Next day, Maria's bedroom. Maria stands in front of the full-length mirror; Liz sits like a lump on the bed, listening to Maria vamp, "This so does not mean that we're back together." She terms the whole thing thusly: "It's a boy/girl friendship with a twist." Liz terms that "so romantic," and she says it sarcastically because apparently she's never had one. Maria keeps talking, but Liz goes through some ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (I thought I'd front-load the amount of "ch's" and balance out the average) and drifts her into her Land Of The Bar Mitzvah Video Special Effects and gets all hallucinated again. She comes back into focus and tells Maria, "I have to tell you something." But no! Because Maria is way too caught up in her own narrative, callously speeching at Liz, "It is not a coincidence that my life has started around the time Michael and I broke up. You have no idea how liberating it is to just be free of all this alien chaos." Liz quietly agrees, "Yeah." God, rock stars can be so thoughtless. And I'll confirm that theory for you in the unlikely event that we actually find one somewhere on this show. One who isn't John Doe, of course.

And we're singing. Maria sits in a recording studio, strumming her acoustic guitar, being deep and message-y while Clive Davis's Castoff stands to the side nodding her head. And this is the first honest depiction of the entertainment industry we've had. People perform, and everyone else not performing nods their heads. And holds cell phones. And sends angry faxes. Ladies and gentlemen, the industry in action. No need to come to L.A. now. You've just been given the tour. Anyway, Maria sings a forlorn ballad that would only be deepened emotionally should she have to spend a few years living with her mom in a van before she finally reached the big time. The song goes a bit like this: