By Demian
After the needless Previously sequence, the camera fades up on the interior of the McKinley High gym, where Sue Sylvester's leading The Cheerios through a new, impossible-looking routine heavy on the athleticism and the jump ropes. Yes, jump ropes. It looks appropriately awesome, but every joint in my legs is now throbbing in sympathetic pain. J-Fro's sitting on the sidelines watching the entire thing because he'll become important to this evening's plot in a couple of minutes, but we'll ignore him for the moment in favor of following along as Finn enters and climbs midway up the bleachers to join Quinn, who's been sitting there this entire time, apparently, clad in a cute set of civvies, watching the action below with a disconsolate expression on her face. "You shouldn't do this to yourself," Finn opens, once he's sat down beside her. Quinn's all tensely, "Do what?" so Finn elaborates, "I know how much it hurts to be off the team -- you're just torturing yourself watching." Quinn frowns and shakes her head around while rolling her shoulders and claiming that she needs a "distraction." Finn, because he is generally clueless, wonders what she needs a distraction from, so she roots around in her purse for a moment before passing him an envelope. The envelope contains the $685 bill for that sonogram she received a couple of episodes ago -- which, as you'll recall, Terri refused to cover, along with all of Quinn's other pregnancy-related expenses -- and Quinn wastes little time making it clear she expects Finn to start coughing up major cash, pronto. Of course, in this economy, Finn can't find a job, though he almost got in at an Olive Garden, but unfortunately, they told Frankenteen he's too tall to be a busboy, which sounds like a load of crap, but we'll be letting that slide in favor of focusing on the load of crap now spewing from Quinn's mouth: "Somewhere in that pea brain of yours is a man. Access him, and tell him to prove to me that I chose the right guy to have a baby with!" And as Quinn's being so bitchily harsh at the moment regarding a pregnancy Finn is not, in fact, responsible for, I have no problem reminding her at this juncture that she can drive two hours down to Columbus in that Chastity-Ball sedan her father bought her and get an abortion for half the price of that goddamned sonogram. Oh, and you can save the e-mails. Unless, of course, they're addressed to Quinn Fabray and read, "GO OUT AND GET A FRIGGING JOB YOURSELF, PRINCESS."
By Demian
In any event, Finn attempts to reassure her that everything will work out somehow, but Quinn's already gathered up her belongings to flounce out to the hallway. The camera would follow her all the way, I'm sure, were it not for the fact that it now gets all tangled up in J-Fro's crowning glory, so we must wave bye-bye to the shrill shrew of an ex-cheerleader and linger with J-Fro and Sue Sylvester as the intrepid McKinley High blogger shoves his wee tiny tape recorder into Sue's face with the following: "My blog has lit up with comments suggesting you don't have a shot at Nationals since you lost Quinn Fabray." "The Cheerios are stronger than ever," Sue insists immediately before predicting that this joint-crushing jump rope routine will trounce anything the competition has to offer. The run-through happens to end at this very moment, and Sue blares, "MEDIOCRE. HIT THE SHOWERS!" through a bullhorn she casually passes to her squad's bullhorn wrangler -- hee! -- before exiting the gymnasium with J-Fro in tow, as the latter has a few more questions. You see, he's heard through the grapevine that Quinn wanted to remain on The Cheerios, but that Sue Sylvester forced her to resign. "Well, Jacob," Sue begins by way of explanation, "this is Ohio, and in order to win, my Cheerios need to appeal to that panel of judges. So, if I have a pregnant girl doing a handspring into a double layout, the judges aren't going to be admiring her impeccable form, they're going to be wondering if the centrifugal force is going to make the baby's head start crowning." Point to Sue Sylvester. She then announces their entire conversation has been off the record, and she confiscates J-Fro's wee tiny tape recorder. Heh.
As Sue strides off camera, leaving J-Fro and his mangled ego lying prostrate in her magnificent wake, Will enters onto the scene, already in mid-argument with Principal Figgins. Seems Will wants the school to pay for the "handicapable" bus Glee Club needs to chauffeur Artie and his wheelchair to Sectionals, but as said bus rents at a rate of $600 a week, and as Principal Figgins has already had to "stop providing the baseball team with protective cups" due to budgetary constraints, Artie will have to find his own way to the competition. When Will protests that The Cheerios get flown for free to their various meets around the country, Figgins reminds him that "Sue Sylvester has boosters that write fat checks." Therefore, none of her travel expenses come out of the general school fund. Will launches himself into this little Remember The Good Ol' Days speech about how the bus ride to the event was one of the most worthwhile parts of his McKinley High Glee Club experience, what with the camaraderie and the supporting each other and other such bullshit, and were Orangina around at this point, I'm sure she'd add that the threeways in the back seat weren't too shabby a bonus, either, but Principal Figgins will not be swayed by a stream of starry-eyed, nostalgic drivel, and ends the interview thusly: "If you want that bus, you're gonna have to find a way to pay for it yourself!" And with three of this plot-tastically packed episode's six or so primary conundrums so efficiently established, we head into the black-and-white title card.
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By Demian
Primary Conundrum Number Four gets teased when the camera pauses on T-T-T-Tina gazing wistfully at poor, put-upon Artie as the latter awkwardly tries to relace one of his sneakers in the music room, but it's really little more than a glancing blow before the pan settles in on Finn and Quinn so we might enjoy more of their neverending financial bickering, and I hate to lay this out there so early in the episode but: I DO NOT CARE. She either knocks it off with the prenatal care she can't afford and gets a job her own damn self to pay off the debt she already owes, or she levels with her parents and gets the whole thing covered by their insurance, or she gets an abortion down in Columbus and passes it off as a miscarriage to everyone else in the school. See? Options! And none of them involve me listening to her browbeat this over-tall dimwit (who is not, in fact, responsible for her fetus) into giving her money, ever again. Everybody wins! Fortunately, while I was typing all of that out, Mr. Schuester arrived with sheet music to yet another new number they'll be singing at Sectionals. The reason for the latest change is that, while he's aware that reworked pop songs have become their signature as a group, he's done some research into past winners, "and it turns out that the judges like songs that are more accessible." Stuff they know, like standards and showtunes, rather than garbage by the likes of no-talent douchebags such as Bell Biv DeVoe and Color Me Badd and Nelly and Jordin Sparks and Avril Lavigne and others too numerous to mention in this limited space. To that end, Mr. Schue's chosen "Defying Gravity" from a little regional nothing of a show you nevertheless might have heard of called Wicked. And just between you, me, and the wall, having rewatched that Tony clip for the first time in the privacy of my own home rather than in the middle of six or seven hundred baying homosexuals on Showtunes Night back at the bar in Chicago, I can state with confidence that Idina Menzel would not have won this evening's impending diva-off with that particular rendition, American Theatre Wing award or no. In fact, I'm pretty sure she would have placed nineteenth, after Rachel, Kurt, all of the non-participating Glee Club members, Mr. Schuester, the four kids they roped in from The McKinley Jazz Ensemble for backup instrumentation, and Tinkles.
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By Demian
In any event, Our Sweet Little Baby Gay practically explodes into a flock of glittery, rainbow-colored flying unicorns at the news, excitedly revealing he has an entire iPod Shuffle dedicated to selections from the musical in question, so he and his $Gucci cruise cap are quite naturally put off when Mr. Schue -- naturally -- assigns Rachel the lead vocals, and we have now reached Primary Conundrum Number Five. Before anything really gets going with that one, however, Mr. Schue brings up this rehearsal session's second point of new business: Artie's handicapable Sectionals bus, and the fact that they have no money to pay for it. Well, shit, Will -- just have Kurt auction off a couple of his accessories on eBay, and you'll be set for the entire season. He could probably even pay for Quinn's abortion down in Columbus while he's at it. See? More options! Will doesn't listen to me, because you simply cannot trust a man with curly hair, and instead suggests a bake sale. Are you all familiar with the concept of the turd in the punchbowl? Excellent, because that's exactly how Mr. Schue's suggestion goes over with the kids. "You're joking, right?" Santana Lopez snorts, delightful disdain dripping from every word. "I mean, bake sales are kind of bougie." "So, hip people stopped eating delicious, sugary treats?" Mr. Schue shoots back. "It's not that?" Britney begins, as the spare, scattered brain cells bouncing around inside her thick skull struggle to fire at each other. "It's most of us?" she continues ungrammatically. "Don't know how to bake?" "I find?" she concludes, making it personal. "Recipes... confusing?" And then she sits there like a gazelle in the headlights while my TV girlfriend Santana Lopez shoots her a withering side-eye. HA! The others chime in with additional objections, most citing today's fast-paced teen culture as reasons to pass on the idea before Mercedes brings up a point Principal Figgins made earlier: "Can't Artie's dad just take him?"
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By Demian
First, however, a do-ragged Kurt has something he'd like to share with the club: "I want to audition for the Wicked solo." The other kids -- with the obvious exception of Rachel -- are all, "WOOOOOOO!" but Mr. Schue attempts to shut it all down by noting the song contains a rather prominent high F. Which Idina Menzel did not hit during her Tony performance. Just pointing that out. Kurt confidently assures Mr. Schue that a high F is well within his range, but Mr. Schue flatly states that Rachel's got the female lead in the song covered, and promptly moves on to other pending business, namely the club's disappointing reaction to the news that Artie would have to be chauffeured by his father to Sectionals. "Artie doesn't care," Mercedes rudely insists. "His dad drives him everywhere." "I do care," Artie surprisingly interjects. "It kinda hurt my feelings." "We didn't think you'd take it personally," Rachel counters in a manner most tone deaf. "Well, you're irritating most of the time," Artie shoots back, "but don't take that personally." Artie Abrams for the win, ladies and gentlemen!
Building on Artie's win, Mr. Schue announces in tones that will brook no dissent that they are riding the handicapable bus to Sectionals together, as a team, or they're not going to Sectionals at all. And not only will they pay for that handicapable bus via his earlier-proposed bake sale, but for the week, each of the other eleven members of the club will be required to spend at least three hours a day in a wheelchair. The McKinley AV Club enters on cue with a set of cheaply purchased second-hand chairs for the group. "Oh!" Mr. Schue adds, as if the thought had temporarily slipped his mind. "We're doing a wheelchair number!" Artie delightedly offers Mr. Schue a round of applause while the other kids slump in their seats, stunned.
After the commercial break, we're treated to a montage of the other kids trying and failing to navigate McKinley High's highways and byways in their second-hand wheelchairs, with Finn taking various careless backpacks, guitar cases, and baseball bats to that already-addled head of his while Rachel ends up with a plate full of cream-of-mushroom pasta surprise in her hair when a fellow student accidentally biffs her cafeteria tray up into her face. Meanwhile, over in the Home Economics lab, Quinn's prepping a tray of cupcakes for the oven when My Glorious Husband enters to kick-start Primary Conundrum Number Six for the evening, for yes, he still carries a torch for Quinn and yes, he'd still like to provide for her and her fetus, to which end he passes her the eighteen dollars remaining from his aboveground pool-cleaning service's profits after he spent the rest on "dip and numchucks." Hee. Quinn, unsurprisingly, is unimpressed with the amount, but she's forced to admit it constitutes eighteen dollars more than she's received from Finn thus far, so this round by default goes to Puck. Quinn continues to be an unpleasant bitch about everything, but as My Glorious Husband could charm the pants off a preacher, he soon has her smiling anyway, and the whole thing devolves into an admittedly cute and playful food fight, with the two cracking eggs over each others' heads and dousing each other with sugar and batter and whatnot until they come thisclose to kissing. Unfortunately for them, Frankenteen chooses this moment to lurch unbidden into the Home Ec. Room. Fortunately for them, Dim Finn seems to buy Quinn's giggly excuse that they're "just baking," and she sets to cleaning up the mess while Puck takes a quick powder to change into clean clothes. Slackjaw mouthbreathes, but that's not important right now, because we have to follow along as the camera knocks us over to...
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By Demian
...Burt Hummel's auto body repair shop, where we learn that Kurt somehow neglected to include his father's expected "jelly cream center" in the latest doughnut run. "What's up with your brain today?" Mr. Hummel jokingly wonders. "I think it's going soft from all that crap you put in your hair." "It's organic," Kurt sniffs, not in the mood for his father's kidding, "and I'm fine." He realizes he's being an unnecessarily prissy fool, though, and quickly confides, "It's a Glee Club thing." "It's not about a guy, is it?" Burt wonders. "'Cause I'm not ready to have that conversation." "At least you don't have to worry about me getting someone pregnant," Kurt glibly smiles, but even that minor implication of the specific mechanics of gay sex puts Mr. Hummel right off his doughnut, so Kurt cuts through the crap to lay his current conundrum on the line: "We're doing this amazing song for Sectionals -- a personal favorite of mine -- and Mr. Schuester won't give me a chance to sing it." "Why?" his instantly suspicious father asks. "It's traditionally sung by a girl," Kurt explains. "Well, you sing like a girl," Mr. Hummel shrugs before adding most sincerely -- and God love him for it -- "You know, in a good way." In any event, despite Mr. Hummel's devotion to his Springsteen collection, and despite the fact that he's admittedly not up on all of the latest cultural trends, he does remember that a girl recently joined McKinley's wrestling team, so why can't Kurt cross over in the other direction? "Her parents had to sue the school," Kurt reminds his father before sadly dropping his gaze. "This is really getting you down," Burt realizes. "I'm full of ennui," Kurt agrees. "So, it's...really getting you down?" Mr. Hummel guesses. Kurt nods, and because Burt Hummel is an awesome father despite his ongoing internal struggles regarding his strange little son's sexual orientation, he immediately...
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By Demian
...invades Principal Figgins's office to shout, "You can't discriminate against my kid because of his sex, religion, political affiliation, or the fact that he's as queer as a three-dollar bill, and I won't accept it!" Figgins reminds Mr. Hummel that Glee Club is neither an academic nor an athletic school offering, but rather an arts program, and as such, Will's judgments are allowed to be subjective. Burt's not having it. "You put on a blindfold," he challenges them, "and listen to my kid sing, and you will swear you're hearing Ronnie Spector." Hee! I wonder who on the writing staff was the first to notice that about Chris Colfer, because it's kinda true. Anyway, as Burt Hummel is, as previously noted, an awesome father, he's willing to go to the mat for Kurt, but Will -- go figure -- suddenly agrees that Kurt should be given as much of a chance as Rachel. To that end, in a series of intercut shots bouncing between the ongoing negotiations in Principal Figgins's office and Mr. Schuester explaining the situation to the temporarily wheelchair-bound kids a bit later in the music room, Kurt and Rachel will compete against each other for the privilege of singing "Defying Gravity" at Sectionals, with the ten other members of the Glee Club voting on which singer offers the best interpretation. Rachel's worried it'll turn into some gruesome popularity contest in which she of course will end up the hideous loser, but Kurt wheels his elegantly attired self to the front of the room to lead the others in a vow to cast their votes for the best singer, period. There's a momentary snag when Britney needs help finding her right hand, but the others agree, and with that, the bell rings, summoning them all to their class. Rachel hangs back long enough to wheel her mortally offended self over to Mr. Schuester's kneecaps, whereupon she melodramatically snipes, "Maybe one of these days you'll find a way to create teaching moments without ruining my life!" before she executes a perfectly turned wheelchair flounce into the commercial break.
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By Demian
Back from the break, Principal Figgins compliments Will on the whole wheel-yourself-a-mile-in-Artie's-chair consciousness-raising exercise currently in progress, which leads Will to complain that the school has but one wheelchair-accessible entrance, and "it's all the way on the far end of campus." Long story short, he argues that McKinley needs more ramps, but Sue -- for some bizarre reason also present at this meeting -- strenuously objects. "Those are what I call 'Lazy-Makers,'" she quips, noting that in her opinion, ramps "discourage our able-bodied students from getting their proper exercise by using the stairs." Both Will and Sue then ask an excellent question regarding Sue's apparently pointless presence at the meeting. Unfortunately, they receive an entirely convoluted explanation from Principal Figgins that serves only to further Sue's particular conundrum this evening, and the long and the short of the entire mess is this: Tangible school improvements like additional wheelchair ramps cost money, but consciousness-raising exercises in "inspiration" are free, so Sue's going to take a page from Will's book and hold open auditions for Quinn's replacement on The Cheerios, despite the fact that The Cheerios had always been invitation-only up to this point. Will, of course, is to monitor the process to ensure every student participating receives a fair evaluation. Sue's outrage is surprisingly low-key, but it's cutting nonetheless. "Let me break this down for you," she explains, simmering. "There comes a point when you've got to stop seeing people for what they look like, and ask them to show you what they can do -- and as soon as a cheerleader rolls herself out onto the field in a wheelchair, she becomes decidedly less effective at cheering people up! It's just a fact!" Figgins doesn't even bother to concede that she might have a point, and instead lays down the law: The massive plot contrivance will proceed as previously dictated. "Maybe somebody at this school will surprise you!" he cheerily concludes. Sue stares at him like he's just farted in her hair.
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By Demian
Meanwhile, the "WMHS GLEE CLUB Handicapable BUS BAKE SALE" is failing miserably over in the cafeteria, despite the fact that the marketing committee consists of Finn, Puck, Quinn, and Santana Lopez, who are supposedly the most popular members of the choir. Quinn bitchily points out that no one wants to buy anything from losers, which is what they are now that they're temporarily wheelchair-bound music fags. Or something like that. Puck glumly agrees, noting that six months ago, he could've sold fifty of their damned cupcakes "on fear alone." The pity party comes to a screeching halt, however, when Britney appears at the far end of the cafeteria sans wheelchair, chatting amiably with a special-needs student named Becky. Quinn's horrified to see one of her Quinions consorting with someone so base, but Puck helpfully explains Britney and Becky are math test buddies, as Britney's always cribbing Becky's answers. Make of that what you will. The two new arrivals approach the bake sale table, with Britney admitting she "lost" her wheelchair -- heh -- before Britney kindly purchases a cupcake for the impecunious Becky. This brings the meager fundraising effort's sales to one, which Quinn instantly makes All About Her Financially Strapped Fetus because she is little more than a rampaging bitch tonight, and again: ABORTION IN COLUMBUS, and !
Cheerios auditions. Sue instantly rejects Mercedes, an inept male baton twirler, the school's sole female wrestler, a big-boned tap dancer, J-Fro, and a freakishly tall contortionist before the final student on the sign-up sheet arrives, and it's Becky. Every sphincter in Will's body tenses in anticipation of Sue's brutal rejection of the sweet-tempered special-needs girl, who heard about The Cheerios' newest routine from Britney and so brought her own jump rope so she might show Sue what she can do. Becky fails to complete a single pass with the rope, but Sue shockingly enough announces, "You're in! Be at practice tomorrow at 4 PM. Congratulations!" Becky grins from ear to ear and skips off on a cloud of euphoria while Will loudly wonders what Sue's angle is. Sue insists she's merely following orders, and in doing so has found herself a brand-new Cheerio, but Will's convinced she has dark ulterior motives and calls out, "I don't like this!" as Sue blithely exits the gymnasium. I don't like this, either, but it's for an entirely different reason, as you shall see at the end of this recap.
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By Demian
Out in the hall, Finn and Puck wheel their collective way towards their class, but they start arguing about Quinn's Fetus, and the thing we know, they're throwing punches at each other while rolling around on the linoleum until Mr. Schuester arrives to break it up, and I still don't care about this goddamned subplot, so it's a very good thing, indeed, when the blackness arrives to whisk us all into the commercial break.
On the auditorium stage, Artie's teaching the others how to execute a perfect series of double turns -- they've apparently found a replacement for Britney's wheelchair, by the way -- until Mr. Schuester calls for a break. The club members roll off the stage one by one until Artie's left alone with T-T-T-Tina, who shyly admits to how much she's grown to admire him over the last couple of months, especially since she's been bound to a chair of her own. "I had no idea how difficult this was." "It's just like you," he replies, "with your stutter -- you don't really notice it after a while." T-T-T-Tina looks guilty, then awkwardly asks Artie, "H-H-H-How did it happen?" She's referring, of course, to his disability, and we learn that when he was eight years old, he and his mother suffered through a terrible car accident. His mother recovered from her injuries, but poor Artie's been stuck in that chair ever since. "But," he adds, oh-so-suavely, "I want to be very clear: I still have the use of my penis." T-T-T-Tina b-b-b-blinks, and p-p-p-putters off. Artie's all, "STOOPID! I AM SO STOOPID!" and wheels off after her.
Back in the music room, Kurt labels the piano keys corresponding to the high C, D, E, and F, then slowly works his pipes up from one note to the . Over at Hummel Tires & Lube -- and no, I am not kidding about the name -- Burt hears the phone ring, and excuses himself from a customer to go answer it. Just as Kurt triumphantly hits the F, Burt answers to hear the caller sneer, "Your son's a fag." Click. Instant dial tone. And while I'm standing here all, "Um. Yes...and?" Mr. Hummel's considerably more upset. Enraged, even. Color me emotionally calloused if you must, but if that so-called threat had taken the form of a brick through one of Haus Von Hummels' windows, or even if that exact sentence had been spray-painted across Hummel Tires & Lube, I'd be able to take it more seriously than I can now, when it's been delivered more as a statement of fact by some queeny-sounding anonymous who, for all we know, might just have been working up the nerve to ask Kurt out on a date. Hey, I don't know how the Lima gays go about these things. In any event, Burt's so rattled by the call that even a half an hour later, when Kurt finally shows up from school, he can't properly work the coffee machine. Kurt assumes responsibility for the caffeine while excitedly announcing his high-F triumph, but quickly groks to his father's mood, and wonders what gives. Mr. Hummel fills Kurt in on the phone call and, long story short, while Burt definitely doesn't want Kurt to walk away from something he loves as much as Glee Club, and while "no one pushes the Hummels around -- especially cowards on the phone," he also couldn't bear to see Kurt hurt. Flailing a bit, he wishes aloud that Kurt's mother were still around, as "she was better at handling this kind of thing," but he pulls himself back together to congratulate Kurt on the "Kool-Aid or the Hi-C or whatever" before wandering off. Kurt looks pensive. And a bit chastened, as well.
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By Demian
Music room. Finn fixes Rachel's wonked-out wheelchair, then sits beside her for a chat in which she admits to nerves regarding the following afternoon's diva-off, and in fairness to her, I'll transcribe exactly what she has to say about it: "I don't want to win out of charity -- I wanna win the solo because it's right for the club. I really think that the judges at Sectionals will find a female version of 'Defying Gravity' much more accessible..." And here she falters a bit after noticing the utterly gormless expression on Finn's face before offering a self-deprecating smile to conclude, "I don't think that's gonna happen -- people just don't like me." "Yeah, you might want to work on that," Finn unhelpfully replies. To his credit, he quickly realizes that didn't come out the way he might have intended, and hastens to add, "I like you." The two share a nice little moment until the knocked-up bitch on wheels storms in with a final notice on that goddamned sonogram and -- again -- ABORTION IN COLUMBUS. Once the bitch has flounced from the room, Rachel casts an appraising eye on her just-repaired wheelchair and gets An Idea. This should be wacky.
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By Demian
A little later -- or maybe it's the day -- The WMHS GLEE CLUB Handicapable BUS BAKE SALE suddenly can no longer keep its various baked goods in stock as student after student forks over fistfuls of cash to scarf down cupcake after cupcake, as Puck somehow managed to find and exploit his Nana Connie's old recipe for the things. Mr. Schuester congratulates My Glorious Husband on a job well done while Puck's voice-over mischievously notes, "This isn't Nana Connie's old recipe -- she couldn't cook at all." "She was a diabetic," his voice-over confides, "so the only sweets she had in her house was dried fruit." The camera smears backwards a bit in time to Puck whipping up some cupcake batter in the Home Ec. room as his voice-over continues, "I knew I had to do something to help Quinn out with our baby. I don't know what kind of stuff you need for a baby that's still in your stomach -- bottles, diapers, that kind of thing, I guess -- but my baby mama was gonna get it all." The scene cuts to him wheeling his mohawked self over to Sandy Ryerson beneath the high school stadium's bleachers as the voice-over reveals, "To make sure that happened, I used the two things I know most about: Lying and crime." The voice-over cuts out momentarily as Sandy Ryerson solicitously asks, "Is there a lot of pain, Noah?" "The doctor said the shark fractured my spinal cord!" Puck faux-weeps. "This is why I don't go to the aquarium," Sandy sagely notes before promising to get Puck as much Chronic Lady as he wants at twenty cents on the dollar, and that is -- from what I've been led to believe, of course -- an outstanding deal. I suppose it helps immensely when your pusher's a desperate, middle-aged closet case and you look as fabulous in a wheelchair as My Glorious Husband here does, but whatever. Long story short, Puck didn't put enough marijuana into the cupcakes "to get you hallucinating," but "just enough to give you a wicked case of the munchies," and thus, the bake sale success.
Back in the gym, Sue's putting Becky through her paces with the jump rope, calling out, "Faster!" and "Harder!" and "Those better be tears of joy!" Needless to say, Becky's only mildly improved her performance since the audition, and eventually, Sue calls the training session to a close while laying it on the line for her new protégé: "This is terrible." "I tried, Coach," Becky replies. "This is hard!" "You think this is hard?" Sue snorts, and here it comes. "Try auditioning for Baywatch and being told they're going in another direction -- that was hard!" The anecdote seems to go over Becky's head, for she merely giggles, "Thanks, Coach!" when Sue subsequently orders her to hit the showers. And as Becky wanders off, Will -- who'd been eavesdropping on the entire exchange -- rounds the corner to confront his nemesis regarding her treatment of the poor little sweet-natured special-needs girl. "You are a terrible spy," Sue announces once Will's entered her line of vision. "You might want to try breathing through your nose sometime." Hee. "If you were a sniper," Sue continues, still not letting him off the hook in a manner most amusing, "I'd have already radioed in your coordinates, just like in The Falklands." Will ignores her the best he can to vow, "I'm not gonna let you bully that girl." "I bully everybody!" Sue snaps. "That's how I roll!" "This is different!" Will counters. "She's not like everybody else!" Sue halts dead in her tracks and wags a finger in front of his face. "I want you to listen to what you just said, William," she chides. "You're asking me to treat this girl differently because she has a disability when, actually, it seems to me she just wants to be treated like everybody else. Why are you doing this?" "Because I know you," he growls, "and you're up to something!" "You don't know the first thing about me," she smiles by way of response, and she's not lying, but we don't find out what, precisely, she's referring to until the end of the episode, so let's join the camera as it hits...
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By Demian
...Rachel nervously arriving in the music room for the diva-off. After Finn whispers that he's rooting for her, Mr. Schuester takes the floor to welcome everybody to the competition, and once the voting members have assumed their places on the risers, Kurt steps up to begin. He's turned an enormous black beetle into a brooch, by the way, and while it's not as fabulous as dear, absent Emma's repurposed granny accessories, it's still rather striking. And inexplicable. He receives an endearingly encouraging thumbs up from Mercedes before beginning the song, and wow. This is surprisingly difficult to watch the second time around, knowing that he's intentionally throwing the contest to Rachel because of that threatening phone call his father received the other day. Ooops. Spoiler! He does rather snottily direct the line, "And you won't bring me down!" to sad little unpopular Rachel, much to my TV girlfriend Santana Lopez's deliciously evil delight, but other than that, he appears to be painfully and uncharacteristically self-conscious and mannered in his presentation, a flaw that becomes even more apparent when they start cutting between him and Rachel as they trade off on the song's lines, and while her delivery's as inappropriately juvenile as it was during the show's diva-off with "Maybe This Time," she does end up coming across as much more polished and self-assured than he does. So, you know, despite his usual joie de vivre, Kurt is not, in fact, defying gravity, while sad little unpopular Rachel actually is. It's painful to watch, especially with him delivering lines like "I'm through accepting limits 'cause someone says they're so" when he is, in fact, accepting those limits in a possibly misguided attempt to protect Burt, and I might... I might have something in my eye. Talk amongst yourselves.
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By Demian
There. It passed. And in the end, on top of everything else, Kurt completely and deliberately biffs that high F he'd fought so hard to achieve, and Rachel wins. Well, "wins," but whatever. Poor little damaged baby gay.
Afterwards, out in the hall, Puck ambles over to Quinn to present her with several hundred dollars he swiped from The Handicapable Bus Fund, and ABORTION IN COLUMBUS! To Quinn's credit, after she apologizes for calling Puck a "Lima Loser" all those many episodes ago, she insists they cannot "take money from a friend in a wheelchair." Just then, their Finn in a wheelchair rolls up to give her his first paycheck. Remember that idea Rachel got a few scenes back? It involved wheeling Finn into a restaurant, where she brightly accosted the manager as follows: "You need to hire my friend, Finn. He is clearly handicapable, and refusing to hire him could be seen as discrimination. My dads are gay, and unless you want the full force of The American Civil Liberties Union coming down on you, I'd work something out." Finn will, of course, have to remain in his wheelchair the entire time he's working there, but as he puts it, "Screw it -- it's worth it." So's an ABORTION IN COLUMBUS, Finn. Commercials.
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By Demian
After the break, we join the Glee Club in the auditorium as Puck proudly passes the $1200 they made selling marijuana-laced cupcakes to the McKinley High student body to Mr. Schuester. Self-congratulatory noises abound as Mr. Schue hands the wad of cash over to Artie while suggesting that Artie present it to Principal Figgins himself. Artie agrees, but there's a twist -- while he's grateful they raised so much money for his benefit, he's aware that he'll not be the last wheelchair-bound student at McKinley High, so he'll happily travel to Sectionals in his father's car if it means he can have Figgins use the $1200 to build wheelchair ramps in the auditorium. Everyone applauds the decision, and I'm getting really, really tired with how Very Special Episode this evening's presentation has become. Are they angling for an award from The American Association Of People With Disabilities, or something? Because the whole pot-laced-cupcakes-sold-to-minors subplot might, you know, torpedo that whole idea. Just a thought.
Over in his office, Principal Figgins and Will have decided that Sue Sylvester had a brain tumor for breakfast. How else to explain the fact that she just waltzed into Figgins's office unannounced and wrote the district a check for three new external wheelchair ramps? Not only that, but Sue's unexpected largess means Will's getting his handicapable bus after all. The gentlemen are perplexed.
Though not as perplexed as I am by what follows. Sue signs her name to a visitors' log, and I'll just come out with it: She's stopped by the adult care facility for Down syndrome patients in which her elder sister, Jean, has been living for an unspecified number of years. As Sue's on friendly terms with the nursing staff, they evidently see each other frequently, and on this particular visit, Sue's brought her sister a pair of Cheerios pom-poms along with Jean's favorite book -- Little Red Riding Hood -- from which Sue reads aloud, much to Jean's delight. Jane Lynch is, of course, fabulous in this scene, and because of that, I'm not entirely opposed to the showrunners exposing us all to Sue Sylvester's soft, squishy underbelly, despite the fact that I believe I've stated in the past that I was perfectly fine with Sue Sylvester being an irredeemable force of self-centered nature, but I am wondering: Why this, and why this now? And would the character this scene turns her into really keep that unhinged journal we've seen her writing in? Would the character this scene turns her into really be offering those bazoo op-ed pieces on the local news? Maybe yes to the latter, simply because Sue obviously needs the additional income to maintain Jean's current living arrangements -- which would also explain, in part, why she's so driven to have The Cheerios succeed at any and all costs; she indicated, after all, that her tenure was tied to The Cheerios' winning record -- but really to the former? Really?
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By Demian
Whatever. I'm sure I could hammer this into something resembling perfect sense were I given enough time, but I've got Artie's broken heart to attend to at the moment. For yes, gentle reader, Artie and T-T-T-Tina are having a playful little wheelchair date through the halls of the now-empty school, but it ends badly when T-T-T-Tina screws up her courage to admit she's simply Single-T Tina. She'd been faking the stutter, you must understand, ever since the sixth grade, because she didn't want to deliver an oral report on The Missouri Compromise, and she was shy, and the stutter made people think she was weird, so they left her alone, but she doesn't want to be left alone anymore. This sad little story of hers goes over about as well as one would expect, with Artie dumping her lying ass and wheeling off to nurse his hurt feelings while Single-T Tina looks miserable and depressed. I'd like to care, but given the fact this relationship lasted less than the length of a single episode, I don't, and besides, I've got Kurt's broken heart to attend to at the moment.
For yes, gentle reader, Kurt's arrived at Hummel Tire & Lube to confess to his father that he blew the high F on purpose. "I wanted to lose," he explains, as a dismayed and somewhat irritated Burt collapses into a chair. "I've known who I was since I was five," Kurt continues, "and I adapted -- being different made me stronger, and at the end of the day, it's what's gonna get me out of this cowtown. But you never had to do that." "I can handle myself just fine," Mr. Hummel blusters, but Kurt just sadly shakes his head. "No, you can't. Not about this -- that phone call yesterday was just the beginning, especially if I get up in front of a thousand people to sing a girl's song." Burt's quiet as Kurt emotionally adds, "When I saw you, right after you got the call, and you were so hurt and so upset, it just killed me." Burt opens his mouth as if to speak, but Kurt jumps in with the following: "I'm not saying I'm gonna hide in the closet -- I'm proud of who I am -- I'm just saying that I love you more than I love being a star." Burt finally finds his voice, and affectionately and admiringly tells his strange little son, "You are your mother -- she was always the strong one." And then, the macho kicks in, and it's fine, because they understand each other, and Mr. Hummel asks if Kurt would like to help him put something called "a one ninety-five" on the car he'd been working on. "Let me change into my coveralls," Kurt smiles before gesturing at his top and explaining, "The sweater's an Alexander McQueen." Maybe Kurt shoplifts all of his clothes. Either that, or he's secretly turning tricks down at the truck stop in between Cridersville and Wapakoneta. It's gotta be one or the other, don't you think?
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By Demian
And, finally, we reach the promised wheelchair number: "Proud Mary," officially by John Fogerty and Creedence Clearwater Revival, but forever in my heart by Miss Tina Turner. It works, of course, for both Artie and Kurt's storylines this evening, what with the repeated "Rollin'!" in the beginning for the former and, of course, the "proud Mary" bit throughout the rest of the song for the latter, and it's cute to watch them dorking out with their Busby Berkeley-esque wheelchair choreography, and it's nice that Artie and Single-T Tina get featured solos during what's essentially an excuse for Mercedes to blast the rafters one more time, but it left me feeling a little meh, overall. Maybe I shouldn't have watched Tina's version before writing this paragraph.
I can't tell you what to expect from week's episode, as I haven't seen the previews yet. Whatever they're throwing at us time around, I hope it makes more sense than tonight's presentation.
Demian also hates Very Special Episodes. You may reach him at demian_twop@yahoo.com.
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