A calming voice in Brooks’e head (that sounded eerily like Tim Gunn) chimed in that celebrity babies were dominating the tabloids – as were the people holding them. She imagined a “Famous People Feel Things Too” feature in which she tickled the chin of a tot in tiny designer sunglasses while Brick look on with adoration. Embracing her father’s random spawn would make her look so modern and open-minded.

“You are my daughters,” he said. “You, and Netflix represent my legacy on this planet. So I will not rest until my early work on Cop Rock is available on DVD, and I will not be satisfied until you are the true support system for each other that you both deserve to have.

Getting upset over her absentee mother seemed almost too obvious, like something from a bad soap opera but without the hot shirtless men everywhere to distract from the pain.

She folded her hand underneath her chin and tried to look supportive, like Tyra Banks during the segments on America’s Next Top Model where she counseled models to stay strong in the face of bad weaved or homelessness.

“Think of Freddy as Max here: wussy, with lots of feelings nobody asks to hear” she said. “So whenever he’s not onstage, he’s sitting in an attic writin in his diary and then, like, staring out the window.” “Oh. Like a blogger,“ Jake nodded.