This past week there’s was a new episode of the O.C. What what wha…? Having tuned out of this passing phase craze over baseball, I could have sworn the kids of Newport wouldn’t be back to school till next week. The news that I had somehow missed an episode hit me like Summer opening Taylor’s hotel door. Luckily my roommate is a brilliant internet pirate, uh “fisherman,” and was able to net me my long lost fix. Oh, O.C., I missed you. I don’t know where my future is, but I know Thursdays at 8p.m., it’s with you.
Summer: “I don’t get the reference.”
Honey, you don’t have to. I was told by a good friend and fellow O.C. aficionado that this episode was so-so at best. Perhaps someone is having a little champagne too soon after rehab because I loved it. It was like a mini-movie complete with the contrived countdown to sundown and romantic catch line at the end. For the past few weeks, as I wandered through my pop-confectionary desert, I wondered where they might be going with some of these storylines. But the writers bobbed and weaved so well that, like Sandy says almost every episode, “I have to say I’m impressed.”
First, I wondered where they were taking my Poopernickel. Surely they wouldn’t leave her by that hotel pool. Then I wondered where that train wreck Charlotte was going – thinking after last time her character would be introduced to the white trash lesbian in O.C. heaven. But instead of fading, these two plotlines converge in a rather nice condo, which comes pre-equipped with glasses somehow! Again, I don’t know what the Borg is up to and I don’t care. It’s going to be fun to watch. Boy am I excited about prelude to bitchwars on the horizon. My what a tangled web we weave, Charlotte. And how long have I been waiting to say that?
Marissa, I’ve seen your dad and while he is quite handsome, Ryan is not like him. If I were directing a soap opera and I wanted to solicit wounded-little-boy from my actor I would show him a tape of Ryan at the college fair. That widdle pup wants to be a big fisherman when he grows up… tomorrow. What the hell dude? You have a mega rich family and attorney pseudo Dad that will do anything for you. Oh and by the way you’re banging Marissa Cooper now but you would rather be on a boat for weeks with sailors. And I thought the O.C. had given up on all the subtle gay innuendo.
Why does Summer turn into a black stereotype when angry? Taylor gets under her skin and suddenly she’s neck popping and throwin’ back the crunk juice. Oh no she di’int. It’s as if she doesn’t know how to be confrontational so she imitates some pissed black woman she’s seen on TV. Giiiiiiiiirl, mmmm mmm, I am going to use my notes on The Valley to get your ass.
I like how the plot to catch Taylor was unnecessarily complicated. These kids don’t have camera phones? They had to arrange the dirty hotel room and purchase a sidekick and whatever else. It was good but a little scarily calculated. My favorite point that I had to watch over several times was the insult portion at the hotel door. “Taylor Trash!” “Skank!” Hilarious! Taylor did show up all painted for an afternoon of discipline which brought to mind a few more things Summer could have thrown at her – if only they weren’t so network television inappropriate.
Then there’s that frowny skeleton who is using her chardonnay for cooking these days. That’s progress. Now Sandy needs to sit her down and teach her how to eat the food. That’s good, dear, open your mouth. Just a bite. Chew chew swallow... all gone! She seems to stick to a strict diet of oxygen and aloof detachment. Great for the waistline, bad for the cognition. No longer receiving nourishment from a bottle, it’s time Kirsten progressed to something solid.
It’s been bugging me for a couple weeks but I finally figured out where I know surfer Johnny from. The actor playing him is Ryan Donowho (yes, he spells his name like that), the only good thing in the film A Home at the End of the World. I get that he’s supposed to be this sexy surfer dude but I question the wisdom of such prolonged shots of him in the clingy wetsuit. Marissa has a more boyish body than this guy. He looks like those Anna Nicole weight loss ads with a stoner’s head photoshopped in. In between the doobies he needs to fit in some protein.
And poor Dean Douchebag. He had to take on The Brows and he lost pitifully. But he got some sweet statutory poon out of it so all-and-all a zero sum really.
I feel so guilty for missing my O.C. Or maybe that’s just residual dirty feelings from the fleabag hotels, the tawdry Dean affair, and the smell of Ryan coming off that boat. But if all that leaves me needing a shower then I’ll just have to be unclean because I love me some spoiled rich mud wrestling. Though I might sometimes be lost on land or at sea, I’m not just like your dad. I know when it’s time to come home.
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