Previously, I bought a new place to live, and Potes wrote two kick-ass recaps. Also, the folks at the cable company were unable to get off their fat asses to hook me up. Which means that I'm watching this on rabbit ears, so if I screw up some dialogue or miss a visual joke, blame Comcast. To sum up my feelings about Comcast right now, I must call upon the immortal words of Nellie McKay: "Die motherfuckers, die!" (Which, as we all know, is German for "this joke is tired.")
Open on a slightly out-of-focus shot of a glass sitting on a bar. The glass is sitting in front of Toby. I couldn't quite tell, but it looks to me like there was a cherry in the glass -- maybe a Manhattan? I just don't think Toby is the kind of guy who drinks beverages with cherries in them. I would think he was more of a scotch man. Anyway, Toby pulls a pair of glasses out of the inside pocket of his suit and looks at them. He mutters something, and through the static it sounds like "11:30." Are these magical time-telling glasses? All of a sudden, we hear another voice asking, "What can I get you?" This question is not addressed to Toby. Instead, we hear a woman telling the bartender, "A glass of red. Whatever's open." The camera slides over a bit, and I can see that Toby has a cut on his cheek. After a few seconds of silence, the still-unseen woman tells Toby, "We have to stop meeting like this." Toby: "I'd offer to make an honest woman out of you, but you'd tire of me, and all I'd be left with is my knitting." She's surprised to hear that he knits, and he admits that he really doesn't. She laughs, and then she's finally shown on camera. It's Mel Harris, a.k.a. Hope from thirtysomething, a.k.a. Oma Desala from Stargate: SG-1, a.k.a. Carly from the late-'90s sitcom Something So Right. Since we won't learn her name until the very end of the episode, I'm just going to call her by one of those three. I'm sure you're smart enough to keep up. She looks at him and asks what happened to his face. And...flashback!
Josh walks into a busy campaign office. Someone is singing: "Alison, I know this world is killing you..." You know, that doesn't really sound like a happy song. Ned crosses in front of Josh, and the camera pans across with him to show us that Santos is the one doing the singing. He sounds like a tenor, if you know what I mean. Ned hands Santos a printout of an article from the Boston Globe, and tells him to read the fourth paragraph. Santos starts to read something about Russell, and Ned corrects himself and directs him to the third paragraph. Santos, reading: "Congressman Matthew Santos emerged from the pack with a healthy nineteen percent of the New Hampshire primary vote." This put him into third place. Santos, Ronna, and Ned all chat about the great press coverage they're getting, but Josh does not look thrilled. By the way, this is clearly not their original New Hampshire campaign headquarters. Not a boat in sight. Santos reminds Josh that eleven major newspapers have given them good coverage: "Open your arms, you gotta feel the love." I'm sure Santos knows how to make Josh feel the love. And I don't think it involves open arms so much as open... You know what? Sometimes, even I think I've gone too far. Josh unconvincingly tells Santos that he's feeling it. The love, I mean. Ned thinks that Josh is just upset because some guy from Slate wrote about someone named Rafferty. Josh points out that another columnist also wrote about Rafferty, and he thinks that the two of them are important opinion-makers. Santos thinks that Allison from Newsweek is also pretty important, and that she wrote something very nice about him. And then he breaks into her song again.
“ Will asks Annabeth, 'Hey, do you have any thoughts on Russell's package?' Well, she is short enough to have gotten a good view of it. ”
Will walks through the communications pool and asks Annabeth, "Hey, do you have any thoughts on Russell's package?" Well, she is short enough to have gotten a good view of it. And I think there is a small cadre of viewers who would really like to hear Annabeth's thoughts on it. Will clarifies that he means Russell's packaging. Annabeth thinks that Will's just trying to butter her up, and she tells him that she already told Donna Russell could not join Jed at the FOP speech. Will tells her that he's not there about the speech: "I'm grooming a man for the highest office in the land, I'm looking to perfect the image, and they say you're good at that." Annabeth, disbelievingly, says, "They do?" Will confirms that they do. Annabeth: "These people?" And then she looks down and starts rubbing one of her eyes. He asks her if there's a problem, and she tells him that something is in one of her contact lenses. And then he reminds her that she's wearing glasses. Chagrined, she takes them off. She's crying, and Will asks her if he's done something wrong. She tells him that it's not him, and then through her tears and dainty little sniffles, she gives a little speech that is supposed to be funny about how she is feeling underappreciated and unloved: "But gosh, it's just nice to hear that they think I'm good." I originally thought that this scene was a bit unbelievable, but then I realized that this woman works for Toby, and probably just about all of her interactions are with him. And it's not like Toby is handing out praise like candy. I could easily believe that this woman hasn't received a single word of praise during the time she's worked at the White House. Throughout Annabeth's speech, Will looks around uncomfortably, trying to figure out if he can possibly make a break for it. He offers to come back later, but Annabeth pulls herself together and gives a critique of the Veep: "The boots are over, the haircut was hasty, and in the debates he seems too interested in what the other candidates are saying. His 'S'es are slushy, his 'A's are flat, he exhales too loud and inhales too often. But it's nothing that can't be fixed." Wait, "he inhales too often"? If he'd like, I could teach him a little breathing control. Call me, Gary. Annabeth blows her nose and tells Will that she's honored he asked for her thoughts.
Margaret tells C.J. that Cliff Calley is there to see her. He enters, saying, "I was summoned." C.J.: "You were. Sit." Cliff: "Heel." C.J. begs his pardon, and he tells her, "Just seeing if it worked both ways. It doesn't." I think it's funny that he can make these little jokes to C.J. and yet still look terrified of her. She asks him if he has any interest in leaving the private sector. He wonders if he's being offered a job, and she tells him that she's gauging his interest. He's flabbergasted for a few seconds, and then suddenly says, "No thanks." C.J.'s taken aback. He describes any job in the current administration as "a temp job. And a low-paying one at that." Still, he wishes he had a tape recorder with him: "I could've played this for my mom." C.J. tells him she's glad he turned her down, because it was a mistake for her to make the offer: "You're a hack who works for a bunch of cookie-cutter condo builders and hotel magnates. I don't know how you sleep at night." Cliff: "Ativan." C.J. tells him he was the only lobbyist she met with on the water program who would not even discuss the plan. He trashes the agricultural users of Colorado River water, and tells her that even if he did support the program, it still wouldn't get through Congress: "I'm the only one who'll tell you to your face." She thanks him for his honesty, "and for [his] service to the American people." He gets up in her face (which is quite a stretch for him -- the dude is short), and asks, "Okay, you want to know how I sleep at night? There's a drought in Kenya, there's a drought in Zambia. There's a drought in India, and Pakistan, and Ecuador, and Paraguay, and there's a drought in Malawi and Uganda and Australia. We're the only country on the planet that can afford the $ten billion dollar investment it'll take to perfect desalination technology, and the federal government's never gonna make that investment unless they're forced to because there's a major national water crisis." C.J. reaches in her desk, grabs a box of M&Ms, throws them to Cliff, and tells him to get out of her office. He thanks her for the candy and walks out. You know, it's been a while since C.J. has had a screwball comedy nemesis who could go toe-to-toe with her. I'm kind of digging this.