen Dowd, and has no relevance to anything else. The meeting breaks up, and Rory snags Doyle to pitch him a bunch of boring feature story ideas. Suddenly Doyle, looking over Rory's shoulder (or, more accurately, around it, since Danny Strong comes up to about the level of Rory's larynx), says, "Oh, no. He's back." It's that douche Logan, mashing his lips onto some girl's face as he swans into the office. Oh, no, indeed. Doyle runs up to plant his own lips on Logan's ass. There's some talk about Logan's family, particularly his father, and Logan sits down at what he calls "my" desk, which has apparently been sitting there unoccupied right in front of Rory's face this whole time without ever having aroused her curiosity as to who sits there. Yeah, she'll make a great reporter. Doyle confesses to Logan that he's given out all the beats, looking as if the news will earn him a beating, as it were, but Logan's apparently just there to do what he does in other scenes on this show, i.e., take up space and irritate everyone. "Rory, nice to see you," he smarms, propping his foot up on his desk.
That prompts Doyle immediately to scamper across the three feet of empty space that makes up television's invisible conversational sound barrier and hiss to Rory, "You know Logan? How do you know Logan?" Rory assures Doyle that she and Logan are not friends, which of course means that she's going be screwing over Dean because of him by the end of this season. Doyle expositions that Logan sank his dad's sailboat off of Fiji and spent a few months partying on the island until his dad sent a plane down to fetch him. I think the reference to sailing to Fiji is the closest thing to a mention that Lane's ex-boyfriend is ever going to going to get again. Doyle further expositions that Logan's dad is one Mitchum Huntzberger, the fake famous newspaper magnate. So I guess Logan works at the Yale Daily News so that he can one day take over his father's twelve fake newspapers. And why Doyle feels the need to kiss Logan's ass. I'd try harder to figure it out if I cared. Rory reminds Doyle that they were talking about which of her lame stories she should run with, and Doyle dismissively tells her to go with her gut. Rory's bleeding-edge story topic? Illegal music downloading on campus. Sounds to me like the biggest story of 1998. Logan, meanwhile, has produced a snap-brim fedora with a big card reading PRESS stuck in the brim and raps out a little '30s screwball newspaper comedy dialogue into his phone before typing and grinning madly at Doyle. I'm sure that gets funnier every time someone does it at a college newspaper. ["I never worked at a college newspaper, so it was funny to me." -- Wing Chun] Rory can't suppress a small smile. Why does she encourage these bozos?
Commercials. All these horror movies keep coming out that are remakes of Japanese films. The Ring, The Grudge -- although Shall We Dance? wasn't a horror movie in Japan.
Norman Mailer is still holding forth at the Dragonfly. Having been asked about his position in American literature as he sees it, he rambles on about how "there are twenty of us around...twenty American writers right now -- I could name them, but I won't -- who think they're the best living American writer...On the other hand, I don't want to be friends with some of those guys because they're bastards." Fair enough, but if you count the Canadians there are actually almost thirty of us. Sookie breezes out of the kitchen to try to push a little food on them, acting way too chipper and excited and going so far as to make up "stump the chef" on the spot. The interviewer finally relents and orders some food: lemon for the iced tea. "One plate of lemon, coming up," Sookie says, crushed. "If you change your mind, I'll be in the kitchen. You know, with the food."
Rory's in her dorm room gushing over the phone to Dean about the progress she's making on her story about illegal music downloading. It's exciting out there on the bleeding edge, isn't it, Rory? Dean, by the way, is spending his one scene in the episode wearing a dopey cowboy hat and a Doose's Market apron, talking on his cell phone at work without another regular or even semi-regular cast member in sight. Paris comes in behind Rory on her own phone, chattering away on her way through the room: "Monsignor, why is asking you to keep your cell on vibrate during mass in case I need to fact-check a quote outrageous? Rabbi Feldman's doing it for me on Shabbas and he's flying against the Talmud there." I don't watch this show every week, but I'm beginning to get the impression that we're supposed to think that this Paris person is a little on the high-strung side. Rory promises Dean a rough draft of her story in time for their date tomorrow night, but he breaks the news that he has to work tomorrow night. It seems Taylor's installed an Icee machine to attract the twenty-four-hour trucker crowd off Highway 84. I wish I had an Icee. Anyway, it looks like what with one thing and another, Dean and Rory are not going to have a chance to see each other until the week after . Neither of them seems too broken up over it. (Oops, was that foreshadowing?) Of course Dean's marriage never had a chance in the face of his and Rory's towering passion for one another. "I gotta go," says Dean. "You have to stir the nacho cheese every twenty minutes or it forms kind of a rock." "Go stir your cheese," Rory tells him. Oh, the romance!
Paris charges back into the room, off the phone now. "Did you know priests have a fabulous sense of humor?" she asks Rory. That reminds me of a joke. Since I had to collect two hours worth of jokes for a radio show last spring, most things do. A priest is sitting in a confessional when he hears this totally drunk guy stumble into the adjoining booth. Before the priest can even say anything, the drunk starts making all these horrible groaning, gasping, grunting noises. The priest sits there, shocked at this sacrilege, unable to speak. Finally the drunk knocks on the wall and the priest finds his voice: "My son, I don't think I can help you." And the drunk says, "What, no toilet paper on your side, either?" That joke didn't make it onto the radio show, in case you're wondering. Back to the recap. Paris asks Rory how her article is going, and Rory tells her it's going great. Which Paris takes to mean that Rory has found a new angle, because these stories are everywhere and they all say the same thing. I expected better of Paris. These stories were everywhere. "But you have a fresh angle, so good," Paris finishes. Rory pretends not to be crushed that Paris has just kicked all the props out from under her story without even trying, and her roommate breezes out, asking her to tell Rabbi Feldman that she got the stats she needed from Edward James Olmos's office. Well, of course she did.
Dragonfly. The partners are having a business meeting with their business advisor, this Ann person, who likes the progress they're making for the most part but wants to see them get rid of some expenses. "I could put in for overtime, but I don't," Michel drawls. Michel talks funny. Sometimes they think that doesn't mean they need to give him funny things to say, but they're wrong. Ann suggests dropping lunch, since they've got a full kitchen staff for an empty dining room. Sookie takes this cue to freak. "Lunch is my thing! Why do we have to get rid of one of my things? Why can't we get rid of one of Michel's things?" "What things?" demands the guy in the thousand-dollar suit. "I stand behind a desk and answer a phone. What of mine can you possibly get rid of?" "The desk," Sookie says. "Put the phone on the wall and write on your shoe, because he goes through a lot of paper." Lorelai tries to tell Sookie that Ann's just trying to help. "Oh, Ann hates me," Sookie snaps. Lorelai dismisses Michel and Ann to go get a cup of coffee – the latter yammering about his suits, of course -- so that Lorelai can try to talk Sookie down out of her tree. "This is all Norman Mailer's fault," Sookie accuses. Oh, what isn't? "I'm going to kick him and pinch his nose," she threatens. Lorelai reminds her that dropping lunch is just temporary until things get better, which they will: "And we're going to leave Mr. Mailer alone, right? Because I don't care how old he is, he can take you." "I know," Sookie sulks. Heh. Lorelai sits and wonders how she ended up in business with such a loon.
Rory is in some alterna-dude's dorm room getting her first demonstration of illegal file sharing. Of course she's never seen it done before. Why? Because it's Rory, and it's illegal. The only noteworthy thing about this scene is that the scurvy music pirate hates Chicago: "Use a trombone, go to jail." Hey, "Face the Face" by Pete Townshend rocked, and by the way he was totally cleared of those kiddie porn charges. Rory's mind, like mine, is clearly wandering during the interview, and she finally excuses herself to get a cup of coffee.
Hey, Rory, there's no coffee in the bathroom! Rory splashes water on her face and stands behind the door to dry off. As she's doing so, a gorilla in a red ball gown comes in. Now, that's weird. Is Angel back or something? Oh, wait, it's just a gorilla mask, which its wearer pulls off to reveal a drunk, blonde freshman. She touches up her lipstick, then turns to go, which is the first time she sees Rory. "Oops! Didn't see you there," the blonde ditzes, and, with a finger to her lips, stumbles outside. Rory, following her, gets outside in time to see her jump into a black Escalade, calling out the phrase "In omnia paratus," which is Latin for "Isn't it time for a commercial yet?" Rory watches the SUV drive off into the night.
Lorelai comes out of Doose's Market wearing a cowboy hat and carrying an Icee in one hand and a big plate of nachos in the other. Hey, what's up with that? It's Thursday, right? We know Dean was working there tonight. If I didn't know better, I'd suspect Lorelai of stirring Dean's cheese, if you know what I mean. Until it formed kind of a rock, if you know what I mean. To be fair, though, that's not the same cowboy hat Dean was wearing earlier. I double-checked. If you know what I mean. Okay, stopping now. Lorelai's cell phone goes off. Hey, it's Christopher, just like in the promos. "I can't get her to stop" is his charming opening. His baby, Gigi, is wailing in the background and climbing out of her crib. Sherry is "out," the nanny isn't answering her page, and Chris is in a panic and didn't know who else to call. Lorelai promises that she'll be right there. This can't be good.
Wait, yes it can, because here are those commercials I ordered. While the Bush campaign explains how liberals want to throw America literally to the wolves, let me tell you about M. Tiny's little tantrum the other night. I, too happened to be alone with him at the time, and I, too was unable to determine what was getting on his nerves. I just couldn't figure out how to calm him down, although since he was only two weeks old (two and a half now) he isn't quite up to crawling out of the crib. But did I call an ex-girlfriend? I did not. I did what any good father would do. I stuck my head out into the hallway of the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit where M. Tiny was staying and I called for the nearest nurse. That's how a real dad deals with situations like this, Christopher.
Christopher lets Lorelai into his place, understating, "I owe you so big." "You look, uh, great," Lorelai lies. Christopher's tie is loose, his shirt is half-untucked and quite grungy, and his hair isn't totally perfect. Seeing the general disarray around the house, Lorelai asks, "When did Axl Rose leave?" Chris is totally stressed out, and the baby is standing on the floor to her crib and screaming. He goes to put her back into the crib for what looks like the umpteenth time, telling Lorelai that neither of them has slept in days. Lorelai takes Gigi out of her crib, hands her to Christopher, pulls the crib away from the wall, and turns it around so that the higher crib railing is facing away the wall. She puts Gigi back in her crib, assuring Chris that she'll stay there this time. He couldn't come up with that on his own? He's an idiot.
Lorelai takes Christopher by the hand and leads him over to the sofa for the obligatory "harried parent accidentally sitting on a squeaky toy" bit. Chris apologizes for never calling her or Rory until he's in trouble. "That's what we're here for," Lorelai says, not smiling. She asks for the third or fourth time where Sherry is. Chris finally confesses that she's in Paris. When Lorelai asks when she's getting back, Chris says she's not: "I get home from Seattle and the nanny was here and she handed me a note. It said that Sherry had been offered a job in Paris and she had decided to take it. She said she had put her career on hold for almost two years, she said that I had been gone for most of that time, which I guess is true, and she wasn't going to let this opportunity pass. She said it was my turn, she was sorry, but she had to do this for her." Lorelai is stunned. "Pretty much my same reaction," Chris says. I'm stunned, too. I mean, what did Christopher ever do to deserve being abandoned to raise a child all by himself? Maybe Lorelai knows. If she does, she's not saying. She does have a plan, though. Chris should take a shower, and she'll order food and start cleaning up.
"I can't do this," Chris interrupts. "Do what, shower?" Lorelai says, and babbles about how easy showering is, obviously hoping to forestall the thoroughly assholish thing Christopher is about to say, but her efforts are in vain. "I can't raise her all by myself," Chris whines. Lorelai doesn't want to hear it. "Yes you can," she says, "because you have to. Because she's your daughter. And you're going to find a way. I did it. I did it with Rory." "You're different," Chris says. "Yes, I was sixteen," Lorelai says, rather than kicking him and pinching his nose. Christopher means that Lorelai's stronger: "You're like a superhero with red boots and a golden lasso." "It was one Halloween, Christopher," Lorelai says. Flashback, please. No? Okay. Lorelai's not buying Chris's cop-out, going so far as to say that if she'd bailed on Rory to follow the Bangles around the world, Chris would have stepped up and "everything would have been fine." Which I suspect is giving him way too much credit. "I don't even know her," Chris says. "I've been gone so much." "Well, welcome home, babe," Lorelai says, a lot less meanly than he deserves. Chris slumps off to shower as Lorelai comforts Gigi, who's gotten her seven-hundredth wind of crying back. Lorelai softly sings a line of "Manic Monday." Since it's Thursday, I'm wondering whether "If She Knew What She Wants" might be a more appropriate selection.
Yale Daily News. Doyle storms over to Paris's desk, screaming at her about the complaints the paper is getting about her: "You have threatened, stalked, and basically freaked out every religious leader within a hundred-mile radius. This paper has never received so many complaints in the history of its existence. And how the hell did you get Jesse Jackson's barber's number?" Paris doesn't back down. "You gave me this beat to find a story," she says, "not to kowtow and make nice." Doyle cuts her off and drops the act: "Way to go," he says sincerely. Paris grins and thanks him. Oh, just make out already.
On his way back, Rory flags down Doyle and tells him she wants to ditch the downloading story. Which is kind of too bad, now that I think about it. I was hoping that with her knack for technological prognostication, she'd write her story about dot-com millionaires and how website content writers are going to be getting filthy rich off stock options. Ah, well. Doyle agrees with her decision: "I got bored just hearing you pitch it." You and a nation of millions, Doyle. Rory tells the story of the Latin-speaking drunk gorilla girl from the night before, but in her version the phrase means "ready for anything." She tells Doyle she Googled the phrase and found it linked to a secret society at Yale. Rory says that this society dates back to the 1800s, when the phrase was their motto. "That alone, not that interesting," she says to a quietly agreeing Doyle and a loudly agreeing me. "But here, look." And she pulls up a 1996 Daily News archive photo of a bunch of students jumping off a bridge holding umbrellas. Which, to me, elevates the story to really not that interesting. Doyle, however, is intrigued. He's even heard of the club, which he calls a "life-and-death brigade." Like Skull and Bones but more secretive. Please, even Amway is more secretive than Skull and Bones by this point. Doyle tells her that the paper has tried to track down the club before but never managed to get any proof. What's that photo, then? A reenactment? Rory wants to track down the club, and she asks Doyle what he thinks. "Go with your gut," which I'm starting to suspect is Doyle's polite way of saying, "Whatever, dull girl." Rory seems to suspect that as well. "You said that about my downloading story," she accuses. "Hey, you don't trust my gut!" Rory, you have no gut.
Lorelai is standing to her Jeep in Emily's driveway when Rory pulls up in her damned Prius. It seems that, on the way over, Lorelai was suddenly struck by the sense that she's wearing the same outfit she wore to last week's dinner, and she's not about to go inside wearing the same thing she wore last Friday. Good thing she stood out here in the driveway instead of going home to change, then. ["Let me tell you what I've told Pamie so many times: Hartford and Stars Hollow are half an hour's drive apart." -- Wing Chun] Rory's no help, since she doesn't remember what Lorelai was wearing either. Lorelai rings the doorbell, hiding behind Rory.
After she and Lorelai gain admission despite Lorelai's lame intro to the maid, Rory whispers that said maid is "acting weird." Lorelai thinks it's because she knows Lorelai was wearing the same outfit last week. Rory points out that this particular maid wasn't there last week. Lorelai says that maids talk. Rory says, "With all that's going on in the world, all the maids in existence are talking about you." Well, the only reason I'm talking about this is because I'm getting paid to. The maid catches up to them in the living room and takes their drink orders, but Lorelai hesitates, wondering if they should wait for Emily. The maid breaks Emily's not coming down. Lorelai stresses about her outfit some more, because I just can't get enough of that. The maid reveals that Emily's at a charity dinner and Richard's out of town until Tuesday. Both parents blew off Friday dinner without a word of explanation? They really are losing it. The maid offers to make the younger Gilmores some dinner. Rory considers going back to school and working, but Lorelai has another idea: "Staying here, ordering pizza, and eating dinner on the living room floor on paper plates." The maid dashes off to get a phone book, because this strikes her as a fun way to get her ass fired. Rory and Lorelai kick off their shoes and discuss options for mischief. "Would gluing everything in this room to the ceiling so that it's in the same place but upside down be going to far?" Rory thinks it would, but doesn't think to suggest using a staple gun instead. Lorelai brings the room down a bit by breaking the news that Sherry left Christopher. Rory's surprised, especially when she hears about Gigi being ditched as well. She asks Lorelai how she knows all this, and her mom blithely tells her the whole story about going to Chris's house to help him when he called, almost completely missing Rory's expression of disapproval. She does eventually pick up on it though, explaining, "Your dad's going to need some help being a dad...'cause, he's your dad." Before Rory can figure out how to explain what's bothering her, the maid returns with the phone book and Lorelai flips it right open to "S" for strummy-strummy-la-la.
Is it still the Yale Daily News when it's this late at night? Rory is in the office almost all alone, poring through the archives. Riveting! She spots an old photo of the "secret society" with a caption that includes the name Elias Huntzberger. Rory swings into action. She writes "Elias Huntzberger" on a Post-It. Did you know Post-Its were invented and manufactured by the Minnesota Mining and Manufacturing Company, a.k.a. 3M, whose corporate headquarters are just a few miles east of my house on I-94? I only share that because it's more interesting than Rory's current project.
At the Dragonfly, Lorelai is giving an overview of a local hike to a gay man and his beard when her cell phone rings. She rudely hands the couple off to Michel so that she can take the call. It's Luke, and although we can't hear his end of the conversation, he's obviously upset about something. Lorelai promises that she's on her way, although she really isn't until she rings off and waves goodbye to Michel, who is continuing the description of the hike as imagined by Tim Burton.
Hey, it's Hot Dog God! No, wait, it's just Kirk, dressed up as Hot Dog God. Or maybe just as a Hot Dog. He's working the sidewalk in front of Luke's, handing out flyers and loudly pitching lunch at the Dragonfly. He's a barker in a Hot Dog costume. There's a joke there somewhere but if the show couldn't bother to make it I'm not going to do its work for it. Luke is standing on his diner's step, trying to get rid of Kirk and looking just about on the verge of violence. Lorelai dashes up, wondering what the hell Kirk is up to. "I'm trying to scrounge up a lunch crowd for you, so I figured I'd go where everybody already has lunch and send them over to you." Lorelai wants to know who asked Kirk to do this, and then the penny drops. She leads him away, apologizing to Luke, who apparently thinks Kirk is her pet or something. ["Well, to be fair, if he's stumping for the Dragonfly, he's sort of Lorelai's employee." -- Wing Chun] "Why a hot dog?" she asks him. "The Dragonfly doesn't serve hot dogs." Kirk claims that the quiche made him look fat. Boy, I hear that. The pleated quiche costumes are the worst.
Commercials. Bono counts off in Spanish: "11! 2! 3! 14!"
Rory catches up with Logan at Yale and asks if he wants to respond to her boring article about the boring super-secret, running-around-in-a-circle-in-your-underwear club that she figures he's in, because his grandfather was in it. It's worth mentioning that Logan doesn't deny being in the club; he just says he's yet to run around in a circle in his underwear. Rory says it would have been nice to get his cooperation the easy way, but that since he's going to make it difficult, she'll just track him to the club. Because he's going to find her so scary that he'll immediately give in and give her what she wants, right? Wrong. "I pick that way," Logan says. Rory looks embarrassed at having her bluff so thoroughly called, and Logan strolls off. God, what is it with Rory and guys who make her feel like an idiot? And why are we supposed to think that makes those guys special? How many of them have there been now, anyway? Three? Four? Million?
Lorelai brings one of Kirk's flyers into the Dragonfly's bustling kitchen, asking Sookie, "What was the first thing we agreed on when we opened the inn?" I don't know, I missed that episode. Keep Kirk away from the business? Lorelai answers her own question: "Keep Kirk away from the business." Hey, I was right! Lorelai tells Sookie about Kirk and Luke and the flyers and the Hot Dog God outfit. Sookie claims she didn't ask Kirk to dress up like a hot dog, and she wonders why he did it. "Because it's Kirk, Sookie," Lorelai explains. "The giant hot dog suit was a given the moment you talked to Kirk." That's fair. Lorelai wants to know why Kirk was called in to drum up lunch business when there's no lunch to serve, reminding Sookie that they all agreed to put lunch on hold. Sookie denies it,but Lorelai pushes it. She finally notices the huge amounts of food and staff people in the kitchen, all going toward the Herculean effort of keeping Norman Mailer supplied with iced tea, and she puts her foot down. And Sookie gets ugly. "Fine, there's no lunch," she bitches.
Sookie storms out to the dining room, descending on Norman Mailer and his little party of two in a righteous rage. "You happy, Norman Mailer, huh? Lunch has been cancelled." She takes away their iced tea, stopping short of dumping it in his lap. Tom Robbins would have let her dump iced tea in his lap, I'll bet. She compares Mailer's behavior to her coming into a bookstore and reading his books without buying them. Although I think if you hang out in a bookstore long enough to read something by Norman Mailer, you're going to end up paying rent. Sookie picks up a book and flips through it disdainfully: "Ooh, yeah, someone sure likes to use his big words." Lorelai swoops in, trying to smooth things over by taking away the book and herding Sookie back to the kitchen. "What?" Sookie says in disbelief, pointing at the book. "What? Yeah, write that down." Hee. Mailer hasn't said a word, by the way.
Back in the kitchen, Sookie loudly blames Mailer for the cancellation of lunch. Lorelai asks her why she's being so nutty over lunch. No kidding. Is she really so averse to going home for a few hours during the day and, I don't know, seeing her baby or something? If someone offered me the middle of the day off I'd be all over it. Sookie confesses that she doesn't know why she's being so crazy. She knows it's just temporary and it's not Norman Mailer's fault, and she tries to calm down and it just makes her more upset and -- "Oh, my God, I'm pregnant." Again? Already? If she loses as much weight as she did during her last pregnancy she's going to end up as thin as Lorelai. Lorelai gasps and hugs her. Sookie, her mood having just pulled a total one-eighty, runs out to the dining room and yells, "Norman Mailer, I'm pregnant!" Apparently this show was titled by the same people who come up with titles for episodes of The Amazing Race. The author congratulates her and halfheartedly returns her hug. Sookie runs back into the kitchen, clapping her hands happily. Man, what the hell was Mailer thinking? How many offers does he get to be on TV, and he picks the one where he's a human pregnancy test for a secondary character on The WB? And people thought Harlot's Ghost was embarrassing.
Yale Daily Strummy-Strummy-La-La. Paris, looking nauseated, tells Rory that she thinks she had some bad host. So much setup, so little payoff. Rory gets an Instant Message on her screen: "Hey, Ace, I've got a proposition for you." She looks around and sees Logan smirking at her from behind his computer. "Shoot," she types. Logan responds, "I'll help you with your article. Get you the inside scoop. You just have to agree to a few conditions." There is absolutely no reason he would do this, since she has no advantage over him whatsoever and wouldn't know how to press it if she did. But she asks, "What conditions?" "The first condition is you have to agree before you know the conditions. What do you say, Ace? You in or out?" Rory gives it a moment's thought, weighing the possibility of getting a boring story against waking up in a hospital room packed to the gills with roofies and man-glue, and types, "I'm in." I must say, the proper spelling, punctuation and capitalization in these IMs isn't going far enough toward assuaging my rage toward this scene. Rory looks up from her computer to see that Logan has disappeared from behind his. Mr. Roarke?
Luke's. Lorelai sits at the counter as Luke assures her he's not mad at her, just bugged. But not about Kirk. It's about the two "bozos" sitting a table ordering nothing but iced tea. Do I have to tell you it's Mailer and his suck-up? Dear God, I hope this doesn't mean Luke is pregnant.
At his apartment, Christopher answers the door to a rather chilly Rory. Chilly toward him, I mean. She barely returns his hug. She gets right down to business: "I don't want you calling Mom any more." Chris is surprised to hear it, and starts to explain, but Rory's got her little speech to get through. "Mom's in a relationship now and she's doing really great. He's kind and, well, he's there and she's really happy. You'll mess it up. You'll mess everything up. Because evey time you come back it always ends up the same way. Mom's crying and you're not being there and I know it's not your fault, I know you don't mean to to be that way but that's how it is." Chris protests that he just needed some help. "time you need help call a nanny or a babysitter, just leave Mom alone. I'm sorry, I have to go." And she does. Christopher: [facepalm].
week, it looks like Rory jumps off a high tower. Now that I can get behind. But, U.S. citizens, never mind the show; just vote, motherfuckers!