Pretty. And will also fuck you up.
The main character of a show is nearly always my least favorite (BSG excepted) so any ep about Will and his stupid bullshit is going to get on my nerves. That being said:
Quick takes: Maggie’s drinking and intensity and that sort of careless fuck-all-y’all attitude that she’s got going on, oh, is that part and parcel. I don’t like her, very much, not since she couldn’t let Jim and Lisa alone and blamed Lisa for the whole thing, but this raging PTSD and her assessment of the Sandra Fluke sitch, that’s my sandbox and she’s in it, building a beautiful castle.
Your mother says she loves you, check it out: Easy enough to see if someone by that name is registered at the W hotel, so why spend so much time on the phone with those folks? Then again, it doesn’t say bad things about the NewsNight team that they’d want to give presumed bombing victims the benefit of the doubt. Though who, buried under piles of rubble in Syria, calls a random American network?
I wanted to be on the young gay advocate’s side, but way to make it all about you and your own story rather than your dead friend’s.
World Nut Daily gets an ep-long shout-out and First Draft, which I think is the only blog that likes this show, gets nothing? Are you kidding me?
If someone hasn’t gif’ed Don screaming at the speaker-phone yet, please to be giving me that for Christmas this year.
The Genoa thing and Charlie’s chicken story? True tales time: I once got a hotel to put mini-bar charges on my bill as “laundry.” How the accounting department didn’t catch I was doing $200 worth of laundry, I will never understand.
I don’t like that Sloan’s solution to her douche-ex problems was violence, and I don’t like that Don’s question was why she was dating someone like that in the first place because for serious, her answer that there no dudes like that while the dating was going on. That being said, that entire storyline was worth it for the way Charlie walked through the newsroom and grabbed her hand and let it go. I could write whole rafts of pages about that half a second. It’s moments like that, like the chicken thing, that ring so true about this show and make me love it right through all the times I want to duct-tape Will’s mouth shut.
True tales time again: Things get blurry when you spend all that time around people in that stage of total anxiety and intense fear and joy. You start thinking you have rights you don’t have: To defend someone, to feel attacked when she’s attacked, to order someone to call his father, to suggest she switch to vodka. You start thinking that because you spend more time together than husbands and wives, parents and children, that you mean more to one another than those people, or at least as much.
You spend all your time sitting on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, or on the phone in the dark, and you start to forget that that gives you no rights whatsoever.
And then something happens to slam one or both of you back to earth. Some other obligation rises up to claim you, and the people around you are strangers, and they don’t owe you a thing.