In Ohio: Dreamboat Blaine and Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen decide to spend this week in New York.
In New York: Dreamboat Blaine and Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen stow their belongings in The Improbably Bohemian Bushwick Loft, then set out on their separate adventures, with Dreamboat Blaine nailing a Fake Drama School audition we'll never get to see, apparently, while Lady Lips completely blows his interview at Hunter College. Seems Hunter has this special scholarship for ex-strippers kindly financed by Channing Tatum, and Lady Lips is convinced it represents his only means of affording higher education, so needless to say, he's a bit put out when it becomes clear he won't be accepted. Fortunately, The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway corrals a photographer friend of hers from the revival to shoot a modeling portfolio for Sam, and he ends up getting signed by a Tyra Banks lookalike at The House Of Bichette.
Of course, there are several problems with all of this, most notably the fact that Old Idiot Rachel starts making googly eyes at Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen while oiling him up for his photographs, but it also turns out that The House Of Bichette won't even consider booking him for a job until he loses an additional ten pounds. So, his friends convince him to renege on his contract (if he ever actually signed one in the first place) and try his luck elsewhere.
In Other News: More stupid relationship crap. Oh, and Artie gets all up in Becky Jackson's business, even though she explicitly tells him to go to hell several times during the course of the episode, because he's convinced he knows what's best for her. And wouldn't you know it? He actually does! By the end of the episode, Becky's made arrangements to attend The University Of Cincinnati after graduation, even though she already had a perfectly good -- and guaranteed -- job at McKinley High for the rest of her life.
Featuring a veritable plethora of Billy Joel songs for reasons I'm going to ignore until the recap proper, including "Movin' Out," as performed by Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen and Dreamboat Blaine on their way to Brooklyn; "Piano Man," as performed by Dreamboat Blaine at Café Contrivance, with Lady Lips providing accompaniment on a harmonica he somehow manages not to inhale through his enormous mouth; "My Life," as performed by New Puck, primarily in the McKinley High locker room, so that was nice; "Honesty," as performed by Artie for Becky, onstage in The April Rhodes Civic Pavilion; "An Innocent Man," as performed by Stupid Boring New Idiot Finn as part of his successful attempt to woo his stupid boring new idiot girlfriend; "Just The Way You Are," as performed by The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway, St. Gay Of Lima, Santana Lopez, and Dreamboat Blaine for the benefit of Lady Lips back at the loft; and "You May Be Right," as performed by Mr. Schuester, the various children of The New New Directions, and hundreds of extras in The Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High.
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Will blunders his way through The Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High, bumbling past several table displays with titles like "Burger Repair" and "Sewage Processing" affixed above them on the walls until he finally catches up with Sue and wonders what gives. Seems we've arrived in the middle of "The First Annual McKinley High Career Fair," which is something you'd think Emma would have dreamed up in her role as the school's sole guidance counselor, but as Jayma Mays has been spending much of her life as of late on a truly horrible sitcom, the primary responsibility for this evening's wacky plot-stirrer has fallen upon Principal Sylvester's more-than-capable shoulders. And she seems quite proud of her accomplishment, indeed, even after Will points out, "These jobs are terrible!" "It's not the '90s anymore," Sue counters, "when any high-school dropout could stumble his way into a six-figure salary as COO of a dot-com startup." "Upon graduation," she reminds him, "our students will be entering the most competitive job market in recent history." Change "most competitive" to "absolute worst" and we're probably closer to the truth, Sue.
Naturally, Will blows past both Sue's sage arguments and my equally sage amendments to same to complain about the fact that he's not seeing "a booth for theater, or music or dance." "There is nothing here representing a career in the arts!" he whines. "That's because there's no such thing as 'a career in the arts,'" Sue patiently explains, and let's face it: She's not entirely off the mark, there, now is she? "I will not encourage members of this student body," she continues, "to further endanger their already uncertain futures in the unrealistic and narcissistic pursuit of stardom, when the very best they're likely to achieve is coaching a high school Glee Club and marrying a redheaded googly-eyed Homo afarensis with early-onset Dressing Like An Old Lady Disorder. Not gonna do it." She got the genus wrong, there, but I'm still not disagreeing with her primary point. "However," Sue kindly concedes, totally ignoring me, as befits a fake person on the television set, "if you would like to set up a stool in between Salad Artistry and Fecal Sculpture, well, you're more than welcome to regale passersby with your inspiring story of how you dreamt of Broadway stardom, and ended up rapping for high-schoolers with a head of hair that looks just like Olympia Dukakis's merkin." And that certainly represents a fascinating bit of imagery. In any event, Will rolls his eyes and sighs his way straight into this evening's title card.
Music Room. Fresh from his most recent humiliation, Mr. Schue enters to address the assembled children like so: "In spite of the complete lack of representation at the career fair, I know that a lot of you are thinking about a career in the arts. It's no secret that Sue Sylvester doesn't believe that an artistic career is a very practical idea, and, for once, I have to admit she's right -- it's completely impractical." Generalized consternation erupts amongst the kiddies until Mr. Schue shushes them all by observing, "Anyone pursuing the arts needs to go in with their eyes wide open -- we're talking zero job security and impossible odds -- but I've always believed that you have to pursue what you love, and that's why this week's assignment is about a goofy-looking kid who struggled for years in the music business." "Finally!" Pretty Kitty enthuses. "It's Marilyn Manson Week!" Close, Pretty Kitty, but not quite. This week, the children will actually be performing the works of noted Long Island drunk and oldies radio station mainstay Billy Joel who, Mr. Schue claims, "ignored the haters and he kept pursuing his dream" despite "countless failures and disappointments."
First, though, we must catch up on recent events in the lives of Sam and Blaine, both of whom, as it turns out, will be spending a majority of this week on The East Coast. Dreamboat Blaine's got his long-awaited audition at Fake Drama School In New York, you see, and Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen will be interviewing for a spot in Hunter College's Department Of Theatre. Even though it's apparently May of their senior year, and they should have gone through these auditions and interviews eight or nine months ago. And for those of you as puzzled as I am by Dimwit Sam's sudden interest in higher education, Lady Lips explains it like this: "They saw and they loved my Tornado Of Talent impressions reel, and I'm up for this awesome scholarship -- The Channing Tatum Former Male Stripper Grant." So, there you have it. Needless to say, their impending sojourn on my side of the country means they'll have to miss most of this week's lesson, but Mr. Schue has kindly agreed to let them kick things off with their rendition of this episode's titular track, "Movin' Out." And color me considerably shocked, because it's really not that bad. Of course, the lyrics have absolutely nothing to do with the boys' subplot for the evening (though I suppose you could argue that it's their way of thumbing their noses at Principal Sylvester's dreadful career fair), but their voices blend nicely on the harmonies, and Chord Overstreet and Darren Criss do seem to be having an almost infectious amount of fun with it all, so I'm thinking it's not the worst way this evening could have started out.
About midway through the song, Dreamboat Blaine and Lady Lips prance out of the music room to retrieve their traveling bags from the school's hallway, and from there the two are of course magically transported over to...
...the Montrose Avenue subway station in Brooklyn where, still singing, they board a terribly convenient bus for the remainder of their journey to The Improbably Bohemian Bushwick Loft. Most amusingly, they plant their loudmouthed, touristy asses right to a gentleman who appears to be Williamsburg's version of The Unabomber, so I'm quite surprised that they make it to their intended destination in once piece. I would have set fire to Lady Lips just for that atrocious midlife crisis ponytail he's still sporting from last week. Eccch.
Needless to say, the boys are greeted with numerous hugs and many vociferous expressions of loving welcome upon their arrival at The Loft, and for the moment, we'll leave them there so we might skip back over to...
...The Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High, where Artie's just now wheeling himself over to Becky Jackson's side to kick-start this week's Public Service Announcement. Did you know that many colleges and universities have programs specifically designed to cater to the special needs of mentally handicapable students? It's true! And Artie would be more than happy to help research some of those very programs for Becky if she's interested. "Buzz off," Becky more or less snarls in response to Artie's valiant offer, adding for good measure, "College is for suckers!" Just then, an eavesdropping Principal Sylvester sidles on over to wheel Artie away for a private chat. "What, exactly, are you doing?" Principal Sylvester opens with a wonderfully quiet sense of menace as she pushes Artie around the corner. "I just want to make sure that Becky was aware of what all her options are," Artie bleats by way of response. "She could go to college and get a job!" he supposes, weakly. "She has a job," Principal Sylvester testily reminds his unnecessarily meddling ass, "and here she will remain indefinitely in a safe and stable environment, working alongside someone who cares very deeply for her." "I was...t-t-trying to help!" Artie splutters. "If you really want to help, Muppet Stephen Hawking," Principal Sylvester icily replies, "you'll stop inserting yourself into situations you know nothing about." And then she pushes his wheelchair into the lockers. Atta girl.
Meanwhile, Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Don't care, never will, so: Long story short, New Puck attempts to apologize for his wicked, evil, slutty ways with a bunch of roses, but Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Cut to Café Contrivance, where we first check in on the gals, and Santana Lopez finally addresses one of my numerous concerns regarding recent events in New York City. "Why are you still working?" she demands of Old Idiot Rachel. "Aren't you rehearsing, like, 24/7?" " Fanny Brice was a working girl," The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway blithely replies, "and my director and I think it's really important to keep the character as alive and authentic as possible." Yeah, I'm gonna go ahead and call bullshit on that. Though I suppose I should be happy they even attempted to offer us an explanation in the first place.
ANY-way: Elsewhere, St. Gay Of Lima breezes over to a table in his section with a cheery, "So, did you boys like those historical sites I recommended?" "We checked out that deconstructed bathhouse on St. Mark's where Tennessee Williams got in that fistfight with Tallulah Bankhead," Dreamboat Blaine replies. "Oh, yeah," Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen grins, totally stoked. "That was awesome!" "But," Blaine interjects, picking up the substance of his original thread, "it was mostly campus visits -- NYU, Columbia." "Why?" St. Gay squints, adding, "You're going to Kneeyada!" Dreamboat Blaine patiently explains that, despite his primary intention to attend Fake Drama School In New York, he still needs a couple of safety schools, but St. Gay Of Lima is having none of that. "The way I've talked you up to Carmen Thibodeaux," he insists, "she's gonna offer you a spot on the spot." "Which reminds me," St. Gay smiles, "are you up for a little trial run? I don't want to send you into the lions' den under-rehearsed." Dreamboat Blaine can see where this is going, and he attempts to beg his way out of it, but St. Gay will not be deterred, and he all but drags his fiancé up to the terribly convenient piano set up on café's stage. And, after a fawning introduction from St. Gay, Dreamboat Blaine launches himself into this evening's second number, which is of course the completely expected "Piano Man." And because the crowd in the café is made up entirely of tourists, rather than people who actually live in the city and are therefore sick to death of hearing this goddamned song absolutely everywhere, they offer Dreamboat Blaine a warm and welcoming round of applause as he plinks out the opening riff, rather than beating him to death with their chairs.
Though, you know, color me considerably shocked again: The performance that follows contains a tremendous amount of charm almost in spite of itself, so I'm not quite ready to punch a hole through my flat-screen TV. Yet. Accompanied on harmonica by Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen -- and yes, I kept waiting for that harmonica to disappear forever into Sam's vast, gaping pie hole at some point, even though that unfortunately never happens -- Dreamboat Blaine plays it all pretty straightforwardly, and then the restaurant staff chimes in as one on the backup vocals while drifting around the tables with candles, and Kurt and Santana start waltzing, inspiring other randomly thrown-together couples to do the same, and it all ends up being just so ridiculously sweet that I find to my surprise that I'm in no mood to trash it. I still never want to hear this fucking song ever again, though.
And in the end, as the crowd offers Dreamboat Blaine a wild round of applause, St. Gay Of Lima bellows a few words of affection and encouragement at his fiancé as we skitter out into this evening's first commercial break.
The Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High. Artie -- still not backing off despite being told to rot in Hell by both Becky Jackson and Principal Sylvester -- wheels himself over to offer Becky a few of the hundreds of appropriate college pamphlets he's managed to amass at some point in the last five minutes off screen somewhere, and to say that Becky Jackson is somewhat less than appreciative would be understating her reaction to this fine example of Artie's magnanimous benevolence just a wee tiny little bit. "My choices are none of your business!" she howls in his face. "I don't want to go to college, and I don't want your stupid pamphlets! BUTT OUT!"
Locker Room. Live Finn arrives to excoriate New Puck over the latter's abominable treatment of Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, and lemme check something here...nope! Still not caring! AT ALL! So, let's cut ahead to this evening's musical interlude: It's "My Life," as performed by New Puck, and I do hope I'm not the only person in the world who still associates this song primarily with something Tom Hanks would rather forget. The action takes New Puck carousing through much of the high school, where he spends most of his time grinding up against young ladies who are not Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel, and there's one fun transition where Jacob Artist starts a standing backflip in one location, only to finish it over in the music room, but I wouldn't call it the most exciting sequence we get to see this evening. And when it's over, New Puck receives a round of applause from the other kiddies that could best be termed "polite," while Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel and The Only Finn Left Standing shoot daggers at him with their eyes.
Hunter College. The dean of admissions, a woman fantastically named "Arwyyd Johnson," is reviewing Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen's high school transcript, and she notes approvingly that his grades "have improved over the past couple of semesters." "Yeah, I kind of had an, um, a breakthrough a few months ago," Sam babbles, "'cause I'm...I'm not, like, a good student, but I realized that what I'm really good at is impressions? So, I started to do this impression of a good high school student, and it...it's kind of working." "Okay," Dean Johnson replies, evenly enough, though she's got a massively skeptical frown on her face, so things aren't looking so good for Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen, here. "Tell me why you want to go to Hunter," she prompts. Hunter's primary appeal for Sam lies in the fact that it tends to enroll more female students than male ones, which is great for him because he's, like, totally into feminist issues. "Like, just because women don't make as much as guys do to do the same job," he explains, "it's totally not cool that they aren't given the same amount of respect. And, like, why can guys go shirtless at the beach, but chicks can't?" Dean Johnson, already thoroughly over his dumb ass, tosses Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen A Look. "Sorry," Sam mumbles, guessing, "Uh, girls can't? I guess I have a lot to learn, still." Dean Johnson remains silent, so the hapless Lady Lips just digs the hole deeper for himself, noting "I'm also super-jazzed to be going to school in New York City -- hello, all the diversity?" Silence from the dean. "So, you're black?" he blurts out. "That must be interesting," he continues, now just blatantly flailing. "Do you know Mercedes Jones?" Dean Johnson loudly slams shut his application file. D'OH!
My Ancestral Homeland. Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen has apparently just finished relating the details of his disastrous interview to The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway, and as she fixes him a plate of commiserative spaghetti, Sam sighs and admits that he doesn't think he really wants to go to college, anyway. "Well, who says you have to?" Old Idiot Rachel rather reasonably wonders. "Ever since I was a kid," Lady Lips moans, "I've seen these United Negro College Fund commercials, and it's like, if you don't go to college, you're letting your whole family down, or you're destined for a life of eating out of Dumpsters." The wise Old Idiot Rachel takes a moment to consider that, then sagaciously counsels, "In life, it's not about knowing what you want -- it's about knowing what you can cross off your list that you don't want." "But I do know what I want!" Lady Lips suddenly exclaims.
Smear sideways to a flashback of Wee Lady Lips perusing a variety of men's fashion magazines while present-day Sam's voiceover extols the many wonders of a career in male modeling. "Male modeling is pretty much the ultimate form of self-expression as far as I'm concerned," Present-Day Sam's Voiceover insists as Wee Lady Lips intently examines his reflection in a mirror, adding, "It's like acting or singing, but the only tools you have to perform with are your striking good looks and great abs."
Smear back to The Improbably Bohemian Bushwick Loft, where Old Idiot Rachel graciously allows, "There is some truth to that." "I have this vision," Lady Lips excitedly tells her, "so clear in my head!"
Smear sideways to Sam's Vision, in which he slouches on a bench with his asstastic midlife crisis ponytail completely intact as a Los Angeles city bus pulls up to the curb with its entire side overwhelmed by a black-and-white photo of Lady Lips himself, clad in little more than a pair of tight white boxer-briefs. "My junk is as big as a car!" Present-Day Sam's Voiceover marvels. "It's awesome!"
Smear back to The Improbably Bohemian Bushwick Loft, where Old Idiot Rachel promptly decides to sponsor a photo shoot for Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen the very day, so he can start shopping his pictures to the city's agencies as quickly as possible. I'm not sure I approve of where this storyline is going.
Cut to The April Rhodes Civic Pavilion. Despite having been told to mind his own goddamned business by Becky Jackson -- twice, thank you very much -- Artie has decided to lure her to The Pavilion's stage to witness the following presentation. With Tinkles and the usually-mute members of The McKinley Jazz Ensemble backing him up, Artie begins crooning "Honesty," and I'll be damned if this hateful song doesn't gain a certain amount of charm through this evening's performance, too. What the hell is going on tonight? I loathe Billy Joel -- loathe him -- but this gang of idiots is making him seem almost tolerable. Damn you, Glee! And Kevin McHale in particular can kiss my Joel-hating ass, too, because his vocals on this one are almost inexplicably soothing, when by all rights this song should inciting me to acts of almost unprecedented violence and brutality.
And when it's over, Becky squeals, "Finally, you're telling the truth -- you've been in love with me since kindergarten! I knew it all along!" There follows an ungainly reference to Artie's "purple mushroom" -- and no, I am not kidding with that, no matter how much I desperately wish I were -- after which Artie gently corrects Becky's many misapprehensions while lecturing her about overcoming her fear of the unknown. You see, he knows she really wants to attend college, despite all her many protestations to the contrary, because Becky's a girl, and therefore utterly incapable of understanding her own desires and wishes, and Artie's a boy, and therefore manifestly better at deciding what a girl is going to do with the rest of her life. Or something like that. And wouldn't you know it? Becky admits that Artie is right, because of course she does, and the two hug it out as we head into this evening's commercial break seething with rage over this show's retrograde gender politics.
McKinley High Cafeteria Kitchen, where Mama Rose peels potatoes while Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Long story short, Mama Rose tells her daughter to "hold out for a good guy" the time, and there's a sick-making discussion about the overwhelming importance of Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel's V-card that I will not be transcribing, ever, and with that, we head back over to...
...The Improbably Bohemian Bushwick Loft, where The Horrible Hooker Of Broadway is just now introducing Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen to "Barbara Brownfield," the Funny Girl revival's official photographer. "I'm not gonna lie," Sam admits, "I'm really, really, really nervous -- I've been pitting out all my t-shirts." Lovely. And with that graceful image now firmly planted within our minds, and also with little further ado, we find ourselves propelled into a lengthy modeling montage during which Barbara Brownfield rather easily convinces Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen to disrobe, which I'm sure many in the audience found quite satisfactory, indeed. Unfortunately, there is this one moment where Old Idiot Rachel and Lady Lips lock lusty eyes with each other while she's oiling him up for a series of mostly-naked muscleman poses, and I can't believe they're actually going to go there -- mainly because I was positive she'd be rebounding with Horatio Hornblower -- but there you have it. And when it's over, Barbara Brownfield pronounces the session a resounding success. Hooray?
Lair Of The Sylvester. Principal Sylvester's summoned Artie Abrams and his amazingly intrusive ass to her lair for a little chat, but before she says one single word, she crosses ominously to the office credenza to retrieve a rather sinister-looking ear bulb. She then approaches him, balefully, and from behind, to lean in close to his head and whisper the following: "I went to my pharmacy and took the liberty of purchasing you a good old-fashioned ear douche, because you obviously didn't hear me when I distinctly told you -- with perfect diction and great clarity -- to stop meddling in the affairs of one Becky Jackson." Hee! Artie obstinately pushes the ear douche away from his head and all but shouts, "Becky told me herself she wants to go to college, and there's no reason why she can't!" "How dare you lecture me," Principal Sylvester bristles, moving to settle herself upon her pleather-upholstered throne of judgment. "You don't think I know that?" she continues, supremely annoyed at his obvious ignorance. "You don't think I've contacted each and every school and quizzed them endlessly about their programs?" "Then why aren't you helping her?" Artie cries. "Because she's not ready," Principal Sylvester hisses, ferocious. "Or maybe you're not ready," Artie heedlessly counters. Principal Sylvester collapses back into her chair, her face the very picture of infuriated outrage, as Artie continues, "I know you love Becky like a daughter, and you want to protect her, and I get it, because of everything you've been through -- but you have to let her go." Artie's found an excellent program for students with Down's syndrome at The University Of Cincinnati, and he intends to escort Becky on a campus tour in the very near future, so there! With that, Artie spins his wheels around to flounce on out of the lair, but before he makes it halfway across the carpet, Principal Sylvester calls out, "Mr. Abrams!" Artie rather reluctantly turns himself around to face her. "Ask tough questions," Principal Sylvester orders him, adding for good measure, "I want a full report when you come back!" For yes, gentle reader, Principal Sylvester has of course experienced a change of heart, because she's a girl, and therefore utterly unqualified to understand and interpret Becky Jackson's unique set of circumstances and needs despite her decades of experience as a professional educator, and he's a boy, and therefore manifestly better at deciding what Becky Jackson is going to do with the rest of her life, even though he's only seventeen years old. Or something like that. God, I hate this show.
Cut to The Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High, where Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Long story short, Live Finn catches up with her and proceeds to pitch her his woo, but she thinks she needs "a little break from men" at the moment, and with that, she leaves him standing all by his lonesome in front of the highly reflective surfaces littering the career fair's "Mirror Design & Construction!" booth. This, naturally, leads to Live Finn gazing contemplatively into his multiple fractured reflections for a moment, after which he evidently decides that fractured character complexity is for losers, and he eases himself into this evening's musical selection, which just so happens to be "An Innocent Man."
Of course, the entirely uncomplicated lyrics lead Live Finn from the hallway to the music room, where he pretty much addresses the bulk of the song directly at Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel, much to the other children's bemused perplexity, because even they know that Live Finn can do waaaaay better for himself than Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel's dull ass. And while Blake Jenner does a perfectly nice job with the vocals throughout -- and despite the delightful presence of Tinkles tickling the ivories in the background -- the song remains as tedious as Live Finn's would-be girlfriend. And when it's over, Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachel agrees to go out with him, leaving New Puck little choice but to stomp out into this evening's commercial break in a furious fit of childish pique. Yaaaaawn.
My Ancestral Homeland. While St. Gay Of Lima natters on endlessly about wardrobe strategies for his fiancé's upcoming audition at Fake Drama School In New York, Dreamboat Blaine perches uncomfortably on a nearby stool, looking terribly pensive. Eventually, Blaine raises a hesitant, quieting hand into the air, and he rather forebodingly states, "I have to tell you something." "If you cheated on me again," St. Gay witheringly ripostes, "I will not accept 'sex addiction' as an excuse." Don't worry, St. Gay, your fiancé hasn't been passing it around to every guy who clicks the Like button on his most recent Facebook post -- that we know of at this point. Rather, Dreamboat Blaine is simply having second thoughts about attending Fake Drama School In New York. It's a fine arts program, you see, which would preclude him studying other subjects he might find of interest, and who knows? Maybe he doesn't want a career in the arts, after all. Maybe he'd rather become a doctor instead! Did you ever consider that, St. Gay Of Lima? Huh? Did you? "Of course!" St. Gay sneers. "How could I forget the numerous conversations we've had about you wanting to be a doctor?" "My passion for medicine has always been my secret shame!" Dreamboat Blaine protests, adding, "And it's no secret what my favorite Milton Bradley game is."
Smear sideways to a flashback of the nattily-attired Wee Blaine trying and failing to remove Cavity Sam's funny bone. "Dang!" Wee Blaine pouts. Heh.
Back in the present, Dreamboat Blaine sighs, "It's a great relief to be able to tell you this now." St. Gay Of Lima stares his fiancé down for a moment or two, then crosses to take Dreamboat Blaine's hand and lead him to the bed, where the two sit for the conversation that follows, which basically amounts to this: St. Gay calls Dreamboat Blaine out for being frightened of his impending Fake Drama School In New York audition, and he admits he was just as terrified of everything when he first moved to The Big City. "You're a performer," Kurt tells Blaine, "and you're gonna find the spotlight, and you can't shy away from your greatness just because you're afraid you're not great enough." "You have a gift," St. Gay concludes, "and it wouldn't be right to let you hide that away." And with this lavish tongue-bathing of Dreamboat Blaine's fragile ego thus complete, St. Gay sits back and waits for a reaction. "Thanks for knowing me," Blaine smiles. Awwwwwwwww. The two move in for a clinch, and from there, we hop on over to...
...The University Of Cincinnati, where we join Becky Jackson's campus tour, already in progress. And as it's all just one gigantic infomercial for the university's TAP program, I'll be skipping back over to...
...New York, where Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen is just now settling in for his very first meeting at the "House Of Bichette Modeling Agency," and here I must admit to a dreadful error in my initial recaplet of this evening's episode. You see, I called the woman with whom Lady Lips is chatting here "a Tyra Banks lookalike," and it turns out she's actually Tyra Banks. Ooops! Though in my defense, who in the hell knew that Tyra Banks could act? Anyway, after some initial miscommunication involving the pronunciation of the agency's name -- it's "Bee-shet," I believe, despite this scene's infuriating refusal of confirmation one way or the other -- Miss Tyra lays it on the line for Lady Lips like so: "This is how male modeling works: Most of what you'll get will be runway, and you're not gonna get paid for that, but hopefully, they'll let you keep some of the clothes. If you do book print work, chances are you'll be a shirtless pawn, there to enhance the real gem of the shoot -- the girl." "You'll be paid enough to live in the city," she adds, pointedly amending that statement by clarifying, "With roommates." Which would certainly serve to give me pause, because living with a bunch of vapid, empty-headed douchebags like these guys would probably suck, but I realize others might likely be of a different mind, LTG.
In any event, Miss Tyra insists, "This is not glamorous," going on to remind Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen, "You are one of ten thousand beautiful boys here in New York City, and the word that you will hear more than any other during your brief career will be 'no.'" She's actually sort of terrifying in this scene, which totally works for me. Though a large part of me is deeply saddened by the fact that they obviously decided against recreating even the tiniest portion of this unforgettable performance of hers. Sigh. Anyway, Lady Lips assures Miss Tyra that he's more than capable of meeting and defeating any of the challenges the modeling world might throw up in front of him, so Miss Tyra tells him to lose ten pounds. Immediately. Oh, and after he's done that, he can go spend his own money on an actual, honest-to-God, professional portfolio, rather than the freebie crap he threw at her when he arrived in her office. "You think I'm fat?" Lady Lips asks, with a meek little disappointed frowny-face. "Not for Kansas," Miss Tyra snorts by way of reply. "You're in the big time now, cowboy," Miss Tyra warns him, "and the camera likes starvation." Lady Lips gulps his way into this evening's commercial break.
My Ancestral Homeland. Santana Lopez is most displeased, indeed, to discover that Dreamboat Blaine has gifted The Improbably Bohemian Loft with an upright piano as his way of thanking his hosts for letting him stay there this week. "Seriously," Santana eyerolls, directing the following comment mostly at St. Gay, "I'm not gonna be able to survive if you and your hag, Berry, are gonna be tickling those ivories, belting out gay hits from Rent and Showboat all day." Unfortunately, everybody else present just pretty much blows off Santana's extremely valid concerns, with Old Idiot Rachel in particular choosing to offer the boys some dinner, instead. Lady Lips, naturally, declines because he's on a "Mentos and flavored air diet," and this of course leads to a heated discussion that basically boils down to this generally-shared point-of-view, as voiced by St. Gay Of Lima: "You don't need to be prison-camp skinny to be a model -- I think you should find another agency." "No!" Sam protests. "The House Of Bitchette is, like, the best agency in town!" Dreamboat Blaine opines that their point might best be made in song -- an assertion Santana vehemently disputes, as well she should -- and as Dreamboat Blaine plonks himself down at The Loft's brand-new upright to plink out the opening notes of "Just The Way You Are," Santana tears off towards her sleeping nook in a rage. Hee. However, so forceful is The Power Of The Joel this evening that even Santana Lopez cannot resist it, and by the number's midpoint, she's rejoined the others in The Loft's living room, crooning the song's limp lyrics into a hairbrush microphone along with Old Idiot Rachel, St. Gay Of Lima, and Dreamboat Blaine.
As for the overall performance itself? Eh. It's competent, I suppose, but not particularly challenging, and I guess I'll leave it at that. Oh, I almost forgot: Old Idiot Rachel makes a couple more googly eyes at Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen in the middle of it all, and he doesn't seem especially averse to her overtures, so I figure we should prepare ourselves now for the romantic subplot of our nightmares, because it looks like it's really gonna happen. Whee!
Lair Of The Sylvester. Principal Sylvester calls Becky in for a chat, and long story short, while Becky would be totally psyched to attend The University Of Cincinnati in the fall, she's afraid she'd be hurting Principal Sylvester's feelings if she leaves Lima. "You're not sad, are you, Coach?" Becky wonders. "I'm sad to be losing the best damn secretary since the pre-collagen-injected Melanie Griffith in Working Girl," Principal Sylvester concedes, "but I'm more proud than I am sad." "Think I can help you write your application essay?" Principal Sylvester offers. Becky happily agrees. "You can't say that," Principal Sylvester notes almost immediately upon examining the document in question, "and you can't say that, either." "I can't say 'crap' or 'douche'?" Becky frowns. "Even if you're talking about Graydon Carter," Principal Sylvester sighs. And with that, we head into this evening's final commercial break.
The Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High, where Stupid Boring New Idiot Rachezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Stupid Boring New Idiot Finn arrives to canoodle with his stupid boring new idiot girlfriend, even though she "still needs time" for her stupid boring new idiot self, and New Puck drops by at some point to congratulate them on their stupid boring new idiot romance, and then we're off to...
...another section of The Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High, where Principal Sylvester and Becky Jackson are just now putting the finishing touches on the career fair's belated arts booth. "What made you see the light?" a just-arriving Mr. Schue wonders, rather smugly if you ask me. "Well, Butt Chin," Principal Sylvester chipperly replies, "in the words of civil rights leader Genghis Khan, 'Everyone deserves a shot at their dreams,' and I suppose that includes your hopelessly misguided teen hobgoblins." "Don't forget to remind them," she adds, "about the myriad of show-business legends born and bred right here in Lima." At that, Principal Sylvester tacks up a photograph of Lima's only show-business legend, the late and much-lamented Phyllis Diller. Hee!
"You know," Principal Sylvester muses, "in a few decades, when The New Directions are all on unemployment and sexually pleasing some horny old casting assistant just so they can be extras on Season Thirty-Three of The Bachelorette, they'll look back on this time and remember you fondly." Just then, Single-T Tina charges up to the adults to deliver the only line they decided to give her this episode, but the sudden reappearance of Dreamboat Blaine and Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen completely steals Tina's would-be thunder, and after a bit of expository blather -- long story short, Blaine "crushed" his off-screen audition at Fake Drama School In New York -- Lady Lips announces his intention to skip college just like this week's hero, Billy Joel, and become a male model. "Impossible," Principal Sylvester smirks, noting, "You're too fat." Hee. Lady Lips denies this, and he insists, "I like me just the way I am, and I'm not gonna change for anyone!" "Well, that is just the screw-you spirit employers love!" Principal Sylvester sarcastically remarks. "Honest to God," she exasperates, "I cannot imagine what goes on in your lumpish, sexually ambiguous heads!" "It's 'cause they're nuts," Becky pipes in from the sidelines of this discussion. "Every one of them is crazy!" Becky insists. "You may be right," Mr. Schue smiles, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "We may be crazy!" he continues. "Don't you dare," Principal Sylvester warns. "Over my dead body will you inexplicably shoehorn in another Billy Joel song just to punctuate one of your weekly lessons that inevitably veers off into a saccharine barrage of angst and affirmation!"
Unfortunately for us all, it's too late, for Mr. Schue and the kiddies have already clearly committed to this evening's final number, which just so happens to be a terribly jolly rendition of "You May Be Right." It starts right there in the middle of The Hallowed Halls before eventually sucking Mr. Schue, the various children of The New New Directions, and about a hundred extras over to the stage in The April Rhodes Civic Pavilion, where everyone bounces around while happily shouting out the song's lyrics until we finally fade to black for the night.
week: Puppets. Not that anybody actually cares, because nobody's going to be watching a new episode of this show on Thanksgiving. Happy holidays!
Demian will not be watching a new episode of this show on Thanksgiving. You may forward your warmest holiday greetings to him at demian_twop@yahoo.com.