By LTG
Patsy Cline swings us into the episode. She's out walking, after midnight, in the moonlight, as one does. To which I say, Patsy, are you crazy? It's cold outside. We see a series of hotel and motel signs, all welcoming the Iowa Corn Growers to town. The ever-reliable (and ever-annoying) subtitles let us know that we are in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. I'm glad that they specified that it was Iowa -- I thought that perhaps the Iowa Corn Growers might have been holding their meeting in Cedar Rapids, France. I'm starting to think that the one of the promo monkeys got his or her cousin a job in the subtitles department. A car pulls up in front of one hotel, and the driver drops Donna off, asking if she'll need him again in the morning. Hmmm. I assumed he was a driver, but maybe he's a gigolo? In any case, Donna says that she'll let Mindy know if she needs him.
Donna enters the hotel (pulling her rolling suitcase behind her, natch) and asks the front desk if there are any messages for room 412. The subtitles tell us that it is "Wednesday 12:55 AM." The desk clerk hands Donna a long FedEx package and tells her that "Mr. Bailey" is still in the café. As Donna walks away, the clerk asks if she wants a 5:45 wakeup call. Donna sounds exhausted as she calls back, "Yeah, or you could just have someone come to my room and hit me over the head with a mallet or something." I think there are other people staying in this hotel who could use a mallet to the head a lot more than Donna could.
Donna and her rolling bag enter the café (which looks an awful lot like a full-fledged restaurant to me), and finds Will and a bunch of other campaign workers filling up the tables in one corner of the joint. They're discussing the name for a hog roast that is being planned ("Pig-Out With Bob" seems to be the front-runner), and as Donna walks up, someone asks her how South Carolina was. She tells them that it was "southern," and goes on to tell them that she picked up "half a million" at the donor conferences. They discuss plans for the day, and in response to Donna's question as to what she should be doing, Will tells her that they need to "pack the stage for Thursday's debate with five or six fringe candidates." A woman named Christine starts running down the list of possible debaters, which includes "two recently released federal inmates, an airline mechanic, two men over the age of eighty, a comedian, a nun." I get why the recently released inmates might be fringe candidates, but is there any reason in particular that an airline mechanic is considered a nutcase? And why the hell shouldn't a nun run for President? (Sorry for the cursing, Sister.) Christine keeps going down the list as a political horn-dog nearby reminds her not to forget Jennifer James. Will expositions that she's a porn star, and Horn-Dog tells us that she's "got talent." Will adds that she's also got stamina. Oh, God, now I know who Will is. He's That Guy (D.C. variety), also known as That Political Guy Who Will Talk Policy For Hours As Though It Is Fascinating, And Then Make An Unforgivably Crass Comment. I hate That Guy, and D.C. is full of them. Donna wonders why they want these fringe candidates on the stage. Will tells her that the idea is to frustrate Hoynes's attempt to be on stage alone with the Veep, and instead make him look irrelevant by surrounding him with a bunch of nutcases. Will dismisses everyone, reminding them that the morning staff meeting is at 6:00.
Everyone leaves except Will and Donna. She noshes on someone else's leftover French fries while they discuss her trip. She wants to know if they're really going to call Russell's big donors "Bob's Boulders." I'm sorry, but "Bob's Boulders" sounds like a joke that Russell should make about his breasts when he appears in drag at some political variety show. Will doesn't care what they call them, and then tells Donna that half a million is a pretty good result "for two days of rolling with the Boulders."
Donna walks down the hall and enters an elevator. There's an intense close-up of her finger pushing the button for the fourth floor. The elevator door slowly closes, and as it's almost closed we hear a voice calling out for her to hold the elevator. Hmmm, that voice sounds familiar. You don't think that two major characters on the show would have a chance meeting in the middle of Iowa, do you? I mean, what are the odds? It would have to be fate that brought them together. Or maybe contrivance. Those two can be difficult to distinguish. In any case, the mysterious stranger is able to stop the door from closing, and as the door re-opens, we can see that it's Josh. He's talking on his cell phone as he enters the elevator, and it takes him a couple of seconds to realize that he's sharing a ride with Donna. He ends the call, and she awkwardly apologizes for not being able to find the button to open the door. He asks her to push "4," and she points out that it's already been pushed. Close-up shot of the button. This is gripping cinematography. As the doors close and the elevator ascends, there's a lot of tense silence and shots of the two of them in profile. They make awkward small talk about the campaign. Russell is closing in on Hoynes in South Carolina, and Santos is focusing his efforts on New Hampshire.
The elevator arrives on the fourth floor, and as they exit, they realize that they are walking down the same fluorescent-lit hallway. Everything is very, very blue. Are they under the sea? Is Donna The Little Mermaid? They stop and look at each other, and then walk side-by-side down the corridor. Again, the silence is painfully awkward, broken only by a bit of small talk about the hotel where Donna stayed in Charleston. She arrives at the door of her room, and what do you know, Josh is in the room just across the hall. There's a manila envelope waiting on the floor in front of each of their doors. I have no idea what it is, but there are similar envelopes in front of almost every door in the hallway. I wonder if hotels in Iowa make campaigns pay their bill each day so they don't end up getting stiffed? Donna says goodnight to Josh, and is able to immediately open the door of her room using the key card. However, a beeping sound keeps coming from the lock on Josh's door, and he's unable to open it. Donna turns around and tells him that he's doing it too fast. I think you can tell a lot about how a man will be in bed from the way he unlocks his door. Just something for you to think about, Donna. Josh tries to make a joke, telling her, "I get frequent flyer miles every time I swipe...." But she just calmly walks over, takes the card from him, and unlocks his door. As she walks back to her own door, Josh looks at her sheepishly and says, "So much for the Bermuda trip." They each enter their own rooms.
Josh enters his dark room, throws his bags on the floor, and sits down on the bed. He runs his hands vigorously back and forth through his hair, and then smoothes it all down again. For just a second, he stares off into space.
Josh walks back into the Blue Lagoon and takes the two steps across the corridor to Donna's door. You can barely hear Johnny Cash singing about the green hills of home over the PA system. When Josh gets to Donna's door, he doesn't knock. Instead, he just rests his hand on the doorframe, and then seems to think better of the whole idea. He crosses back to his own door and tries a couple of times to get it to unlock by sticking his key card in and pulling it out very quickly. After a couple of unsuccessful tries, he does it Donna's way, putting the card in slowly, and the door unlocks for him. He enters the room, and as his door shuts, we see his hand reach out from inside and hang the "do not disturb" sign on the doorknob.
Credits, now with both Alan Alda and Jimmy Smits. Enjoy these shots of the White House, because they're the closest this episode is getting to the actual West Wing or the people who work there.
We see a mess of blonde hair on a pillow. A phone to the bed rings, and Donna (she of the blonde hair) reaches out to answer the phone. After a couple of seconds, we hear an automated voice telling her that it's 5:45. Donna sits up, turns on a lamp (a lamp that uses an energy-efficient fluorescent bulb), and puts on a sweater. A subtitle tells us that it's "Wednesday 5:46 AM." Donna turns the television on to CNN, and the newscaster starts talking about a woman in Turkey who was apparently convicted of adultery and condemned to death after having sex with a co-worker. At this point, the main thing wrong with that little sub-subplot is that Turkey abolished the death penalty a long time ago. Because they're more civilized than we are. And now we get to see Donna go through her morning routine, which apparently consists primarily of brushing her teeth before drinking her coffee. Nasty. It's also notable that Donna had the foresight to set up her coffee maker the night before, so that all she had to do to make the coffee was turn the machine on. That way she can ruin the coffee with the taste of toothpaste and stain her teeth much more efficiently. The pervs in the audience are probably interested in hearing that Donna sleeps in a t-shirt and boxer shorts. Newsguy tells us that the Bartlet administration is saddened by Turkey's decision to go ahead with the execution, but that it remains committed to strengthening ties with Turkey. I'm not sure who this Bartlet guy is. Does he have something to do with this show?
Russell for President campaign office. It was not clear to me if this was in a different building, or if the campaign had just rented out a hotel conference room to use for campaigning for a few days. But then I noticed how very blue the light was, and I realized that the campaign must have rented office space from the Arcadia Sheriff's Department. The room is crowded. Phones are ringing, people are talking, and there are a lot of jokes about corn and the Iowa Corn Growers Association meeting. Christine asks Will how the ethanol speech is coming, and Will tells her, "[The] V.P. loves ethanol. Showers in it every day." Maybe that explains Bingo Bob's apparent brain damage. Someone asks whether the campaign will issue a statement on Turkey, and Will asks Donna what the White House is doing. She repeats the "saddened but committed" line, and Christine is pissed: "'Saddened'? They're going to behead her for sleeping with a co-worker." Whereas Christine's candidate would take a much more courageous position if he were elected. The horn-dog from the earlier scene asks Will if he's sure that Hoynes is "going to flip." He'll certainly flip over the chicken casserole I'm making for supper. Call me, Tim. Will is positive that Hoynes will take "the ethanol pledge. This is a guy, who if he's speaking to a group of cannibals, is gonna promise them missionaries." Couldn't he just offer them Will instead? That would be a win-win situation for everybody. Will reminds everyone that it's five days until the Iowa caucuses, and nineteen days until the New Hampshire primary. As people file out of the room, Will asks Donna and Christine if they are off on their "Beyond the Fringe World Tour." Apparently, Donna's first stop is a guy who "wants the military to occupy our schools to prevent gun violence." Will thinks that an "M-1 Abramson tank seems like a worthwhile truancy deterrent." Campaign worker #46 says, "A 120-millimeter cannon'll blow the training wheels off any tardy sixth-grader's bike." Dude, if the sixth graders still have training wheels on their bikes, that school has a much bigger problem than truancy. On the way out of the room, Will tells Donna to stop by the Corn Expo so that Bob can thank her for her fundraising efforts.
A silver sedan drives down a road in some very flat countryside. I'm assuming that means we're still in Iowa, but the subtitles have abandoned me in my hour of need, so that's just a guess. Donna's in the front seat while some young hottie drives the car. She tells him that the person they're going to see was in prison for three years for refusing to pay federal income tax. Some of the best and sanest people I've ever known are tax-refusers, so at this point I think the guy sounds like the real deal. Christine is in the back seat, clutching her Starbucks to her chest like it's the only thing protecting her from the pitchfork-wielding villagers. ["They have Starbucks in Iowa? Well, I'll be." -- Wing Chun] She asks Trevor, the fine young driver, if he's ever been to one of these "crazy caucuses." I think caucuses are a great method to decide elections, if the population is small enough. People actually sit down together in a room and talk about the choices they have to make, and then they publicly declare their support for one candidate or another. And if their first choice is not doing well, they get a chance to switch to their second choice. Trevor tells Christine that his grandmother runs a caucus every four years at her church. Christine is the model of diplomacy, calling Iowa an "out-of-the-way, nickel-and-dime, penny-ante state," and wondering why it gets to go first. Trevor points out that Iowa always goes first, and Donna tries to defuse the tension by telling Christine, "Iowa's first because it's first." Christine is not appeased, wondering if Californians shouldn't get a chance to meet the candidate "down at the Barstow Dairy Queen." Trevor's patriotic pride is offended, and he rises to the challenge: "We're not a bunch of politically-spoiled farmhands. We take the responsibility of screening the candidates for the rest of the nation very seriously." Christine just thinks that winning Iowa means a candidate has learned to talk "about soy beans and farm implements." Trevor's clearly feeling a bit attacked, as he retreats from the conversation just as the car turns down a long driveway. The driveway is barred by a chain, from which hangs a sign that says, "Screw the dog. This property protected by Smith & Wesson." Christine thinks maybe they should have called first.
So, I agree with people who think that Iowa and New Hampshire are just so unlike the rest of the country that it is not fair that they get to basically decide which two or three people have a chance at winning a nomination. On the other hand, I see a real value in having the first primary be in a small state where a lot of people can have an opportunity to get to know the candidates up close and personal. If the first primary were in California, the entire race would be about who had the money to bombard the six different media markets with commercials. So I hereby nominate Rhode Island to hold the first primary. With only a million people, there would be lots of opportunities for outsider candidates to impress voters with their personalities and ideas. There's a realistic mix of urban and rural in the state. And the place is much more racially, ethnically, and religiously diverse than either New Hampshire or Iowa. Plus, every four years the rest of the country would get to spend a couple of months making fun of the Rhode Island accent. And that's comedy gold, people.
The Russell campaign bus rolls down the highway, followed by a bunch of police cars with sirens and flashing lights. Do you think Bingo Bob and Will have decided to go all Thelma and Louise on us? And shouldn't at least some of those vehicles with the lights flashing be in front of the bus? The bus is kitted out as a miniature campaign office, and Russell is in the back with Will discussing various (and boring) campaign details. Someone asked for a statement on farm subsidies, and Bob wonders, "What do they expect? I'm going to come out against farm subsidies in Iowa? Oppose manhole covers in Manhattan?" Actually, I wish he would do that second one -- I hate it when The Manhole charges a cover. Oh, wait. He's not talking about the bar, is he? Never mind. Bob is tying his tie, and he tells Will that he thinks that what is happening to the Turkish woman is a tragedy. He asks if they've issued a statement, and is pleased to hear that he deplores the planned execution. Bob doesn't say anything when Will tells him that the statement goes on to support the position of the Bartlet administration. Whatever that is. Will also tells Bob that the campaign has $8.2 million cash in hand. Their little meeting is interrupted by another aide, who asks Bob if he has a few minutes for a couple of donors. He feeds the Veep some details about the folks, and Bob starts doing the song and dance for them as soon as he walks up to the front of the bus. (Even going so far as to lie and say that he was held up in the rear of the bus because he was on the phone with the White House.)
Back on the Beyond the Fringe World Tour. Donna is chatting with some guy who's wearing flannel shirt, a down vest, and a baseball cap, just so you know he's a hick. There's a sign on the wall that reads "Edgars: The Friendly Fascist." What is that, friendly fascism? Do the brownshirts deliver a muffin basket before they take you away to a camp? Donna asks Edgars if it's true that his platform would allow all citizens to carry concealed weapons. He clarifies that he wouldn't allow it -- he would require it. Please -- if you want to give me a gun, you'll have to shove it in my cold dead fingers.
At the stop on the tour, the candidate is playing his guitar and singing "Peace Train" while Donna, Christine, and Trevor look on. The guy can actually sing. Nobody says a word, but Christine does look like she's getting into it a little bit.
Bob and Will are walking back towards the campaign bus, having just left some event. Bob is complaining that the pepper sausages were too hot. This may just be the time I spent in Texas talking, but I refuse to believe that there is any really spicy food to be found in Iowa. Bob asks for a quart of milk and a bucket of sand. I understand the milk, but what the hell is the sand for? Or is that just a joke about putting out a fire? Here's some advice, Bob: if your jokes require that much thought, they are bad jokes. (And I know from bad jokes.) As Bob boards the bus, an aide gives him the names of the donors who are waiting to speak to him. Bob is really good at this part -- he has an instant camaraderie with these folks. He tells the donors that he needs to go take off his coat, and that he will return to them in a few minutes.
Bob and Will walk to the back of the bus. Bob has looked over the ethanol speech, and thinks it sounds fine. He asks who else is speaking at the expo, and Will tells him, "Hoynes before you, Clarkson and Santos after you. The Republicans go tonight." Bob wonders if Vinick is going to come out against ethanol, but Will is certain that he will flip. Apparently, Vinick has a long history of speaking out against ethanol. The Veep tells Will that he saw the last speech that Vinick gave on the topic in the Senate, and he was so impressed that he's not sure how he would have voted if it had come down to a tie. Of course, it didn't come down to a tie -- the vote in favor was something like eighty-two to eighteen. Will is "surprised that there were eighteen senators without presidential aspirations." Will thinks that if Vinick wants any chance of winning, he'll say that, as a Senator from California, he voted against ethanol because it was bad for the state, but as President, he would support it because it's good for the nation. Bob gets the funniest and most cryptic line of the episode in response to that: "He'll pull a groin muscle reaching around behind him to pick up that one." As Bingo Bob gets ready to return to the front of the bus, he tells Will that Vinick is right about ethanol: "It takes more oil to transport it and fertilize it than we save using it." Will seems a bit panicked at the idea that Bob might be changing the speech, and Bob gives him no reassurance as he goes to schmooze the donors.
Lunatic Fringe World Tour. Donna is standing in a muddy barnyard as a farmer carries a bucket of slop toward her. It's actually just a bucket. I'm assuming it's slop because the show wants us to believe that all of these fringe candidates are disgusting hicks. Donna verifies that his positions include paying the President and all members of Congress a salary of $1 per year; banning motorcycle helmets and color television; dropping out of the U.N.; doing away with Medicare; and privatizing Social Security. At least if he banned color television, I wouldn't have to recap a show where every scene is drowning in blue. The farmer tells Donna, "We gotta get the government out of our damn pockets!" She walks after him and asks if he's sure he's a Democrat.
Bob's motorcade pulls up to what almost looks like a stadium. The subtitles tell us that it's the Jefferson Cattle Barn in Council Bluffs, Iowa. As Bob and Will exit the bus, Will is talking about preparing for the debate on race that is coming up.
In a hallway inside the Cattle Barn, Russell is complaining that "Atkins and Santos get to stand up there, holier-than-thou and rail against racial injustice while the rest of us loiter around looking like those two albino twins from The Matrix." As the group proceeds down the hall, Will tells Bob that Donna Moss is there and that she just returned from a fundraising trip to South Carolina. Bob is all smarm as he thanks Donna for her work in Carolina. She leans in towards Will as they walk along and tells him that they can't put the fringe candidates on stage with real candidates. By this time, the group is walking through what appears to be a farm equipment exhibition hall. Donna gives what I suppose are humorous descriptions of some of the nuts she met, but I can barely make out half the words. Someone hands Will a note, and he steps up and tells Russell that there was a major chemical spill and fire in Baton Rouge. Apparently, it leveled two city blocks, and an area of twenty square miles is being evacuated. Bob actually looks shaken by this news, but only briefly, and then he pulls himself together to give his speech. Will asks him if they're okay on the ethanol question, and Bob tells him not to fear: "I'm not suicidal. I'm gonna take the pledge." Bob is introduced, and he takes the stage.
Bob walks on the stage, which is decorated with some red-white-and-blue bunting and some bales of hay. In the wings, Donna is again telling Will that they can't give any exposure to the nutcases she met that day. On stage, Bob is starting his speech: "I'm not just saying this because I'm in Iowa. I say this everywhere I go. We need more ethanol production." Commercials.
Dark screen. We hear a phone ringing. The picture comes up, and we are looking down on what looks like an empty bed. But then the pillow moves, and a hand emerges from underneath it to answer the phone. The pillow is pushed aside, and we can see Josh as he gets his own 5:45 AM wakeup call. Only half-awake, he thanks the automated voice before hanging up. By the way, there's already a fair amount of light coming in through the window. I just want to remind the producers that it's not that difficult to do a tiny bit of research and determine that in January in Iowa, the sun is rising at around 7:30 AM. Josh sits up in his bed, and the subtitles tell us that it is "Wednesday, 5:46 AM." Hmmm, so a week must have passed.
Josh turns on the television to CNN, where the newsguy is still talking about the woman in Turkey. So does that mean there was another woman, or are they still talking about the story a week later. Or...oh, my God, this must be it -- it's the same day again! What a revolutionary story-telling technique! What geniuses they all are. And to think, I never would have figured it out without that subtitle. We watch Josh go through his own morning routine. As you might predict, his is a bit more chaotic than Donna's. For example, while she had her socks on in bed, he has bare feet, and freaks out when his toes hit the cold bathroom floor. He has also not prepared his coffee maker, and he is very impressed with himself when he successfully throws the empty package of coffee grounds into the trashcan. They also show us Josh's pee face, which I did not need to see. (They did at least spare us the sound of the pee. Thank heaven for small favors.) The other pervs in the audience might be interested to hear that Josh also sleeps in a t-shirt and boxer shorts. (I believe in satisfying the pervs on an equal opportunity basis.) Josh putters around on his laptop while the coffee brews. Unsurprisingly, he has messed it up somehow, because the carafe is overflowing and there is coffee running down the bathroom counter.
Santos family suite. Mrs. Santos hands bowls of cereal to two kids who are sitting in bed watching cartoons on television. The little girl has an enormous smile on her face. Either Santos has a special-needs kid, or this little actor needs much better direction, because no kid should be that happy to be watching a cartoon at six o'clock in the morning. Mrs. Santos tells the two of them that she'll be right door if they need her. And then she walks through the door to an adjoining room, in which the campaign staff is planning the day.
Santos's campaign staff is obviously much smaller than Russell's, but things are still hectic. Ronna is reading through the schedule, which includes a photo op with Albert, the world's largest bull. Santos tells his wife, "The campaign's full of metaphors, isn't it." It may be, but the position of Official Campaign Metaphor has already been filled. So Albert can just step off, yo. And that metaphor pops up again, as Santos tells an aide (Ned, I think) that he wants to be able to weigh in on a piece of legislation that is in committee before it goes to a floor vote in the House. Ronna also mentions the "coffee bean caucus," which causes Mrs. Santos to ask what the hell's going on. Josh tells her that it's a restaurant that puts out a jar with each candidate's name on it, and every customer is given a coffee bean to put in the jar of his favorite candidate. Santos is surprised to hear that he has a jar, but Josh tells him, "We've been sending a volunteer in for pie every day for a week." Mrs. Santos tells Santos that he must have seven beans -- like, way to be supportive, Mrs. Santos. Ronna goes on through the schedule, which includes a visit to the nation's oldest Dairy Queen. Ronna mentions that they will fly to some campaign event or other, and Josh is surprised to hear that the campaign has a plane. Shouldn't the campaign manager know things like that? I'm not too impressed with Josh's hands-off management style. Ronna mentions the Corn Expo, and Mrs. Santos asks what they plan to say about ethanol. Santos looks sheepish, and doesn't answer. Josh tells her that ethanol is "the best thing since soft serve." Mrs. Santos mentions that ethanol is subsidized to the tune of one billion dollars a year. Ronna tells Santos that, after the Corn Expo, they will return to the hotel to prepare for the Black and Brown Debate. (I have no idea if that's the official name, but I like seeing it capitalized.) Santos thinks that's pretty ironic, as he looks around at his all-white staff: "All of you are going to prep me for a debate on race?" Josh thinks they at least need to go over the opposing arguments, but Santos is not impressed: "I grew up in Houston, Josh. I lived the opposing arguments."
They all prepare to hit the road, and Santos mentions how awful the Turkey situation is. All the while, Mrs. Santos is staring daggers at Josh. Somebody's jealous. Josh doesn't think that the White House will do much of anything about it, and Mrs. Santos seems pretty upset: "They're executing her because she slept with her fiancé? Thank God she didn't cook him breakfast." And that's the second thing wrong with this sub-subplot. If the guy was her fiancé, it seems safe to assume that neither of them is married. So where's the adultery? Fornication, perhaps, but adultery seems to require that at least one of the two parties be married to some third party. Josh points out that the U.S. executes minors: "The rest of the world thinks that's barbaric." Mrs. Santos: "I'm with the world." Santos asks Mrs. Santos if she's coming along, and she tells him that Peter has the sniffles, so they're going to stay at the hotel for a while. She again raises the $1 billion spent on ethanol. Santos goes to get his coat, and Josh tells him that photos look better without the coat. Santos would rather to be warm than photogenic, however. Come on, Matt -- you know Josh will keep you warm. As Santos walks away, Mrs. Santos points out to Josh that the campaign is at 3% in Iowa, and that the Hispanic population of the state is 2.8%. She thinks the $1 billion spent on ethanol could be spent on a lot of other things. Josh doesn't respond, and he and Santos take off.
Cut to the Santos motorcade. It's considerably less impressive than the Russell motorcade, consisting of a beat-up RV and an SUV (and it's possible that the SUV is just stuck behind them). In the RV, Josh is telling Santos that he's gotten an invitation for Santos to go pheasant hunting with a local politician. The point of this is just to remind us that Santos was in the Marines, and that he knows how to shoot. Santos changes the subject, telling Josh, "You know, Helen's not wrong about ethanol." Hallelujah! Mrs. Santos has a name! And an easy-to-type name at that. You can't see me, but I'm dancing right now. Anyway, Santos talks about why ethanol is bad, and it sounds like this: "Blah blah blah." Josh thinks that after pissing off New Hampshire voters, they can't afford to do the same in Iowa: "What is this, the Insult and Injury Tour?" Santos continues talking about ethanol and farm subsidies: "Blah blah blah." By the way, the light? It is still blue.
Everyone exits the RV in the parking lot of some building or other. It's raining out. Santos is still going on about ethanol: "Blah blah blah." And Josh is still telling him that there's no way he can change the speech. Santos does interrupt himself long enough to greet a voter.
They're at the diner that has the coffee bean caucus. A close-up of several jars shows us that Hoynes has about twice as many beans in his jar as Russell, and Santos does have perhaps seven beans in his. None of the jars is especially full. Josh picks up the jar to count the beans, and Ned suggests that they should find some hungrier volunteers. Santos is speaking to voters in the background, and Josh asks Ned if he's talking about ethanol. It turns out that he's talking about the U.S. letting foreign nationals serve in the military without allowing them to become citizens.
The campaign crew exits the diner, and Santos is still talking about the same thing. At least it's not ethanol. Basically, his position is that if a foreign national signs up to serve in the military, he or she should be allowed to become a U.S. citizen immediately. Which is a fine position. But since there's nobody arguing the other side, it's just boring. Much like the ethanol discussion. In any case, Josh's response to Santos on the citizenship issue is much like his response on ethanol -- he doesn't care about the substance, he just thinks it's bad politics: "You're Hispanic. You start talking immigration reform, people are gonna think you wanna throw open the borders." And then they go back to discussing ethanol: "Blah blah blah."
Airport tarmac. At this point, I'm starting to think that I would welcome a death by helicopter. And I don't mean on the show, I mean for myself -- that's how bored I am. The RV pulls up to the airport building (I should mention, this is just a small airfield), and everyone files out. Now they're discussing the Black and Brown Debate. Josh thinks that Santos needs to focus on economic issues: "Lack of opportunity is the root of all our divisions." Santos thinks that will make him look ridiculous, and that Josh is "trying to steer [him] toward middle-of-the-road positions that will appeal to C-SPAN viewers." Instead of talking just about economics, Santos wants to discuss the fact that "minority kids are five times more likely to grow up poor and fatherless." Lest you think that he's talking about some kind of marriage incentive, he later clarifies that he thinks the government should be putting money into making sure that all those deadbeat dads actually support their kids. Josh thinks that arguing that position will make him "look as though [he's] lecturing African-Americans." During this entire discussion (which goes on for some time), the two of them are circling a small airplane while Santos takes a quick look at various parts of the vehicle. At the end of the debate, Santos returns to ethanol and tells Josh that he wants to review the speech. And then Santos walks up the steps into the plane. Ned is still at the bottom of the stairs, and Josh points out that it's a pretty small plane: "Buddy Holly small. Big Bopper small." Ned tells us that the Big Bopper's real name was Jiles Perry Richardson, and he reminds Josh that Ritchie Valens was on the same plane: "All went down right here in Iowa."
Josh climbs into the plane and takes his seat. Ronna is sitting across from him, and Ned sits to him. Josh asks where Santos is, and Ronna tells Josh he's up front: "Can't exactly fly it from back here." Santos turns around in the pilot's seat and asks if everyone is ready. He tells Josh to put on his seat belt: "Don't think I'll ever get tired of doing barrel rolls." And then he winks at Josh. So this scene gave us some HoYay (in short supply this episode), and also a sighting of the Official Campaign Metaphor.
The RV (now with a police escort) pulls into the Jefferson Cattle Barn. At least that's what the subtitle tells us. On my own, I'm not sure I would have realized it, what with this being the exact same shot that was used when the Russell motorcade arrived at the expo. As Santos exits the RV, he's reading a snippet from the speech. He sounds unimpressed, and Josh finally gives what may be the only argument in favor of ethanol that's actually articulated by anybody on the show: "We've lost 850,000 jobs to foreign oil; ethanol's created 150,000. Think of it as a Midwestern jobs program."
They're walking down the long white corridor towards the stage. At least, I think it's white. I can't really make out any color besides blue in the shot. Santos reads another line from the speech, and Josh tells him that they get it out of the way in four lines at the beginning of the speech: "Think of it as a quick trip to the dentist." Santos tells Josh, "I'm a pretty good flosser." So, does that mean all his trips to the dentist are quick? Or does he not go to the dentist? I'm confused. They run into Helen, and Santos greets her with a quick kiss. All of a sudden, Santos tells Josh, "All right, you know what? I'm not gonna do this, any of it. I'm gonna go in there and tell those people the truth." They're walking through the farm equipment exhibition hall, and Santos tells Josh that he really wants to reform the system instead of giving subsidies to major agribusinesses. Josh tells him that speaking out against ethanol in Iowa will kill his campaign: "Bambi'd have a better shot getting elected president of the NRA than you will have of getting a single vote in this caucus." I would think that if Bambi wanted to be the president of the NRA, they would welcome him, just for the PR value. Helen speaks up and tells Josh to let Santos say what he wants to say.
By now, they're to the stage. Santos accuses Josh of wanting Santos to pander so that he can get a few votes in a caucus he can't possibly win. Josh responds, "I want you to support a policy that helps a lot of people so that a year form now when you are sworn in as President, you can make the changes we both know need to be made." Santos looks at Josh, and then at Helen, says that he's ready, and starts to walk toward the stage. Josh calls after him: "Matt. Take the pledge." With that, Santos is introduced and walks on stage.
Helen and Josh watch from the wings as Santos delivers his speech. He thanks them for the welcome (which is fairly warm, I have to say), and looks at the teleprompter. The pro-ethanol language is on the screen, and Santos freezes. There's a close-up of his face as he swallows, and then the camera drops to his hand -- whether to show that it is shaking a bit (which it may have been, although it's hard to tell with the shaky camera work this episode), or to focus on his wedding ring, I couldn't say. Santos says, "Ethanol...is good for economy and good for the environment." Josh pumps his fist, and Santos continues with the speech. Helen is pissed, and she slowly walks away from Josh. Commercials.
Once again, a phone rings to a hotel bed. This time it's Vinick who answers. He's clearly staying at a nicer class of hotel, and it even seems as though his wakeup call might be coming from a real live human being. As he sits up, the subtitles tell us it's "Wednesday, 5:46 AM." Wait, what's going on? I'm so confused...oh, they did it again! Boy, they really got me that time. Vinick also turns on CNN and hears the news about the Turkish woman. We don't get to see much of Vinick's morning routine. If there are any pervs out there who want to know what Vinick wears to bed, I don't want to know. Even I have some limits, people.
Cut to a bustling campaign office. This may be a better hotel, but it seems to have the same crappy blue lighting as the other one. A familiar voice is going over the schedule with Vinick. Hey, it's Patricia Richardson, a.k.a. Jill, the mom from Home Improvement. As she continues to go over the schedule and Vinick asks questions about it, I hear another familiar voice. Woohoo! It's Stephen Root, a.k.a. Jimmy James, Macho Business Donkey Wrestler, a.k.a. the guy with the stapler from Office Space. We love him. Jill gets to the part of the schedule that includes the Corn Growers Association, and she and Mr. James get quiet. Vinick looks up from the newspaper he's reading and asks, "It suddenly get quiet in here?" Yeah, I think I just said that. Try to pay attention, Senator. Jill tries to change the topic by asking someone if the new direct mail piece is ready. She goes on to ask Vinick whether there's some way to criticize Bartlet (who?) on the Turkey thing. Vinick doesn't see how, since the President simultaneously criticized the decision and affirmed his commitment to regional autonomy. Mr. James thinks it would be good to find a way to issue a statement, since it would remind voters of Vinick's foreign policy experience: "It might get their minds off ethanol and abortion." Vinick thinks there's little chance of that: "Bringing them with me to a DMZ wouldn't get their minds off ethanol and abortion." Maybe if he brought them to the DMV.
Jill dismisses everyone from the meeting. I have to ask, if these are meetings of campaign staff to go over some details for the day, why is it that virtually everyone in the room is either talking on the phone or typing on a laptop? And why are they all simultaneously able to finish those things when someone tells them the meeting is over? Anyway, Jill walks over to Vinick and tells him that they got the latest financials, and that he's up six million. Mr. James just think that now they need to find two people who will vote for Vinick. As Mr. James walks toward him, Vinick points to his sweater and tells him that he's covered with crumbs. Jimmy James just brushes the crumbs off his sweater, upsetting Vinick even more: "Now if I want a snack, I just have to reach down into the carpet." (By the way, Vinick calls Mr. James "Bob." But he'll always be Jimmy James to me.) Mr. James tells Vinick that his poll numbers are at 5%, which is up just half a point from the last poll, and all of this after spending $2 million in Iowa. Mr. James tells Vinick that he's going to have to take the ethanol pledge, and Vinick tells him that he won't do it. Mr. James tries to enlist Jill's help: "[Jill], tell him." Vinick earns my undying affection when he immediately tells Mr. James, "Stop it. She's been doing all her own talking since she turned thirty-five." Jill tells them that they can discuss it in the car.
The Vinick motorcade consists of three massive SUVs. Vinick is telling Jill and Mr. James that he never wanted to commit any resources to Iowa in the first place, but they both think that it was important to try to make a good showing in a rural state: "A Republican can't win the White House without the farm belt." By the way, Jill identifies their main opponent as being someone named "Allard." I think this is the closest the show has come to using a real politician's name for one of their fictional politicians. If the fictional Allard is half as moronic as the real Allard, Vinick should have this thing sewn up. Anyway, back to the show. Vinick thinks ethanol is bad, and he doesn't want to change his position: "I'm not a panderer." Mr. James thinks that this is "a non-panderer's pander. Even General Patton would have pandered on ethanol." Vinick turns to Jill and asks her, "Et tu, Brute?" She doesn't say anything, but gives a small nod.
Cut to Vinick addressing a small crowd in what I assume is a barbershop. (That shrewd guess is based on the fact that there's a guy sitting in a chair getting a haircut. Now you can see why they hired me for this gig.) He's talking about the economic problems facing rural America. The interesting part of this scene is that twice he's challenged by someone who disagrees with him, and both times he sticks to his position, backing it up with facts, while still giving some respect to his challenger.
The motorcade pulls into a parking lot, and Jimmy James is suggesting that they could use a new study put out by the Ethanol Institute, which shows that "if we put 10% ethanol in every gas tank in America, we can reduce worldwide oil demand by 2%." They discuss ethanol: "Blah blah blah." Mr. James tries to use the argument that supporting ethanol reduces reliance on foreign oil, but Vinick doesn't buy it: "Making a gallon of ethanol takes almost a gallon of oil. That's like saying that using tonic water as an additive reduces our demand for gin." Is it bad that it's 6:30 in the morning and I really want a gin and tonic? Vinick reminds them that he needs to call Valerie after she gets out of school. Jimmy James asks Vinick if he'll at least look at the study, and Vinick tells him, "It's a classic study of a stupid policy rammed down our throats by special interests. It makes as much sense as building patio furniture out of corn. But sure, I'll take a look." Y'all, I'm starting to like him.
They're in the diner with the coffee bean caucus. Mr. James inspects the jars -- the only two Republican names I can make out are Vinick and Walken. Vinick's jar actually has a fair number of beans in it -- certainly a hell of a lot more than Santos. Vinick is addressing the crowd, talking about economic issues. Someone asks him if free trade shouldn't also be fair trade: "Can we really compete with people earning a dollar a day?" Vinick asks, "Do we really want workers in Malaysia to be earning our minimum wage? I mean, do you have any idea what real estate costs in Kuala Lumpur?" Oh, Arnie -- I was just starting to like you, and you have to remind me that underneath it all, you're a Republican. While Vinick speaks, Jill gets a phone call and sees news about the Baton Rouge chemical fire on a television.
They depart the diner, and Vinick is talking about ethanol again: "Blah blah blah." At the end of his rant, he nods to Jill and asks her what he would have to say. She gives him the line about what was good for California versus what's good for the nation, and he gives her a look. She asks him what he expected, and he proposes a line of his own: "As Senator, I pandered to Californians, but as President, I plan to pander to every special interest who can help get me elected." He asks her if Jimmy James already has a speech drafted, but then tells her that he doesn't especially want to read it. He tells her, "If Iowa weren't first, if it were third, do you know what it would be? The South Dakota primary." And just when I'm disliking him, he wins me back with the proper use of the subjunctive.
The Vinick motorcade arrives at the Jefferson Cattle Barn. Where's that, you ask? Why, it's in Council Bluffs, Iowa. I know because the subtitles told me. Again. As everyone exits the SUVs, a reporter calls out a question to Vinick (which he ignores), and Jimmy James asks Jill if Vinick is going to take the pledge. She nods her head.
In the long white (but actually blue) corridor, an aide hands Vinick a phone and tells him it's his granddaughter. He takes the phone and starts singing "Happy Birthday." After a couple of lines of the songs, he starts laughing, apparently because of her criticism of his singing. They chat for a bit, and then he tells her to get back to her friends: "Happy birthday, Pumpkin." That was a really sweet scene, and demonstrated how very superior Alan Alda is to Jimmy Smits as an actor. As they approach the stage, Vinick asks Jimmy James for the speech, and is surprised to hear that it's already on the prompters. As Jill fixes the pin on his lapel, Vinick talks about how he "missed so many of [his] own children's birthdays. Now [he's] doing it with the grandchildren."
Vinick takes the stage, to muted applause. He starts to read the speech on the prompters, which begins with an acknowledgement that he hasn't always been a big supporter of ethanol subsidies. Vinick is really bad with the prompter, by the way. It could not be more obvious that he's reading his lines if he were Lindsay Lohan appearing on Saturday Night Live. The line about California comes up on the monitor, and he freezes. He looks down, looks out at the crowd for a few seconds, and takes a breath: "I know what you want to hear. Telling people what they want to hear is the easiest thing to do in politics. That's not why I'm here." He tells the crowd that he's embarrassed by the ethanol subsidy, and that he thinks they should be too. The crowd has started muttering, but Vinick continues, starting to tell them about his own background growing up in a citrus-farming community and how it gives him an understanding of their plight. Commercials.
A subtitle tells us that it's "Wednesday, 10:25 PM." A television in the hotel bar is showing a snippet from Vinick's speech as Josh and Ned nurse a couple of beers and watch. Helen walks up to the two of them and expresses her admiration of Vinick for not taking the pledge: "At least one candidate gets to go home without feeling like he's been mugged." Josh points out that Vinick will drop like a rock in the polls, and Helen asks Ned if he can give them some time alone. Uh oh, I think it's time for The Talk. You know, the one between the Wife and the Other Woman. Helen asks Josh why they're in Iowa. She thinks they should be focused on Texas or California -- states where they might get votes. I'm surprised to hear that she thinks her husband can only get votes in states with large Hispanic populations. Josh tells her that they're in Iowa to make sure that people know that Santos is an option. He thinks that "Russell is a house of cards," and that Hoynes will be able to take Russell down. Once that happens, all the support will flow to Hoynes, "unless someone has established themself sic] as 'not Hoynes.'" Helen wonders why people won't just go with Hoynes, but Josh tells her, "There will be lots of primary activists who will be uncomfortable with an adulterous moderate DLC [candidate]." Helen expresses some doubt over this plan, and tells Josh, "Well, I'm going to bed. Please don't keep him up too late. He's tired." Oh, Helen. Why do you think he's so tired?
Josh walks over to a booth where Santos and Ronna are working. They discuss the fact that it is snowing pretty hard, and the potential effect it will have on the day's schedule. All of a sudden, we hear Vinick's voice: "Josh, as I live and barely breathe." Vinick is with Jill and Jimmy James, and he walks up and shakes Josh's hand. Vinick introduces Josh to his aides, and Josh can't help commenting on the crumbs on Mr. James's sweater. Vinick tells Josh, "No, no, that's just his way of packing a lunch." And then Santos stands up, and Josh introduces him to Vinick. But it turns out they already know each other; they co-sponsored "a doomed immigration reform bill a couple of years ago." Santos and Vinick greet each other with apparent affection. Vinick tells Santos and Josh that he and his staff were supposed to be driving back to Des Moines, but they decided to try to get some food and wait for the snowstorm to end before attempting the drive. And they just happened to come into this hotel. Once again, it must be fate. Or...what was that other thing? Ah, yes. Contrivance. Santos offers to find out if the kitchen is still open, and Josh leaves to check that out, while Jill and Mr. James go to get a table to sit at. Vinick tells his aides that he'll be along soon, and sticks around to chat with Santos. He praises him for his willingness to challenge the teachers' unions with his education plans, but deflects Santos's own praise for his ethanol speech: "That wasn't gutsy so much as suicidal. Or so my staff tells me."
Vinick and Santos both sit down (with Ronna still at the booth), and start chatting. Vinick tells Santos that Hoynes and Russell have both already attacked him on ethanol, and Santos says that he doesn't plan to get involved. And then Vinick starts criticizing some of the details of Santos's education plan, describing the mandatory 240-day school year as a "big Washington power grab." The details of this conversation are unimportant (and boring); the important thing is that it demonstrates that Vinick and Santos can disagree about policy while still obviously liking each other. The tone shifts a bit when Santos asks when Vinick is heading back to New Hampshire. Vinick is heading back tomorrow: "What with my ethanol tantrum, I suspect my work here is done." Vinick sarcastically mentions that his staff is "very proud." Santos responds, "Well, if they weren't, I was." And then he looks ashamed when Vinick asks what he did, and he has to admit that he took the pledge.
Josh walks up to Jill and Mr. James and tells them that the kitchen was closed, but that they agreed to make some eggs. Josh sits down with them and wonders what Santos and Vinick are talking about. Jill tells him, "If your day's been anything like ours, I'd keep away the sharp cutlery." Josh tells them the ethanol speech was a bold move, and Jill gives him a look and tells him that it was entirely Vinick's idea. Josh thinks that they'll suffer in Iowa but pick up a lot of positive attention in the national press. They ask what Santos did, and Josh tells them that he took the pledge: "The Republican field's wide open. We're just trying to find a way to stay in the game." They watch Santos and Vinick chat for a few seconds, and then the Ryan Adams song "Desire" starts playing, launching us into a musical montage.
Will and Donna chat near the elevator. Donna gets on, while Will walks down the hall to an ice cream vending machine. He puts his money in and pushes a couple of buttons, and then this funky vacuum arm sucks up an ice cream sandwich and moves it toward the drop chute. Will stops reading the papers in his hand and stares at the sandwich while the camera focuses in on the Nestlé Carnation logo on the wrapper. Ryan Adams sings "Desire, desire, desire" in the background. So, Will desires an ice cream sandwich? Then it's a good thing this ice cream vending machine was nearby. People in the forums have wondered what the ice cream sandwich "means." My personal theory? The fact that NBC sold out to Nestlé on the product placement is a symbol for the fact that Will sold out to Bingo Bob. It's a meta-metaphor.
Santos enters his hotel room and sits down on a chair to the bed while Ryan Adams sings about "speeding with no direction." Santos takes a breath and then looks over at the bed, where Helen is sleeping with at least one of the kids in the bed. She slowly opens one eye and looks at him, and they exchange small smiles. "Desire, desire, desire."
Vinick is back in his hotel room, getting ready for bed. On the TV, some bald guy with a beard is giving a briefing from the White House on U.S. troop levels on the West Bank. He looks vaguely familiar. Vinick turns off the TV and sits down on his bed. He looks at a photo of himself with a woman of about his age. Mrs. Vinick, I presume? (Sorry, no lyrics here. We're on an instrumental break.)
Donna is in her hotel room, preparing the coffee maker for the day. "You know me, you know my ways." The shakycam is back, as is the blue light. Donna goes to her door to retrieve that day's manila envelope. Josh is walking down the hall -- she does not see him, but he notices her. "You just can't show me, but God I'm prayin'." She closes the door to her room, and the light from the peephole is shining on her eye in the otherwise dark room. "That you'll find me, and you'll see me." She sees Josh at the door of his own room across the hall and just watches him for a second. "And you'll run, and never tire." He pauses, as though he's thinking of knocking on her door. She walks away from the peephole, and he opens his own door and walks in. "Desire, desire, desire." The camera retreats down the hallway, and...fade to black.
Except the episode's not over. A phone rings, and a hand shoots out from under a pillow. It's Josh, getting his 5:45 wakeup call. This time, it's really over.
There's no new episode this week -- instead, you can enjoy the real State of the Union. (And by "enjoy," I mean "get drunk during.") And then for the two episodes after that, the talented and immensely funny Potes will be filling in for me while I move into my new condo. Enjoy!