Monday, April 21, 2014

I'm so many people.

From Mad Men's second season seven episode, "A Day's Work," a recurring motif: "I said the wrong thing" and someone withholding humiliating information from someone else, resulting in something worse. The whole episode could therefore be a matroyshka doll of saying the wrong thing, winding up in a lie, and covering it up to no small consequence — in other words, Don Draper's MO getting into the water supply.

Who does this: Don, obviously, when he does not tell Sally that he no longer goes into the office and essentially does not work at Sterling Cooper & Partners, making it possible for her to walk in and find a strange man occupying his office, making her look like the lost child she is always afraid of coming off as in the presence of his coworkers. Peggy does this, too, when she does not give her secretary, Shirley, the opportunity to tell her that the roses that arrived for Valentine's Day belong to her, not to Peggy, whose assumption that they are from Ted traps her in a vise-like thought-prison that prevents her from doing any work or conducting herself in an unwretched way all day. And Lou does this as well, dispatching Dawn, who is now his secretary, to run an errand (he forgot to get his wife a Valentine's Day present), leaving him alone when Sally arrives in the office. Not wishing to be vulnerable to Don's messes, he fires Dawn from his desk (she comes out on top), and this arc would not have struck me as related to the other two were it not for Lou going, "I said the wrong thing." What did he say? Was it sending Dawn out and informing her her errand was damage control? Was it attempting to engineer consequence and have Joan reassign Dawn (so Dawn could pay for not only being a callback to the Draper regime but being poor at it, too)? Lou is allergic to facing the consequences of his own actions, Peggy is disappointed in herself for her own inability to manage her  consequences effectively, but that is all Don has, and he is newly, resolutely dedicated fully to those consequences.

This new interchangeability of characters, which started in "Time Zones" with Ken taking up Pete's psychotically frustrated schtick, Cutler and Ted Chaough taking up the old Roger and Don banter, is acknowledged in an exchange between Dawn and Shirley as they vent to one another about their ridiculous jobs: "Happy Valentine's, Dawn," Dawn says to Shirley. "Goodbye Shirley," Shirley says to Dawn. Of course the racist windbags they work with confuse them, but the other characters' identities have become just as blurred.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

A Cyrano de Bergerac to make New York fall in love with him.

Mad Men is back. When Don is on the plane talking to Neve Campbell, she tells him she scattered the ashes of her husband, who died of alcoholism, on Tom Sawyer Island and Disneyland. Tom Sawyer has come up on Mad Men before: in season three's "Guy Walks into an Advertising Agency," when Don and Layne follow felled ad man Guy McKendrick to the hospital after he gets mowed down by secretary Phyllis Sadler with a John Deere tractor. Don and Layne hang out in the waiting room and Layne tells Don he's been reading a lot of American literature. He cites Tom Sawyer as an example and says, "I feel like I just went to my own funeral."

Also: I read several recaps of "Time Zones" and none of them wondered about Harry Crane's whereabouts. Sally and the Francis family, yes. But not a peep about Mr. Crane.

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Traumatic play.

That might have something to do with why writing "the perfect female epic" might seem so "daunting": if one’s life as an artist is a distraction, easily dispensed with, to evaluate one’s "real achievement" as a woman, how could a female epic, perfect or not, do much to absorb the shock of how little biographers care, fifty years later, about what one has written?
I reviewed Carl Rollyson's American Isis at Entropy. As a text, the review has some siblings: my review of Mad Girl's Love Song at HTMLGIANT as well as my disgust with Terry Castle's review of both these books.

The publication of this review could not have been more well timed, since Ted Hughes' estate is currently sick with the idea that a prospective biographer of Hughes will write a "biography" instead of a "literary life." That is, they're worried a biographer might privilege the sordid facts of Hughes' life over his work as an artist. That is, they're worried that a biographer will write about Ted Hughes the way the majority of biographers write about Sylvia Plath.


Wednesday, April 2, 2014

My first book.

"I I have a problem & I do, if an artwork has a problem & it must, then the key is to find out a form that will address the problem, even exacerbate it, while producing less anxiety, not more — ideally none — and yet never to become escapist, mendacious, or otherwise lame."
- Ariana Reines, the Origin of the World
My first book: I'm writing a book about GIRLS for Lost Angelene Press (thank you, Andrea Lambert!).

It's my first book! And it's perfect because it's nothing like I ever imagined, because I never, in times of dreaming, let myself get deeply vested in so many perfect things aligning. It's a queer feminist small press, which is exactly the engine I want to power. And criticism! I write fiction, I know I will publish fiction, but this is something I never thought I would have and that's so immense.

I'm editing it now, and will be into the summer, riding some blistering heat insomnia that is all ready needling and all ready making this feel like a wavering dream. I can't tell you how excited I am. I shouldn't, though, anyway, even if I could, I should save it. I have a lot to talk about in the meantime.

I mean, I will be talking a lot about editing this book and the bizarreness of rereading old blog entries, but I also would like to emphasize what a beautiful world my book is coming into. Like, Adult Mag (which I love) is now on the internet and you can read all of "Florida," my favorite piece from the first issue.

Ahhh but fair warning, Wayfaring Googlers, if you find irrepressible joy chafing, get ready to be deluged by nothing but how my first book is the coolest thing ever because that is my topic of conversation online and elsewhere for the foreseeable future — !!!

Saturday, March 29, 2014

La Borde. Bath, Ohio. The country of blue.

I do not write about what I read. That's absurd.

I, Little Asylum by Emmanuelle Guattari (Semiotext(e), 2014): started and finished in order to get it over with because I loved it and it could have gone on forever. It was short even for a novella, even more of an ethereal voice than Sweet Days of Discipline. In the same vein as Sweet Days of Discipline, of quiet, exotic memoir of remote France which should be a better populated genre than it is. What else would belong there? Claudine at School, sort of. What else?

Redefining Realness by Janet Mock (Atria, 2014): finished! I picked it up hoping it would be an objective resource on discussing trans issues; I didn't realize that it was strictly a memoir and that, as a memoir, it succeeded in addressing what I wanted it to precisely and is an astonishing story. I love how specific and personal it is. Especially interesting alongside She's Not There — they are not the only memoirs by transwomen, but they are very visible ones (I bought both of them at the area Barnes & Noble, which has a shamefully anemic LGBTQ+ section) and focus on very obverse circumstances (being attracted to men and women, being poor and wealthy, a person of color and a white person).

My Friend Dahmer by Derf Backderf (Harry N. Abrams, 2012): I stayed up late and woke up early just to speed through this. It looks so rough — and, yes, is about a rough subject — but the story is told in such a sensitive way, grounded in the seventies, from the point of view of someone having as similar an experience as possible. I used to read anything I could find about Jeffrey Dahmer — I mean, to the exclusion of all else (not just in the way of reading but, activity-wise) for a while — so this was also evocative of my own excruciating time in school.

Tampa by Alissa Nutting (Ecco, 2013): it came out in paperback, so I bought it and started it this past weekend after a hurtful week, amidst a book-binge that yielded this, Stefan Zweig's the Post Office Girl, Kay Redfield Jamison's Touched with Fire, Mavis Gallant's Cost of Living, and How to Disappear Completely: on Modern Anorexia by Kelsey Osgood. A recent headline (how awful) reminded me that Tampa was on my radar. I was caught off guard by the trashy tone of this book and how well (at this point) it works to its advantage. I'm just about halfway through, the pace is keen and I am fully into the language of the romance novel describing such horrific pathology.

Also, with zeal, I cast Anna Camp as Celeste.

On Being Blue by William Gass (New York Review of Books, 2014): finished, after dragging it out for as long as a book of its size would allow. Not better than Bluets but what is. I have the source material for the cover (a Francesca Woodman photograph) on the wall next to my bed.

Notice by Heather Lewis (Serpent's Tail, 2004): halfway through it now, and every page is agony. I love it so much, it hurts so badly to read. I want to take days off to read this book. It is an experience reading Notice and Tampa simultaneously, neither book is easy. Tampa's narrator is so unsympathetic, it's an easier book through which to glide. Notice's narrator is so sympathetic, it makes every new development in the story agony and the prospect of abandoning the narrator at the end agony.

Friday, March 28, 2014

Girls Season 3, Episode 12: "Two Plane Rides" - MFA vs. NYC

This episode was literally MFA vs. NYC. If it hadn't been, the title of the entry would have been "break all your legs."

Photo: Mark Schafer/HBO

Girls, Episode Thirty-Two, "Two Plane Rides"

I. Hannah

When Hannah asks the people in her life if she should or should not do something, she is not really weighing their opinion against her intuition — she wants to see where their priorities are, what they think about her, and what action might elicit the biggest reaction.

This episode, season three's finale, starts out with Hannah receiving some news (it doesn't really, but I'll come back to that*) that she finds positive. The audience doesn't find out what it is right away. At first, I was skeptical that it could be good news for her — my first impulse was to wonder whether or not it might be bad news for Adam, something reigning him in, or something bad about Ray. Or bad about the publishing company that had tied up the rights to her book.

But the triumphant fist pumps that the title fades out from are for something good for Hannah, and the audience finds out when Hannah tells Marnie: she got accepted into the Iowa Writers' Workshop. Marnie abdicates Hannah's ability to tell her the news by providing a lengthy disclaimer re: her awfulness. She acknowledges that Hannah is actually erasing the events of "I Saw You," when Hannah walked in on Marnie and Ray, on something she knew Marnie — who lives to fill Hannah with shame — was ashamed of. Hannah doesn't care about that anymore, and her news does have the power to obliterate that and make Marnie listen and acknowledge what a good and massive thing this is for Hannah. That would have been a great way to justify that narrative handicap from which this season has suffered so much: there are events in real life that just blow up whatever one thought was one's primary focus or biggest anxiety.

Hannah ends her announcement with the disclaimer: she doesn't know if she's going to go. The scene smashes to an end on Marnie saying of course you should go, but if anyone has any personal investment in Hannah's decision making, this is the worst place to find one's self in. Hannah exists in an ambient space of shame and personal frustration and she would rather have fun than worry about whether or not that shame and frustration might be magnified due to others' reactions. She would rather pursue adventure than what may necessarily impress or appease the people close to her. It looks like she doesn't know what's good for her, but Hannah is aware that what's good for her is what challenges her, even if that challenge seems unreasonable, avoidable, and nothing but humiliating.

Lena Dunham leaves no doubt in viewers' minds the extent to which Hannah is proud of what she's done. It seems strange to think of growth on her character's part as, instead of pursuing a challenge in spite of what the people in her life think, doing — and, importantly, agreeing with — what those people think is the move she should make.

I was disappointed when I heard that it was the Iowa Writers' Workshop Hannah applied and got into (this was not, plot-wise, entirely out of nowhere: Hannah told Shoshanna in "Truth or Dare" that she applies to grad school every year) but then considered that it is the stock MFA program, just like New York is the stock creative city. And then I felt absurd because I just finished before the episode came on MFA vs. NYC. It is an exciting prospect (for me) to consider that Girls could turn out to be about the unsustainable pursuit of making one's self into a writer by means of these affiliations.

But the episode doesn't exactly make any promises. I'd like to hinge it all on Dunham's acting, on Hannah's dogged elation. Despite what a tough episode this is for Hannah, she begins and ends it with the ability to find joy in the fruits of her work. I want to look forward to a season with Hannah in school, but — considering how much erasing and backtracking the show's been prone to — I'm not committing to that hope.

Also, the unspoken element of Hannah's Iowa acceptance that I found most interesting: Hannah has worked up some traction exploiting her openness, her willingness, her ability to be a "sweatshop factory for puns," and this is the first indication that she did not give up on the kind of writing her late editor encouraged her to abandon. In all likelihood, the work she submitted to Iowa — which I hope (I hoopoe) the audience hears about next season — is not only the work that was inspired by her friendship with Marnie, it's probably so good that Hannah may bristle against it when she is isolated in the midwest, where she may be confronted with the dissolution of that relationship and her inability to rebuild it. This is my wish.

But, back to the episode: Hannah's parents are ecstatic for Hannah, Marnie is ecstatic for Hannah, and it's Adam's opening night. She forces her way backstage to wish Adam well in his dressing room and deliver her news. Because he's thrived, she says, she wants to thrive. It is a moment with so much vulnerability. This episode had a lot in common with "She Did," and this scene reminded me of when Hannah danced for Adam and he pulled her into him and told her to be careful: this as the inverse of that. Adam tells Hannah after the show that she sabotaged him, he ruined his performance (an imperceptible phenomenon to the audience, Hannah and Broadway-devotee Elijah among them), and he screams at her about why nothing can be "easy" with her. I wish there had been an "I'm the most scared" response from Hannah, but she just leaves Adam alone. He doesn't get struck by a car: instead, Adam gets a kiss from a cast mate. He cannot leverage any guilt over Hannah this time. She leaves the show to hold the acceptance letter in her hand and smile to herself.

II. Marnie

Marnie's plot line has embraced the fact that her professional pursuits are just a red herring. Her story wraps this season with her breathlessly sharing with Hannah, Elijah, and everyone who'll listen, "Desi kissed the shit out of me." Marnie going around finding people to share this with is a nod to how she's the same Marnie as she was in season one, when she worked her way through a party in "Welcome to Bushwick, a.k.a. the Crackcident," venting to anyone who'd listen about how Charlie got over her so fast and how she's an "ideal." As foretold by Elijah, this doesn't work out well for Marnie — Desi's girlfriend, Clementine, is in attendance at the "Major Barbara" premiere and, whether or not she is aware that Desi and Marnie kissed, she is aware of Marnie's MO and calls her on it.

So her failure to snare Desi is made explicit, but what shows up in fainter relief are the facts of where this season leaves Hannah and Marnie: they are united in their understanding that Hannah going to Iowa is a great thing. But where Hannah has that going for her, that means to advance professionally, that sign of having achieved at writing, that well-branded bit of writerly success, that thing she knows she could be doing for a few years and therefore some security about being able to answer "what are you doing these days?"-esque questions in a dignified way — Marnie doesn't have any of that. She's stalled in her career development, she's sexually involved with someone she doesn't respect. To wit: the way Marnie explained to Ray in "Incidentals" how she wouldn't eat pizza around him if she cared what he thought of him smacks of Hannah explaining in "Beach House" how she feels free to lavish all her feelings on Adam because he isn't really paying attention to who she is and how she behaves. Marnie's relationship to being judged isn't exactly like Hannah's — Marnie needs to have someone to impress and whose standards she can succeed to. But this forthcoming season may see Marnie turning more and more into Hannah. She's already been embroiled in circumstances more closely related to Hannah's for the past two seasons, but after Desi expressing how Marnie may be a writer (I would love to hear Marnie give a reading of her personal essays), this may be the dawn of her trying to exploit a more Hannah-esque approach to her travails.

III. Jessa

In all too brief moments, this episode provides glimpses (not glorified interstitials!), starring Louise Lasser, of what should have been Jessa's season three arc. Set up Withnail at the beginning, have him disappoint her with the action with Dot from "Role-Play" taking place during the first half of the season. The stuff about her allegedly deceased friend Season could have been excised completely. In criminally few scenes in this single episode, Jessa demonstrates that Louise Lasser's character, BD, has earned some respect from her, that she likes her, and that she wants Jessa to help her die. That's such a worthwhile dilemma! That the story spends no time on! For as rivetingly as it plays out over the episode, I was so irritated that this didn't occupy a greater part of season three when it seemed like the writers spent so much time perplexed over what to do with Jessa! This made me furious!

IV. Shoshanna

Same deal with Shoshanna, whose character did at least get the satisfaction of mauling Marnie. Marnie chooses exactly the wrong time to come clean to Shoshanna about her relationship with Ray. It struck me that Marnie doesn't tell Shoshanna, when she says she's slept with Ray several times, that she doesn't specify that it's a very recent thing. I think she purposefully provokes Shoshanna by not specifying that their involvement is recent and did not include when Ray was with Shoshanna. Marnie could not know how provokable Shoshanna is in that moment, though. Shosh discovers that, during her distraction-packed final semester — getting taken on stressful road trips and beach getaways, being dragged into Jessa's myriad miseries — she failed an incidental class and does not have the credits to graduate on time. The writers at least attempted to establish Shoshanna's plight from the start of the season, but for as great as her arc lands on this finale, her role this season was so anemic.

V. Miscellaneous

Adam could leave the show now and I'd be happy.

Ray's explanation to Shoshanna about how they've outgrown each other is as boring as his explanation to her about why they can't be friends.

Elijah is responsible for the funniest scene this season and probably in the show so far, which comes at the end of this episode. It's all worth it for that. I'm not exaggerating.

* - I never did come back to it. Adam's sister, Caroline, resurfaces and facilitates a scene that causes Hannah to consider the shelf life of her fertility. The scene is exactly as long as it should be.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Girls Season 3, Episode 11: "I Saw You" - You will never judge me again.

I will go through, when this season is over, and count how many times the show introduced a fact or scenario it erased the following episode.

Girls, Episode Thirty-One, "I Saw You"

In keeping with the fact that no crisis has resulted in any follow-through story-wise this season, Adam and Hannah are still having sex despite Adam's assertion as of last week's episode that he needs space. Everything's been looping back, and the things that have happened to impose plot on the characters have felt profoundly inorganic. To contextualize how inorganic lots of this season feels, Adam winding up on Broadway feels like one of the less inorganic elements of season three, even though so much of that is by the grace of Adam Driver.

Something this episode, and this season overall — though feebly — emphasized is how Hannah's use of Adam isn't any more savory than Adam's use of Hannah. She's the devil he knows: it's safe being with someone whose problems, though they may be extreme, resemble the ones his sister has, that he grew up handling. Adam "asks nothing" of Hannah, so she "give[s] him everything" — his love has no risks and no consequences. He will never judge her.

What's driven them apartish, for now, is Adam's impending Broadway debut. He lives with Ray now live; shamefully, they're as great to watch as you'd imagine. I didn't think last season's "Boys" was great, but oh, I hold out hope that there's a dynamite Ray/Adam episode somewhere in this show's lifespan. I hate Adam and Ray, but no amount of hate could stop me from appreciating half an hour of Alex Karpovsky and Adam Driver acting at each other, unencumbered by b-plots. I'm afraid this sounds like I'm referring to Marnie, Jessa, and Shoshanna as b-plots. I don't want them to be, but as of this season, everybody besides Hannah has been a b-plot in the worst way (Ray and Adam chief among them, with Adam only moving to the narrative front, really, as of "Incidentals").

Hannah, disregarding boundaries (which is a useful setup for the end of the episode), visits Adam at Ray's apartment. Please not that, in this scene, there is a box in the corner of the frame marked "Adam's creepy shit." The apartment's been featured this season otherwise, but it bares repeating that Ray's apartment, for the first two seasons of Girls, was Adam's. It's a shame they don't capitalize more on the juxtaposition between the present and the beginning of Hannah and Adam's relationship. Remember how fun and uncomfortable and complex those scenes were, I ask myself?

Season one callbacks do otherwise populate this episode. When Adam escorts Hannah back to her place, Adam apologizes for the space he's asserted he needs by informing Hannah that when she gets a break like he's gotten, and she needs to be in work mode, she'll understand what he's going through! Viewers may remember that Hannah has gone through this. In season one, she prioritized her work — even when there wasn't much of a sign that it would get her anywhere, save the invited reading that she botched — over Adam, and he reacted to this by verbally tearing her apart (which resulted in him injuring himself, and he used his injuries to shame and manipulate Hannah for the unseen months between seasons one and two).

What I love about that little narrative wave — of Hannah telling Adam she didn't want him to move in because she wanted her work to come first — was how, without even the external markers of success, it was articulated so well that being invited to the reading and failing at the reading, in addition to (crucially) Marnie pettily elevating Hannah's college nemesis, with her successful sob story — all lit a fire in Hannah, a fire she wanted, even for all of an episode, to take care of.

Since then, the external markers of success that have come Hannah's way have served as obstacles. They haven't necessarily lit her up in that same way. It's been two seasons since then, but what the audience has glimpsed that does light up, compel, inspire et al. Hannah is...Marnie.

Marnie was all Hannah could think about when she was on deadline with her ebook, but she couldn't control Marnie. She can control Adam, but what is that worth? This season's been full of tired warning signs directed at Hannah regarding why Adam isn't great for her, but — as ever — the biggest danger he poses to Hannah is that he is just a coping mechanism that has relieved the blow of Marnie disarticulating herself from Hannah's life. It's the lack of respect for the Marnie-wound that the writers have demonstrated this season that illuminates why season three has been a travesty. Divorcing Hannah's relationship with Marnie from her creative work is — has been proven — narratively unsound. That's my greatest dissatisfaction with this show, even more than — well, I'm going to hold off on listing everything. But I have to say I'm still raw about how Jessa showed up in "She Said OK," after two episodes with her as a central figure, and had NO LINES. My irritation persists!

Speaking of Marnie: she gets a season one callback, too. Marnie is in the same position at Soo Jin's gallery as she was at her first job — literally, in the same position in the frame, at the same kind of desk. She gets a scene with LOUISE LASSER. The woman who dared to be married to Woody Allen, star of Mary Harman, Mary Hartman! Although I haven't seen the show, since critics have been discussing it, it sounds like exactly what I want to watch right now. Lasser gets an absolutely killer line that can't get enough critical emphasis about why aging is "the pits," elevating this scene, at least, is required viewing.

Lasser's cameo dented my heart. She is as well formed a minor character as anyone in season one. Shortly after her first scene, Hannah and Elijah go together to resume the Patti LuPone interview Hannah started in "Incidentals." Mr. and Mrs. Patti LuPone function feebly as warning signs. I think this could've been pulled off, but they are both cartoon characters. Nobody in season one was a cartoon character. The closest anyone came to cartoondom then was Hannah's college nemesis, and it worked.

In the glorified interstitial corner:

  • Elijah, now fully back in Hannah's life, delivers the most precise and "so good" critical evaluation of Marnie's performing style: at once too stiff and too hopeful. This was good use of a brief scene.
  • Jessa dances the withdrawal out of her hair before rolling around on the floor crying, "I'm so bored!" Shoshanna also drops by to remind the audience that she's graduating soon.
  • Desi reminds the audience that Marnie made an amazing YouTube video we haven't heard about in episodes, infuriating me all over again.
  • Ray and Adam share with each other about the space they've insisted on from Marnie and Hannah, respectively. Although Ray doesn't acknowledge that it's Marnie he's talking about, he does mention that he loves her chin, which is a detail I appreciated.

As a result of Mr. and Mrs. Patti LuPone giving Hannah the glimpse at the relationship-fate of her nightmares, she gets herself fired from the advertorial department at GQ. If it's truly gone (I can't trust this show anymore), I'll miss the Yale Younger Poet's Prize-winner and his pitches, which were also stiff and hopeful. Those characters, except their awful cardboard supervisor, had the potential to become real. Hannah trashes the department's mission and its negative impact on the staff's creative lives in a speech that has none of the visceral darkness of, say, Hannah's "Vagina Panic" rape joke. Hannah's actions may demonstrate that it is, as Laird told her, a "dark scene" in her head, but I could have really gone for Hannah exorcizing that in that moment. For something. Although she does shut down Joe, who has been nice to her, as she detected that he wanted something from her, which is a detail I liked, even though their relationship amounted to nothing more than one introductory episode and a montage.

One complaint Hannah airs is the concern that she and her advertorial colleagues are a "sweatshop factory for puns," which is what's been paying off for her. Remember that her old publisher didn't want a friendship between two college girls, he wanted a pudgy face slick with semen and sadness. Her almost new publisher wanted a funny fat girl who, unlike Mindy Kaling, "goes all the way." Will Hannah be moved to reevaluate how she channels her "myriad talents"? It hurts to hope for anything now.

In the first scene I've enjoyed Jessa in in way, way too long, she crashes Marnie's workday and offers Louise Lasser the criticism she's been craving and trying to elicit from a too-timid Marnie. Jessa's boundary transgression earns a job offer from Lasser (it is interesting to notice who benefits and loses from boundary transgressions all over this episode) and Jemima Kirke gets to be funny again.

Rapper Lil' Freckles! Too good for this show at this point. Although she's on the writing staff for season four. So maybe that won't always be true.

Marnie bares her stiff and hopeful soul for Desi and tries to transgress the boundary of their professional relationship. I want Marnie to realize that something can come from her and that she can function as something other than the achieving man's significant other. It would make me scream in the best way of Marnie initiated the project of writing a memoir next season and called it the [Anything]'s Daughter/Girlfriend, she defines herself so exclusively by her relationships (and that title cliche is hilarious and the worst, just like her). I don't care for a man teaching her this lesson, but true to form, Marnie doesn't seem intent on learning anything from him. As soon as she's faced with the reality of Desi's girlfriend, Clementine, Marnie invites herself to Ray's apartment.

During the performance, Shoshanna detects that Hannah's blown up her life and asks her if she's going to be okay. Hannah demonstrates how and to what extent she's not okay at a dinner with Adam's theatre friends, the "scene" he said in "Incidentals" that he didn't want to be a part of. Hannah glories in the fact that she was fired — which means unemployment checks for her — and, wasted in Ray's apartment, forsakes sex with Adam to demonstrate how she has no respect for Ray. I don't have any respect for Ray, either, but this gesture comes out of nowhere. Sure, Hannah believing that "everything is [her] business" is an entrenched facet of her character; it was even pointed out in explicitly in "Flo," the way Hannah insists on knowing everything. But Ray has thrown a real wrench in Hannah's life before — it would have been awesome if, to rhyme Desi's attempt to teach Marnie a lesson, Ray brought up, in the wake of Hannah's firing, how she's made all these bad decisions, including the reading she botched after she took Ray's useless advice about what is and isn't a valid subject. It's a scene like that that should drive Hannah to want to violate Ray's privacy. When she finds him having sex with Marnie, though, her reaction has — perfectly — minimally to do with Ray.  "You will never judge me again," Hannah warns Marnie.

Please don't let that rage get erased.