In any case, full list of winners here, and some clips after the jump. Also a photo gallery featuring lots of people we like!

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(Via EW)

Doctor Faye wakes Don up in the middle of the night to tell him that she has to get ready for a 7AM flight, “thanks to you.” Whoa. NO SPOILERS, but considering what is about to happen, maybe there is a little bit of foreshadowing here? I’m just saying, Doctor Faye is great and all, maybe even the best, but if you have a 7AM flight to get ready for, go get ready for it, but leave me out of it. And if you ARE going to wake me up in the dead of night because you’re confused about what is and is not appealing in a girlfriend, don’t wake me up with a passive-aggressive remark. I’m just saying. FREE DOCTOR FAYE, or whatever, but also, relax, Doctor Faye. Don has a meeting with the Lung Cancer Association, or something, and then he is taking his kids to California. But he has a pit in his stomach. Awww. It could be stress, OR, it could be a whiskey-soaked cancerated ulcer. HARD TO TELL. Doctor Faye tells him that maybe there is more to life than just working (“Huh?” — Don Draper) and that he might feel better if he pulls his head out of the sand about the past and leaves it behind him. WHOA. Again, that’s perfectly reasonable advice, and Don probably should pull his (beautiful) head out of the sand about the past and move on with his life, but if I could just remind everyone of something: it’s fucking 5AM! Give me a hard knocks life lesson full of difficult truths at five in the fucking morning because YOU are on the way to the airport and felt the need to wake me up and you will find your head spinning around on your neck so fast you’ll think it was a tetherball. (NOTE: this is not a threat of domestic violence, this applies to men and women, lovers and friends and relatives. LEAVE US SLEEP! Surely whatever’s deeply broken in my heart and soul can wait until breakfast.)

Back at the office, Lane calls Joan, who is pushing the mail cart, into his office and gives her an envelope. She is about to put the envelope in the mail (haha) but he is like “no, silly willy, that is for you.” What is it? Oh, Joan has been promoted to Regional Vice President of District Management, or something. “No pay increase,” Lane adds, dripping marmalade all over his chin. Cool. Joan is like “I wish fist bumps had been invented already so I could give you one.” And now we are at the meeting with tobacco:

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Don is having a secret meeting with the guy from Heinz trying to get some business so that the firm doesn’t close. The guy from Heinz explains how hard it is to get the word out about beans when you’re standing in the shadow of Big Ketchup. Sure. But then they keep talking about it. Whoa. How much am I really supposed to know/care about the marketing difficulties the bean industry faced in 1965? A lot, apparently. “We all majored in Bean Communications in college, right? Good, so let’s carry this scene out in real time.” Turns out, the beans make you fart thing was a PRETTY BIG DEAL. Anyway: Don and Mr. Ketchup get along pretty well, but he’s not ready to change advertising firms. Besides, everyone knows that Don Draper’s firm sucks and is exploding. Don begs, basically. He offers to give Dr. Heinz a lowered commission. The guy is like, ha ha handshake, no. He says he will check back with him in six months. Everyone, basically, is saying that they’re going to check back in in six months. But the firm will be shut down in six months! Uh oh. The math doesn’t add up! Back at the office, some fat old man explains that the way to save the firm is to go after another tobacco account. He says that Philip Morris is introducing a new cigarette for women and they want to use a new agency. Great! It’s only five million dollars in billings (which sounds like a lot of money to me even in 2010 much less 1965 but what do I know? Nothing, obviously. I’m sure five million dollars is an embarrassment) but it’s a start. Thank you fat old man.

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Peggy’s at the beach. (REMINDER: Mad Men season 4 takes place in the year 1965, before the world was covered in water and our only remaining memory of beaches was of burning fields of endless oil-soaked death mud.) Everyone jumps in the lesbian’s car, and when they get home THERE IS A METAL HOOK HANGING FROM THE DOOR HANDLE. Just kidding. When they get home they DO IT. You see, when they get in the lesbian’s car, Peggy is forced to sit on the lap of that Human Turtleneck from a couple weeks ago, and at first she is like, gross, but then she is like, I want to sit on your lap WITHOUT my clothes on. So they do that. Well, first the guy is like “POLITICS!” but Peggy tells him to shut up and do it. So he shuts up and does it. (And again the next morning. Peggy!!!!) The guy tells her that she has shoulders like an Olympian. Sliiiiiiiick. This guy is definitely the Mystery of 1965. “Did you see the fight outside? I have to leave in 10 minutes because my cousin is in town. You have the shoulders of a man. No, I just mean, like, you know, a world class athlete man. These are actually my mom’s binoculars.” Guy’s probably drowning in poon. (Gross. And no he’s not.)

Ken Cosgrove is at dinner with his fiance and her parents telling what I’m sure are hilarious anecdotes when another ad man walks up to say hello and to give his condolences. Wait a second! Give his condolences for what? Yoops! The fellow ad man explains that Lucky Strike is leaving Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce and heading over to BBDO. Eek! EMERGENCY PAJAMA PARTY!

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Joan walks into Roger’s office. ARE THEY GOING TO DO IT? She locks the door and says they need to talk. DO THEY NEED TO TALK ABOUT DOING IT? Oh wait. No. They already did it. And now they have to talk about, you know, doing it. (Abortion.) I know that Joan and Roger’s story has become incredibly sad and that their relationship has no future and that there is something despairing and discouraging on an existential level about people’s self-perpetuating misery and the accumulation of more misery based on the miserable decisions they make in reaction to that initial misery, but I guess my point is that I would watch Joan and Roger be miserable about the PHONE BOOK as long as they were miserable about the phone book together. When Joan tells Roger what’s what he gets a lot less JOKES and a lot more WHISPERS. Joan explains that it can’t belong to her husband because he’s been gone for seven weeks. Roger doesn’t want to start their relationship with a scandal. He promises though that he will help her take care of it. He has the thoughtful, quiet sadness of a person whose life is not being affected by the thing that makes him sad at all. You know what I’m talking about? He’s intellectually sad about the whole idea of it, while Joan is intellectually freaking the fuck out about the whole fuck there is a baby inside her. (Of course, neither of them is doing either of these things because they don’t exist and this whole thing is make believe, BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, LET’S JUST KEEP GOING.)

Don calls Sally and blows her mind.

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Don Draper’s got an important business call. He’s all business. “Buy! Sell! We need to close this deal and I won’t take no for an answer. You’re fired.” Oh, wait, that’s not the head of General Motors he’s talking to, that is the sexy doctor he is talking to. And when he schedules a lunchtime business meeting it’s not a lunchtime business meeting at all, it’s a lunchtime BANGNESS meeting (sorry). Seriously, though, the doctor is all banged out. And yet she hardly even touches her sandwich! You know, when you say over the phone that you’re going to get sandwiches and discuss business as a cover story for how you are really going to go home and bang, you don’t ACTUALLY need to buy sandwiches if you don’t want sandwiches. I’m sorry to get so hung up on this point, but as someone who RESPECTS sandwiches, I don’t like to see a good sandwich, especially a sandwich wrapped in wax paper, just languish on a counter somewhere, even if they are languishing for sex reasons. At the very least, I want to see Don Draper and the doctor sitting in bed, hair all fucked out, faces all glossy, complimenting each other on each other’s sex, and then EATING THOSE SANDWICHES. At the very least! Don has clearly given the doctor keys to his apartment. That was fast! Last week he was Mr. Hard to Get and this week he is Mr. Married to the Doctor Already Practically. He tells her to let herself out and then he goes to the office reeking of sex and announces that he’s taking a nap. Uh, you guys, we are seriously all in the wrong line of work.

Of course, the real story of taking a one way ticket to Lunchtime Bang Town is that you open up the possibility that 12 years later your chronic masturbator of a daughter will run away from home and ride the rails like a masturbating hobo all the way to your office and her bitch of a mother won’t even come get her and you’ll have to fucking take fucking care of your fucking daughter for a whole night. ALWAYS WRAP IT UP, FELLAS! Oh, hi, Sally.

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Last week, Mad Men opted to air an episode during the National Holiday. Fair enough. I, on the other hand, opted to air myself. Out. On the beach. And so: there was no recap of what was easily one of the best episodes of this show ever. LIFE IS HARD. (Although I will say this: if there were Emmy Awards given out for Outstanding Achievement for Hanging Out on a Beach Instead of Writing Recaps, Matthew Weiner would owe me a Coke. [Huh?]) Anyway: holy cow, right? Happy Birthday, Peggy! Sad Don Draper! I’m sure those two sentences are enough to convey the dramatic and emotional magnitude of what occurred between two beloved characters on a subtle and complex show, right? Good. This week, we open with Don Draper hastily putting the finishing touches on his “Autobiography” assignment for Creative Writing 102, Wednesday evenings at the Learning Annex. Seriously, what is going on here? Don Draper! Stop scribbling poetry about “the hearts of birds” with a Sharpie on the legs of your suit and get back to the office. Without you, we might never find a way to mix Mountain Dew with vodka!

SIDENOTE: How nice is Don Draper’s “shitty” bachelor pad? We should all be so lucky as to get divorced from Drunk Old Sourface and move into the nicest apartment I have ever seen in this life. Speaking of Drunk Old Sourface: WHOOPS, THAT’S YOUR DINNER OBLIGATION!

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