Yale Daily News. Doyle storms over to Paris's desk, screaming at her about the complaints the paper is getting about her: "You have threatened, stalked, and basically freaked out every religious leader within a hundred-mile radius. This paper has never received so many complaints in the history of its existence. And how the hell did you get Jesse Jackson's barber's number?" Paris doesn't back down. "You gave me this beat to find a story," she says, "not to kowtow and make nice." Doyle cuts her off and drops the act: "Way to go," he says sincerely. Paris grins and thanks him. Oh, just make out already.
On his way back, Rory flags down Doyle and tells him she wants to ditch the downloading story. Which is kind of too bad, now that I think about it. I was hoping that with her knack for technological prognostication, she'd write her next story about dot-com millionaires and how website content writers are going to be getting filthy rich off stock options. Ah, well. Doyle agrees with her decision: "I got bored just hearing you pitch it." You and a nation of millions, Doyle. Rory tells the story of the Latin-speaking drunk gorilla girl from the night before, but in her version the phrase means "ready for anything." She tells Doyle she Googled the phrase and found it linked to a secret society at Yale. Rory says that this society dates back to the 1800s, when the phrase was their motto. "That alone, not that interesting," she says to a quietly agreeing Doyle and a loudly agreeing me. "But here, look." And she pulls up a 1996 Daily News archive photo of a bunch of students jumping off a bridge holding umbrellas. Which, to me, elevates the story to really not that interesting. Doyle, however, is intrigued. He's even heard of the club, which he calls a "life-and-death brigade." Like Skull and Bones but more secretive. Please, even Amway is more secretive than Skull and Bones by this point. Doyle tells her that the paper has tried to track down the club before but never managed to get any proof. What's that photo, then? A reenactment? Rory wants to track down the club, and she asks Doyle what he thinks. "Go with your gut," which I'm starting to suspect is Doyle's polite way of saying, "Whatever, dull girl." Rory seems to suspect that as well. "You said that about my downloading story," she accuses. "Hey, you don't trust my gut!" Rory, you have no gut.
Lorelai is standing next to her Jeep in Emily's driveway when Rory pulls up in her damned Prius. It seems that, on the way over, Lorelai was suddenly struck by the sense that she's wearing the same outfit she wore to last week's dinner, and she's not about to go inside wearing the same thing she wore last Friday. Good thing she stood out here in the driveway instead of going home to change, then. ["Let me tell you what I've told Pamie so many times: Hartford and Stars Hollow are half an hour's drive apart." -- Wing Chun] Rory's no help, since she doesn't remember what Lorelai was wearing either. Lorelai rings the doorbell, hiding behind Rory.