By Miss Alli
Previously: C.J.'s mysterious Ben finally paid a visit, now that he's not married anymore. Abby dropped the bomb on C.J. that she's going to be volunteering at a free clinic, and offered a reminder that she didn't lose her license so much as take a voluntary hiatus from practicing. C.J. presumably celebrated this wonderful news with an extra-large shot of Pepto.
The title card informs us that the episode is called "Eppur Si Muove," because God knows there's no point in using a straightforward title when you can use one that makes the audience feel inadequate before a line of dialogue is even spoken. We fade in on a dark lab at the Center For Applied Squinting At Stuff By The Glow Of Your Computer Screen, where a scientist we will come to know as Dr. Foy is filling his assistant in on the results of an HPV study. Oh, wait, it's actually the "John Hopkins University Medical Research Lab." You know, that one Medical Research Lab that they have there at Johns Hopkins. The Scruffy Assistant goes to answer the phone, and he soon returns to tell Dr. Foy that Congressman Bentley's office is on the phone about a review of one of Foy's NIH grants. This gets Foy up off the chair and stumbling through the highly cinematic darkness toward the phone. They do love them some dim lighting on this show. Foy puts the guy on speakerphone for plot purposes, and we hear the mysterious Phone Voice begin to impugn the value of the project, which studies HPV in Puerto Rican sex workers. Foy writes a note which he holds up to Scruffy Assistant, and Scruffy Assistant nods and walks off. As the conversation turns political -- is Foy a registered Democrat, blah blah blah -- Scruffy Assistant goes and fetches the fetching young woman hard at work in a different corner of the Darkest Lab Ever, who turns out to be the one and only Ellie Bartlet. Scruffy Assistant tells Ellie that Foy needs her -- probably to hold a flashlight for him. In case you didn't know that this fetching young woman is Ellie Bartlet, there is a slow pan over to her graduation picture with Jed and Abby. The graduation photo, by the way, shows Ellie in a plain black gown and mortarboard, which makes it seem like that should be a graduation no more recent than college, so I'd think Jed should look a bit younger. But I nitpick. Oh, and the guy on the phone demands that Foy tell him who he voted for. Because that's some nuanced political maneuvering. Bring on the exploding cigars!
We move to Toby's office, where he and C.J. are discussing whether this call -- which Ellie has apparently reported -- had anything to do with Ellie herself. After all, Jed never talks about Ellie's work in the lab, and somebody could just be acting assy to scientists in general. I do it all the time; I hate those people, with their Bunsen burners and their test tubes and their discovering how to cure diseases. "Tell me this is nothing to worry about," says C.J.. "This is nothing to worry about," Toby predictably answers. Because Sorkin no longer writes the show, this conversation does not proceed as follows: "Because I would want you to tell me if there was something to worry about." "And I would tell you if there was something to worry about." "But you're telling me there's nothing to worry about." "I am." "Then I won't worry about anything." "As suggested by me, in my now-famous 'there is nothing to worry about' speech." Instead, C.J. just says, "Toby." What fun is that? That's not going to get the script up to four hundred pages, you know, and production isn't going to delay itself. Toby asks which Congressman it was. "Bentley," says C.J.. Toby points out that there are simply too many coincidences for him to believe it's not an attack. "Somebody's out for blood, and they're targeting Ellie Bartlet!" says Toby. Wow, could that line be any more unlikely? "Ellie," maybe, but "Ellie Bartlet"? Whatever. What you have there is a blatant take-me-to-the-credits line, pure hack scripting.
And...credits. Hey, if you're going to be a hack, at least be an accurate hack.
We return to find Carol and C.J. walking down the hall together, Carol all a-bubble about Ben's impending arrival. He'll be in at 1:00, and Carol got "the back table at 1789" (which I had never heard of, but have now educated myself is "Georgetown's Premier Food and Wine Experience," according to its totally unbiased website), and Carol told Ben to wear the painter's pants so that C.J. doesn't jump him, and adds that Ben has a meeting at 3:00. C.J. wearily calls this "nice work." Carol opines that the painter's pants must be pretty bad if they'll keep C.J. from jumping Ben. Inside her office, C.J. finds Toby waiting, and asks if this means he felt better about the Ellie thing after he slept on it. Nope -- he feels worse. I know the feeling. That's what I say about margaritas the day after I drink them. C.J. says that Jed would never send money Ellie's way on purpose, given that he was a big stingy-pants about her allowance when she was growing up. Heh. Toby points out that it's not necessarily that Jed would be rigging the process, but that somebody else was, because they were trying to score points with Jed. Toby then remarks, mildly befuddled, "This conversation would be a whole lot easier were I not fighting my way through a cloud of Obsession." C.J. insists that there's no cloud, and Toby makes a lame "precipitation" joke. Toby agrees to get a breakdown of the Foy funding situation, and C.J. says they can just hope there's been no boost since Ellie started working there. Toby also mentions how much he is not looking forward to discussing this with POTUS, given Jed's notorious fits of temper where his daughters are concerned.
In the cafeteria, Josh is hanging with a buddy, all, "What did you think of the Lawrence opinion?" Wow, look at them all using a real case and everything. To save any unnecessary research into what the opinion actually says, the writers have the guy immediately change the subject by asking Josh if he's "keeping track of the Court these days." But -- but -- he went to law school, he works for the president...why the hell would Josh not be keeping track of the Court? That's stupid. Anyway, Josh says that he is following the Court, "when [he's] not color-coding the president's M&Ms." "Still smarting I had to carry your ass through con law?" the guy asks, by way of establishing that he went to law school with Josh. Clever! I don't know why they don't extend the incredibly helpful title cards and just do a kind of John Madden tele-strator thing where they would draw an arrow pointing at the guy's head and write, "Josh's Friend From Law School." Banter about "strict scrutiny" as a pickup method follows (wow, har har) and we learn that Josh tried to pick up on the woman that this guy later married. But there's no time for expository reminiscing now, because we must move on to the B-plot. On the actual agenda: Georgetown has offered Mr. Josh's Girlfriend the deanship of the law school. "That's great, but...aren't you a judicial nominee for the Sixth Circuit?" says Josh. He agrees that he is, but points out that he has been in that same position for a year. Josh says that Mr. Josh's Girlfriend knew confirmation would be tough, and Mr. J-G points out that it's not the battle he resents -- it's the "gag order." He can't publish anything, and he can't even debate cases with students. Moreover, there's been an oppressive ongoing investigation interfering in his life for the past year. Although, for the second time in the scene, he says "twelve months" instead of a year. Who does that? Josh says in his usual, non-comforting, vaguely fuck-you-ish platitude voice that it takes time. "Come on, the Republicans have been blocking your nominations since Bartlet took office," Mr. J-G explains to the stupid people in the audience. Josh encourages Mr. J-G not to drop out and "close this door." Mr. J-G says he thinks the door was never really open. Josh asks when Georgetown needs an answer, and when Mr. J-G says they have to know by the end of the week, Josh says to give him till then. "To do what?" Mr. J-G asks. Josh: "To...fix it." My favorite part of that scene is that there's a lame-looking flower in the middle of the table between them the entire time that looks like it could squirt water in someone's eye at any moment. I only wish.
Marina Lewinsky strides into Toby's office, saying, "They said they'd call back." Toby disbelievingly asks if she told them it was him. She did. "Maybe you're not a shizzle," she says. Is that even a correct use of "shizzle"? I'm not even sure "shizzle" is a noun. If you can believe this, I actually consulted the lovely Pool Boy, and we agreed that we do not know what part of speech "shizzle" is, because we are dorks. She then fills him in that the money this year and last year is the same, so it didn't go up substantially since last year -- well, it went up fourteen bucks. Toby tells her to check on any other ways they might be getting money to Foy. "And please don't say 'shizzle,'" he says, shooting her a confused, wary expression. God, no kidding. I concur. I am intensely anti-"shizzle." I may be willing to join the International Society To End "Shizzle."
C.J. and Leo are strolling as she talks about Abby "ditching" a meeting of the Board of Regents. It turns out that she was busy volunteering at the free clinic, so some meddling idiot is threatening to go public with the scandalous tale of the First Lady giving of her time and talent for free. Free! What country does she think she's in? The communist. Leo points out to C.J. that there continue to be general image problems with Abby, because "the press doesn't know what to do with" her. And, hey, Jed doesn't either! Ho-ho-ho! When a guy can't control his wife, what is the world coming to? But the president, at a loss for how to juggle the effects of all those crazy parts girls have, would like C.J. to sit down and talk to Abby. When Leo explains that he means she should do it now, she realizes that she'll have to skip her lunch with Ben, but she stiff-upper-lips that she'll just go cancel. "Are you wearing White Shoulders?" Leo asks her. He goes on, wistfully: "My piano teacher used to wear White Shoulders." C.J. smiles and walks off, and Leo softly adds, "Not as much." Snerk.
C.J. heads for her office, pausing just a second for Carol to fluff her hair. Which is goofy, because I think the entire point of C.J.'s 'do is that it does not require fluffing. But anyway. She walks in on Ben standing by her desk. "Hi," she says. He turns around and looks at her. "Hi." They do the "long time, no see, you look great" thing, but then she is forced to move quickly to the matter at hand. She approaches him. "I can't have lunch, and I don't have a lot of time," she says, "but...you did the dance. You paid your dues. And I want you to know that...I'm in." He's like, "Huh?" She says, "Coy's a bad color on me. I'm ready. I'm on board. I want you to count me in, 'cause...I'm in." She leans forward and smooches him, kind of awkwardly. "I gotta go, call me later," she says. Wow. Provided he's a hooker C.J. just picked up outside the cheapest hotel within a hundred miles, that was an entirely appropriate way to talk to Ben. When C.J. is gone, Carol grins at Ben from the doorway, because...that was really cool? Or romantic? I guess?
Josh runs into Donna and asks if she got Leo. "He's booked," Donna says as she cradles the phone against her shoulder. Josh needles her about getting Margaret to let him in to see Leo, but Donna exasperatedly explains that she's waiting on the phone for Rodney, Swimtern's roommate. Apparently, Swimtern has yet to put in an appearance on this fine morning, and it's unusual. "He's never late," says Donna. "He walks in like he's late, but he's not." Ah, one of those classic West Wing lines that they think sounds cool, but means nothing. Seriously, what the fuck does that mean? "He walks in like he's late, but he's not." He hurries? He looks guilty? His hair is still wet? How is that consistent with anything we've ever seen Swimtern actually doing? There is some equally meaningless yammering about what has become of Swimtern, and Josh proposes somewhat hopefully that he might be dead. Because Josh has not yet reached the advanced level of his appropriateness lessons. Josh still wants Leo.
Abby and C.J. meet, and as usual, Abby is utterly unsympathetic to the position C.J. has been placed in against her will, and acts as put-upon as possible, going on in her sarcastic way about what little etiquette breach she's in trouble for now. "Was it the tube top to meet the queen of England? Or the low-rise jeans with the North Korean delegation?" C.J. tries to soothe Abby, saying that the press just isn't sure what to make of her: "You've never been the traditional hat-knitting president's wife." You know, I realize that First Ladies are subject to certain societal and cultural pressures, but it's time to get over the notion that all First Ladies have ever done is knitted hats. Like them or not, I think Eleanor Roosevelt, Betty Ford, Abigail Adams, Edith Wilson, and probably a gazillion others would take exception to the notion that it was all an endless string of placid domestic placeholders until Abby Bartlet was invented. I mean, really. But Abby responds as can be expected, with her cutesy line about how they should have gotten her "a photographer and seven years worth of yarn." Yawwwwn. C.J. asks why Abby is doing the volunteering in the first place, and Abby says she just "decided to roll up [her] sleeves and help treat children." C.J. lectures that somehow this will look bad, which I don't really get except for the part about having given up her license, which I agree she should have dealt with before she went back to practicing rather than after, but...eh. Abby offers to do interviews on her own behalf, but C.J. says that won't work, because of the cynicism of the press. Abby needs something softer. Abby wonders what C.J. has in mind. "I checked out the reject list from your invitation file," C.J. says, "and there are a few things in here I think you should reconsider, the first of which is Muppets." Abby is disbelieving, but C.J. says that nothing could be better for getting across that Abby just wants to help kids. They banter about whether Abby could do Meet The Press and "take Russert," but C.J. thinks that there's no reason to get into it. C.J. just thinks they'll get Abby out there in medical settings and magazines and such, and that will be all it takes to improve her standing. "Muppets," Abby says skeptically.
Josh and Leo walk and talk. Josh wants to meet with the Judiciary Committee chair's chief of staff. Why? Because of Mr. Josh's Girlfriend (Hayden) and his desire to drop out. The Sixth Circuit, Josh explains, has eight empty seats on it. "Because the Republicans have been holding up our nominations in committee," says Josh. Sometimes the exposition, she hurts me so. But she's not done yet. "At least four of those nominees, including Hayden, would be confirmed in a straight up-or-down vote," Josh adds. He goes on to exposit even more painfully that the seven judges the Sixth Circuit actually has are totally overworked.
Incidentally, Federal Courts 101, for those who will find it useful: Federal courts have three levels. One is district courts, which are trial courts -- they hold trials with witnesses and evidence and stuff (duh). The one up is circuit courts. These are appellate courts -- you don't have a trial, you just have lawyers arguing over what went wrong below. (Not "what went wrong below" in the Richard Hatch sense, but "what went wrong below" in the "the district court decision/verdict should be overturned because blah blah blah" sense.) The U.S. Supreme Court is right above the circuit courts. So the other thing to know about the circuit courts is that there are thirteen federal circuits, and they're basically geographically arranged -- in other words, they each cover a section of the country. All the cases that go up from the District Court of Minnesota (we have only one federal district court; some states have more) have to go to the Eighth Circuit and be decided before they could potentially go to the Supreme Court. (Don't ask about the Federal Circuit; it's more than you need for the story, although it will work as a barbiturate, so email me for details if you have insomnia.) The Sixth covers Kentucky, Tennessee, Ohio, and Michigan. The way appellate courts of that kind work is that unlike the U.S. Supreme Court, where all nine judges hear all the cases, the circuits are made up of a gaggle of judges, and they hear cases in little groups (I believe it's always three; though I could be wrong). ["If I'm thinking of the right thing, it's usually three on Law & Order, which I consider an unimpeachable source of legal information." -- Wing Chun] So you're supposed to have so many judges in the circuit so that they can go off in their little panels and hear all the cases, of which they have, according to current statistics, a zillion. But if you're supposed to have, say, twenty, and you instead have fifteen, that means that the fifteen who are left each have to do a lot more cases. And because the circuits are geographically bounded, it's not like if they're busy, they can send you to a different circuit to get your case heard. So a circuit that's screwed is basically screwed, and all the people who live in its region are screwed, because if you have a case in federal court, you're going to sit around on your fanny for a mighty long time waiting for them to get to you. So when you leave judgeships open, you invite a variety of problems, including unreasonable delays and less diversity of opinion and so forth. The show did, furthermore, pick the right circuit. The Sixth isn't quite as bad off as Josh said -- they're not down to seven judges. But according to the last number I could find, they are down to twelve, with four vacancies, so they've got 25% empty chairs. Not so good. Also, my baby does the hanky-panky. (Just checking to see whether you made it to the end of this paragraph alive.)
"No, no, no, not one of the daughters!" Heh. This is Leo, in his office, reacting with horror at the notion that Ellie is in the middle of something that's going to get ugly. Leo says that if POTUS gets wind of it, "we won't be able to get him to focus on his breakfast order, because he'll be asking for the launch codes." Hee. Leo asks what C.J. thinks, and Toby repeats her "neutral statement" theory. Leo doesn't think that'll work, and he hollers for Margaret. He asks her to set up a meeting between Toby and Layton in the morning, but when Margaret is gone, Toby says he thinks it might be a bad idea -- just meeting with Layton will look weak, and will make her determined to get something before she's done. Margaret calls Leo out to meet with the NSC folks, and he's out of there. But not before he says, "Can we really justify spending $800,000 on a biocultural approach to the study of female sexual fantasy and genital arousal?" As he passes Toby, Toby mutters, "How can we afford not to?" If you couldn't see where that joke was going, please step forward and submit your five dollars, and I will send you a copy of Seeing It Coming In Five Days Or Less: A Tired Viewer's Guide To Being Two Lines Ahead Of The Script.
We now see Debbie, having a meeting with Abby about scheduling. Once she's cleared up the business, Debbie shyly approaches the subject she's really curious about. Is it true about the...are there really...." Yes, Debbie," Abby says. "The Muppets are coming to our very own White House." Debbie talks about how excited she would be about meeting Miss Piggy. Charlie comes by and comments about what a big fan of the Muppets Debbie is. "And you're not?" Abby asks. Charlie says "crazy for Muppets," but he's "trying to act cool." I do the same thing with the guy who makes lattes at the Caribou Coffee near my parents' house. "Ma'am, will Fozzie Bear be in the house?" Debbie asks. "Interestingly," Abby says, "Fozzie and Miss Piggy aren't actually part of the Sesame Street gang. They're from The Muppet Show." Debbie pauses. "And what about Kermit?" "He is the only crossover," Abby says with an utterly perfect blend of exasperation and willingness to educate.
Josh approaches Donna and says that he needs a meeting with the Judiciary Committee chief of staff. "We're gonna put butts in seats," he says. "I'm packing the court!" Donna asks if this is because of Hayden, and Josh claims that it's only partly Hayden. It's also the Sixth Circuit crisis and the general crap state of the judicial nomination process. There's some banter about how Josh bowed out to let Josh's Girlfriend marry Mr. Josh's Girlfriend, and then Josh says that there's nothing he takes more seriously than getting judges on the federal bench. "How about getting judges on the Supreme Court?" asks Donna. Josh gives a moan about the Supreme Court, these "nine guys" who get all the attention. "Actually," Donna says, "it's seven guys and two highly qualified female jurists." Josh is on a roll, though, and continues bitching about the over-emphasis on the Supreme Court with its teeny docket. Funny, that, considering that I feel exactly the same way about the emphasis on the federal government as opposed to state and local governments, of which Josh's dialogue is often a perfect example. Have some irony, Josh. There's more than enough. "Ryan's still missing, by the way," Donna says as she leaves. Josh looks like he totally cares.
We go directly to Will, leaning in C.J.'s doorway. "What do C.J. and Big Bird have in common?" he asks. She turns and looks at him. "This'll be fun, because no one's ever made a joke about me and Big Bird before," she says. That line just makes me bust out laughing every time I listen to it. It's all in the delivery -- it's a little bit about the pause she leaves at the beginning, it's a little bit about the overenunciation, and it's quite a bit about the way she puts the emphasis on the "Bird" in "Big Bird," which somehow makes her sound angry at Big Bird. It's just tremendous. I think if there were no Allison Janney, I would never make it through this show. Will walks in, saying, "Your heads are in Ohio and your feet are in Florida." C.J.: "Wouldn't that make us not so much tall as crooked?" "Maybe," he says. "Is this Layton thing gonna stick?" he asks. She looks at him a little oddly. "Too soon to tell," she says. "Hard to imagine she'll get any kind of traction," he says...hopefully. He chatters nervously about Republicans "bloviating about our pansy-ass priorities," as C.J. eyes him suspiciously. "They do love to bloviate," she agrees. The conversation ends awkwardly, and Will scurries out of C.J.'s office. Wow. Not only does Microsoft Word not think "bloviate" is a word; it doesn't know of a word to suggest that's any closer than "alleviate." Talk about a good game of Stump the Dictionary.
Elsewhere, Josh meets with Lisa, the chief of staff for the Judiciary Committee. He brings up the Sixth Circuit, and its eight vacant seats. "And not a single confirmable nominee," she says. Josh thinks Hayden would win a vote on the floor. "That seems unlikely," she snots in a way that makes me hate her instantly. Josh tells her he thinks that if Hayden withdraws, the public will be "shocked" to hear what the committee's doing. Lisa: "Keeping one of the most important courts in the land from being overrun by the Green Party?" Josh makes an incredulous face, and Annoying Lisa cites a speech Hayden gave five years ago in which he said the courts should make sodomy laws unconstitutional. Josh points out that this is not exactly a radical notion, since the Supreme Court just did it. "Yes," says Lisa hatefully. "Let me tell you, our base was thrilled with that decision." I guess it's easier to present the Republican chicks as nasty bigoted hags, rather than deal with confusing characters like Ainsley who aren't particularly spiteful about their darn contrary opinions, huh? "It's time to fix this thing," says Josh. "It's in both our interests." Lisa is willing to consider a deal. But as it turns out, Lisa wants the White House to change some other nominees before the committee will consider Hayden, and Josh wants the committee to consider Hayden before the White House will change any other nominees. Wow, a stalemate. How riveting. Lisa is given the opportunity to spout some statistics about how badly the Republican nominees were treated in the last Republican administration, so theoretically, the show is all over the whole balance thing. (Indeed, if anybody ever tries to tell you that the blocking of nominees is a dirty trick within the province of one party or the other, don't you believe it. Everyone is guilty, and nobody knows who started it.) Lisa makes a sarcastic reference to her own frustration and how it has led her and all of her usually populist bluster to wonder whether judges should be appointed by executive decree. This gives Josh a wonderful Grinchy idea.
Toby returns to his office, where Marina provides him with a copy of the famous list, which, she says, Layton's office was actually very happy to provide. Marina asks Toby why they're studying truck-stop prostitutes, and he goes on for a bit about public health, and Marina the Momentary Straw Woman argues something along the lines of "science, schmience," so Toby gets a good opportunity to rail about the fact that even if drug addicts have made mistakes, that doesn't mean Layton can demand that they be blown off, et cetera. Not that that's exactly what Layton said, but subtlety, after all, is for weenies. Marina says that when she was Googling the project titles, one particular website kept coming up. She brings Toby out to look at it, and as he does, she complains about trying to raise a kid on her meager salary while also paying to study safe injection practices for heroin addicts. Toby tells her, essentially, that she'll just have to deal, and then he looks up and says, "You have a kid?" "Yeah," she says. "I have a little girl." Toby pulls the site up, and it's the Traditional Values Alliance, which represents a broad swath of church groups. After looking at the site for a minute, Toby jumps up from his seat and runs for his office, telling Marina to get the Traditional Values Alliance guy on the phone.
We move to Leo, eating in his office. Josh bursts in, and Leo demands his twenty bucks. Instead of handing over the dough, Josh asks Leo how he feels about executive decrees. Leo: "Love 'em. I'm making one. I want my money." Josh has something else to talk about -- recess appointments. (Sidebar: They don't really explain it very well, but recess appointments are there to let the president fill seats when Congress is out of town, but they're increasingly used to circumvent the nasty and unproductive confirmation process everybody's bitching about throughout this episode. Bush's most recent recess appointments were accomplished during a four-day break in Congress's schedule, which happened about two weeks ago, so the show was pretty prescient on this point.) Josh insists that making recess appointments to fill all the vacancies will increase public awareness of the problem and put faces on the empty seats. Leo has a lot of misgivings, but Josh points out that Warren, Brennan, and Stewart were all recess appointments to the Supreme Court, and this seems at least to convince Leo that they'll have some cover if they do it. Leo agrees to try the idea out with POTUS. Josh leans over like he's going to hand over the twenty, then he snaps it back at the last minute and walks out. Heh. That reminds me of when my three-year-old nephew learned to pull things back from you at the last minute and say "Psych!" Totally creepy.
C.J. and Charlie are walking and talking. C.J.: "I don't know, Charlie -- 'C.J. and Big Bird are so tall that' what?" Charlie starts, "When you do cartwheels," and C.J. finishes, "'we kick God in the chin'? 'When we trip on a rock, we hit our heads on the moon'? 'When we do push-ups, we burn our backs on the sun'?" "And you read the Tall Street Journal," Charlie says, and that's really not that funny, and yet I laughed anyway. I continue to be a cheap date. C.J. sends Charlie on his way and chats with Carol, who takes a few minutes off from her job as C.J.'s dating advisor to fill her in on the fact that there's an unmistakable stinkeroo brewing on both sides of the Foy issue.
When C.J. gets into her office, Abby is waiting. "There's a whole new world of Sesame Street since my girls were little," Abby says. Gordon and Susan are married, Maria has a grown daughter...yes, it's a crazy place. C.J. inquires after Bob. "Bob is still there; he looks fantastic," Abby adds. Then she looks over C.J.'s shoulder. "You have a handsome man in your doorway." It's Ben, of course. "He really needed to talk to you!" says Carol defensively. Abby goes over and introduces herself to Ben, and he acts appropriately deferential and introduces himself. "Yes, but who are you to our C.J.?" Abby asks. "That's an excellent question, Mrs. Bartlet," says Ben as C.J. starts awkwardly hustling him out the door. In the hall, she stammers that it's not a good time, but Ben will not be put off: "What does that mean, you're 'in'?" She looks at him like he's an idiot. "You, me...together...." He looks amused. "We haven't seen each other in six years. We haven't slept together in fifteen. So...what, are we engaged?" He talks about how there's a daughter and an ex-wife and an ex-wife's mother, and are they going to have kids, then, and...he's just freaking C.J. out, basically, and it works, because by the time Toby approaches, she's all flummoxed.
Fortunately for C.J., Toby yanks her aside to tell her that he just talked to Matt McCall of the Traditional Values Coalition, who claimed that the $2 billion earmarked for AIDS research is really "a pseudoscientific slush fund for the president's daughter." C.J. looks shocked. "She doesn't work in HIV; they're kooks," she protests. Toby points out that they're kooks with an upcoming press conference, and that the press is going to go looking for Ellie once it hits. C.J. comments that they're got about a half-hour to get hold of Ellie and get her "under wraps." Toby jumps on the phone, but just as he does, Carol points out to C.J. that it's already live on the news. And yes, there's Ellie, stalked by a big throng of reporters as she tries to get to her car. Toby looks at the monitor, discouraged, and puts down the phone. C.J. looks into her office, where she left Abby, who is now looking at a monitor with a certain fixed, grim dread. Abby finally turns to look sadly at C.J. On television, Ellie, in her car, cringes in a tight and intrusive close-up.
When we get back from commercials, we see that on TV, this is now "Breaking News." There's a picture of Ellie, and the headline at the bottom says "First Daughter Conducts Questionable Research." I'm sorry, but I just don't believe that's going to get live "breaking news" coverage. It might get on the news, but it's not going to be treated as a huge scandal with people giving updates from around the country. Nobody's going to tolerate having their regular programming disrupted for that. Ellie's academic background is easy to verify, as is the academic background of the guy she works for, and I just don't believe that the whole thing looks all that scandalous. Anyway, Josh, Toby, and C.J. are approaching the Office of O, as Josh asks whether Ellie is all right. C.J. says that the Secret Service is right with her. As they near the office, we hear Jed yelling, "How is this possible? This is my family! What the hell are you people thinking?" C.J. puts a hand to her head and says, "Oh, my." "I'd yell, too," Toby admits. They wait outside the office as Josh ponders aloud how the Traditional Values Alliance can link HPV and AIDS research: "Aren't they different areas of research?" "They're both below the waist," says C.J.. Debbie, all Exposition Fairy Princess, literally walks into the frame, says, "HPV is a sexually transmitted virus that's been linked to cervical cancer," and walks out of the frame. Of all the painful exposition moments ever, I think that one hurt me the most.
Anyway, Leo opens the door and invites Toby, Josh, and C.J. into the maelstrom. The enter, and Jed is in the middle of raging about the nonpartisan function of the NIH, as if nobody knows that but himself. He rages about the careful grant process and the harrowing applications: "We're lucky Einstein didn't have to fill one out, or God knows what E would equal." Sigh. "So," Jed says, "tell me what you're doing with yourselves, because right now I feel like I might just as well let loose a bunch of buzzards in Ellie's apartment for all the good you're doing me." And thus does Jed's most hateworthy quality -- his relentless tendency to blame the staff when things go wrong -- rear its ugly head yet again. C.J. says that they think Layton's been on about Ellie from the beginning, but for distraction purposes, she also had Bentley call other researchers. Toby suggests that they just make a statement and call the whole thing out for the trash it is. C.J. says she doesn't want to "engage with them." Josh launches into a pro-public-health mini-rant about how they can't sit idly by while "moralistic dogma" drives out the microscopes and turns rivers of hydrochloric acid to blood and so forth, and how great things (Rogaine, not that he, uh, personally cares about that) have been discovered with "no practical objective in mind." Well...I don't know that I would support government funding of scientific research with literally no conceivable practical application, but I understand what Josh is trying to say. Jed says that he wants to see Layton, he's not cooperating with any investigation, and he wants C.J. to pull the passes of every reporter who filed anything about the story. C.J. takes a breath. "Sir, I can only imagine how angry you must be...." "Dammit!" Jed yells, and then he does the big line about how they can take shots at him, but not at his family, and yes, we get it. Josh points out that punishing Layton or (I would say especially) the press, it only makes the whole thing worse. It's also a totally asshole and unethical move to punish the reporters, but I suppose Josh doesn't need to bring that up. Toby thinks they can discredit Layton on the basis that the list came from the Traditional Values people, whose other site is thelordhateshomos.org. I did chuckle at that, and the shout-out to a repugnant site that really does exist that's called basically the same thing -- whose address I won't publicize, but many of you probably know of it.
Jed seems to soften slightly at this point. He says that Ellie's never wanted anything from him -- he could barely get her to go to his inaugural until he called one of her professors and had an exam rescheduled, for which Jed thinks Ellie is "still mad at [him]." He reiterates the deal he and Abby have always made -- they wouldn't use the daughters, and the press couldn't either. As he says this, we see Ellie, with Abby and her guards, coming along to the outside entrance to the Office of O. "Dad?" Ellie says as she enters. "I'm sorry about all of this." Aw.
Toby and C.J. stroll, a little later. C.J. seems a little irked or something, so Toby asks her what's up, and whether she felt like he didn't support her with Jed. "I'm just tired," she says. She says she wishes she had somewhere to go, and mentions that she wore perfume -- which I think we've established everyone within a three-block radius already knows. "What happened with Ben?" Toby asks. She stops and turns to Toby. "I wrecked it," she says. "Wow," he deadpans. "Is that a record?" "Personal best," she says. "Do you like him?" Toby asks. She pauses. "Yeah," she says, a little frustrated with herself. "Really?" Toby asks. "Yeah," she says, more emphatically. He looks around like he thinks she's a little dim, and then says, "Go fix it." She just stands there like she's expecting something more elaborate, and he shrugs. "It's all I got," he says, as he walks off. C.J. looks befuddled, as she usually does when anything comes up involving her personal life.
Toby returns to his office, telling Marina to call Layton's office and tell her he's on his way over. At his door, he runs into Will. "How did Layton get the list?" Will asks. "You also going to weigh in on scientific McCarthyism?" Toby snots. "No, I need to find out --" "Now's not good," says Toby, blowing him off and grabbing a coat to head for Layton. As he passes Marina, she's saying, "Thanks, Julie, you rock." Marina tells Toby that they're expecting him. He stops, looks pained, and says, "Please don't say 'you rock.'" Now, see, there, I draw the line. "Shizzle" is right out, but there's nothing wrong with "you rock," dammit. That's a perfectly respectable compliment. It's versatile, it's brief, and it arguably suggests you could become a guitarist if your current career doesn't work out.
Now, we see Josh walking outside with Hayden, explaining that he struck out with the Judiciary Committee, but that they're thinking about a recess appointment. Josh sells it as a good way to get Hayden's credentials in front of the public; Hayden suspects an effort to give Jed a "nice lift in the polls." Josh stammers that that's not what he has in mind, and Hayden says he "can't be a martyr." If he takes the recess appointment, he still won't be confirmed in nine months, and by then, the Georgetown job will be gone. He's got a family and a mortgage, and he's not interested in falling on his sword in a political smackdown. Hayden then throws in an impassioned speech about unconscionable delays in processing cases, which leads to plaintiffs dying while they wait for relief because the parties can't stop screwing around. "So you're just going to hide at Georgetown and complain about it? Let's do something," says Josh. He insists that they at least need to make an effort, and that involves getting in there and taking the appointment and seeing what happens: "You got nine months...let' show 'em what you can do." The music swells right along with the morality.
Toby meets up with Layton outside her office and thanks her for seeing him. They go in and sit down. "Nobody wants to blow up the NIH here," she says. They banter about the supercollider, and then she says, "I hope you will convey my deepest sympathy that the president's daughter has been dragged into all of this." "I'll do that," says Toby. "He'll be delighted to hear that we won't be seeing anything about Ellie Bartlet in your fundraising materials." She comes back that if Ellie's doing "questionable research," that's not Layton's fault. Toby questions that it's questionable, and she points out to him that it's her job to look at the research, because she's on the committee that authorizes the spending. "There's nothing wrong with healthy scrutiny," she says. "Healthy scrutiny," he says. "Not subjective attack." Well...quite honestly? I kind of agree with the Congresswoman here. She's on the committee that authorizes the money. You can't tell them that they shouldn't look at what the research actually is. The research, much like Jed said, should be able to be explained as a worthwhile expenditure of money, and in the case of Ellie's research, it can be. Toby goes on about how the list is about imposing religious doctrine on the awarding of grants, and that may be true, but it seems to me that you have that debate on the merits of the projects, not on the impropriety of the Congresswoman's taking an interest in what the projects are. In other words, to the degree Toby is saying that NIH grants shouldn't ever be scrutinized, I think that's wrong. If Ellie's HPV research is valuable, then it's valuable, and if it's attacked on religious grounds, then those grounds should be rejected. Layton is correct that it's public money, and she's correct that if you want public money, you can't high-handedly refuse to lower yourself to explaining the value of your research to the public. She's, of course, totally an idiot to align with the ignorant, bigoted, close-minded idiots she's apparently aligned with, and she's wrong about every stupid moralistic objection she would have to most of these projects on their merits, but she's not wrong about what her task is. In a way, she's agreeing with Jed's position in the last scene -- science is inherently controversial; it needs to admit that and engage the issue.
Layton asserts, "I don't have a problem with homosexuals or injection drug users, but there is only one pie." She makes the old HIV-versus-everybody-else argument that's been had a hundred times. "This doesn't have to be one or the other," Toby insists. Although...in a sense, it does. Resources are not infinite, and you do have to make choices. I agree with him that there's nothing wrong with tw$2 billion for AIDS, and I think her argument is entirely specious for that reason, but Jed himself just got through telling Ellie that part of his reason for giving the AIDS money was political, so it's not like Toby can take some kind of a high road in this discussion. Toby points out that Layton can't evaluate projects and neither can the Traditional Values Alliance, but again, I don't think he's going to convince me that she's obligated as a legislator not to look at where the money's going. The Traditional Values Alliance is wrong because it's wrong, not because it shouldn't care. Lots of groups take positions on what research should be supported -- environmental groups, women's health advocates...it goes both ways. Anyway, Toby chastises Layton for being "in bed with" the Traditional Values Alliance. "I'm not," she chuckles. He insists that he spoke to McCall, and she comes back that McCall's taking credit for it doesn't make it true. "You got your list from the Traditional Values Alliance," says Toby. "I didn't," she repeats. He smiles condescendingly. Oh, my favorite. "Your lists are identical," she says. "There's a lot of people who care about this issue. A lot of prominent people. On both sides of the aisle. You'd be surprised, Toby." Given this hint, he just stares at her. She ushers him out of the office. I have to say, that, unlike the earlier presentation of ice-cold Lisa, is one of the better jobs I've seen the show do of presenting someone who disagrees with the White House in a way that might lead you to understand her position rather than just wanting to dance around her straw figure as she is set on fire.
When we return from commercials, a returning Toby finds C.J. and Marina camped out in his office waiting to talk to him. Before C.J. can say anything, he tells them that Layton claims she didn't get the list from the crazy people. "She didn't," says C.J., and kicks it to Marina. Marina explains that when she checked out the funding, the list on the Traditional Values site said Foy had fourteen extra dollars this year, as she told Toby. But on Layton's list came out, it didn't show the fourteen dollars. In fact, there were other small discrepancies between the list on the site and the list Layton had. It appears, they all agree, that Layton's list is up-to-date, but the Traditional Values site isn't. What Layton's list does match, according to Marina, is the internal document from NIH that hasn't been made public. Thus, unfortunately, it would appear that Layton's list came from inside the administration. Hmm. Oops. C.J. throws out a couple of possible suspects, but Toby's mind is wandering, because he thinks he knows. "You know who it is," says C.J.. "Yeah," Toby replies, and he gets up and leaves. Carol comes in and hands C.J. papers. "I have new pages," she says. "This is not what we agreed on," C.J. says as she stomps off. "I think the First Lady had some strong ideas about her character," says Carol, trailing C.J.
Cut to Will's office, where Random Blonde Lady #6 is just leaving and Toby is hovering outside the door. Will and Toby face each other. Toby says that if he were the VP's chief of staff gearing up for an election, he'd be thinking about how to answer charges about stuff like...oh, health care, for instance. Will immediately says that he generated the document for his own eyes only: "No one here knew about it except me." He defends the idea of doing opposition research, and Toby says, "That's what vaults are for." "I honestly have no idea how it got to the Congresswoman," Will insists. He also points out that he came to see Toby about it earlier, and that Toby blew him off. Toby snarks that Will should have come right out with "I just outed the president's daughter on national television" at the beginning of the conversation, but the fact remains that Toby totally blew Will off in essentially a fuck-you move, and maybe this will teach Toby not to fuck-you quite so indiscriminately. Ultimately, Toby only wants to know one thing: "Did you or did you not willfully target the president's daughter?" Will says that he didn't. "I'll take you at your word this was a mistake," Toby says ominously as he leaves. "Whatever the hell else you want to do about it is your own business."
And now, the greatest and most random scene ever. We watch Big Bird's unmistakable feet make their way up the elegant hallway, in a wonderful parody of the shots they do on this show constantly that use feet as segues. At the end of the hallway is a bench, and at one end of the bench sits C.J. Big Bird approaches her. He turns and sits beside her. He looks over at her as she wearily scooches over a few inches to leave room for all the feathers. She brushes the hair out of her eyes and looks down at her papers. Apparently, her plan is to try to ignore Big Bird. Big Bird sits there, kind of bopping a little bit as he sometimes does, tapping his...hands, I guess?...on his chest. C.J. looks up at him, and he looks over at her. He looks away. She returns to her work. She uncrosses her legs. Defeated, she stands up and heads off stage left down the hallway, passing in front of him as she goes. And just as she does, she dips down just a couple of inches, trying not to be taller than the seated Bird. It's brilliant, for absolutely no reason.
Now, we move to the Muppet mania going on in what I'm going to say is sort of Abby's office, although I could be wrong. Donna is asking Rosita the Muppet for her autograph, which...Donna isn't slow-witted, you know, so I found that a little absurd. Rosita compliments Donna's hair. Just then, we see Ellie heading toward the set. She walks up to Debbie and asks whether things are all right, and Debbie fesses up to being bummed that Kermit isn't there. Suddenly, Debbie turns to Ellie: "I didn't know you studied HPV." "Yeah," says Ellie. "My sister died of cervical cancer," Debbie says. "I'm so sorry," Ellie comes back. "She was thirty-seven, it was really fast, we didn't know then -- nobody knew it was connected to HPV. I read there's a vaccine coming." "That's what we've been working on," says Ellie. "Work harder," Debbie says gently, and walks away. Ellie stares after her, and then turns to watch Abby, who is frolicking on set with Elmo. She's giving Elmo a checkup, and when she checks his reflexes, he even says, "That was fun!" She starts out to give him a shot. This appears to be a rehearsal, as there's a Muppet-groomer in the background and there are people walking through the shot. Which probably explains why Elmo says, "Wait a minute! Didn't you give up your medical license? Do you have a diploma you can show Elmo?" There is much laughing, and Ellie watches, clearly moved or something. You can figure out for yourself how sad it is that the Muppets were the best part of this incredibly serious political drama.