Category: OC-centric

You’ve never seen The O.C., but you’re sure it’s pretty good. You’re gonna watch it tonight, though, since there are two back-to-back episodes.
You need to watch it, especially since your career is in the crapper and your New Year’s resolution is to write a decent spec script and land an agent. Maybe then you can move out of Culver Fucking City and get a decent car like a Mini-Cooper or a BMW or, seriously, a Prius, please, a Prius, and maybe finally get a development deal with a major. Then, barring any further complications, get laid without paying for it.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. When you moved to L.A. five years ago, you were bursting with ideas and potential. You were gonna be David E. Kelley, Joss Whedon, and J.J. Abrams combined.
Now, look at you. You’re writing questions for a kids’ basic cable game show that unwisely has the word “Cyber” in the title. In ’98 it seemed like such a great title, what with the web-television convergence plan the 29 year-old producer pitched: now, the website’s been dead since 2003 and that 29 year-old producer drives a Boxter and is developing a show with Jon Lovitz for Gavin Palone. (Why won’t that fucker not return your goddamn calls?) You still live in a one bedroom—and not even a big one by L.A. standards— and you’re not in a union. You can’t get a single agent on the phone and most of your friends with deals laugh and say they’ll call you when they need a little ‘cyber’ touch. Assholes. It wasn’t your idea: you weren’t even part of the show until last year!
That’s why tonight’s O.C. is so important. You’re not gonna just watch, you’re gonna study it, figure out what makes it tick and become an instant expert. It’ll be like when you pulled all-nighters in school: you’d spend a couple of hours catching up on all the Folk and Myth readings you’d snoozed on while attempting another round of ‘Poon submissions, then spend the rest of the night just banging out the paper. And some of them were great! One professor—okay, one adjunct—even suggested you submit your paper on The Family Guy (“In the Family Way: Stewie and Freud’s Theories of Early Childhood Sexual Development”) to a journal. You could’ve had a big career in academia, pounding out searing interpretations that turned conventional pop culture ‘wisdom’ on its head. You might’ve even gotten to write for the mainstream: Times op-eds, maybe some droll “Shouts and Murmurs” for The New Yorker.
Instead, you’re basically rephrasing Trivial Pursuit questions for 9 year-olds. You need to do something better with your life, something more meaningful.
Like writing for The O.C. If you could just watch the show, get a sense for its rhythm, internal logic, and… that third thing the screenwriter of the Justine Bateman film suggested in that Learning Annex class that cost you $400, you can do that. (Where are your notes?)
You need to hitch yourself to this show: It’s like this year’s Ally McBeal or Popular: It’s the show, and only a quality O.C. spec script can change your life—can make your life. You can almost envision your plot already: it’ll be something about a foreign exchange student from Sudan and it will address genocide and female genital mutilation. And a love plot. A love triangle. God, this is gonna be so good: your script is going to fully embody the show while simultaneously transcending it! Where’s your notepad? This is too good to forget.
After that, it’s a top tier agency. Then a good writing gig. Then a side project and movie sale. Then a producer job. Invites to Stuff parties and the “Midsummer Night’s Dream” party at the Mansion. Then, who knows? All this from The O.C.! Can you feel it? I can feel it!
Tonight I will watch The O.C.; It better be pretty good.
The O.C. airs Thursday nights at 8PM EST on FOX. Even when they’re just reruns.
Earlier: O.C.

Do try to contain yourself.
Earlier: O.C. junk.

If it is not too unseemly for a man of my wealth and abundant religious and intellectual gifts to complain, I must say that the hardest part of being on the run in the mountains of Tora Bora is how often I miss my favorite infidel television program, The O.C.
Why are you laughing? Who says that a righteous man, a man who seeks to break the back of the American Satan, cannot enjoy a few laughs once in a while, a little eye candy? I work 24 hours a day to destroy America and the secularist lambs that follow it like, well, like lambs. Can I not take one hour a week to bask in the comforting Southern California glow of The O.C.? Can I not spend a little Osama time in the land of perpetual summer time?
Do you know what I go through just to see the show you infidels take for granted? It must be taped off a secure satellite feed by one of my operatives, and then smuggled inside his rectum as he traverses the unforgiving Afghan terrain to whatever cave or modest safe house I am inhabiting that day. All this, so that I may re-immerse myself in the travails of the Jew Seth Cohen and the Christian Ryan Atwood? (Don’t even get me started on Chrismukkah: I love it, but I don’t even know which part of that holiday I’d want to destroy first if I had the chance.)
While I enjoy the jihad thing, the best part of my week is watching The O.C. while eating some sugar free SnackWell Cookies which have also been smuggled to my lair in someone’s rectum. (What? I do not judge your infidel food—and I saw Supersize Me!)
Now do you understand why I often appear cranky and irritable in the videos I send to Al Jazeera? I am usually mad because my holy soldiers are so often captured or killed by your army as they make their way to me with my tapes! I have missed whole plot arcs—and I would thank you not to tell them to me, I fully intend to see them eventually—and while reading infidel websites like Television Without Pity help, it is just not the same. I want my O.C., and without it, Osama becomes a grumpy Gus!
Let me be truthful with you: I am very ill and the only thing that is keeping me alive at this point is The O.C.. I have been going through the motions of hating America for over a year now (frankly, you can all fuck yourselves, I’m so over you), but what keeps me going is this show, this popular culture phenomenon that we share together.
It’s actually quite nice to be a part of something, instead of always being on the outside looking in. I do not know you, but because of The O.C., I feel we could be friends. Maybe we can IM a bit after the show tonight, if you’re not too busy? If not, I can come visit you soon at your home.
Actually, I can almost guarantee you that I will be visiting you at your home soon. I hope you have some sugar free SnackWell Cookies. I do love them so.
Actually, I’ve never seen The O.C.; I’m sure it’s pretty good.
The O.C. airs Thursday nights at 8PM EST on FOX.
Earlier: Other thoughts on The O.C

You need to set your away message right now because it’s almost 8 o’clock and you have to watch The O.C. because it’s Thursday and it’s on right now. Kelsey says she’ll text you later, and next thing you know, you’re down in the den, sprawled out alone on the couch, your eyes glued religiously to the sights of Seth Cohen and Marissa Cooper being introduced onscreen as you strain to hear the sounds of Phantom Planet singing plaintively about what is totally your favorite state, and you totally said that to Mr. Roberts last week when he was running through the geography prep quiz in fourth period, and he chuckled because he’s so old and doesn’t even watch TV, probably.
Whatever, because when they show Summer Roberts on the TV you always cringe! She looks just like your sister Justine, who graduated from law school at Berkeley two years ago, and it was called Boalt, and anyway she is so much older than you, and Mom always rubs that in, because Mom is 57, and Justine is 27, and you were Mom’s “surprise” 12 years ago and so you’re totally able to stay up later than both Mom and Dad because they go to bed so early. Like, they’ll probably be asleep by the time The O.C.‘s over. Justine’s almost like your Mom anyway, because she always talks about how she was the one who changed your diapers and babysat you when you were a crying infant, and she totally wrote about that in her law school applications, about how that early responsibility had made her a strong leader, and you’re so sick of hearing it, but you still love her because she’s your sister.
Also Mom keeps saying to be nice to her, too, because Justine is sterile and her uterus doesn’t work properly and she can’t have children of her own, so raising you comes a close second in her book, that’s what Mom says, and you also overheard Justine talking about it with her last year when she visited over Christmas. And that’s why Justine has a job at this place called UNICEF where she says they help kids in other countries. Maybe even Mr. Roberts would know where they are? Whatever! You’re all about Newport Beach.
Ryan is being such a jerk this week.
The Summer Roberts girl’s sweet like your sister too, but Kelsey always tells you every single Friday before homeroom how much she likes Summer on the show, and you’re tired of your sister, and also Summer, too. Maybe Summer can’t have kids too? Anyway she’s too young and she’s not going to have babies yet anyway. You hope you can have kids someday, unlike Justine, and you’re going to rub it in her face when you do, and she’s an old lady. You get bored when they cut to the stories about Sandy and Kirsten, though they seem like a cool Mom and Dad. Marissa is totally your favorite one on The O.C., because she tries so hard, you know? That’s really important, you think. And you forgot to put your away message on, and you’re still signed on, because you can hear IM’s coming in on the computer in the hallway. It’s probably just Grant, and you don’t even like him anymore anyway. You totally never did, and that was all a big mistake anyway, he doesn’t even watch The O.C.
Actually, I’ve never seen The O.C.: I’m sure it’s pretty good.
The O.C. airs at 8PM EST on FOX.
Earlier: Additional OC-centric material…

You’re looking good lately. Really nice, even. Those pecs…you’re packed tight, man. Nicely chiseled. You’re working out, aren’t you? Yeah. You are.
It’s reassuring to know you can watch The O.C. every Thursday night while you’re on the stairmaster at Bally’s 24-Hour-Fitness, plugged in to little more than a set of earbuds and, don’t you know it, an entire world of opulent gorgeousness. This is the sort of drama you dream about mindlessly as you polish the sweat from your glistening calves. Of course, the television sets lined up next to the one blaring FOX’s hottest second-season property may try and distract you with their depictions of a smirking Bill O’Reilly or some aging Matt LeBlanc character study, but you won’t be swayed. You understand guys like Tate Donovan, you really do.
He looks a lot like that guy who comes in on Tuesdays. That guy. He lingers around the benches for about thirty minutes. Eyes you as he pulls up his socks around his shins. You’re sure he’s the most beautiful man you’ve laid eyes upon…at least at this gym, right? Ha. You know what I’m saying. You’re a total pro.
And Catherine keeps calling you from the car. You just know she’ll be home before you, destined to get off early from her freelance gig at Leo Burnett. Why don’t you tell her about this guy? This perfect specimen of O.C.-esque beauty laying out in front of you, his arms pushing and pulling on the bars of a free-weight machine, such that you’re just positive what he’s doing with those lifts could “plug-n-play” nicely with your own frame.
You’re glistening, again. Sweating. Excited. And Catherine keeps on fucking calling you, and you just let it go to voicemail. What the fuck, right? Let her bring something back from Koo-Koo-Roo or California Pizza Kitchen for the two of you to eat later that night. The fuck if you care, right? You’re all over this guy. All over him. And he’s reading you just right.
Time to towel off, then. You nod at each other. It’s not even like some obscure code anymore. You know the drill. And he doesn’t even bother wrapping himself in a towel as the two of you leave the gym’s shower and head to the back lockers. Again, you know the drill. And, fuck, it’s a good thing Catherine doesn’t, right? God, would your life be over, or what?
And speaking of, you better finish up in here. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry. Right there. Sharp, so sharp. This may or may not be the world’s longest commercial break, but you don’t want to miss seeing the end result of Marissa’s hooking up with the pool boy. Pool boys. So perfect. So very, very right.
Actually, I’ve never seen The O.C.: I’m sure it’s pretty good.
The O.C. airs at 8PM EST on FOX.
Earlier: Obligatory Pop Culture Entry to Prove We Haven’t Become Humorless Prigs; O.C.D.; The O.C.: Your One and Only Friend; The O.C.: Your ‘Not Guilty’ Pleasure.

God, it’s so weird being home for Thanksgiving: sleeping in that narrow little bed, feeling like you have to ask permission to go for a drive like you’re a teenager even though you’re twenty-nine.
It’s even weirder now that you’re divorced. Everyone’s being all cool and polite about it, which makes it a little easier to be here alone for the first time since high school. Your “funny” uncle hasn’t made a single joke about wanting the money for that fondue set he got you and your ex from Crate & Barrel, and even your usually snide little sister hugged you a little longer and asked, “How are you, sis?”
Sure, your mom cut out an article from The Times ‘Style’ section on “starter marriages” (never mind that the article was printed before your wedding hit the skids last winter in Aspen—has mom been saving it all this time?), and she keeps offering you herbal tea and wanting to talk. You can tolerate it, especially since she paid for your ticket home.
But there’s one hour Thursday night when they all better steer clear of you: 8 PM EST, when The O.C. airs.
If any of those fuckers even tries to talk to you during The O.C., you’re going to explode in a screaming fit, thrashing about and destroying your father’s fancy new stereo and reducing your mother’s precious Hummels to dust. For real: no jury in the land would convict a 29 year-old divorcée for killing her entire family on Thanksgiving night if they knew that all she wanted to do was watch The O.C.
Shit. Now you’ll need a good lawyer. Not one of those awful public defenders with dandruff and a baggy, hand-me-down Brooks Brothers suit. (Can’t you get it tailored—it only costs like forty bucks?) You’ll need one of those slick ones who do pro bono work, especially for still pretty women accused of crimes of passion. Maybe he’ll even be sexy like Peter Gallagher on The O.C.
After a long, public trial, dutifully covered in People and on CNN (“Whoa, is that Dominick Dunne in the audience of my murder trial?”), you’d be acquitted when your motive is fully explained: Not guilty by reason of O.C.
It’ll be hard to put the trial behind you (and, you know, the death of your whole family, including your “funny” uncle), but you’ve always been remarkably strong. You pride yourself on having only cried at work once—that goddamn toner got all over your skirt, it wasn’t your fault—and even when your ex was playing all those sadistic mind games, you never once threw it in his face that you knew it would be a bad idea to marry a Jew. (Situational anti-Semitism: so weak.)
Yes, you are a strong, independent woman, and now that your murder trial is behind you, you will fulfill your destiny by finding a nice man and bearing his children. But there’s something you need to do first: you need to go to the video store and buy the DVDs of the last two seasons of The O.C., since you sort of lost track of the show while you were in jail. Today is the first day of the rest of your life, and The O.C. is there for you, unlike those dead jerks in your family. Now, who does a woman have to kill around here to get some service at this fucking Blockbuster?
Actually, I’ve never seen The O.C.: I’m sure it’s pretty good.
The O.C. airs at 8PM EST on FOX
Earlier: Obligatory Pop Culture Entry to Prove We Haven’t Become Humorless Prigs; O.C.D.; The O.C.: Your One and Only Friend.

Yeah, you’ve kinda lost your edge. You’re still listening to that Spin Doctors CD from college and you couldn’t tell the difference between The Hives and The Vines if your life depended on it. (And back-channel al Qaeda chatter indicates that millions of Americans’ lives may, in fact, depend on knowing the difference between these two bands.)
That’s what’s so great about The O.C. You can feel cool again, plugged in. When you watch The O.C., you feel like one of the cool kids, instead of a paunchy, weak-kneed loser sliding into a wide, ugly middle age of quiet desperation, which is what you are.
But, man, for that hour The O.C. is on, you’re that kid in the front row at the pep rally, applauding for your incredibly cute girlfriend, the head cheerleader. Sometimes your dumb friends make jokes about her being the head cheerleader, but screw ’em, they’re just jealous. You guys are a good couple and nothing’s gonna come between you. I mean, not until college at least.
College is gonna be great. No parents! No dumb rules or homework! Will you pledge a fraternity? Maybe! Will you finally get to have a threesome? Maybe! Will you make friends for life who will support you, care about you, hook you up with awesome jobs when you graduate? Maybe!
Then again, maybe not. Those guys are so selfish. None of them return your calls and the last time you hung out with them, they made fun of your job, your Today’s Man suit, and your studio apartment. Such snobs. Maybe you should call that girl you dated in high school, that cheerleader you dumped freshman year of college when you were sure you’d be getting tons of dorm room nookie.
What, she’s married now? To whom? That guy from your fraternity? Goddamnit! Those jerks! Well, there’s always The O.C. Now you feel better, don’t you, ya fuckin’ loser?
Actually, I’ve never seen The O.C.; I’m sure it’s pretty good.
The O.C. airs at 8PM EST on FOX.
Earlier: O.C.D.; Obligatory Pop Culture Entry To Prove We Haven’t Become Humorless Prigs.

As 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?

The O.C. is back! Dude, The O.C. is totally, totally back!
And not a minute too soon. Nothing makes me forget the difficulties of being an adult than watching a bunch of attractive actors play out fantasy scenarios of the awesome teen years I never had. After a long day of commuting to work, being belittled and humiliated by employers, forced into small talk with ignorant coworkers, trips to the ATM to see you have less money than yesterday, skimming magazines and seeing images of a good life you will never be able to attain, and commuting home to your tiny, over-priced hovel for another night with the partner you’ve settled on, nothing speaks to you like The O.C., baby!
Guys, isn’t it so awesome that you can ogle the chicks on the show even though they’re underage? It’s like an hour-long suspension of all known statutory rape laws. They’re so much younger than your wife or girlfriend, and it’s a lot safer than talking to girls in AOL chat-rooms or flirting with your daughter’s friends. And you can totally masturbate to it if you watch it in your den with the door closed.
And ladies, isn’t it so great that you get to be in love with that nerd character, even though when you were in high school, you would’ve wanted nothing to do with him and probably spent the majority of your day making his life a living hell? But compared to your insensitive, foul-smelling, hairy-backed manchild of a husband or boyfriend, the so-called man who makes love to you with the repetitive, passionless finesse of a Punch Press, that O.C. geek is like prince charming. You even cut his photo out of Entertainment Weekly. You are too cute!
God, when did your life start to suck so bad that the completely fictional lives of imaginary rich kids become the ultimate escape? If you think about, you almost want to cry. You almost want to shoot yourself with a diamond bullet that would tear you apart, shattering the numbing boredom of your life, the endless trips to the gas station, the loading and unloading of the washing machine, the mortgage payments, the judgmental glares of all those people who think they’re better than you even though you try your best to be a good person, the microwaved leftovers that are still cold in the middle, that feeling you have after three beers on a Sunday, sitting on the couch not quite drunk but dimly aware that this is it, this is all there is to your life. And you’re, what, 32? Jesus.
Yay! The O.C.! Yay!!!
Okay, that was a complete failure. I’ve never even seen The O.C.. I’m sure it’s pretty good.
The O.C. airs 8PM EST, on FOX.