Yesterday, while I was in therapy of all goddamn places, Netflix released the 3rd season of
House of Cards two weeks early. At first it seemed like it might have been a publicity ploy, but the streaming service later
claimed a glitch in their system caused the show's unexpected airdate, not some Beyonce-level marketing scheme. Reading the barrage of emails and texts and tweets asking if I'd watched the episode and how we planned to review the whole season with the bumped up timeline, I understood for a moment how Frank Underwood might feel in the exact same situation. I even bought a fedora and fake glasses to go push attractive 20-somethings in front the F train, just to feel in control again.