Previously on Glee, Rachel and Cassandra July came to a truce when Ms. J confessed that she only belittles and waterboards her students to prepare them for the harsh world of New York theater criticism, a meaner form of review even than YouTube comments, because the writers know how to punctuate.
Kurt and Rachel got a loft in Bushwick, the mecca of artistically inclined twenty-somethings who cannot afford to live in Williamsburg and are not afraid of murder or bed bugs. Brittany had a nuclear-caliber meltdown that was both a Machiavellian ploy to make a stellar comeback and a depression spiral because she misses Santana.
Jake got his star-crossed lover on with Marley after joining New Directions because Puck flew in from Los Angeles to tell him Mr. Schuester would make a man out of him. And, in the least believable plot line of all time, the world kept spinning even though Quinn Fabray apparently no longer exists in it.
Blaine Anderson calls himself “Blaine Anderson” and says it’s time to change things up and become a shining star. Blaine Anderson has obviously never watched an episode of Glee or perused an AfterElton.com Hot 100 list where the name “Blaine Anderson” appears one hundred million times each year, thus sealing his position as the brightest of all celestial orbs.
He signs up for every McKinley High School club, including a wizarding club — Team Starkid shout out! — while singing Tears For Fears‘ “Everybody Wants to Rule the World,” which is a song I love and Blaine does it such justice. I’m always glad when he gets to sing my treasured tunes. Finn always makes me hate everything, even my favorite songs.
The montage features a bittersweet moment of Kurt and Blaine hate-watching Treme* over Skype, sharing popcorn in their pajamas, and Blaine coming to the realization that even dressing up like a superhero and learning to defend himself from zombies with a sewing needle can’t fill up the Kurt-shaped hole in his heart.
(*The New Normal made a Treme jab this week too, which kind of makes me think Ryan Murphy is playfully clowning on David Simon, like maybe they’re buddies or something, but I’m having a hard time imagining a world where those two are friends based solely on their approaches to story continuity. As in, Simon: obsessed with; Murphy: does not know the definition of.)
The last thing Blaine signs up for is the class president election, which throws Brittany for a loop because she was under the assumption that she’d been elected to some sort of lifelong monarch situation. Don’t worry, Brit, you’ll always be the Queen of my Heart.
Kurt has landed himself an interview for an internship at Vogue because of the portfolio he submitted of his own personal street style. Which: Something like that happens on Gossip Girl, like Dan gets published in the New Yorker by writing a poem called “Sluts,” and you go, “Sure thing, show.” But somehow the idea that Kurt Hummel gets a call from Vogue just because he’s dressed like Kurt Hummel makes total sense.
He completes his dapper interview outfit with like a velociraptor broach, which makes up-and-coming fashion goddess Isabelle Wright melt into a puddle of swoon right on her office floor. He’s from Lima, she’s from Columbus. He’s got big dreams, she remembers what it’s like to have big dreams. He loves NYC voiceovers, she invented NYC voiceovers.
I’m a little nervous about handing over Kurt to SJP on account of the Era of Sexless Gay Best Friends she ushered in with Stanford Blatch, but Carrie Bradshaw ain’t got nothin’ on Rachel Berry in terms of self-absorbed neuroses spirals, and anyway, she’s the good witch to Kate Hudson’s bad witch, so godspeed, Hummel.