November 11, 2004

001mischa.jpgAs everyone knows, today is a special day. It's a day when we take a little time to think about the brave people who give their all and pay the ultimate price for us to live better lives.

No, I do not mean the veterans. (Don't you read the right side of this website? We fucking hate the soldiers and we're huge supporters of the insurgents: I have a picture of that dreamy Muqtada al-Sadr hanging in my cubicle.)

I'm talking about The O.C., of course! Today is episode two of The O.C.'s second season, and I, for one, am excited.

I'm so excited about The O.C., I can hardly think of anything else. This past week's news cycle is just a blur to me: Is Yasser Arafat alive or dead? Did someone in Bush's cabinet resign or get fired or something? Honestly, when I get the paper, I just turn to the TV section to see if there's an article on The O.C., like a cool lifestyle piece on people having parties to watch the show, or style pieces on fashion inspired by the wardrobe, or some sort of medical study on how watching The O.C. can clear up your skin. How come no one has written these pieces yet? What are journalists focusing on that's so much more important than The O.C.?

Here's what I like about The O.C.: It's an escape, okay? I can put aside my own life for a little while and immerse myself in the lives of some truly amazing characters. You might find this hard to believe (especially coming from someone who puts his thoughts on the internet for the world to read—sans payment), but I'm happy not to think about myself for a little while.

When I watch The O.C., I almost never think about that mole on my shoulder that's been getting bigger and becoming bumpier, or the fact that skin cancer runs in my family, and I don't have a doctor or health insurance. I don't have to think about the fact that I had to buy new pants one waist size larger than my last, or that the last time I did any exercise was in high school gym class, and even then, I mostly faked stomach aches so I wouldn't have to change in front of all those vicious jocks who'd snap me with towels and call me a "queer." (Me, a queer? I wasn't the one who was walking around half naked, patting my teammates on the butt and saying, "Good game, big guy." I mean, so what if I had a picture of that dreamy Moammar Qaddafi hanging in my locker? I have a soft spot for dynamic, photogenic despots, okay?)

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, The O.C.. I also like that while watching The O.C., I can use my mind to manipulate space and time, opening a portal to an alternate universe better than our own. What? You don't do that?

When you're watching The O.C. tonight, try this: close all the lights in your room and draw the blinds so there's no light except for the TV set. Now, sit perfectly still as the credits begin and concentrate on Mischa Barton's face as intensely as you can. Focus. There is nothing else in this world besides Mischa Barton's face. Focus. Forget about the glass (or plasma, if you're lucky enough) that separates you from Mischa Barton. Focus. Forget about the mole on your shoulder or those jocks who stuffed you in garbage cans ten years ago. Focus. Forget about the gate around Mischa Barton's Malibu home or that fucking restraining order the judge slapped on you. Focus. You're no longer in your home watching The O.C., you're there in the O.C., and Mischa Barton is your girlfriend. You did it.

You and your girlfriend Mischa eat greasy french fries after a night of bowling in Santa Monica. You and your girlfriend Mischa hold hands under the table during dinner at her parents'. You and your girlfriend Mischa kiss while watching Sleepless in Seattle on the couch again. Nothing and no one can come between you and your girlfriend Mischa, not her agent and manager who both think you're no good for her, not the trendy young actors and actresses who try to convince her to attend that Stuff Magazine party at The Hard Rock Hotel and Casino without you this weekend, not the bodyguard who pushes you against a wall and tells you he'll break your kneecaps the next time you try to talk to Mischa in public. Not even Muqtada al-Sadr can come between you and your girlfriend Mischa.

From now on, it's just you and your girlfriend Mischa; your girlfriend Mischa and you. Look at how pretty she looks, your girlfriend Mischa. You could marry this girl, your girlfriend Mischa. That would show all those damn jocks from high school once and for all. You could kiss her right now, because she's your girlfrfiend. Nothing stands between you and your girlfriend Mischa.

Nothing except that damn glass (or plasma). An hour has passed and you're back in your home. The mole on your shoulder is sore and you won't see The O.C for another week. What will get you through a whole week without The O.C.?

Oh, yeah: Thinking about The O.C.. You'll make it, but just barely.

I've actually never even seen The O.C., I'm sure it's pretty good.

The O.C. airs tonight at 8PM EST on FOX.

Earlier: Obligatory Pop Culture Entry To Prove We Haven't Become Humorless Prigs

Posted in a OC-centric, Shallow fashion.

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