Ooh, the opening credits! I've missed these. Cha, cha-cha, cha-cha. Cha, cha-cha, cha-cha. Cha, cha-cha, cha-cha, cha-cha, whee, go xylophone! Splashy bus! Cha cha cha.
Lights up on Carrie's beautiful brownstone. She VOs about how strange it is to oversleep in the city that never sleeps, which isn't quite a pun, but leads us to a dash montage when she rushes out the door, drops her brown vintage Fendi clutch, misses a cab, dashes down the street and narrowly misses crashing into two slow-moving older women, all set to a jazz combo led by a mute-happy trumpet with several close-ups of her brown stacked heels thrown in for fashion flavor. Fun. Whoops, look out for the cute dog-walker with the cute dogs! Finally, she grabs a cab. And then, it's rush hour. The actions stops. Fuckity fuck fuck! Carrie, stalled in traffic, explains to Ethic Cab Driver #475 that she needs to be downtown in thirty minutes. Hey, he's ethnic, not Moses. You think he can move mountains or something? Just then, between the carefully stopped W delivery truck and the shiny black BMW, Carrie spots her white whale: The 4 and 5 trains, a.k.a. the subway. She tosses a bill at Moses and leaps out. Wow. Carrie's taking the subway! She emerges in the financial district, gets directions to the Stock Exchange off some suit, and heads over to the flaggiest building EVER. It's draped in more flags than Dolly Parton on the 4th of July. Kate Smith can't sing it louder than this building can. Flags are the new black. Everybody in flags. If you don't cover yourself in flags, the terrorists have already...MY HOME SWEEET HOOOOOME!! Sorry, got a little patriotic there in the midst of my snark.
There's a bit of a security snafu, as Carrie's shoes, honkin' brooch, and clutch set off the metal detector. She goes through a few times (oh, how we have all been there, ha ha, this show is so topical, whooo, checkpoint humor!), then explains to the guards that she's there to ring the bell, so can she please go? They let her go without even a pat-down. Samantha would complain and demand to be frisked, NOW. But Carrie is on a mission.
Her fictitious newspaper, the New York Star, is going public. Wow, a newspaper that isn't owned by a huge conglomerate? That isn't the Seattle Times? Sigh. I'm jealous. Maybe they have a chance, this fictitious newspaper. She winds her way through the trading floor, with typical wide-eyed enthusiasm and glee, then opens her mouth hugely as she pushes the button that makes the bell go CLANG CLANG CLANG! Wheee! Carrie has a job. And she gets to ring a bell. Sigh. I missed this show. Even though I know that this scene depicts the exact opposite of what's really happening in the day-to-day world of newspapers, columnists, and the market, the optimism is catching. That, or I'm really hormonal right now and the chocolate hasn't kicked in yet.
After the action cools at the stock market, Carrie heads over to meet the girls in "the fashionable meat market," a.k.a. the meat-packing district. Carrie says her morning was so exciting, it "almost made [her] want to invest in something." Sam says she loves the stock exchange: "All those sweaty men yelling, trying to get it up." Heh. Miranda says wisely that she doesn't invest anymore; "it's too volatile." Two words: Real estate. The investment that will surely pay off. My hot tip to you, dear reader. Charlotte says Carrie's stock is hot, and she bought some yesterday. Carrie asks if it was expensive, and Char laughs that it was "cheap." Carrie says, "Well, I NEVAH." Miranda cackles. Shout-out? Menus arrive, and Mir says dryly that $20 for a hamburger is "reasonable." Sarcasm, y'all. Sam goes on a mini-rant that her 'hood has become too "sanitized": from no smoking in bars ("what's next, no fucking in bars?") to the arrival of Stella McCartney and Alexander McQueen. "The only designer whose name should be in the meat packing district is Oscar Meyer." Wow. Now, if Sam wasn't a woman who loved glamorous designer clothes and knew the shops of 57th Street blindfolded, this anti-corporate-takeover rant might make more sense. But Sam just wants things the way they were: smoky, quiet, and $12 per hamburger. Char says, "That's what's great about New York! There's always a new neighborhood, a new restaurant..." Carrie adds, "A new man!" Spill it, sister-friend. She's going on a proper first date with Berger. I guess we're not supposed to wonder about how they reconciled after the disastrous weekend in the Hamptons -- and frankly, I'm not going to be all Comic Book Guy about it and care. They moved on and got over the squicky part and are going on a date Friday night. Char squeaks with glee, and Mir says that "it's all fun and games until someone has a CHILD." Hee. Everyone ignores her, and Carrie says she "feels like a girl of 35 again." Say it with me, everyone: Awww. Char says Carrie should "find out his bottom line right up front," because she didn't know Harry wouldn't get serious about a woman who wasn't Jewish. Sam says she doesn't get it: "What kind of man passes up pussy for Purim?"