The U.S. Poet Laureate

As they wait for the interview, with a morning show in Philadelphia, Toby mutters about Ritchie's book. After a brief reminder that President Bartlet wrote a book about macroeconomics, Toby tells Jed that when interviewers bring up the wildlife preserve, he needs to replace the word "exploring" with "drilling" and to reiterate "Saudi Arabia bad."

As Jed sits back down to wait for his cue, C.J. comes in to pull Toby away for a minute. They head out into the hall, where C.J. tells Toby that they're having a small problem with somebody named Tabatha Fortis. She wants to chastise the White House for backing down on a land-mine-ban treaty at a dinner they're holding in her honor. C.J. needs somebody to calm her down, and suggests that they send Sam. Toby's eyes dart back and forth nervously, and he starts massaging his pen as he interrupts C.J. to tell her he'll do it himself. C.J. barrels on, pointing out that Sam knows more about land mines. Toby repeats, rather softly and shyly, that he'll do it. C.J. asks him why. Toby just stands there uncomfortably for a moment, then shyly responds, "'Cuz," much in the manner of an eight-year-old asked by an angry parent why he was microwaving his G.I. Joe figures. C.J. breaks into a bemused grin and asks Toby, "Is it possible you've got a little touch of the poet? Or would like a little touch of the poet?" Toby smiles shyly for just a moment, and then softly responds, "Yeah." C.J. agrees, but tells him to learn about land mines first. They don't want to cancel the dinner, where "three hundred of the finest minds in the country are coming -- plus a few congressmen." They break up and Toby heads back into the mural room. Awww. Toby's got a crush. How adorable.

Back in the room, Jed and Toby do some last-minute prep for the interview. Jed notices that Toby is smiling and asks why. Toby says, "Happiness is my default position." I'm not sure how Jed manages to keep a straight face after that one, but he does, and starts his interview. He gives more lip service to various other lovely alternative energy policies that are as likely to come to pass as an Oscar nomination for Alyssa Milano. He points out all the wars, instability, and religious extremism going on in the Middle East, and wants to cut our ties with them, because, after all, America is in no way responsible for any of that stuff and nobody here has ever profited off it. News Clone Five brings up Ritchie's book. This time, Jed points out that Ritchie actually means "drilling," not "exploring," because that's the only way they're going to find the oil, and that it will cause untold environmental damage. After they've cut away to the commercials, News Clone Five pulls the same trick as her predecessor and tries to get Jed to talk smack about Ritchie. Jed plays coy at first, but finally tells her, "I don't know, [News Clone Five], we may be talking about a .22-caliber mind in a .357-Magnum world." She smiles and signs off. Toby looks over at Jed, stone-faced, and points out to him that the camera was still running when he said that. News Clone Five got Jed's insult on tape. A gaffe is born.

Credits. When we return from commercials, Josh walks into C.J.'s office, where she and Sam are discussing the gaffe. The network passed the tape along to a local AP reporter, and Jed's insult is going to end up in all the newspapers and on the evening news. Josh asks Sam how he could let this happen. Sam points out that he wasn't there. Toby was overseeing things, and it wasn't his fault, either. Jed just slipped it out and didn't see that the green light on the camera was still on. Okay, I want to know why these people think that what POTUS said would have been just fine if the cameras weren't recording. Even if News Clone Five didn't have it on tape, that doesn't mean she couldn't have reported Bartlet's statement and that it wouldn't have made it out into the press. Lesson for any aspiring public figures: don't assume that your comments to journalists won't be used on the record just because you're not being recorded. Anyway, C.J. says she has a briefing in twenty minutes, and she's pretty sure somebody's going to ask her if the president thinks Ritchie is stupid. Sam says, "Yes." C.J. counters, "No," but Sam points out that "yes" is the only correct answer to that question. Yeah, I'm on his side there. There's no way to spin it so that Jed doesn't think Ritchie is stupid. They bicker about how they should respond. Sam suggests not even answering it and telling the press that they're focusing on energy this week. C.J., slipping on her ass-kicking boots, tells them, "No, we're focusing on this this week." She suggests a non-apology apology: "The president didn't realize the camera was hot and said something he shouldn't have, as we all do from time to time." Sam and Josh like it. Sam rushes off. Josh wonders to C.J. why this one is so hard to spin as he leaves. C.J. points out that this is a "classic" Washington scandal, one caused by a politician accidentally telling the truth. Josh responds, "Right. Let's try not to do that so much," as he walks out.

Josh wanders through the central office, drawn to some giggling staffers. Four women, including Ginger, Donna, and Margaret, are looking over a website. Josh wanders by to find out what's going on. Ginger greets Josh, "Hi, Sugar Lips." That certainly puts him off his game. The women are looking at a web site called LemonLyman.com, a fan site for our lovely Deputy Chief of Staff. Josh is shocked. Donna explains, "You have fans, Josh. Not many of them, from the looks of it, but what they lack in number, they more than make up for in fervor." The women point to something on the screen and giggle. Josh asks what these fans talk about. Donna explains that they talk about Josh's television appearances, and that there's a part of the site where they detail their Josh sightings, many of which Donna is certain are fabricated. Donna explains that they're currently looking over "The Josh Fantasy Date" section, where women (and not a few men) describe what they would do with Josh if they had the chance. Josh looks slightly disturbed. Yeah, Josh. Welcome to the world of fanfic. I hope you haven't eaten recently. Josh tells the staffers who don't work in that part of the office to go back to wherever it is they work. Margaret cracks that she wants to work over here now. Yeah, a few phone calls to Redneck, New Hampshire, while standing out in the freezing cold will probably send her right back into Leo's arms. The other women leave, and Donna fills Josh in on his schedule. He's not really paying attention, though, and tries to sneak a peek at the website. Donna catches Josh, and he plays it off innocently, wandering off and telling Donna to let him know when C.J.'s briefing starts.

Cut to the Oval Office, where Leo is waiting for POTUS. Jed wanders in, and now I can make out the lighter hair tones. It's kind of sandy brown along the sides, but grayish-blond on the top. I'm surprised there wasn't a subplot about the politics of changing the president's appearance and how it affects polling or whatever. Jed wants to know whether they're going to hear from delegates from Michigan. Leo assures him that they will, and tells him that they're going to demand that the whole alternative energy initiative be entirely voluntary. Jed insists that he's not going to let polluters write environmental laws. Well, good luck with that. I bet they've donated a lot more money to congressional campaigns than you have. Jed asks after some energy union groups. Leo says their concern is that the only jobs at risk are those of the Saudis. Leo explains further that this meeting will discuss raising fuel efficiency standards to forty miles to the gallon. Jed nods and asks what else is going on. Leo tells Jed that he's going to be reprimanded this evening on the House floor for suggesting that Gov. Ritchie is a big dummy-head. Jed pulls some unfunny shtick calling Leo dumb, and I'm not recapping it. Charlie comes in to let them know that C.J.'s press conference is starting.

Jed and Leo wander to the outer office to watch the conference on closed-circuit television. Leo explains that there are about one hundred and fifty Democrats there ready to defend Jed. Leo suggests, though, that they not send anybody at all and to "let them whine by themselves." They pipe down to watch C.J. begin her conference. Sure enough, the first reporter asks, "Is the president saying that Governor Ritchie isn't up to the job of being president?" C.J. recites the non-apology apology, and of course, the reporters ask the same question seventeen different ways to try to trick C.J. into saying that the president calls Ritchie's house to ask him if his refrigerator's running. C.J. doesn't fall for any of it. POTUS and Leo seem satisfied with the way C.J. is handling the issue, and Jed heads back into his office.

When we return from commercials, a day has passed, and the press is still grilling C.J. about Bartlet's gaffe. A reporter asks about Ritchie's demand for an apology. C.J. repeats the non-apology apology. Another reporter brings up a "pledge" Ritchie wants Bartlet to sign a promise to run a "positive, issue-oriented campaign." C.J. kicks all kinds of ass in her response, pointing out that it's presumptuous at this point to assume that either Ritchie or Bartlet is going to win his party's nominations and reminds the reporter that POTUS has previously run seven issue-oriented campaigns and that the fact that he's won each of these elections shows that the voters agree. Feel the C.J. love. Incidentally, when I was in college, I summer-interned at a trade magazine for campaign consultants. I was surprised to read that although nobody really liked negative campaigns, they defended their use because they were so effective. Despite the fact that everybody complained about them, negative ads had a surprisingly strong effect on polling responses. So we have nobody to blame but ourselves. Or at least everybody around us. A reporter mentions that, since Bartlet's gaffe, reporters have been trying to get copies of Ritchie's college transcripts from the University of Florida. He asks C.J. whether the president thinks college transcripts are a good barometer of a person's fitness to hold higher office. C.J. says she hasn't talked to the president about the issue, but guesses that he'd say college transcripts are a good barometer of how well a person did in a college. That doesn't stop C.J. from repeating all of Jed's various degrees and honors. She mentions that he got an honorary doctorate and was a tenured professor at "Dartmouth University." A couple of people have pointed out that it's Dartmouth College, and that the institution has been very vigilant about keeping its name that way. It amuses me to think that perhaps Jed actually taught at a place called "Dartmouth University," which I imagine to be a crappy little diploma mill that tosses out business administration degrees like confetti as long as you pay your $20K and is named in the hopes that people will confuse it with the real institution. C.J. concludes with a joke about where she attended college ["UC Berkeley, for those of you writing a book" -- Wing Chun], and ends the press conference.

C.J. walks out into the hall to pedeconference with Sam. Sam tells her that Bud Watel is waiting in his office. C.J. tells him not to give Bud what he wants. What if all he wants is a hug? I say give him the hug. Sam jokes that he's been told that he never gives anybody what he or she wants. C.J. mutters, "We can't hold a bipartisan summit on bipartisanship. We'll look ridiculous." I think. I need to get closed captioning on my television for shows like this. C.J. wonders to Sam why Ritchie's people are handling this issue so poorly. She comments that they're keeping Jed's insult alive, and that it's only hurting Ritchie and making him look petty. Maybe. See, here I think their intelligence is verging into smugness and arrogance. It doesn't occur to them that people might not find Jed's quips amusing and a bit childish. But then again, it never hurt Reagan. Anyway, I'm wondering if the suggestion of arrogance behind the characters involved in this subplot is going to lead up to an embarrassing mistake on their part by the end of the season. Sam non-sequiturs that his Princeton Tigers can beat C.J.'s UC Bears "any day of the week." C.J.: "At what?" Sam: "Logarithms, possibly." C.J. and I roll our eyes in unison as they break apart and go their separate ways.

Sam heads into his office to find Jim Walsh waiting for him. Maybe he's trying to help Brandon get into the press briefings. ["So he can cover them for the Beverly Beat, I assume." -- Wing Chun] It's actually Congressman Watel, there to complain about the "stench of partisanism" coming from the West Wing. Sam cracks that they've recently sprayed for bugs. Watel wants to know how the gaffe could have happened. Sam tells him the same thing he told Josh -- it happened too quickly for anybody to do anything about it. Watel tells Sam that moderates are talking about bolting the party. Over the gaffe? Whatever. Sam doesn't believe that any more than I do. He says it was just a mistake and that it doesn't have anything to do with partisanship. Watel insists that something must be done. He's all, "Rah! Rah! Bipartisanship!" This guy can't be for real. I always assumed all the bipartisan cooperation comments were made for our benefit and that nobody actually expected it to happen. But then again, I'm a cynic. You might have picked up on that. Watel brings up the summit that C.J. previously mocked. Sam tells him that nobody's going to go for it. It's an election year. They're supposed to be partisan; they're trying to win. Watel insists that he needs to be able to tell his "moderate friends" something. Uh, tell them to get over themselves. Even Gandhi wouldn't expect bipartisanship during a presidential election. Watel suggests a Republican appointment or promotion to soothe everybody's wounded egos. Sam points out that they have Ainsley Hayes, who was brought in as an associate White House counsel and got promoted to deputy and is "slightly to the right of the Kaiser." He fails to mention that he hopes to get her into the sack before she runs off to Miami to fight crime. Watel suggests making Ainsley a more visible part of the staff ASAP, and to "learn the difference between red and green." Hey! He might have that red-green colorblindness, you know. Did you ever think of that? Watel leaves. Sam asks Ginger to call in Ainsley. Ginger tells him that Ainsley's on vacation until week. Not anymore. Sam has Ginger call Ainsley back in.

The Subplot of Sorkin's Discontent. Donna walks into Josh's office to discover him looking over the message boards of LemonLyman.com. Josh needs Donna's help posting something, because he broke all his fingers a few moments ago and can't type anymore. Donna immediately responds, "No." She tries to convince him that it would be a bad idea to post on the boards. Donna: "You don't know these people." Josh: "Neither do you." Donna, confidently: "Yes, I do." Josh: "What's wrong with them." Donna: "Nobody knows." Josh thinks that it's cool that all these people take an interest in government, and that they should be applauded. Donna says that's fine, as long as Josh doesn't post. Josh says he wants to respond to the people because he's not some elitist. Donna points out that he is. Josh admits it, but says, "I have respect for people who don't measure up." Unless they're Republican opponents for president, of course. Donna warns him that "people on these sites tend to be a little hysterical." And sexy. Don't forget sexy. Josh wants to correct something that somebody said on the site. Somebody with the screenname "Erma Trude" posted about a recent Josh appearance on Nightline. Apparently, Josh said that "they" would be asking the GAO to study Medicare drug prices. Erma points out that only Congress can make such requests. Somebody on the TWoPWest Wingboards pointed out that this coincides with some criticism of the show's accuracy on some other site. Josh thinks it's really cool that these people know how the GAO works, because it's so bizarre that a bunch of people with a crush on the Deputy Chief of Staff might know how the government works. Donna deadpans, "It's cool as all giddy-up." Josh makes Donna sit down to type a response for him. Donna warns him not to, but capitulates anyway. He dictates a response to Erma, thanking her for watching him on Nightline, then explaining that when he said "they" would be asking the GAO report, he meant Democrats (presumably the ones in Congress), not the White House. Then he has Donna sign the post, "Lemon Lyman." He thinks it's playful. Donna thinks he's an idiot, though she doesn't say so out loud. Josh tells Donna that she should get more into the spirit of this. Donna snarks, "What Josh doesn't know is that some of these people haven't taken their medication. Let's see what happens ." Oh, Donna. There is no treatment for haremism. She posts the message.

Toby stops by as Donna finishes and leaves Josh and Toby to go call all the other assistants who had gathered around her desk earlier and let them know how big an idiot Josh is. Toby nervously asks Josh if his tie is okay and whether it matches his suit. He's wearing a black jacket, blue shirt, and a shiny grayish-brown tie with some small, unrecognizable pattern on it. I think the tie is merely okay. It's not ugly, but it doesn't really accent the outfit or anything. It's just there, and nobody's going to notice it. ["Especially not a poet, who's probably some hemp-shirt-wearing, tiny-braids-sporting pinko anyway." -- Wing Chun] Josh snarks, "I don't know, Toby. The tie -- is it red or is it green?" Toby shoots back that he's heard that joke a hundred times already. Toby must be really nervous if he's asked that many people about his tie. Josh says the tie is fine and asks why he's asking. Toby nervously fiddles with his tie and explains that he's about to meet somebody. He excuses himself and wanders off.

Toby heads out into a waiting area to meet Tabatha Fortis; she's played by Laura Dern, looking and acting like the host of open-mike night at a coffee house. Tabatha greets Toby by saying that since they last talked, she tried but was unable to find a word that rhymes with "Ziegler." Bartlet's choice for poet laureate, ladies and gentlemen. Clearly the choice for intellectual elitists. Toby jokes that this must be the reason why nobody writes poetry about him. Oh, Toby. Ask Donna to take you to ZieglerZeitgeist.com. I'm sure you'll find some. She suggests perhaps something in blank verse. Then she asks, "Am I weird right off the bat?" Yes. Yes, you are. Toby's crush turns him into a freakish sycophant, and he asks if she wants to seem weird. She says no, so Toby says she's not. I think Tabatha could have kicked Toby in the groin by way of greeting and then threw up all over him and he'd still insist that there's absolutely nothing weird about her. Tabatha wonders if Toby's being nice. Toby tells her that if she asks around, she'll find out that that's unlikely. And that's why we love him.

Toby escorts Tabatha back toward the offices. They encounter Sam, and Toby introduces Tabatha to him. Sam tries to tell her how much he loves her poetry, but Toby cuts Sam off and continues on to his own office. Aww, Toby's all nervous. There's some banter about how much folks in the West Wing like poetry. Tabatha asks Toby who his favorite poet is, and he shyly admits that it is she. He brings her into his office, which he, I'm guessing out of nervousness, explains is exactly sixty-three feet away from the Oval Office. The room is just filled with the aura of awkwardness. Toby finally gets to the reason why he asked her in. They've prepared this big fancy dinner in Tabatha's honor with bigwigs and the press. Tabatha interrupts, "You've gotta sign the land-mine treaty, Toby." Toby's all, "So much for diplomacy." Tabatha...uh...captivates us all with the details that one hundred and forty-two countries have signed the treaty, eighty-four have ratified it, and twelve have destroyed their stocks. The only countries that haven't signed it are the United States and Cuba. Toby explains that the United States actually created the treaty in the first place and the other countries rallied around it. In the real world, it originated in Canada, but a lot of the bills and treaties addressed on this show have been slightly altered for one reason or another for purposes of the story. Of course, this does make America look a bit stupid. Didn't they think about Korea before cheering on a treaty? Toby sarcastically explains that America changed its mind because "we love anti-personnel land mines. We love 'em. And we think America should be in the business of selling them like the Post Office. In fact, the Post Office is the venue we're considering." Tabatha tries to interrupt him, but Toby finally makes it to his actual point. The problem is North Korea. Toby explains, "There are nine hundred thousand North Korean soldiers in the DMZ and the only thing keeping them from walking into South Korea are thirty-seven thousand American troops and about a million mines along the border." Well, gee, why do you even care if they wander into South Korea, since the country must be entirely unpopulated to not have its own standing defense? Oh wait, it does. But let's not let inconvenient facts get in the way of this captivating conflict. Toby explains further that America would sign the treaty if it could get an exception for Korea, but the U.S. has been rebuffed. Who rebuffed them? If America was behind the treaty, then who exactly wrote the terms?

After listening to all this, Tabatha says that they just disagree. So what's the problem? Toby says that normally it wouldn't be a problem, but that using a party hosted by the president with the press in attendance as the venue to launch criticism makes it one. Tabatha looks at him says, "All right, then. Sorry we can't have a party. But I liked talking to you." She stands up and goes to leave. "Yeah, you're cute, and uh...[awkward pause] I love the way you write." She leaves, and Toby stands there with his mouth hanging open. I seem to recall reading, and it might have been in a Miss Manners book, that there are no etiquette guidelines for turning down an invitation from a head of a nation, because it's simply not done. It used to make me worry what might happen if a president I didn't like invited me to something. If Dubya invited me to attend a barbecue and watch the big game, would I have to go? Yes, these are the thoughts that plague me. Did somebody say something about people on the internet being weird?

Commercials. Microsoft makes it easier to engage in price gouging. Hooray! Oh, and Peter Scolari was supposed to be involved in a subplot this episode, but it looks like he nearly drowned his kid and had to take him to ER instead.

We return to day three of the Rob Ritchie Roast. In the press briefing room, reporters have given up all semblance of diplomacy and ask C.J. outright if POTUS thinks Ritchie is stupid. C.J. comes to the conclusion that it may no longer be spin-able, and tells them that Bartlet was indeed calling Ritchie stupid. A reporter asks whether Jed regrets it, and C.J. snarks that Jed can no longer feed or bathe himself from all the regret. C.J.'s starting to get a bit smug here. A reporter says that Ritchie is planning a ten-state tour and is trying to create a groundswell of support for his "clean campaigns" promise. One of Ritchie's campaign heads is insisting that there's a lot of demand for the pledge, and that once Bartlet realizes this, he'll have no choice but to sign. C.J., her voice dripping with contempt, responds, "I swear to god, as soon as the president needs help understanding the hearts and minds of the American people, he'll call the Republican governor of Florida." You know, if they want to treat Ritchie like he's an idiot, then okay. But there's also a subtextual insult at the end there where her tone of voice suggests that her contempt extends to the state of Florida as well. Have they written off the possibility of winning Florida? Are they making a statement about Florida? Or is it just one of those coincidences? I'm sure it's just a coincidence. Anyway, C.J. directs the reporters back to discussing energy independence. She repeats some of the statistics POTUS mentioned at the beginning of the episode. But one reporter won't exactly let go. She asks whether or not they're focusing on this issue because Bartlet is particularly good at arguing policy and because they know they'll probably beat Ritchie on a discussion of the issue. C.J. sarcastically (of course) comments that they told POTUS that arguing policy is just "unsportsmanlike," but he didn't listen. I love sarcastic, ass-kicking C.J., but she is coming off a bit arrogant.

C.J. calls the conference to a close. Charlie comes in to tell C.J. that the president wants a pre-briefing and full run-through later this evening. C.J. calls Charlie "Chuckles." I guess she's no longer Charlie's "bitch." Also, Charlie would like One To Grow On. See, he doesn't understand what the problem is with drilling up in Alaska. As they pedeconference, C.J. explains that it will cause a lot of environmental damage, but reap little oil. Charlie insists it will have no effect on the environment and that they won't know how much oil they could get until they "explore." C.J. clarifies that Charlie means "drill," and realizes that he has read Ritchie's book. I really hope she has, too. Charlie jokes that "whoever ghosted it isn't bad." C.J. turns to a nearby Carol and tells her to "put together a page detailing the environmental impact of drilling the Arctic National Wildlife Reserve." Purely, of course, as a captivating way of telling a story, and not, say, as though it were an actual lecture on an actual issue that people out there are actually concerned about. It's just a common part of any well-told story for people to suddenly become stupid and need to have the issue explained to them in great detail. Carol doesn't mind. It's not like she has anything better to do but to educate the president's personal aide.

Cut to Sam's office. Ainsley stumbles her way in, still carrying her luggage and upset. Sam casually asks how her vacation was. Ainsley: "It was forty hours long!" Sam asks where she went. She went to Hilton Head, South Carolina. He asks what she did. She says, "I unpacked. And then I packed." She's either a really slow unpacker, or a really slow packer. Or both. Sam congratulates Ainsley on her promotion to deputy counsel. Ainsley asks when that happened. Sam explains that it happened after he told Bud Watel that they had already promoted her. Ainsley is just totally lost now. Sam explains about the gaffe, which Ainsley has already heard about. She asks Sam how he could have let it happen. He defensively explains for the millionth time that he wasn't there. Sam helps carry Ainsley's bags down to her office as he explains to her that they need her to go on all the pundit shows and explain that the president isn't an elitist snob. Ainsley, however, thinks the president is a snob and that it's "elitist, geocentric, Ivy League snobbery to think that if you haven't written six journal articles on monetary support mechanisms, you're not fit to lead." Sam counter-argues that setting good policy is easier when you actually understand it and that he'd be surprised to find that Ritchie had even so much as read six journal articles "on anything other than athletic support mechanisms." Because, you know, University of Florida is so much more known for its football team than Notre Dame is. I went to an even worse college than Ritchie's. I may not be fit to even write this recap.

Ainsley and Sam reach Ainsley's office, which, while still in the basement, is no longer located where all the heat transfer pipes are. She tells Sam that there's a difference between "intelligence" and "instinct." Oh my, I hope there's a much better argument for a "common man" president than that. I don't want any president leading by instinct. Sam points out that they should be able to find somebody who has both intelligence and instinct. Ainsley volleys that a president can pick good advisors. Sam feints that advisors can better advise a president who is informed and curious. If curiosity is an important trait for a president, maybe we should elect a beagle. Ainsley asks what happens when an intellectual president surrounds himself with other advisors who are also Ivy League snobs. Sam takes offense at this, pointing out that Notre Dame isn't an Ivy League college (yeah, but I think being a tenured professor at Dartmouth trumps that ["Maybe 'Dartmouth University' doesn't, though." -- Wing Chun]), and that the administration is very concerned about education and asks whether parents should be discouraging their children from attending Ivy League schools. Well, maybe not, but I certainly wouldn't consider somebody to be less educated or intelligent simply because they hadn't attended one. Ainsley points out that it was the Harvard Alumni Association in D.C. that got America involved with Vietnam. Sam ends the debate by pointing out that Ainsley herself is a very smart person who went to Smith and then got her law degree from one of the very Ivy League schools of which she's so critical. Ainsley moans that she was on vacation. Sam gives her a non-apology apology. Ainsley says she'll go ahead and do the television shows, because "[she] serve[s] at the pleasure of the president," but that she doesn't want a promotion that she didn't earn. Also, she's getting this strange urge to cut up dead bodies and she's not sure where that's going to take her. Maybe someplace warm.

Out in a hallway somewhere, C.J. tracks down Toby to let him know that four stations are going to be carrying the president's Thursday-night press conference instead of one, as originally planned. Man, millions of Survivor viewers are going to be furious. Toby's heading out to go sightseeing with Tabatha, and to try to get the party back on track. C.J. offers to handle it if Toby needs her, but Toby is not about to give up the opportunity to pretend he's on a date with the poet laureate. Toby says he can take care of it: "She's a poet. She's new to things like 'consequences.'" Grr. Just a warning -- there's a huge, nasty rant at the end of this particular storyline, courtesy of yours truly. C.J. begins to ask Toby a question about something, but changes her mind, wishes him luck, and heads off elsewhere.

Subplot of Sorkin's Discontent. Josh is looking at his computer monitor in confusion and shouts out for Donna to come help him. Josh is having problems with LemonLyman.com. Donna is the very picture of "I'm not surprised at all, you moron." Josh says that the folks at the site haven't taken his response "in the spirit in which it was intended." He says that he's confused by the site's forum moderator, "who seems to pride herself in her organizational skills and a certain amount of discipline." Donna responds, "Right. That's what's called a control freak." Because no other form of media on earth requires a leader to keep things organized and disciplined. Josh continues that the moderator's big on scolding, telling posters when they've posted in the wrong threads, or to stop using capital letters (though I'm sure she meant posting in all-caps), and telling people that she doesn't have time to repeat herself constantly, when "clearly she does." But that's not Josh's main problem. The problem is the responses he's gotten from the posters. One reads, "Somebody needs to deal with Josh's planet-sized ego by teaching him Government 101. Who made him overlord of the Democratic party?" Somebody else wrote, "Is Josh delusional? Or is he actively trying to destroy the separation of powers?" After verifying that Josh isn't trying to destroy the separation of powers, Donna tells him to shut off the computer. But no, Josh wants to clarify his remarks. A frustrated Donna begs him to let it drop, reminding him that Josh has been the organizer behind the whole energy initiative in the first place, and that he needs to prepare for the press conference. Josh insists, somewhat angrily, that Donna sit down so that he can dictate a response. Donna looks at him like he's gone around the bend and says, "I think you've gone around the bend." Yeah, and that's probably where he's going to run into me, and my gazebo is fully locked and loaded and about to go off.

Josh dictates the following response to Donna: "I don't think it falls into the category of outrageous to suggest that I might have friends on the other end of the avenue that have the phone number of the GAO. Let me put this more plainly: the White House can get a GAO review of anything it wants without posing a threat to the separation of powers. And I believe I'll use capital, lower-case, or Sanskrit, right up until the moment the Font Police cuff me and read me Miranda." Troll. ["Totally. Someone so inimical to normal forum rules would probably be a lot happier leaving LemonLyman.com forever and starting his own rule-free forum Utopia." -- Wing Chun] Donna lies, "That will show them." Josh theorizes that the people of the site are generally pretty nice, but they've come "under the thumb of a dictatorial ruler," and he sees it as his role to help topple her. Donna looks at Josh as if he's gone way around the bend and says, "Josh, you're way around the bend."

Oh, where to begin. First of all, I think it's particularly galling and hypocritical for a person who sits at the top of a complex creative endeavor to summarily dismiss the people who keep any media forum running smoothly as "control freaks," either as himself or through his fictional proxies. The success of any web message board absolutely depends on an engaged moderator keeping conversations organized and inappropriate intrusions out. He should be fucking grateful that he found a site about him that wasn't full of racist screeds by neo-Nazis; lengthy, inarticulate rants as to why the United States should nuke everything east of the Black Sea; and ASCII drawings of dog poo. Because that's what you get when you don't have moderators. And just because there isn't a quarter slot on the side of your monitor, that doesn't mean that it's not costing anybody anything for you to blather away online. Maybe Sorkin should go ask NBC how much it costs to maintain their forums on NBC.com. Oh wait, he can't, because they don't have any. Maybe he should ask them why they don't. Because bandwidth isn't cheap, and the more popular a site is, the more important those "control freaks" become to prevent spam, to keep the discussions on topic so that people can, you know, follow them and contribute, and to prevent the kind of overwhelming redundancies and flame wars that causes a site to collapse under the financial strain of its own popular success. Oh, and if Sorkin thinks we get treated like South American dictators by our readers, I'm sure Television Without Pity can arrange for him to get copies of all the insults, hate mail, complaints, threats, and a few emails that, if they were sent to the president, would result in a secret service investigation. Do I think it's accurate for these characters not to know or understand any of this? Absolutely. ["Although Donna might want to revise her opinion of those wacky, unmedicated online people and educate herself a little bit before she accepts that dot-com job offer." -- Wing Chun] But does anybody involved in this storyline receive any enlightenment about it? Sorry if I'm spoiling it, but no. Is Charlie enlightened about Alaskan drilling? Yes. Is Tabatha enlightened about America's land-mine policy? Yes...but that's another rant. These people? No. And that was a decision by Sorkin and his petty way of trying to get in the last word after he was slapped down for thinking that he could visit a site about the show and be treated like a god.

Man, that felt good.

Moving on. Toby and Tabatha are standing outside a D.C. landmark that I can't quite recognize, though I'm certain I've been there before. Tabatha is crossing names of the places she's visited off a list. She explains to Toby that she likes crossing things off lists because it's "very satisfying." That sounds flaky, but it's true. Especially if you're prone to procrastination, like I am. She asks Toby if he likes lists. He does. She asks if he likes crossing things off. He says he'll let her know "if it happens." She asks how Toby knew where she was staying. He makes a joke about the government watching her. He asks her, "You know what I'm thinking might be fun?" Tabatha responds, "If I came to the White House dinner and shut the hell up?" Toby denies that he was going to say that at all. He was going to say, "if [she] came to the White House dinner, wore a pretty dress, and shut the hell up." Yeah, they wouldn't want her to show up in the Lesbian-College-Professor- With-A-Native-American-Fetish chic she's got going on. Tabatha tells Toby that she has a list of former military commanders who served in Korea and say that land mines aren't necessary for protection anywhere. Toby says the administration knows of them. She points out that there are other weapons that are already part of the country's defense that are more effective and that land mines would slow down a counter-invasion. She asks Toby if he has a response to any of these details. Toby simply responds that the president would request her presence at a dinner in her honor. Tabatha says that, given what she's seen and heard about land mines, for her to pass up the opportunity to confront the president about the treaty in favor of reading poetry is tantamount to treason. Toby tells her, "Tabatha, you don't know what you're doing. This isn't kid's stuff!" He says that if she confronts the president with the press there, then the story will be the confrontation itself, not the land-mine issue, and that nobody will care about what she actually has to say, and it won't do anybody any good. Of course, this contradicts the plotline about the gaffe, where the press has moved on from the comment itself to start looking into Ritchie's qualifications. So actually, they did care about what was said. Yeah, Toby's probably just saying what he has to say to get her to calm down, but I don't have to like it. Tabatha starts to flake out and asks that Toby just "not talk" for a minute. She says she has a guest lecture at Georgetown the night and needs "to not talk for a minute." She walks off and Toby follows her, looking all forlorn and hangdog. ["That's the U.S. Poet Laureate? All using a split infinitive like that? Hack." -- Wing Chun]

Back in the Oval Office, POTUS is trying to sing "Making Whoopee," but can't remember all the words. Charlie comes in to put some files on his desk. He tries to tell Jed the words he's forgotten, but Jed has a sudden epiphany and rushes out. He heads into Leo's office, where Leo's having some meeting with a bunch of women with old-fashioned hairdos. Seriously, one of them looks like a '50s housewife. POTUS has decided that Leo is right about the not sending anybody to the floor to respond to the reprimands. He tells Leo to inform the whip that they're going to yield all their time, and that while the Republicans are complaining, the Democrats will be holding caucuses on literacy and tuition tax credits. Leo responds by pointing out that the reprimand was two nights ago. Actually, he should have, because that's when we were told it was going to happen earlier in the episode. I suppose the Republicans could have dragged it out because Ritchie did, but nobody ever said anything. Instead, Leo agrees, and POTUS heads back to his office.

Commercials. When we return, it's Thursday night and C.J. is in the briefing room, letting the press know the details of the conference. It's starting at 9 PM, so Survivor fans are safe. ["But C.S.I. fans are screwed." -- Wing Chun] POTUS will give a fifteen-minute address and then answer questions for forty-five minutes. A reporter tells C.J. that Ritchie's senior communications official has said that if Bartlet thinks the Florida governor is stupid, then he should just say so. An amused C.J. suggests starting a betting pool to guess how long a communications official who encourages opponents to call his candidate "stupid" will keep his job.

We cut to Toby's office, where Sam and Ainsley are watching the press conference. Sam can smell what the C.J. is cooking and thinks, like the rest of us, that she rocks. Ainsley asks Sam, "Does it concern you that our smartest presidents have been the worst?" Sam doesn't understand her premise. She uses John Quincy Adams and Woodrow Wilson as examples of two smart presidents who were unable to work with Congress and therefore unable to accomplish anything. Sam doesn't care. When asked why, he says that before he looks for anything else in a president, he looks for "a mind at work." Now I see that there's an opportunity for these guys' downfall due to some speculative projection going on here. Sam is operating under the very specious assumption that people make their leadership decisions the same way he does. Sam says that a credible candidate doesn't have to be a genius, but that he or she must have "gravitas." Ainsley asks how that is determined and measured. Sam says people know it when they see it, and that Republicans tend to mock it. He asks if Ainsley thinks he's wrong. Ainsley says she doesn't, and Sam says he knows that, because she's said as much in her recent appearances on television on Bartlet's behalf.

Toby wanders in to ask Sam and Ainsley what they're doing in his office. Sam explains that the television in his office isn't working. Toby tells Ainsley that she did a good job with her television appearances. I wish we had seen that. I'm totally neutral on Ainsley -- her accent, her hair, and her tapeworm -- but I would have liked to see exactly how a Republican defended Bartlet's gaffe. ["Maybe they had to cut that to make room for the LemonLyman.com plot thread." -- Wing Chun] Ainsley thanks Toby, and leaves. Sam asks about Tabatha. Toby isn't exactly sure what's going on with her. Sam asks if she has a history of activism. Wouldn't Sam already know? She's the incoming poet laureate. Toby says she has no history of activism. He says that when they were debating, she said, "From everything I've seen, and everything I've been told..." Sam interrupts to ask if Toby thinks she's being pressured to take this position. Toby doesn't know. Before he can elaborate, Ginger (I think? I never can remember the tertiary characters.) comes in to tell him that Georgetown University called and that there's some sort of problem.

Subplot of Sorkin Getting the Last Word In. Josh chases down Donna because the whole LemonLyman.com thing has blown up in his face. Donna responds in mock surprise, "You're kidding!" As much as this subplot bugged, Janel Maloney's delivery throughout the whole thing has been wonderful. Apparently, posters are calling Josh names and telling him that he doesn't understand the purpose of the GAO. In addition, there's more than a page of posts questioning whether or not Josh's Sanskrit comment was an insult against Egyptians. Of course, as Sanskrit bears absolutely no relationship with Egypt, I haven't a clue whether or not this is another crack against the crazy posters or if, in Sorkin's "little stories," Sanskrit actually was used in Egypt. And of course, if the moderator had truly been a control freak on top of her game, Josh would have been banned and his post deleted anyway. ["Yep. Unless she were intentionally giving him enough rope to hang himself before she called the Post." -- Wing Chun] Donna says she told him the people at the site were hysterical. Josh says he thought she meant they were funny. Josh finally decides to drop the whole thing so that he can focus on the press conference in ten minutes.

But it's too late, because here comes C.J. to open a can of whoop-ass, jump down from the top ropes, and give Josh the People's Elbow. She strides in and tells Josh that somebody from the federal pages of The Washington Post has called Carol to confirm that Josh posted on a message board that the White House could order a GAO report of anything it wants. Josh -- realizing that he's about to be in big, big trouble -- meekly adds the part about "without threatening the separation of powers." C.J.'s not biting. She's incredulous that Josh is posting on a website. He explains to her that the site is a crazy place: "It's got this dictatorial leader who I'm sure wears a muumuu and chain-smokes Parliaments." C.J. angrily interrupts him to ask him what he was doing there in the first place. He explains that it was called LemonLyman.com. C.J. reminds him that dealing with the public is her field and goes on to trash the website, pointing out that all the people involved are crazy. She gives this huge speech comparing it to the plot of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, with the moderator in the role of Nurse Ratched and Josh in the role of McMurphy, and though Allison Janney's delivery is wonderful, I'm not going to justify the gross overgeneralization of web communities with a full recap. She concludes by telling Josh that she's going to assign an intern to check the site every day to make sure Josh never posts again, and promises that, if he does, "[she'll] shove a motherboard so far up [his] ass..." Josh tries to point out that he outranks C.J. She shouts, "SO FAR UP YOUR ASS!" Josh is cowed. C.J. calms down and asks him if he's ready for the press conference. He is. They head out. Today's lesson: people who post on websites are crazy. Yeah, plenty are, and God knows I certainly feel that way sometimes, but the level of generalization is ridiculous compared to the level of detail we find in other plots on this show (accurate or not). And you may or may not decide to be offended by it. But whether or not you do, keep in mind here that the point of this storyline was not about Josh getting in over his head and getting into trouble. The storyline was about Josh embarrassing and demeaning himself by talking to people who are wholly incapable of being reasonable. In other words, Aaron Sorkin is not laughing with you.

We cut to Toby, wandering out of an auditorium. He finds a man outside. After confirming Toby's identity, the man explains that Tabatha was giving her lecture and, toward the end, something happened. She must have wigged out, but he doesn't actually say as much. The man says he thinks she's okay, but asked her if there was anybody he should call. Toby asks where she is. A woman tells Toby she's outside, sitting on the steps, which makes me wonder how Toby missed her when he was coming in. Toby asks whether there was any press there. The man says, "For a poetry lecture?" In other words, no.

Toby finds Tabatha outside, sitting on some steps. Without prompting, she starts telling Toby a story about a man she met in Banja Luka. The man took his son and Tabatha out fishing one day. The little boy hooked some garbage. When he tried to unhook it, it blew up, killing the boy right in front of them. Toby asks her what happened at the lecture. She says she was giving a lecture about poets who were never chosen to be a poet laureate because they were too rebellious and controversial, like Adrienne Rich and Allen Ginsberg. She was reciting Ginsberg's "Howl" from memory because she knows it so well. She starts reciting it again, "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical..." and here, unfortunately is where that They Might Be Giants song starts playing in my head. ["Ha! Me too! And dammit, she should be allowed to glue her poster!" -- Wing Chun] Not that I don't enjoy the song, but it kind of wrecks any attempt to continue with the poem. Anyway she stops just before she gets to "the negro streets at dawn," saying she couldn't remember how the poem continued. Toby stares silently at her. Tabatha says, "Do you think that I think that the artist's job is to speak the truth? An artist's job is to captivate you for however long we ask for your attention. If we stumble into truth, we got lucky. And I don't get to decide. What you said about South Korea makes sense, you know. Your people know more than I do...I write poetry, Toby, that's how I enter the world." She asks if she could arrange a few minutes to talk to POTUS alone to tell him what she saw in Banja Luka. It wouldn't have to be a public venue. Toby tells her that they can arrange it. He pulls out a notepad and shows it to Tabatha. On it is written, "Meet Tabatha Fortis." He pulls out a pen and crosses it off.

I want to give this whole episode an F based just on Tabatha's speech. The fact that I don't, I guess, is proof that I'm still willing to give Aaron Sorkin more leeway than I am others. I remember Sorkin making that comment about artists before, and it took putting it into the mouth of somebody who was supposed to be America's most influential poet before I realized how awful and wrong it is. A person who cares only about captivating his audience isn't an artist at all -- he's an entertainer. The truth is the foundation of every artist's work. An artist captivates his audience in the way he interprets the truth, even as he bends our perceptions of it to include impossible, supernatural elements, even as he sets it to music, even as he turns it inside out, paints it with the perspectives all out of kilter, and covers it in elephant poo -- even as he denies that there is even such a thing as truth. All the dead artists in the world are collectively spinning in their graves at the suggestion that, like Sorkin, they were all just telling their "little stories." Those little stories, and paintings, and plays, and symphonies, and poems, and yes, television shows have shaped every single culture on this planet, and in some cases, are all we have left of them. If Sorkin is afraid to be a part of that because he's afraid of getting it wrong, or afraid that people won't understand, or if he's just afraid to -- oh, I don't know -- grow a pair and take his critical lumps just like every other artist and learn from it, then fine. We lose a talented mind with an interesting view of the truth, and he loses the right to call himself an artist. But I will not just sit here and say nothing as he tries to drag the rest of the art world down with him. Hundreds of artists throughout the world and across time have been censored, imprisoned, exiled, and executed, and it wasn't because they were simply trying to "captivate" people. It happens because, to put it in Sorkinese, sometimes an artist stands up, too. And they accept the consequences when their perceptions of the truth get them in trouble because they were wrong, or more frequently, because they were right. And finally, nothing an artist produces is as captivating as the way he shows us his truth. Nothing.

Well. Where were we? Are you even still with me? I'm not sure who's going to be more surprised at that little outburst -- people who have never read any of my recaps or people who actually have. Or maybe Wing Chun. ["No, I'm totally with you, because all I could think of during Tabatha's little disclaimer was Salman Rushdie and what he might have to say in response." -- Wing Chun] Anyway, that little Moulin Rouge! moment is over, though I'm thinking of auditioning for a community production of Rent. Anyway, back at the press conference, C.J. is giving Charlie (whom she calls "Chipper") his One To Grow On moment, showing him the documentation that drilling in Alaska would threaten around two hundred different species of wildlife, not to mention the lives of subsistence hunters in the area and an awful lot of pollution. Of course, you shouldn't take any of that seriously. It's all just part of the story. Charlie learns a lesson, which may or may not be based on real facts. POTUS comes out to check the time with Charlie, who confirms that the press conference is about to start. As everybody gets in position, or whatever, Bartlet calls C.J. over to praise her for her good work in handling Jed's gaffe. C.J. points out that it got the press talking about whether Ritchie is smart enough to be president, and Jed didn't take a hit because everybody thinks it was an accident. I've already commented on that whole "on the record" thing, so I won't beat that any more. C.J. continues that she thought it was odd, the way Jed made his gaffe. She points out that the phrasing he used was unusual because he's not much for gun metaphors. She also notes that all the news clones had tried to bait Jed about Ritchie, but he didn't rise to it until Philadelphia, a fairly large television market. She asks him point-blank if it was possible that he saw that the green light was on when he made his "gaffe." Jed doesn't respond, and goes to walk away. C.J. smiles and says, "That was old school" (she's so phat) and tells him to "knock 'em dead" at the press conference. He strides down the hall to the waiting reporters and we end. What, we're not going to hear all the details about the energy initiative? Dammit.

week: A transport carrying "depleted uranium fuel rods" crashes in Idaho. Am I one of those internet freaks for pointing out that fuel rods aren't made of "depleted uranium"? I'm so unreasonable. Also, they might be replacing Hoynes as Veep on the ticket, but he's not going out quietly. And you're stuck with me for another week.