Nose Jobs, Cabooseys, and Lebanese Beards – A Recap of Glee’s “Born this Way”

Welcome back to McKinley High, Willy Wonka Kurt!  Oh, how we missed your weird hats and increasingly bizarre wardrobe choices.  May you never be saddled with the ignominy of a school dress code EVER AGAIN!

After last week’s “meh” episode, I think many of us Glee fans were hoping that this week’s Gaga-inspired 90-minute extravaganza would pack enough of an emotional, feel-good, punch to make us forget that “Night of Neglect” ever aired.  And I’m proud to say, for this Gleek, at least, “Born this Way” delivered BIG TIME! 

From the slightly preachy (but still important) overarching theme of acceptance, to the variety of fun and well-produced musical numbers, to the genuinely heartfelt, character-driven moments, this was an episode that hit every single mark that “Night of Neglect” missed. 

So, what are we waiting for?  Grab a chair, put on that unflattering white t-shirt that exposes your deepest darkest insecurities, and let’s get on with the recap!

It’s Booty Camp Time!  (Sorry, Rachel’s Nose.)

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Warning:  Do NOT try this at home!

It’s almost time for Nationals.  And our Glee kids need to work on their dance moves!  This sounds like a job for Mister Schue’s Rump-Shakin’ Booty Camp!

Yep, Will definitely strikes me as one of those people, who always make weird facial expressions, when they dance.  . .

Unfortunately, for one Gleester that shall remain nameless . . .

And shirtless . . .

 The term “dancing” actually means “wobbling around Weeble-style, while flapping your arms impatiently, like a bird who’s too fat to fly.”

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This, of course, is SUPER embarrassing for Finn.  But it’s even more unfortunate for Rachel, who has the bad luck of dancing behind Finn at Booty Camp . . .

If I didn’t know any better, I would think she was laughing at Finn’s dancing . . .

Finn accompanies Rachel to the doctor, who confirms her biggest fear: Her nose is broken.  (Way to go, FINN!)  On the bright side, Doctor Schnoz says this would be a PERFECT opportunity for Rachel to get a nose job to fix her “deviated septum.”  (Isn’t that what they ALL say?)

Finn is completely against the idea of Rachel getting a nose job.  (Then again, he might just be afraid she will ask him to pay for it, since this is, after all, ALL HIS FAULT.)  Rachel, however, upon hearing that having the surgery might actually expand her vocal range, while making her more marketable as an actress, due to her “enhanced appearance,” seems open to the idea .  . .

I smell a Life Lesson approaching . . .

Puffy Pyramid Nipples (and other things we’d like to change about the Glee kids.)

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“Come on Finn!  Let me cop a feel!  My first girlfriend was in love with YOU, and my second one ended up being a lesbian.  You are pretty much my only hope of getting to Second Base, before I graduate.”

Rachel’s Nose Job Dilemma sparks controversy among the Glee kids.  (Riiight, because whether someone chooses to have cosmetic surgery, should TOTALLY be up to the members of their after-school club.)  Heading up Team Schnoz Keeper we have Mr. Schue, Puck, and, of course, Finn. 

 Batting for Team for Team Schnoz Chopper Upper are Mercedes (who believes that the thing that makes you different, is also the one that crushes your spirit) and Santana. 

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In classic Santana Style, the latter proceeds to detail all the things that, according to her, the other Glee kids SHOULD want to change about themselves . . .

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Santana Lopez:  Making people feel like crap, since 1994 . . .

You can always count on Sue Sylvester and Santana Lopez to fulfill Glee‘s weekly quota of Politically Incorrect / Slightly Racist / Definitely Prejudiced jokes.  But since Sue was “absent” this week, Santana got stuck doin the job, all by herself.  Fortunately, she got them all out of the way in a single scene.  Always one for efficiency (I expect she’s this way in bed, as well.  Right Brittany?), Santana potentially offends the entire Asian, Jewish, and “differently abled” population, by calling Tina out, for the shape of her eyes, Rachel, for the size of her nose, and the wheelchair-bound Artie, for the generally not “useful” nature of his legs.

But my favorite diss of all, just so happened to be the one directed at Finn . . . and his “Puffy Pyramid Nipples.”   But Santana didn’t just name Finn’s rare “nipular condition,” she went on to describe it in great detail.  “They look like they’re filled with custard. You could dust them with powdered sugar, and they could pass for some sort of dessert.”

*clears throat*

All this talk about dessert, must have made Trouty Mouth Bieber Wanna Be Sam very horny hungry, because he uses this as an opportunity to fondle Finn’s man boobs.  (See picture at the top of this section.) 

Sam Evans:  Inappropriately grabbing at other people’s nips since 1996.

Since we are already on the topic of equating food with sex . . .

Come on Baby, Pop Scrub my Cherry . . .

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Ever since LAST WEEK, when Will (1) got dumped by Gwyneth Paltrow; and (2) found out that Emma was single again AND had never consummated her marriage to Dr. Carl, he has CLEARLY been putting some serious effort into breaking the wrought iron padlock on Emma Pillsbury’s pantalones!  I mean, why ELSE would he spend multiple lunch hours SCRUBBING EMMA’S FRUIT FOR HER?

 “Rub my raspberries, Will, HARDER . . . HARDER!”

Alas, I think our Schue is starting to get a bit impatient with the virginal object of his affections.  And so, he broaches with Emma the subject of her getting laid professional help for her obsessive compulsive disorder.  Unfortunately, like most addicts, Emma is not quite willing to admit that she has a Sex Grape Washing Problem.  “I wasn’t born this way,” Emma explains, as if that changes ANYTHING!

But WAIT . . . maybe it DOES!

“The Glee kids shouldn’t be insecure about their trouty mouths, eagle beaks, and puffy pyramid nipples!  Because they were BORN THIS WAY,” Will thinks to himself.  (Hey, isn’t that the title of a LADY GAGA SONG?)

“I was born with a slab of raw meat on my head . . .”

And so begins Schue’s quest to teach his Glee kids a lesson about ACCEPTANCE . . . through singing, of course!

Santana Saves the Gay Day!

While most of the Glee kids seem to be struggling with insecurities based on their personal appearance, Santana is coping with a much deeper issue, her closeted homosexuality.  Public labels aside, our Queen B*tch still wants very badly to reunite with the love of her life Brittany, who is still dating Artie.  And, somehow, Santana thinks if she wins the title of Prom Queen, she will also win back Brittany.    But how does someone so HORRIFICALLY MEAN get elected to Prom Queen?  Well, by doing something REALLY nice, of course!

Santana decides that if she wants to win the support of her fellow Gleeks, she needs to get Kurt out of Dalton Academy, and back into New Directions, in time for Nationals.  But to do that, she needs to “tame” Big Bully Karofsky.  When Santana catches Karofsky ogling Sam’s ASS in the hallways at school, she develops an idea . . .

Santofsky?

Santana invites Karofsky out to lunch, and gives it to him “straight.”  “I know you are gay . . . I saw you checking out Sam’s ass,” she tells him matter-of-factly.  Though Karofsky initially denies Santana’s accusations, when she comes out of the closet to HIM, and offers that the two gays be eachother’s “beards,” in order to use their joint popularity to win Prom King and Queen, Karofsky agrees.  Of course, the fact that Santana threatens to OUT the guy in front of the whole school, if he doesn’t comply with her demands, certainly adds to the persuasion aspect.

“I SO want to Slushee you, right now!”

At Santana’s instruction, Karofsky issues a not particularly heartfelt, but VERY convincing, apology to the Glee kids for bullying them all.  He claims to have been “cured” of all meanness, by the love of a good lesbian woman.  Together, Santana and Karofsky vow to put  a stop to bullying in their school, by starting a sort of Anti-Bullying Guardian Angel Association called . . . get this . . . the “Bully Whips,” complete with RIDICULOUS UNIFORMS, who’s flashy hideousness would make Kurt proud . . .

“Those Bully Whips berets are ‘GORGE’, but a bit plain for my taste.  Do you think they come in rainbow colors?”

Speaking of Kurt, in furtherance of Santana’s Master Plan, Karofsky reaches out to him, by way of an apology.  Promptly, another school meeting is called to determine if Kurt feels safe enough under the same roof as Karofsky to return to McKinley High.  Kurt’s awesome dad, Burt, is in attendance . . .

 . . .  as is Doctor Arzt from Lost Karofsky’s dad, Principal Figgins, and the seemingly omnipresent Mr. Schue . . .

After hearing promises from both Karofsky, himself, and the “reformed bully’s” father, that he is a “changed man,” Kurt asks to speak to Karofsky privately.

“You’re not going to try and kiss me again, are you, Karofsky?  Because, in case you haven’t noticed, I have an INSANELY HOT BOYFRIEND, now.  Just sayin.'”

Kurt may be young, but he’s had enough life experience to know bullsh*t, when he smells it.  And so, with some gentle anal probing, Kurt eventually gets Karofsky to come clean about his and Santana’s nefarious plans to rule McKinley High from the inside of a closet.  Kurt is admittedly impressed . . .

“It’s all so deliciously EEEEEVVVIIILLLL!”  Mwah-ha-ha-ha!”

However, Kurt still thinks the viewing audience Karofsky must become educated in the Ways of the Gay.  And so, as a condition of Kurt’s returning to McKinley High, he makes Karofsky promise to start with him a chapter of PFLAG – Parents, Friends, and Family of Lesbians and Gays.  Karofsky agrees, and the Public Service Announcement Portion of the Episode is almost over.

Cut to the next day, where all the paperwork has miraculously been filed, Burt Hummel received a FULL refund on his MASSIVE private school tuition payment, and Kurt is back at McKinley High . . .  somewhere only he knows . . .

But WAIT!  Blaine is there TOO . . . and so are the REST OF THE WARBLERS!

 “How could that be?  I thought the Warblers were only allowed off campus for musical competitions and select trips to the Gap?”

Random Warbler 1:  “What’s with all these men in long hair, skirts, and makeup?  Is this a Drag Queen School?”

Random Warbler 2:  “Umm, actually . . . I think those are REAL girls.”

Random Warbler 1:  “Blaine?  I have a feeling we are not in Dalton anymore.”

Now, isn’t this sweet?  Blaine, who by now has undoubtedly forced his poor enslaved Warblers to sing for so many of his crushes, they are probably all plotting to kill him in his sleep, has commandeered his posse to sing a fond farewell to erstwhile Dalton-ite Kurt, to the tune of Keane’s “Somewhere Only We Know.”

“Hop inside my Extra Large Mouth, and I will take you for a ride you will never forget.”

I’m going to paste a link to this performance here.   Be prepared to be moved to tears, and Ugly Cry Faces . . .

 “I can’t believe Kurt is leaving the Warblers!”

“I can’t believe they didn’t put me in this scene!”

After the song, Kurt gives Blaine one final embrace, before sort of, but not really, saying goodbye to him until 3:00 p.m., when they will meet in Blaine’s bedroom and make sweet, sweet love to one another.

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So, I guess it’s fitting that the next scene features Kurt singing Sunset Boulevard’s “As if We Never Said Goodbye.”  (Although, actually, the song’s lyrics seem to more accurately reflect Kurt’s feelings about McKinley High, than Blaine.)

(To be honest, I was never a big fan of the “Show Tunes,” so I kind of tuned out on this one.  I liked the sentiment though!)

In other news . . .

Follow Your Heart (Not Your Nose.)

So, remember when I told you that Rachel was considering getting a nose job to fix her “deviated septum?”  Well, as it turns out, she doesn’t want just ANY OLD NOSE, she wants Quinn’s nose.  Rachel even goes so far as to invite Quinn with her to her Rhinoplasty consultation, so that Rachel could ascertain what she would look like with Quinn’s nose on her face.  (It’s kind of like that movie Face Off . . . only with less Nicholas Cage.)

Given all that, it makes sense that Quinn and Rachel decided to take time off from fighting over Finn and decided to fight over Puck sing a duet mashup of TLC’s “I Feel Pretty” and Westside Story’s “I Feel Pretty.”  Oh yeah . . . this one made me cry too!

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You can find a link to their performance here.  (Just be sure to have your Kleenex handy!)

It’s not until Rachel passes out PICTURES OF HERSELF wearing her new nose, that Team Schnoz Keeper REALLY starts to up its game.  First, Finn tells Rachel she is beautiful.   (All together now:  “Awwww!”)

thenm, Tina tells Rachel that she has decided to be an Asian Sex Symbol, and proceeds to make out with Mike Chang in front of everyone! 

(OK . . . so that wasn’t really helpful to Rachel.  But, honestly, this is about as useful as we’ve seen these two character be, in the past season and a half.)

Then Puck accosts Rachel in the Lady’s Room to tell her that chopping off her nose would be an affront to Hot Jews EVERYWHERE!

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(BTW, I’ve officially joined the ever-growing ranks of Team Puckleberry.  And I’m proud!)

But what really seems to ultimately change Rachel’s mind about Schnoz-Gate is the possibility of hot sex with fellow Hot Jew, Puck  . . . . The Mall?

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With Kurt’s help, Puck stages a Barbra-vention at the Eagle Rock Plaza Mall in Glendale, California. some mall in Ohio.

 

 

What’s a Barbra-vention, you ask?  Well, basically, it’s a remake of Artie’s Safety Dance Number (which took place at the SAME MALL)  where Puck, Kurt, and a whole bunch of strangers, dance around the food court to Duck Sauce’s song “Barbra Streisand.”

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Rock on, PUCK!

Never heard of the Barbra Streisand song?  Oh, it’s a very eloquent tune . . . and by “eloquent” I mean it contains THREE WORDS (well . . . actually, one name, one consonant, and one vowel).  Please allow me to teach it to you.  It goes, “Woooooooooo Woooooooo, BARBRA STREISAND.”  And . . . that’s it. 

No, I’m NOT kidding you, Damon Salvatore!  It’s actually a pretty good song.  But I must admit, hearing it didn’t make me not want a nose job.  To each his own, I guess . . .

Long story short, Rachel ended up not getting a nose job.  Team Schnoz Keepers, for the WIN . . . and, of course, Barbra Streisand. 

In other sing-y and dance-y news (And, yes, I recognize what a LAME segway that was!), Finn and Mike showed off their respective lack of singing and dancing ability in their performance of Sammy Davis Jr.’s “Gotta Be Me.”  During the performance, Finn sang well and danced REALLY badly, while Mike dance well, but didn’t sing at all.  In other words, it was exactly like EVERY OTHER MUSIC NUMBER IN WHICH MIKE CHANG HAS TAKEN PART SINCE THE PILOT . . .

You can check out a link to the performance here:

(Now, don’t get me wrong.  I don’t have anything at all against Sammy Davis, Jr., may he Rest in Peace.  But, since this week’s Glee song selection did appear to be a bit 60’s tune heavy, does anybody else think Genesis’ “I Can’t Dance” would have been a slightly modern (and way more fun) choice for this duo?  Just a thought . . .)

But it wasn’t just the students at McKinley High who were staring down their insecurities, Emma Pillsbury was too!

Who’s Down with OCD?  (Yeah, you know Emma!)

(By the way, special thanks MUST go out to the Wemma Love Tumblr for (perhaps unknowingly) helping me out MAJORLY with this recap.  Every awesome Will and Emma GIF you see here, undoubtedly comes from THERE.  So, if Wemma is your SHIP, you now know where to sail . . .)

So, as you recall, Will has spent much of the episode trying to get Emma to admit she’s got a problem with the Excessive Cleanliness Thing, and that it is keeping her from having hot Schue Sex living a happy and productive life.  But when Will encourages Emma to join the rest of the class in making a t-shirt that portrays her biggest insecurity, she DOESN’T (at least, initially) choose “OCD.”  Instead, she chooses . . . THIS . . .

At lunch, Will REALLY lets Emma have it for the whole Ginger / OCD Thing!  In fact, he gets all up her grill with his dirty, unwashed fruit, and accuses her of being an “expert of deflection,” who’s afraid to face her own biggest insecurities.

“My fruits may be dirty, but I assure you that my tongue is very clean.”

The Tough Love seems to work on Emma, who, at Will’s coaxing, seeks professional help for her compulsions, even going as far as to accept medication to minimize their symptoms.  At the end of the episode, Emma DOES find the courage to proudly wear her “OCD” t-shirt.  After getting INSANELY turned on by watching Emma “strip” into said shirt (Dont’ hold your breath Schuester . . . those legs have been closed for 32 years.  And it’s going to take a lot more than some choice words and a pill to pry them open.), Will happily grabs her ungloved (baby steps!) hand, and leads her on to the dance floor.  And, for those of you wondering what WILL’s biggest insecurity is, well . . . wonder no more!

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(It gives the term Butt Face a whole new meaning!)

Speaking of Butt Faces . . . In Lauren Zizes’ news . . .  (I’m sorry, guys.  She just REALLY bugs me.)

Quinn Gets the Sympathy Vote (?)

Now, if you went to (or currently go to) high school with girls like Quinn and Santana, you are probably not surprised that either of these girls has their heart set on Prom Queen.  But you MAY be surprised to hear that Lauren Zizes wants the title as well.  After all, she was Little Miss Toddler’s in Tiaras back when she was three.  So clearly, she has the pedigree for the job . . .

Being the Whipped Puppy he seems to become, everytime he comes within three feet of Zizes, Puck decides to help Lauren win the crown.

PUCK:  “Hey, Selfish!  Ever think of doing something for ME, for a change?”

LAUREN:  “Oh, you’re still here?  I could have sworn our characters would be broken up by now.”

PUCK: “Word.”

Initially, Lauren actually looks like she has a good shot at winning the title.  After all, she’s clearly a fan favorite among the outcasts and misfits.  But then, Lauren has to go and fight dirty, by digging up an old picture of Quinn from her middle school days, and posting it all over the school . . .

Ummm .  . . yeah, so apparently Quinn’s real name is “Lucy”, and she used to be (gasp!) not-so-hot.  She also was given the unfortunate nickname Lucy Caboosey, by some of her crueler classmates.  So, when it came time to go to high school, Quinn changed schools . . . and her name . . . and her NOSE (How do ya like them apples, Rachel?)  She also, obviously, went on a MAJOR starvation diet.  And that’s how Quinn became the shallow biatch we know and love(?) today. 

Well, of course, Quinn is MORTIFIED to have this intel out in the open . . .

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As luck (and karma) would have it, however, Lauren’s plan to ruin Quinn’s chances at becoming Prom Queen end up backfiring!

(I know!  I can’t believe I’m actually rooting for Quinn, either!  I guess my frustration with Glee’s recent Zizes Overload does this to me.)

Once the school sees what Quinn USED to look like, they instinctively find her more likeable and relatable.  Suddenly, she’s gone from being someone to despite and envy, to an Inspirational Figure.  (Take THAT, ZIZES!) 

In a sweet final moment of the episode, Finn turns to girlfriend, Quinn, and shows him the Lucy Caboosey picture he now keeps in his wallet.  “This is the only picture I have of you, where I can really see you,” he explains.  

Then they makeout . . .

 . . . which kind of makes me want to go dig up photographs of MY AWKWARD STAGE (assuming I’m not still in it), so that I can show  incriminating pictures of myself to hot boys, and they will start making out with ME too!  (Hey, it could happen!)

Born this Way . . .

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Moments before the final dance number of the evening, which, as promised by The Schue at the beginning of the episode, is to the tune of Lady Gaga’s “Born this Way,” we get to see what everybody put on their Insecurities T-shirts.  I think my favorite of these came from Brittany (who’s shirt said “I’m with Stoopid, with an arrow pointing to her head) and Puck (who’s shirt ALSO said “I’m with Stoopid, with an arrow pointing to his other head).  L

ess impressive was Artie’s shirt that said “Four Eyes” (Zzzzz), and Tina’s shirt that said “Brown Eyes”  (Really?  Because, last I checked, THREE QUARTERS of the population has those).  Here are is a composite of the rest of the Gleek’s shirts .  . .  (Thanks oddles, GLEEIFS Tumblr!)

Not taking part in the dance number is a pouty Santana, who is still lodged firmly in the closet, despite the fact that Brittany made her a “Lebanese” t-shirt.  (Get it?  Lebanese?  Don’t forget, this is Brittany we are talking about here!)

Santana: You don’t get a say in who I date anymore.
Brittany: Why not? Because I’m dating somebody? Because you’re Lebanese, and I think I’m bi-curious?
Santana: No, because I said I love you. You didn’t say you love me back.
Brittany: I do love you.  Clearly, you don’t love you as much as I do, or you’d put this shirt on, and you would dance with me.

Wait . . . did she say “dance?”

Although there was no Horizontal Mambo for Brittana this week, there was a final tribute to Lady Gaga.  And you can enjoy it, in all its “Be Yourself” Glory, by clicking on this external link:

So, my fellow Gleeks . . . tell me . . . what’s on YOUR Insecurities T-shirt? 😉

[www.juliekushner.com]

Too DIVA-licious? – A Recap of Glee’s “The Power of Madonna”

“Psst!  Sue!  I don’t really know how to tell you this . . . but your HIGH BEAMS are showing . . .”

Could there ever POSSIBLY be such a thing as TOO MUCH MADONNA?  The Verdict is still out for me on that one.  But one thing is for sure, Glee definitely put this question to the test,  during last night’s episode .  . . With a total of EIGHT musical numbers from the Madonna catalogue, and countless other Madge songs blaring in the background throughout the episode, there was literally little room for anything else during the hour.  In fact, the plot took SUCH a backseat during “The Power of Madonna,” that I felt less like I was watching a musical teen dramedy, and more like I was at concert featuring my favorite Madonna cover band . . .

In terms of the musical numbers, Glee TOTALLY outdid itself last night!  I have NO DOUBT that the show’s inevitable Madonna-themed album will remain in high rotation on my iPod for perpetuity.  And, as if that wasn’t enough, some of the costumes and choreography on these numbers were (dare I say it) BETTER than the original music videos on which they were based!  Here were my four fave performances of the evening . . .

1) Express Yourself

The first singing number of the evening, was a Girl Power-Infused, Pastel-Colored, Beltfest, that would have made the Divine Miss Madonna, herself, PROUD!  Sure the “rationale” behind the song, “BOYS are MEAN, GIRLS RULE!” was a bit cliche and juvenile, but the flawless performances by our female Gleeks, more than made up for this.  Once again, while, unfortunately, I can’t show you the musical number in its entirety, you can at least listen to it, HERE . . .

2) The Borderline / Open Your Heart Mash-up

While, the on-screen chemistry between Lea Michele and Jonathan Groff is admittedly sizzling, there is just something about the screentime she shares with Cory Monteith, that is incredibly honest and sweet.  Plus, now that these two have that sort of “unrequited love” thing going for them again, I may just have to go back to rooting for this couple to “re-couple.”  The “story” behind the mash-up, is that Rachel has just admitted to Finn that she is still dating Jesse St. James, star of Vocal Adrenaline, and the Gleeks’ arch rival.  Finn sort of/ kind of tries to be supportive, but more or less just ends up sulking.  (After all, don’t all boys only want what they can’t have?) 

 I imagine the number was supposed to be a sort of dream sequence, taking place jointly in the minds of both characters.  Otherwise, the Madonna music video-attired class mates bustling around in the background, and the LOUD SINGING IN THE LIBRARY  .  .  .

 (Really Glee?  Again?  McKinley High doesn’t have other places for its students to break into song . . . like, say . . . THE BATHROOM )

. . . would just be completely bizarre.  You can listen to the lovey-dovey, brooding fabulousness HERE . . .

3) Like a Virgin

Not to toot my own horn or anything  . . .

. . . But I TOTALLY called the use of this song, the minute Emma “came out” as a “Big Ole Virgin,” during last week’s episode.  In terms of a natural and seemless meshing between storyline and singing, “Like A Virgin” clearly won the award last night.  Three virginal Gleeks: Rachel, Finn, and Emma, all decided to do the DEED last night, with their respective sort-of significant others Jesse, Santana, and Will.  Only Finn actually did it.  (But he lied to Rachel, and said he didn’t.)  Conversely, Rachel DIDN’T DO IT, but told Finn that she did. 

Emma also didn’t do it (not quite sure WHY though . . . of the three relationships on-screen, this one seemed the healthiest, Will’s Man Sluttiness aside).  However, she DID decide to get “counseling” for her problem.  (I’m assuming when she says “problem,” she’s referring to her OCD, and not her Virginity, as the latter is SIGNIFICANTLY easier to “kick” than the former . . . just saying.  Also, it would kind of be a dick move on Will’s part, to refer Emma to a counselor, just so he could get laid . . . ).  Anyway, here’s the song . . .

4) Like a Prayer

Sure, the finale ensemble number had no correlation to the episode’s storylines whatsoever.  But, in this case, it sort of didn’t have to.  It just worked.  I LOVED how Kurt and Mercedes got oodles of solos, during this episode.  After all, my girl Mercedes kind of had a point when she griped that, lately, all they have been letting her character do is “belt the high notes at the end.”  (Something tells me — with these two now on the Cheerios, and a romantic storyline for Kurt on the horizon — that we are going to be seeing a lot more of this dynamic duo, in the coming weeks.) 

Oh, and are any of you ACTUALLY buying that Jesse St. James transferred schools and joined the Gleeks, just to be with Rachel (who he really just met), and not to please his Nazi Vocal Adrenaline Glee Coach, Ms. Corcoran?

A close (and very smart) friend of mine commented on how IDIOTIC Will Schuester was for BLINDLY going along with this.  And I think she has a point.  On the other hand, in a SANE world, who in their right mind would go so far as to TRANSFER SCHOOLS just to commit an undercover Glee Sting Operation for your coach?  REAL PEOPLE in the REAL WORLD simply wouldn’t even consider this an option to be concerned about.  Then again, this IS a school where teachers rufie their principals, so that they can blast Madonna through the speakers during school hours . . .

 . . . so maybe Mr. Schuester should have seen this one coming . . .

Speaking of Shady Glee Narc D-Bags, in addition to seeing Kurt and Mercedes in the forefront, during the final song, it was nice to see Jesse St. James withering away in the background.  Two weeks and that dude is already starting to grate on my nerves .  . .

In other news, we FINALLY learned the source of Sue Sylvester’s obsession with berating Will’s hair.  Apparently, following the release of Madonna’s 1986 True Blue album, Sue, then “age 6” (I’m thinking more like “age 16”), tried to bleach her hair and had a terrible accident, as a result.  This Hair Catastrophe has forced Sue to keep her hair short, ever since.  So, when it comes to Will’s highly-gelled coiff, Sue is simply jealous.  While this surely sucks for Sue, I can’t help but agree with Will, that her current ‘do is TOTALLY Florence Henderson!

A Very Brady Haircut!

Well, that’s all I’ve got!  See ya next week, Gleeks!

Fraternizing with the Enemy – A Recap of Glee’s “Hell-o”

Well HELLO there, fellow Gleeks!  Welcome to my very first Glee recap, or, perhaps, more appropriately, Gleecap.  Last night’s return to McKinley High, after a WAY TOO LONG hiatus, was jam-packed with: head-bopping tunes, oodles of teen angst, love triangles, and rivalries, with a heaping helping of track suit-wearing, rufie slipping, vogue-ing  SUE SYLVESTER thrown in for good measure!

So, tie on those dancing shoes, put that “L” symbol on your forehead, and give yourself a triple slushie facial, because we are about to get started . . .

The More Things Change . . .

So, when we last left our Glee kids, they had just won Sectionals, and had seemingly been elevated to “cool status,” as a result.  Finn and Rachel were dating.  And Sue Sylvester had been suspended for repeatedly trying to sabatoge the efforts of Glee coach, Will Schuester.  It only took about 10 minutes for the writers to undo ALL OF THAT!  First, the Glee kids got slushied . . .

 . . . then Sue Sylvester got reinstated at the school, by putting a rufie in the Principal’s drink, thereby causing THIS to happen . . .

(I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.)

Now, the Glee kids MUST win Regionals or they LOSE their club.  (Sound familiar?)

To further complicate matters, Finn (having recently been emasculated by Pregnant Quinn, who is now dating Baby Daddy Puck) is feeling smothered by New GF Rachel.  He also seems to have lost his Mojo.

The good news?  Mr. Schuester helps Finn get his Mojo back, by having him sing a song!   Hello, I Love You, by the Doors, to be exact.

The bad news?  This new-found confidence, along with the receipt of some puppy dog eyes from the scheming Brittany and Santana . . .

 . . . cause Finn to dump poor Rachel. 

But fear not, Gleeks, because when Rachel is dissed, she doesn’t get mad, she gets SINGY.  And what does our girl decide to sing?  None other than my favorite Angst Anthem, of course!  (The song  is a frequent companion of mine during late night elliptical workouts.)  It’s All American Reject’s Gives You Hell!

And while I can’t show you this awesomely cathartic vent-fest in its entirety (The clip is not yet on YouTube), I CAN let you bask in the fabulousness of the SONG portion . . .

This is a LIBRARY, NOT CARNEGIE HALL!

Unfortunately, Mr. Schuester clearly didn’t love this rendition as much as I did, because he sent Rachel back to the drawing board, in search of a more “appropriate” song for Regionals.  Rachel heads to the library, where she encounters Jesse St. James, the star songster of Vocal Adrenaline, i.e. New Directions’ main competition in the event.  (Interestingly enough, St. James, is played by none other than Jonathan Groff, Lea Michele’s costar in the musical Spring Awakening). 

St. James kind of comes off as a condescending prick – a guy who speaks only in dramatic monologues, and “gives impromptu concerts to the homeless.”  And yet, the chemistry between these two is pretty palpable, particularly when they randomly decide to sing a duet together right there in the LIBRARY!

 . . . complete with violin accompaniment!

I should mention that Lionel Richie’s Hello was a song I always hated.  Mainly because the video for  it featured that really creepy ceramic Lionel Richie HEAD . . .

But to Lea Michele and Jonathan Groff’s credit, their rendition TOTALLY ROCKED!

St. James then asks Rachel out on a date.  So, when the wishy-washy Finn . . .

I see the resemblance.  Don’t you?

 . . . decides he wants Rachel back, she has a good excuse to say, “NO!”

Unfortunately for Rachel, Finn is a total Gossip Girl . . .

 . . . and blabs to everyone about Rachel “singing with the enemy.”  So, the rest of the bitchy Glee clubbers, give her an ultimatum: Dump St. James or you’re OUT OF THE CLUB!

Rachel rushes to St. James to tell him its over, but soon gets caught up in another super sexy moment with him.  After Jesse promises to keep their relationship a secret, the pair share a firey kiss.  And then firey turns SERIOUSLY DISTURBING, when we see that, unbeknownst to Rachel, Vocal Adrenaline’s EEVIL Glee Coach, Ms. Corcoran (played by Rent’s Idina Menzel) . . .

 is watching the pair and spurring St. James on, with the verve and intensity of a handicapper at a horse race!

Virgin Girls, Slutty Boys, and Recycled Songs

Speaking of horses, Mr. Schuester must be HUNG like one (bad transition, I know) because he was just drawing in the ladies from all over the place this week!

First, there was his new girlfriend, OCD Emma . . .

 . . . who Will macked on immediately after deciding to end his marriage, in the mid-season finale episode.  It turns out that Emma never quite got around to cashing in her V card. (I bet you can guess who’s going to be singing Like a Virgin in next week’s Madonna-themed episode!)  Will grudgingly agrees to “take things slow.”  However, a few minutes later he is seen getting all hot and heavy with Ms. Corcoran, his competition, and a woman he JUST MET!

Perhaps this was because, Vocal Adrenaline’s fan-tabulous rendition of Highway to Hell, got Mr. Schuester all hot, bothered, and ready to sin.

To further complicate matters, EEVIL Terri . . .

. . . intruded on Emma’s preparations for a romantic evening with Will to inform her that their New Couple’s song, previously belonged to the Old Couple.  Specifically, Neil Diamond’s Hello also happened to be Terri and Will’s prom song.

(OK, I GET that “hello” was the theme of this episode.  But did they really have to include this LAME ASS song in it, just to prove that point?  There have GOT to be better HELLO songs out there!  SERIOUSLY!)  

 Apparently, despite Will being a former Glee Club Member and a current Glee Coach, the dude has the World’s Dullest Taste in Music!  (Then again, what do you expect from a guy whose ENTIRE movie collection consists of only TWO movies, one of which is Armageddon?)

Bad taste in movies, bad taste in music, bad taste in WIVES, and a cheater (though Emma doesn’t know that, yet) – these are all GREAT reasons to dump a Dude.  But Emma ACTUALLY dumps Will, because she feels he needs the opportunity to learn what it is like to be single for a change.  I agree!

Appropriately, this Hello- themed episode of Glee concluded with a song entitled Hello, Goodbye.

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE!

As a sly way to promote next-week’s Madonna-themed epi, after the credits rolled, we were treated to an “interesting” video featuring Sue Sylvester, paying homage to the Queen of Pop, by vogue-ing.

And while Jane Lynch was certainly amusing here, the FUNNIEST part of the video, for me, anyway, were the confused and mocking looks on the Glee kids’ (who were also in the video) faces, as Lynch hammed it up for the camera . . .

OK, now I must REALLY say goodbye to Hell-o!  Until next week, Gleeks!

An Excerpt from Life Sucks, Death Bites: A Novel by Julie Kushner

Food Mart, Inc.                                                                                                                                             

2 Metro Corporate Drive                                                                                                                      

 Los Angeles, CA 90001                                                                                                                       

Attn: Fred Thompson, CEO

Dear Mr. Thompson:

I’m not usually the type of person who writes letters like the one you are reading right now.  OK, that’s a lie.  I’m exactly the type of person who writes these sort of letters.  But that is not really the point . . .

“The point” is that my most recent experience at one of your Food Mart stores (62 Blueberry Hill, Los Angeles, CA 90015) was particularly harrowing.  No, “harrowing” is not a strong enough word.  “Downright terrifying” is more accurate. 

 It was like something out of that awful horror movie franchise.  You know, the one where that crazy guy with the creepy mask, whose name I can’t remember (Bulls Eye?  Puzzle Piece?), makes people choose between doing something truly awful to another human being or dying an excruciatingly painful death.  Of course, you couldn’t pay me to watch such a movie.  So, I’m afraid that I cannot be much more specific than that.  But I think you catch my drift . . .

Anyway, as CEO of Food Mart, I believe that you have a right and a duty to know what is going on at your stores.  Furthermore, as a consumer, I believe that I have a right and a duty to make you aware that at least one of your stores just so happens to be a toxic death trap.

This past Sunday, around 8:00 AM Pacific Time, just as your store was opening, I drove to Food Mart for my weekly purchase of groceries.  Upon arrival, I exited my car, only to be attacked by a vicious shopping cart. Said shopping cart was clearly on the loose and out for revenge, against what I don’t know. (Perhaps it was angered about being shackled to such a dangerous, ill-kept store). 

Owing to the fact that it was a windy day (weather.com said winds could reach speeds of up to 50 mph that Sunday), and that none of your associates thought it worth their precious time to return said cart to its rightful holding pen, located mere inches away, the Errant Shopping Cart flew right into me at a frighteningly fast speed (50 mph?).  By some miracle, the cart narrowly missed squashing my body into the side of my car, arms and legs akimbo, as if I were a large fly.

Have you any idea how many fatal accidents have been caused by shopping carts in the past year alone, Mr. Thompson?  I’ll spare you the specific statistics.  But, rest assured, there were a lot . . . 

You see, I am in the business of evaluating risk, so it is literally my job to know these things.  If I told you what I actually did for a living I would have to kill you.  OK, that is a lie too . . . the “having to kill you” part, I mean, not the “risk evaluation” part.  I just always wanted to use that cliché for some reason.  But I digress.  Let’s get back to the Toxic Death Trap, shall we? 

Upon regaining my composure (In addition to almost dying, my morning brush with death nearly gave me a heart attack.), and selecting a shopping cart other than the one obviously intent on murdering me, I entered the store and hastened toward the vegetable aisle.  You see, I’ve kind of been trying to lose a few pounds.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I’m fat or anything, just . . . plump . . . chubby . . . overweight.  And, as far as risky behaviors go, being any of the three aforementioned things is probably right up there with bungee jumping, riding a motorcycle, or going hunting with Dick Cheney.

So I get to the vegetable aisle, and what do I see?  This teenage girl, with long, obviously unwashed hair, is fondling the tomatoes with her unclean hands!!!!  I stood watching the girl for nearly five minutes.  In that time, she must have slimed every single solitary Food Mart tomato with her greasy fingertips. 

As if that wasn’t bad enough, she then starts having this really loud grotesque- sounding coughing fit.  So, there she is, sort of covering her mouth, but there are these little gaps between her fingers.  You can actually see the phlegm and mucus escaping right through them, coating the tomatoes with a sticky layer of germs (probably the Swine Flu or the Bubonic Plague).  After that, she goes back to fondling the tomatoes . . . AGAIN!

Now, to my knowledge, this woman was not an employee of Food Mart.  At least, she didn’t appear to be wearing one of those red smocks they always wear (which, by the way, always give off an unlaundered look).   But, nevertheless, shouldn’t there be some sort of policy against patrons of Food Mart touching unwrapped food with their bare diseased hands?  Studies have shown that our hands are the dirtiest parts of our bodies.  (You would think it would be our asses or our private parts, but that’s actually a common misconception . . .)  If, by 8 AM, Food Mart tomatoes have already been contaminated with the plague once, lord knows what state they are in by noon, or 5 PM.

Needless to say, I avoided the vegetable aisle completely after that.  I mean, I guess I could have sprung for one of those pre-packaged overpriced salad bags.  But those things are so riddled with pesticides and growth hormone that you could hardly call them nutritionally sound.  And my physician wonders why I can’t lose the pounds . . .

Suddenly overcome with an intense urge to wash my own hands, I finally located the “Employee Bathroom” in the corner of the store, but only after asking about five people where it was and getting no answer.  (So, let me get this straight, Food Mart doesn’t have public restrooms?  Better that your customers feel free to shit and vomit on the floor, after inevitably being taken ill upon eating bad tomatoes, right?)

In addition to smelling like the fetid armpit of a marathon runner, and being “unisex” (I despise unisex bathrooms because I am deathly afraid of tampons and the women who use them.  I mean, really, what kind of perverted SOB would invent such a thing?  A blood flotation device . . . on a string . . . beyond disgusting), there was so much dirt, empty rolls of toilet paper, and sanitary napkin wrappers (a bit better than tampons, but not much) on the floor  that I thought I had somehow landed in the flatbed of a garbage truck instead of a non-public restroom in a very public establishment. 

As I entered the bathroom, one of your employees was flushing the toilet (at least he flushed).  However, when he went to wash his hands, I noticed that he turned on the cold water (not the hot water, mind you, which is necessary if you want to actually kill any germs on your hands) for only 5 seconds.  FIVE SECONDS!  That is barely enough time to find a working soap dispenser (2 out of the 3 in this bathroom were completely empty), let alone thoroughly clean your hands prior to the preparation and handling of food.  Physicians say you should wash your hands for at least 20 seconds (roughly the length of time it takes you to sing the Happy Birthday song twice through) in order to properly cleanse your hands following a stint on the toilet.  After this encounter, I knew I had to avoid, not only the vegetable aisle, but any unwrapped food prepared or handled by members of your staff.

Despite coming to Food Mart with a shopping list that was two notebook pages long, I arrived at the checkout counter with just a six-pack of Charmin Ultra Strong toilet paper (less likelihood of leakage), a tube of Crest toothpaste, and a package of pre-wrapped Hersheys miniatures: three items (eight, if you count each of the Charmin rolls separately, which, I don’t).  Either way, I was significantly under the 15 item limit required to use the Express Checkout Lane. 

Apparently, however, I’m the only Food Mart shopper capable of counting, because the four people in line in front of me each had a shopping cart full of at least 16 items.  One person had 32 items.   I know because I counted them . . . twice.  Instead of politely directing these cheaters to another aisle, YOUR cashier proceeded to ring each of them up . . . very . . . slowly . . . one . . . item . . . at . . . a  . . . time.

To make matters worse, each of these patrons waited until the person in front of them had paid in full and exited the store to unpack their groceries onto the conveyer belt.  And the person before me purchased, you guessed it, among other things, seven diseased tomatoes that she didn’t even bother to put in a plastic bag prior to paying.   She then spread her items out on the conveyor belt, so liberally, that there was no room for my items at all (not that I could possibly use the grotesquely tainted belt now).  When it came to be my turn, I had to rush to unpack and bag my items (What?  No one believes in having bag boys anymore?) so that I could be finished in time for the next person to be rung up.  It was very stressful. 

By the time I exited Food Mart that morning, I felt like I needed a stiff drink.  But I abstained, because it was only 8:30 AM, and I am not foolhardy enough to drink and drive. 

So you see, the way things are now, I cannot possibly continue to shop at Food Mart if I wish to maintain my health and sanity.

Thank you for your attention to these matters.  Hopefully, they can be dealt with in an efficient and expedient manner.

                                    Cordially,

                           Gerald Blumenstein

Chapter 1

Happy Death Day to Me!

Risk Assessment Analysis:

Odds of being killed by lightning:       2,320,000 to 1

Odds of being killed in a plane crash:            52.6 million to 1

Odds of dying in your shrink’s office during some ridiculous therapy session involving a vampire bat:      Actually, that kind of shit tends only to happen to me . . .

            “Hey there, Mr. Blumenstein!  How was your day?”

            Every evening, when I return to my apartment building, the concierge, i.e. the lanky pimple-faced pubescent son of my landlord, asks me the above question, in his trademark faux – cheery, sounds like he’s been kicked in the nuts a few too many times, voice.  On most days, I refuse to answer this inquiry, because, personally, I find it offensive.  Now I know some of you readers out there are probably thinking I’m rude for snubbing Little Jimmy over there, who, after all, was just trying to be polite, right?  Make “conversation”?  Well allow me to explain myself.

              On principle, I resolutely refuse to respond to any question where the asker doesn’t give two shits about my reply.  Am I supposed to believe that Little Jimmy is truly concerned for my well being?  That he is actually expecting me to provide him with any sort of response to his question other than “Fine and Dandy.  How was yours?”  Because, honestly, most of the time, my days are total and complete crap. 

              But does Little Jimmy want to hear about that?  Does he want me to tell him all about the fact that I am nearly forty, and haven’t had sex in six years?  That my boss hates me?  That I’m a massive disappointment to my family?  No!  Little Jimmy wants me to lie, and I refuse to perjure myself for some snot-nosed kid.

                     And yet, on this particular day, circumstances have unfolded in such an extreme way during the past twelve or so hours, that I decide, just this once, to answer Little Jimmy.  And to his inane question, instead of merely grunting or simply ignoring him, like I usually do, I respond, “Well, aside from being brutally murdered, my day was pretty fucking fabulous.”

                  Now, technically, this too is a lie . . . well, the part about my day being fucking fabulous, at least.  My day, quite literally, sucked.  Nevertheless, this was the answer I gave Little Jimmy, or whatever the twit’s actual name is, just to see how he would respond.

                  “Ha, ha.  Good one, Mr. Blumenstein,” squeaks the boy wonder.  “You have a great night,” he chirps after me, as I head across the lobby to the elevator.

                  See what I mean?   You try to impart an important piece of personal information to someone, and all they do is laugh in your face.  Sighing, I reach into my messenger bag, pull out a tissue, secure it tightly over my pointer finger with a rubber band, and enter the already open double doors of the elevator, which, thank the Lord, is empty.  With my covered finger (Did you know that nearly 15% of all elevator buttons are covered with human feces?), I press the number 6, which responds to my command by lighting up.  Or at least it would, if my dipshit landlord ever got around to fixing the elevator.  Instead, the elevator door closes and I ride in utter and complete darkness for six floors, which I mind less today than I would under normal circumstances.

                 By the time I enter my apartment, I am dead tired (har de har, har).  Upon removing the tissue from my finger, triple locking my door, and fastening the chain across it, I then bend down to put my “doorstop” (a six by four inch cement block) in front of it.  Seem a bit excessive to you?  Did you know that the odds of having your apartment broken into by a gang of hoodlums are as small as one in 1,000?  And if that was to happen to me, who do you think would come to my rescue?  My 84-year old neighbor, Ms. Tingle?  My dipshit landlord?  Little Jimmy?  I’d rather take my chances throwing out my back (which I’ve done about five times since I moved in) with the cement block.  Thank you very much.

                           My apartment safely secured, I slouch dejectedly in front of the full- length mirror situated in my entrance foyer.  Staring back at me is a pasty, prematurely bald (although, I gather, once you pass thirty the “premature” label is debatable) paunchy loser in an ill-fitting suit.  “Still ugly,” I mutter under my breath at my mirror image, who, having taken offense to my comment, glares back at me as if to say “Pot calling kettle . . . “ or, whatever the heck that saying is supposed to be. 

                      For the record, all those movies and books that would lead you to believe that people who turn into . . . what I turned into . . . suddenly become all “Brad Pitt” in the looks department are a crock of shit.  That is unless, of course, you are Brad Pitt, in which case, more fucking power to you, I guess . . .

                    Without passing Go or collecting 200 dollars, I head directly to my bed and flop down on my mattress fully dressed.  But I can’t sleep, because my head is spinning and the wooden headboard hovering over me makes me feel as though I am sleeping in a coffin, which, while apropos of the situation, disturbs me greatly.  Thirsty, I head to my fridge, and take a swig of milk straight from the carton (which is actually statistically shown to be more germ free than glassware, especially if you live alone like me).  Even though the expiration date on the carton is still over a week away, the milk tastes rancid, so I spit it out and spill the contents of the carton into the sink.  I then pop open a can of non-name brand soda (I’ll be damned if I have to pay over a dollar for a can of pop when the fifty cent cans are just as good), but it tastes terrible too.

                  Resolved to my fate, I reach into my messenger bag and remove a bulky mason jar I received earlier that evening from Dr. Freenly.  Taking a deep breath, I open the jar, close my eyes, and pour its entire contents down my throat.  The red liquid is warm and thick, but it feels good going down.  So good, that I don’t even mind it when some of the liquid trickles down my chin and chunky globule lands on and ruins my brand new shirt.

                    Once I have finished, I forlornly rinse out the empty jar and place it with the rest of the recycling.  To my relief, I recall that Dr. Freenly has placed two more jars of the stuff in my bag.  I extract them and place them on my counter, staring at them in confusion. 

               Am I supposed to refrigerate these?  I think to myself.  Do NOT Refrigerate! reads a handwritten label hastily secured on one of the jars.  After putting the two jars away in a nearby cabinet, I slump down into a chair in front of my kitchen table and begin to ponder my last hours among the living . . .

___________________________________________________________________

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