Madeleine Albright was up in that joint. I'm not making this up. Joe Zee and Madeleine Albright. I bet tonight was a real fucking standout for her. Maybe we didn't see her because she was dressed like something awesome, like, picture Madeleine Albright wearing a fake beard. (I am so into Brian Wilson the SF Giants pitcher it is astounding, and I'll tell you why: He is so compulsively watchable, so completely perfect in every way, that I was actually disabused of the idea, this notion I'd picked up wherever, that baseball was just something they did Before. Like witch hunts or churning, or the Oregon Trail. Turns out it is alive and it is real and it is still going on, even nowadays. And it's just like America! But, downside, it takes even longer than America.) Anyway, Eleanor tells Blair not to feel bad about her total meltdown at her own birthday party, because Blair can't be held accountable for her own actions because she is a fucking lunatic and everybody knows it. Blair complains that she wants to be a powerful woman but that when Chuck is around she feels like a weak little girl. A weak little girl with orgasming arms.
Eleanor says this shit, and I'm not sure about it at all but here goes: "I shut myself off for a long time after your father left. I was cold and hard. Then I met Cyrus, and he taught me that sometimes you have to allow yourself to be weak in order to grow stronger." My emphasis because yes, on balance yes of course this is good advice, but this entire conversation is framed in terms of "powerful woman," which makes it sound super fucked up. I mean, I love this "powerful woman" trope they're doing with Blair this year, I really do, but it leads to some strange places, writing-wise. Blair agrees, anyway, and Eleanor goes, "You don't have to lose the girl to be a woman." And also that next time she lets the "girl" out, she should think harder about whether Rachel Zoë will pay the consequences. It's just like that song "Seether," my favorite song, but with Blair's insanity instead of riot grrl power.
Lily's like, "Um, why is everybody shitting themselves about this? It was just a cute karaoke video. And the only person that got hurt was Rachel Zoë, who is not a person. Why so serious?" Rufus is like, "Because the one thing I've felt was secure in this life was that my children are marginally less fucked up than your children." Lily's like, "In no way is that true. Even my son the serial rapist is a better person than your awful children." He's like, "But now I can't ignore it. And it's because of the Upper East Side and all the rest of your disgusting perverted kind." Lily's about to remind him who pays the motherfucking bills when they notice all the giant paper pompons littering every conceivable surface in PRADA. It looks like Martha Stewart exploded and she was full of Tribbles. Lily's like, "This must be my gay son's doing." Eric's like, "Yeah, but I helped too." Rufus is like, "I guess Dan's not completely worthless like the rest of you, if he's still got enough heart to come over here and make cheap crafts we'll have to clean up later. In lieu of discussing things like an adult, I mean." Lily knows what he means; she kisses him for it. And to shut him up.