Season 2, Episode 40: "And She Was Gone"

Hi, guys. I apologize for the late posting. My graduation was on Sunday, and I didn't get a chance to finish this review on time. My bad. On the plus side, I officially have my bachelor's degree in English/creative writing! The negative side? I am now expected to be an adult. Never! I will continue to watch cartoons in my pajamas while snuggling my Appa plush. Fight the adulthood!

Trivia: This episode was nominated for an Emmy Award in the Outstanding Animated Program Less Than One Hour category.


We open with a techno-like beat and a tour of a black and white Sheltered Shrubs through the eye of a raven. Or is it a crow? There's a creepy-looking, barefoot girl walking down the street with her arms tucked in tightly, looking lost and confused.

I'm sure most of you have seen this episode before, but for those of you who haven't or don't remember it, it's a creative intro that's based off of the poem Ginger will be writing for the Emerging Author Award contest. Ms. Zorski has returned from her three-week quarantine, ready to teach again. I really hope she got Mrs. Grimley sick with whatever disease magnetized her to her bed for that long. Anyway, she tells the class to prepare something for the contest, and whoever writes with the least amount of grammar mistakes will have their work blown up, laminated, bedazzled, and posted on the Wall of Miracles with the subtitle, "There are people who know how to use the English language properly after all." No, but seriously, the best piece will be published.

The deadline for the contest is at the end of the week, so Ginger freaks out, wondering what she's going to write. Dodie suggests that Ginger should write a story about her and the time she got stitches on her chin. Of course you would say that, Dodie. Of course you would want everyone to read all about you. The thing is, nobody wants to read about an attention-starved desperate wannabe, unless it involves Courtney Gripling's dirty laundry and you being wrapped in a straitjacket. Ginger tells her that the entry has to be fiction, but Dodie suggests that Ginger could just make Dodie learn to fly at the end. Luckily, Ginger declines the prompt, and decides to just wing it and see what happens.

Hey, Dodie, I'm a writer. I'll write a story about you. Are you open to really unhappy endings?  >=)

Carl and Hoodsey eye a new entry in a magic shop window: vanishing powder.

Will these two ever learn the difference between shit and bullshit?

Naturally, they go up to the clerk and ask for the powder. Carl tries to smooth-talk his way into getting the reversal potion for free (since it's sold separately), saying that it would be irresponsible to not include it with the vanishing powder already, but the clerk doesn't give a rat's ass--he's probably seen way too many moochers like Carl, so he's not budging. Carl buys the powder anyway.

To prepare herself to write, Ginger boils some water for tea, sits down at a typewriter (you know, before it became a symbol of hipsterism), and begins to write. Her imagination takes her deep into the realm of the typewriter where her poem is hidden. The further down into the typewriter we go, the skinnier and frailer the keys get. We follow them to the bottom, where they're attached to the arms of the girl we saw in the opening of the episode.

"She chose to walk alone, though others wondered why. Refused to look before her, her eyes cast upward towards the sky..."

"She didn't have companions, no need for Earthly things. Only wanted freedom from what she felt were puppet strings..."

"She longed to be a bird, but she might fly away. She pitied every blade of grass, for planted they would stay..."

Carl tells Hoodsey that they must choose the perfect victim--er, I mean candidate-- for their vanishing powder prank, someone who is so invisible already, no one would even miss. So that means the obvious Blake and Higsby are out. Hoodsey digs through a handful of class pictures and spots Noelle Sussman--a background character we've seen in many episodes already.

Ginger finishes her poem that night, ending with the line, "We awoke one autumn day to find that she was gone," hence the title of the episode. She's confident it's the best darn thing she's written in a long time, and I don't blame her. It's impressive so far.

Carl and Hoodsey rush to class seconds before the bell rings, accidentally knocking Noelle over in the process while she's doing her morning kung-fu. They don't even recognize it's her in the first place, which is kind of sad. They find her seat in the seating chart and apply the powder all around her desk. Wouldn't she notice a pile of white powder around her desk? The clock strikes 8:30, and everyone files into the classroom. Carl records the time on his walkie talkie for notes, and mentions it's 8:35. Say whaaaat? No way five minutes passed that quickly. And what is Mrs. Gordon doing back from the dead?! My only explanation is that some of these episodes are aired out of order. I'm sure if Mrs. Gordon rose from her chalk dust-covered coffin, Carl would be all over that like flies to a dead horse.

After Mrs. Gordon blows Higsby off for being a brown-noser, the camera pans over to Noelle, who has tiny finger puppets of Mrs. Gordon, Higsby, Hoodsey, and Carl. Creepy!

Hoodsey thinks it's funny. Carl looks impressed. Too impressed, actually. Or perhaps that's the look of regret as Noelle kicks the vanishing powder up off the floor. Seriously--why does no one notice this stuff?! It's as white as Mrs. Gordon's hair!

Ms. Zorski reads Ginger's poem after class, but she apparently has a different perspective on it than Ginger does. Ms. Zorski informs Ginger that her poem is so dark and depressing that she's scared that Ginger might be suicidal or cutting or something. Of course, she says this in the least offensive way, just to be on the safe side. She writes Ginger a recommendation to see Doctor Leventhal to discuss these issues she assumes Ginger has. Why does that name sound like a cough medicine? Ginger straight up tells her that it's just a work of fiction, and that it has no bearing on her own feelings, but Ms. Zorski urges her to go see Doctor Cough Medicine anyway. Maybe, Ginger, you shouldn't have mentioned that you started crying when writing it. Regardless, all of Ginger's good feelings are suddenly washed away by political correctness and misunderstandings.

But really, I can understand Ginger's frustration--we all know that she's not depressed, and if Ms. Zorski truly understands Ginger's talent as much as I thought she did, she wouldn't have any reason to believe that her poem derives from ongoing issues. On the other hand, I can understand Ms. Zorski's concern. She's just looking out for Ginger, something more teachers should do for their students.

Carl has fallen off the edge and launched himself straight into the big spaghetti bowl of love.

Hey, I love sweet potato casserole! I would have loved to have food like that in my elementary school.

Noelle is perfect--perfectly weird, that is--and he's kicking himself for never noticing all of her blip-blips and sweet potato casserole spaceships and all her other oddities that make her his female counterpart. He hopes and prays that the vanishing powder prank was a scam, though he should know from experience that everything around him is a scam. Methinks Carl is about to hit a revolution. Better start with making sure your bedroom door's lock works mighty well...

At lunch, Dodie and Macie prod Ginger to the brink until she reveals why she's totally bummed out now. Ginger tells them that Ms. Zorski is making her go see the school shrink because of the poem, to which she reads out loud. It's a different section, one that's not as dark as the part we heard before, but still very impressive. I feel like this scene would illustrate Ginger's supposed depression much better if they had switched the section she reads in the cafeteria with the darker section she wrote in the kitchen.

Hell, even Miranda starts to feel sorry for Ginger when she and Courtney lean over to read Ginger's poem, claiming she would have been a nicer bitch had she known Ginger was "clinically depressed."

Ginger's table is suddenly crowded with people, who I guess have nothing better to do than listen to a spontaneous poem reading. Ginger tries to explain to everyone that the poem is not about her, and that it's just fiction, but nobody believes her. Even Dodie and Macie are concerned, hoping that Ginger would come to them when, not if, she feels like jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge with two slabs of concrete chained to her ankles. What the hell, guys?

Lois comes home toting a bag of groceries wondering why her children aren't pulling each other's hair out as usual. Ginger reveals the whole Zorski-psychologist-depression thing, but Lois doesn't have enough context to know who's in the right, so Ginger is left to deal with this on her own. Meanwhile, Carl continues to sulk in his own little pool of regret. Poor kid.

That night, while Lois is struggling to fit into junior department pantyhose, Ginger slides her poem under Lois's bedroom door for her to read. The scene then cuts to Doctor Leventhal talking to Ginger about her poem. She speculates that the feelings Ginger put into her poem are coming from real-life feelings she's suppressing, though it's rather irresponsible to make that assumption without actually looking into Ginger's mental history. I guess it's for the sake of speeding the episode along. Also, Doc, you could at least turn the lights on in that dank room, you know.

"Are there times you wished you could disappear?" - Doctor Leventhal
"Does right now count?" - Ginger

A piece of paper dramatically flutters under Noelle's empty desk, as she's absent from school the next day. Or, as Carl believes, she vanished. He tries to get answers from Mrs. Gordon about where Noelle is, but Mrs. Gordon is too busy with her lecture on Helen of Troy to answer. Carl asks a snarky question, which lands him a hallway lecture and possibly an ass beating for being disruptive. Oops, I forgot--they don't do that anymore.

Ginger finds a poster taped to her locker for a "rap group" for other suicidal girls--possibly a way to stay "hip" with the trends. Ginger's like, "What the hell is this?!" but not before turning around to a melodramatic Courtney, donning black from head to toe. Do I really need to explain what she's doing? Come on, we've all known her long enough to know exactly what's going on here.

Though I must say, she reminds me of Brittany Taylor from that one Daria episode...

Hoodsey takes Carl to the school library to check out Carl's favorite obscure reference book, Entertaining Penguins, to cheer him up. Unfortunately, Noelle had already checked it out, and I think I can see it in her desk in one of the screenshots I took. Carl is going absolutely crazy with his obsession with Noelle, thus he proclaims that he has to get her back. They can't just but the reversal potion because the store jacked the price back up. Son of a gun probably knew that placebo effect was going to take place. Capitalism! So, Carl decides that he should sell something of equal value to afford the potion and--no. He heads right for the petrified eyeball. No! Anything but the eyeball!

When Carl is considering selling his prized petrified eyeball, you know shit's serious.

Hoodsey desperately tries to talk him out of it, but Carl is more desperate than ever. So desperate, in fact, that he picks up the walkie-talkie and makes a call out to Blake--who will most definitely take the eyeball off Carl's hands for a competitive price. Jeez. This is what puberty does to little boys. They think irrational thoughts and perform irrational actions all for a girl as weird and icky as they are. Say, Hoods, how's your crush on Macie doing? Do you still dress up as Burl Forkenshtock and drop love notes in her locker?

Lois comes into the kitchen, questioning whether or not to put mayo on her next sandwich, and tells Ginger about all the ghostly chills she got from reading her poem. Ginger then asks her if she thinks it all points to depression and ill-thoughts and whatnot, but Lois, to Ginger's surprise, says, "No. You're a bright, sensitive young woman. The kind of person who understands peoples' feelings, which is why you can write about them so beautifully."

D'aww. That makes Ginger feel a hell of a lot better--it's the kind of advice that is so desperately needed to be told to us writers. A lot of us are shy and observant, secretly listening in on others' conversations so we can use their style of speech as dialogue for our next story. We're also the kind of people who steal from our own dramatic experiences to help us write a more realistic dramatic experience for our characters. And some writers, like me, won't find solace in writing out our own issues in a journal entry. I personally prefer to shove all of my problems into one of my characters, and then have her play it out in the story so I can figure out what to do (or even avoid what to say!).

Lois tells Ginger not to listen to Ms. Zorski or Doctor Leventhal, no matter how much they think they know about child psychology, and that she can always talk to Lois if she has a problem. I have never seen Ginger so relieved before, and this warm mother-daughter moment where Ginger is thankful for being "normal" is so bittersweet. Why? So many kids vie to be someone other than just a passing face in the school hallway, deathly afraid of being labeled "normal." Heck, I once called one of my high school friends normal, and he was offended beyond belief. I couldn't understand it. Everyone wants to be strange, to be unique, but what will happen when being strange suddenly stops being unique?

Perhaps it goes in a cycle. Think of "typical" 1950s teenage fashion. For boys, it was a short, styled hair cut, button-up shirt, and a cardigan sweater. For girls, it was a long, flowing skirt with a cardigan sweater, also. Man, cardigan was big in the 50s, wasn't it? Most kids were wearing these clothes in that time because it was the style. It was considered normal to dress this way. Now, imagine someone in your school today walked in dressed like a teen straight off the set of Grease. Now they're the one considered strange. Eventually, a new trend will become so ubiquitous that it'll no longer be considered shocking or out of the ordinary. It's also like when you walk into a really smelly room, but stay there long enough not to notice it anymore.

Ooh, boy, that was quite a rant.

Anyway, Ginger walks into the rap group and we catch the tail end of Courtney making up bullshit about being upset when people don't ask to borrow her styling products. Doctor Leventhal is totally onto her, and instead of feeding her ego, busts it wide open when she considers instead discussing Courtney's perpetual need to be the center of attention all the damn time.

Ha! I can answer that one for you, Doc.

Right as Mrs. Gordon distributes an exam on Helen of Troy, Carl saunters into the room--reversal potion in-hand--and pours it beneath Noelle's desk in hopes of bringing her back.

Mrs. Gordon is like, "What the fuck do you think you're doing, you little shit?!" Carl dramatically explains the situation, to which Mrs. Gordon replies back that Noelle had actually transferred schools due to being moved across town. Now, I don't know if this is the reversal potion working in Carl's mind or if it's Carl's realization that he never vanished her to begin with. Either way, he's so overjoyed that he runs out of the classroom, his heart a-flutter, his balls a-blue-ing.

Carl finds Noelle sitting in her new school courtyard reading the Entertaining Penguins book, and Carl begins to recite a few lines from it, too. They share a mutual coy gaze, and it's really quite cute, especially when this happens:

"Where have you been all my life?" - Carl

That night, Ginger reflects on her poem. In her journal, she writes how the protagonist in her poem is merely a collection of everyone around her, including herself, and that writing that poem allowed her to explore a part of her that she never thought she had. She also says that even if she doesn't win the contest, she already feels like she won. I know, totally cliche and cheesy. But at least the episode ends with Ginger fantasizing about having her poem published with a big ole anthology.

Lessons Learned From This Episode: don't assume someone is depressed based on what they write; your soulmate could literally be sitting right next to you and you don't even know it--you just have to look a little more closely


That's it for season 2, you guys! At least, I hope it is--according to the ATBG Wiki page, season 3 kicks off with "Far From Home." Anyway, I hope you're enjoying the site. Keep in mind that season 3 is the last season of the series, so the site will unfortunately come to an end this fall. But, never fear! I'll be posting a few more bonus posts after the last episode, "The Wedding Frame," so it won't end so abruptly. I will definitely be cushioning the end of this blog like the good person I am.

However, because "Far From Home" is another 3-part episode, I won't be reviewing that episode on Sunday. I'll need the extra time to watch and review it. Instead, I'll post a surprise bonus post.

Stay tuned...