Credits. Cha, cha-cha, cha-cha. Cha, cha-cha, cha-cha. Cha, cha-cha, cha-cha, cha-cha, whee, go xylophone! Splashy bus! Cha cha cha.
Lights up on Samantha's apartment -- in the bedroom, naturally. She's vacuuming rigorously, wearing a black negligee and high heels. Of course. A man steals in, wearing a ski-cum-robber mask, and grabs her around the neck. Wow, a domineering woman like Samantha has rape fantasies? How totally predictable. I once had a sexual fantasy that shocked me -- or should I say, shocked even me. It was the early '90s, I was living in Philadelphia, and Jonathan Demme was in town shooting a movie in my neighborhood. I was riding my bike home after a late night out and rode right past one of the movie's sexy stars (hint: he's got an Academy Award). God, he was gorgeous. Tall and strong. He looked right into my eyes. And he smelled good, too. So fucking handsome. Right after that, I started having fantasies about tying that big strong man up and beating the hell out of him. Can you believe it? I'm not even into that stuff normally. The thing that shocked me wasn't the beating stuff -- the connotations of me, a white chick, tying up and beating an African-American man. Oh, now I've gone and given it all away. I'm no better than that actress with the huge smile that's always climbing all over him at awards shows. Now guess that one. Anyway. Carries VOs that "it's a statistical fact that once every seven minutes a woman..." The man with the mask pulls it off and tells Sam to "shut the FUCK UP." Sam whimpers and cries and pleads for her life and Carrie finishes with "...dates an actor." Okay, we get it. Sam can now act out her fantasies with a good-looking scene partner with a résumé. And chops. And maybe a degree from Circle in the Square? You get it.
The girls and Berger have martinis and listen to Sam's recap of her latest sexcapade. "It's so refreshing to be with someone who likes to fuck outside the box!" Berger stares, open-mouthed. Dumbfounded. You know. Shocked to shit. Because who talks about their rape fantasy brought to life over cocktails with a new acquaintance? Or with anyone? Carrie waits until she's done, and then gestures toward her and says, "And this is my friend Samantha!" She does not add, "The one with the huge sex drive who derives a lot of her self-worth from adding new notches to her lipstick case." Carrie's in a white tuxedo jacket with a yellow Mickey Mouse shirt underneath. What the fuck is up with that. Oh, right -- craaaazy outfits on this show. It's intentionally funny. And only when people start copying the looks in, say, Cleveland or Topeka will SJP say it's "over" (cough cough nameplate necklaces cough) even though everything is supposed to be a joke in the first place, or so they say. Char says that Sam's fantasy is "offensive," since violence against women is a serious issue. Sam says that "fantasies can't be censored!" Hence my Denzel fixation. I couldn't stop myself.
Mir cracks that she thinks the Supreme Court is working on that now. Sam continues, "All fantasies are healthy and harmless." She asks Berger if he agrees. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably and says he thought that, "as a guy, anything about rape or in the rape family was off-limits. Can I go home now?" The girls giggle at his Chandler-esque witticism. Oh, ha ha! A dude who toes the line and won't cop to even a single bad fantasy in order to placate the ladies -- hee hee. How very conventional and PC -- oh, my sides. My knees, they are sore from the slapping. But Carrie VOs that "there is no greater sound than your girlfriends laughing at your new boyfriend's jokes" anyway. Sam categorizes her other fantasy scenarios -- senator, principal, prison -- and Carrie interrupts to ask Mir how her date with the real estate guy went. Mir starts with "not horrible!" She tries to go on, but Sam takes a call on her cell from "Doctor Smith," who thinks she may have mumps. Sam dashes away from the table, murmuring that she is "swollen," and we get a shot of Mir's sad, demure little face. Seriously, Sam, way to rain on Mir's lonely, unsexy parade.
After the Sam-shaped cartoon puff of smoke has evaporated into the air, Mir describes the rest of her date: they kissed at the door, he declined her invitation to come up to her place, they kissed once more, and he said he'd call. Carrie thinks two kisses is "promising." Char says it shows "respect," and that he wants to take it "slow." Mir asks Berger what he thinks. He pauses and says ominously, "Honestly?" Here we go. Mir says she "wants a man's opinion for a change." Okaaaay. Berger drops it, with no "sugar-coating. He's not that into you." Carrie squeak-gasps, shattering glass throughout the tri-state area. Mir wants more elaboration. Berger says that if the guy was into her, he would have come up. Char screeches, "Don't LISTEN to him!" Carrie says there can be extenuating circumstances, like an early meeting. Char adds that guys don't want to be hurt, and Mir reaches even farther with "sometimes they're freaked out, by their own feelings?" Oh, please. We're talking about men. Feelings are so low on their list of priorities. Berger says that all this is "code for 'he's not that into you.' If he's into you, he's coming upstairs."
Mir lets this sink in. "He's just not that into me!" Sam tells her not to listen to Berger, since he doesn't know what he's talking about. She says to him, sotto voce, "You're fired." Berger tries to backpedal his way out of the canyon by saying, "If the guy's not into you, he's obviously a weenie." True, that. But still. It probably stings a little for Mir. And again -- she's just figuring this out? Has Mir never subscribed to the "get while the getting's good" rule many men (and women) live by? Dude. Mir, finally, says, "I love it! It is the most liberating thing I've ever heard! Think of all the time and money I could have saved in therapy had I known this before!" She didn't know? Oh my. Is this what the show will do in its final season -- drop anvils and S-P-E-L-L dating truisms out for everyone? Oh, right.
Carrie VOs that the best part of a night out with friends is "talking about them all the way home." Berger says all her friends are "hilarious," and Carrie says all of them loved him. They have ice cream novelties and make cute some more. Then he claps his hand over her mouth. Rape fantasy? Nah. He just wants to tell her something and doesn't want her to say anything back. The thing? He loves her. When he removes his hand, she gushes that she loves him too! Ever so much! She was thinking it all night and she's so happy and she wants to say it again on her own! She loves him! Carrie loves Berger! They're sitting in a tree! Ever so much! Oh, happy tree-sitting day!
Carrie's "euphoria" (not U4EA -- remember that?) carries over to Zabar's in the morning. She and Char stand by the counter and gush about how much they love their respective men. Carrie wants to "squeeze" Berger's face "right off" sometimes. Yeah, that's love all right. And that lasts forever, too. Not. And I'm not as old as Carrie, even. Char burbles on about how this is her first Shabbat dinner as "a real Jew," and she wants to make it great for Harry. The deli man steps up with the brisket she ordered, and she yells at him that she "said LEAN!" Wow, that's Jewy.
Carrie walks into her place, and finds a copy of Berger's novel waiting for her. It's called Hurricane Pandora, and he inscribed it with no pressure at all: "Sure, you love me, but can you love my book?" I'd break up with him right then and there. Well, unless the book really rocked my world. Writers are so fucking ridiculous. Why would you want to set a tone like that? "Love me? Love my book, too! Or I'll be an empty shell who'll resent you forever and ever. And I'll eat your Nutty Buddys when you're not looking."
Sam and Jerry have another fantasy scene. This time, he's an IRS auditor. She doesn't have the money; what is he going to do, take the shirt off her back? He does. Then they fuck on top of the adding machine, and she actually says, "This is what I call internal revenue!" Hold on, I have to get several drinks.
Carrie reads Berger's book and calls it "brilliant." Berger knocks on her door and loads on the pressure: Is she done yet? Did she like it? He can't date a slow reader. What, did she "stop for meals"? Oh, Jesus. I've dated writers like this. They're so fucking insecure that even when they're desperate for you to kiss their asses, they're whining and wheedling. I guess you could look at Berger's behavior as cute, but having been there, it's honestly just annoying. One reason I love my friends is because they don't kiss my ass, not because they do. Anyway, Carrie "loved" the book. She gets totally squeaky and annoying about it. She "love love loooooved it!" Berger's main character is "running all over the island of Manhattan wearing a scrunchie." I wish Carrie had said "isle of Manhattan." Then I could say, "Smoke on your pipe and put that in." Berger instantly goes on the defensive, like any insecure writer does. "You're full of shit!" He sees women wearing scrunchies all the livelong day. Walking the dog. Going to work. Making love in the afternoon. The scrunchie: it is one of the hypothetical roses in life which we often forget to sniff. It's like Jesus, in that it is always with us.
Carrie, not getting that Berger is hurt, says that nobody who works at W magazine (and this is the second time W got a plug this season! Don't think I don't notice!) and lives on Perry Street would wear a scrunchie to a "hip downtown restaurant." Ew. Who says "hip downtown restaurant"? Carrie really screeches the last "scrunchie." The sound of her voice makes my dog's forehead wrinkle up. Sure, it's adorable. But at what cost? Carrie asks to read her favorite part aloud, but Berger says no. He's "done talking about the book." He grabs the phone to order in some food.
day, street scene. Mir, in a tan jacket and skirt, listens to Carrie ramble about how Berger "shut down." She's in these awful American Idol-contestant LOSER plum satin cropped cargo capris and a flowery jacket. Honey, Gwen Stefani wouldn't even use those plum satin cargo capris to blow her nose. Oh, right; the clothes are supposed to be a joke. Well, sometimes jokes aren't funny. Carrie says she had to "get on [her] sass horse and ruin everything." Mir deadpans that "sass will bite you on the ass." Heh. Carrie asks why she ran with the negative and "pick[ed]." Mir says, "Because you're in a relationship!" But they should still be in the honeymoon stage. Mir says to talk to him, since they could "laugh [their] way through everything." Carrie says that may have been the crux of the problem.
And now finally, the question of the week. Carrie wonders why, if a female gorilla "picking nits" off her mate is a sign of love, why isn't nit-picking? "Is there times when the ladies should just shut the fuck up?" My answer: yes. ["Especially when the ladies use atrocious grammar like 'is there times.'" -- Sars] But shutting up isn't the same as listening, and keeping quiet just for the sake of keeping quiet isn't a solid policy. If you choose to remain silent instead of getting critical, that's good, but is that the same as shutting the fuck up? I don't think so.
On to another "loud" woman. Charlotte, nailing a mezuzah onto her door. Her old-lady neighbor avec poodle opens her door, wanting to know what "all that banging" is. Hammer and nails, ever heard of them? Char says cheerily, "Hello Mrs. Collier! I'm a Jew now. How are you!" Mrs. Collier looks like she smelled a fart, and closes the door rapidly.
Mir, eating lunch on some stone steps, half-listens to some younger women chattering about how some guy will call, eventually, but now he's just too stressed to call. His boss just got fired! And other nonsense. One of the chicks was in Rushmore. Margaret Lee. She's been in a lot of stuff, too. She was great in Old School. Mir checks her BlackBerry and sees an awkward email from the weak date closer. She smiles wanly; Berger predicted this. The girls' voices get louder; the guy's kitchen is being rewired, too, and he's gonna call. He's just so gonna! Mir steps in front of them and says she wants to say something that she hopes saves them a lot of time and energy: "He's just not that into you." The girls look at her blankly. Mir walks off, proud of herself for attempting to school the younger generation. Then the one chick turns to Margaret Lee and says, "What a BITCH! Who asked her. He is so totally gonna call you." Ah, people. They never learn.
Sam sits at a bar in a gold sequined dress. She sighs, and then Jerry comes up as "Detective Smith." He has a few questions for her. Sam orders two martinis, and he declines. Just a seltzer for him. She thinks one drink won't kill him. He insists on the seltzer. Then, sotto voce, he says, "Seriously, Samantha, I'm in AA." He tries to go on about how, eight years ago, he was really fucked up in Seattle. Sam looks startled, and sits up straight, losing all of her earlier slinky, loose allure. She remembers an early morning meeting, and dashes off. Oh, no. She sobered up when she heard he doesn't drink. Isn't it better for fucking that the guy is sober? She can still drink! Hell, she can get plastered if she likes. Guys that quit drinking are usually used to fucking wasted girls. Who else would have fucked them drunk?
Cut to Char slaving over a hot stove. Carrie VOs, "Martha Jewart." Mir and Carrie are helping her make the challah. Carrie says Char doesn't have to "hollah!" Cripes. Char asks Mir to check the recipe, and as Mir turns the page she sees "Mr. and Mrs. Harry Goldenblatt." "Mrs. Charlotte York Goldenblatt." What the fuck is this, high school? I want to see the page where Char practiced her autograph. Did she write H.O.L.L.A.N.D somewhere, for "Hoping Our Love Lasts And Never Dies"? If she doesn't do that, it means they're gonna break up. Whoops! But I had to say it. Carrie giggles. Mir asks if Char got married when she was at work, and points out that she "forgot 'Yorkenblatt.'" Hee. Char says she's "been thinking," and what do the girls "think about November?" That it's the eleventh month? That it sometimes gets cold, sometimes is temperate? That it's Thanksgiving? No, Char meant for the wedding. Mir asks if Harry has even proposed yet. Nope. Is Char "counting her matzo balls before they rise?" Carrie advises her to zip it. Char insists that it's "meant to be" and they are totally gonna get married. Swear! It's so totally gonna happen! Um.
Sam sneaks into a restaurant wearing sunglasses, a black satin trench, and a beret. The piano is appropriately suspenseful. She slinks over to a table where Jerry is already seated, and asks about the microfilm. Jerry says he has an idea, a much sexier idea. Something new to relieve the boredom from all the half-dressed professional and criminal scenarios they've been enacting. Sam gasps and says, "Hotter than Secret Service sluts?" Jerry says, "I'm me, you're you. Go." Sam doesn't like this too much. She says right out loud and to his face that she doesn't want to know all about him. He says that's harsh. She says she is harsh, and also self-sufficient, nasty, smart, and always right, in the office and in the bedroom. Jerry says he knew that. But can he tell her just one thing about himself? Sam doesn't really want to hear it. He just wants to tell her his last name. It's Jared. Sam takes a pause. "Your parents named you Jerry Jared? No wonder you drank." Jerry say, and I often use his exact inflection, "Right." Carrie VOs that "that night, Samantha and Jerry got off on playing themselves." Aww.
And, at yet another "hip" "downtown" "restaurant," Berger wends his way toward Carrie, who's in a cute muted-blue satin slipdress and a cheetah-print coat over her arm, and some ridiculous old-lady hat avec veil. Oh, that hat. It's so fugly. So theatrical and ridiculous. It's so thrift-store. Right in front of their faces is a woman wearing...a scrunchie. They both see it at the same time. Carrie looks away, not wanting to cop to it. Berger relishes the moment, then says quietly to Carrie that he thinks he sees, "in Manhattan proper, standing on line at a hip downtown restaurant," a woman wearing a scrunchie. He's so smug. Carrie smiles and says through her pulled-tight lips that the woman isn't from New York. Berger immediately taps the woman on the shoulder and asks her what part of New York she lives in. The woman, fifty-ish, in a red ersatz Chanel (or should I say Channel) twinset and baby pearl necklace, plotzes. Why, honey chile, she's not from Nyoo Yor-uhk! She's from Macon, Georgia! And she's so flattered to be mistakenly identified as a New York resident that she claims Berger "made her whole night." Oh, boy. Now, while I am a total Yankee, I love the south. People have amazing manners there, and each region has a different style. Like, Nashville? Is like L.A. Memphis is probably my favorite city in the south, just because of all the great music that comes from there (that, and the food). To say this is an unflattering portrait of a Southern woman is an understatement. The one thing I really don't buy is that the woman would be flattered to be identified as a New Yorker. New Yorkers are pushy and rude! ["I believe you meant to say 'assertive.'" -- Sars] This woman is genteel as hell. But whatever -- Carrie was right, and Berger continues to resent her for it.
Now we're at an Indian restaurant. I can tell by the guy with the sitar. It's the one between 1st and 2nd Avenues with all the lights hanging from the ceiling. You may have seen it on film before. ["It's called Rose of India, if anyone's interested in making a pilgrimage, but Brick Lane a few doors down has much better food." -- Sars] Mir is ending a successful date with a peep Char hooked her up with. She offers coffee at a place around the corner, and he says he has to call it a night. She laughs and says it's okay. "You're just not that into me!" He denies it. Mir insists, with a smile on her face. "It's okay, you don't have to lie!" He looks serious and says he isn't lying. Mir challenges him to "just be a man!" He does, and after a heavy pause, he says he "has diarrhea." Then he takes quick, tiny steps away, holding his bum.
Carrie and Berger are still at their uncomfortable dinner. She babbles fiercely about devices she loved in his book. He looks pissy and nasty, and takes huge bites from her little chocolate soufflé. He doesn't say anything, just seethes and eats. Finally Carrie shuts up and pushes her dessert towards him so he can finish it off. You know, even though I hate the way he's acting, I kind of feel for him. And I don't know what Carrie can do to get herself out of this hole.
Char, in a really cute black dress with white collar and apron, puts the finishing touches on her first Shabbat dinner. She calls to Harry, and he comes in. "What's all this?" She dashes off to get the candles, and he flips on the TV. The Mets are playing the Phillies. WOW, that is such a total shout-out. I know two of the show's writers are from Philly, too. The Phillies-Mets rivalry is fierce, baby. You see the best fights in the stands when they come to town. Any New York team gets it when they come to Philly. Why? 'Cause we're mean. You need proof? Philly booed Santa Claus and Destiny's Child. Hey, Sars loves baseball. Shout-out? Anyway, Char asks the Harry turn off the TV, and he mutes it as she says the prayer. He looks exactly like a little kid, peering around at the forbidden TV. Char says the prayer beautifully, then says she was thinking about blessings. She sees Harry looking over her shoulder. She then gets a little upset that he only muted the sound. She says she "gave up Christ for him, and [he] can't give up baseball?" She "went to Zabar's every day" for this dinner! What a hardship. I'd go to Zabar's everyday just for the whitefish. She says she had to make thirty matzoh balls just to get four that were the right size and shape. Plus the months of studying to convert! She gets hysterical. "Set the date! Set the daaate!" Harry says she sounds crazy. But she isn't done. "Do you know how lucky you are to have me! Do you know what people say when they see us!" Damn, Char's gone crazy. Harry says she knows what people are thinking, but he didn't think she was one of them. Ooh, burn. Harry puts down his napkin and says he doesn't need this, and he's leaving. Then as a parting shot, he turns and says he can't believe he bought a ring. Oof. Char, you blew it. You so totally blew it.
Carrie and Berger walk home from their uncomfortable dinner. She's still trying to compliment his book, and mentions a scene she liked, and Berger says, "That is so lame." She denies it. "No," he says. "What you're doing right now." Seriously. She just loved his book so much! Then they're at her door, and he says he wants to call it a night and he'll call in the morning. Carrie is all, "What?" He walks off. She VOs that this is not a time "when a woman should shut the fuck up." She runs after him in her four-inch stilettos and says she knows he's pissed. "You can't just shut down like this!" She says she would want him to tell her if he thought she made a mistake. He says, "Really? Nice hat." Oh, boy. And word. She slips it off and turns and walk away. He calls her on her exit. She says her hat is "fabulous...fabulous," and that he just wanted to hurt her feelings. Well, what was he supposed to do about her scrunchie comment? "Hop in [his] time machine and go back and fix [his] book?" Carrie says that this is about more than just the scrunchie comment. Berger agrees. "It about that [his] book is a big fat fucking failure!" Carrie is taken aback. "What?" Berger already feels like shit, and Carrie "trying to pump [him] up all night isn't helping." Carrie steps up to him and covers his mouth with her hand. He's a beautiful writer, she says. She loved his book and she loves him. And she's not going to let him make a joke right now. She uncovers his mouth and he says, "Then [he has] nothing." They kiss, and she leads him by the hand up to her place. The VO? "Saying I love you is easy. What comes ? Is a little scrunchier." Urgh.
Char steps off the elevator and walks sadly by her mezuzah. Harry hasn't called in two days, except to say he'd be sending someone over for his TV. Carrie VOs, "Just what New York needs, another single Jewish woman." Oy.
Morning. Berger and Carrie make cute in the bathroom. He wants to wash his face. She gives him access to the sink, and sees he has a scrunchie in his hair. She asks where he got it, and he asks if "Macon, Georgia wants to try it on! It'd look so cute!" Carrie giggles and squeals and dashes off and crisis averted -- for now.