Previously on Dawson's Creek: Dawson "saved" Pacey and Jen; The Flash encouraged Dawson's delusions of persecution while the two of them creepily watched Pacey and Joey kiss; Gretchen nagged Dawson about his broken friendship with Pacey; Jen reacted with distaste when Drue informed her that he now lives in Capeside, and -- hold onto those socks! -- Drue made an unfunny comment; Pacey picked a fight with Joey about becoming "some townie."
Fade up in the Sanctum Josephinorum. Joey "Braless Mahoney" Potter, seated at her desk and wearing a Maybelline-commercial-y sleeveless button-down, does homework; Pacey "Buzz Bin" Witter complains that he's "bored." "Good," Joey chirps, not looking up. Pacey complains that he thought he'd get more concern out of her, "in light of the recent tragedy [he's] suffered." Look, nobody likes talking to Dawson, but let's not overdram -- ohhhh, he means the sinking of the "True Love." My mistake. Anyway, Joey tells him that he could use a little boredom for exactly that reason. No, I don't know what that means either. Pacey whines about having to advance The Anvil Of Literary Parallelism, i.e. "read George Orwell's 1984," since the future in the book is already the past. Joey eye-rolls that everyone's future eventually becomes the past. Pacey continues to crab that 1984 already happened, "big whoop," yadda yadda. Joey points out all meta-whatever that Pacey wouldn't know, since he spent 1984 "in diapers," and Pacey says he learned it from "VH1's Behind The Music, thank you very much," and perhaps the writers might want to avoid reminding the viewing audience of all the superior programming they could have chosen to watch instead of this hour of dreck, but hey, what do I know. Joey smiles indulgently as Pacey continues to ramble that people spend their whole lives worrying about what the future will bring, and when the future arrives, they find out they needn't have bothered, and as The Skillet Of This Episode's Theme makes resounding contact with my skull, Pacey blathers something about Boy George and tosses a pillow off of Joey's bed. On the bed, he spots a stack of college application materials, which he asks Joey about. She acts all shady and mumbles that it's "junk mail," and Pacey throws me a shout-out by asking, "You get junk mail from Princeton University?" Heh. Not until after she graduates and they start hitting her up for the Annual Fund, she doesn't. Joey blows it off, saying that "it comes from everywhere" and it "doesn't mean anything," and she laughingly adds that she'd never go to most of these places, and she pronounces "Valparaiso" wrong and says it's "in like Brazil or something." Yeah. Brazil, Indiana. Shut up, Joey. Anyway, her attempt to soft-pedal the subject doesn't work; Pacey prompts her, "But you're gonna go somewhere." After much looking at Pacey and looking away and trying to think of something to say, she shrugs flirtatiously, "Well, not right this second," and she smiles broadly and falsely. Pacey smiles back, but sadly. Joey plunks herself down in his lap and says that "it's early yet anyway," and muses that "maybe I'll just go to one of those fictional colleges, you know? Like on one of those lame high-school TV shows that go on for way too long and then, just in time to save the franchise, all of a sudden it turns out that there's this amazing world-class college that's right around the corner where all the principal characters are accepted." Hey, didn't that happen on ? Because I don't think I get it. Oh, wait. I do. I do get it. I GET IT. Joey kisses Pacey and says that, "just to be safe," they should probably apply to other schools anyway, and he nods tolerantly, and they smooch some more as we go to credits.
Cat in pot of boiling water.
Okay, remixing the AOL "you've got mail" guy doesn't make AOL any less feeble.
Cue up the college-stress montage. In the college counselor's office, Jen "Hit The Road, Mack" Lindley, looking extremely over-self-tanned, promises to stop procrastinating on the college apps. Quick cut to Jack "My Subplot Is Dead, Long Live My Subplot" McPhee talking about football taking up his time, and he knows it won't help him get into college (yeah, right), but he started "this thing" and he wants to finish it…to Andie "One Foot In The Grave" McPhee saying that she's finished all her apps (of course) and what a relief, blah blah blah…to Joey complaining that there's a weight around her neck…to Dawson "Grease Pointe Blank" Leery whining that everyone expects him to go to film school, which he might or might not do…to Pacey objecting to the aptitude tests that place him in law enforcement…to Jack making with the funny when the counselor tells him his sister thinks he's falling behind in the application process…to Andie asking, "Are you sure there's nothing else I should be doing? Couldn't we call, or something?" You get the idea. All of them have gotten fed up with answering questions on, and thinking about, their futures. Much as we have, only three minutes into the ep.
At last, the keeee-razy editing pauses on Joey, who confides that she's the first person in her family even to apply to college. The counselor tells her that that works in her favor; elite schools look for people "with diverse backgrounds." Then she tells her that she's at the top of her class. "The top top?" Joey asks, trying to smother a grin. "Number four," the counselor tells her, adding that her board scores "are phenomenal" and she can get in almost anywhere in the country. Joey looks pleased for a moment, then narrows her eyes and asks, "And this must be where the 'but' comes in." The counselor explains that the Ivies, Georgetown, Stanford, and Duke "only accept a minuscule amount [sic] of the people that apply," and hardly anyone gets a full scholarship. All right, first of all, it's "minuscule number." Learn predicate agreement, please. Second of all -- hello. Ever heard of Sallie Mae? Rotary Club scholarships? National Merit Scholarships? Work-study programs? A little organization I like to call "the federal government"? True, the Ivies don't give full scholarships, to anyone, because they don't have to, but if a promising student is admitted, the admissions office and the bursar will bend over backwards to help that student come up with the money. I probably shouldn't talk -- I got a full ride myself, courtesy of The Dad Fund -- but almost everyone I knew at Princeton had financial help from an outside source. A good college counselor helps the kids get in and then helps them deal with the cost, instead of shooting their hopes down right away. And finally, fourth in the class in a public high school gives you carte blanche. Don't any of these writers have kids? Friends with kids? People who work at schools? A telephone? Anything? This isn't top-secret information. Everyone on our forums knows it. God forbid they develop a story arc using information that actually holds up under even the lightest scrutiny. Christ, I hate this show.
Aaaaaaanyway. Joey asks if the college counselor means that she's set her sights too high. The counselor calls it "a crapshoot," and says that she thinks Joey is "smart and talented" enough to get into the elite schools, but that Joey should prepare herself for potential disappointment. That's not bad advice, but…still. Joey smiles thinly.
Outside, Drue "My Bloody" Valentine hails Jen as "Jenny." She doesn't respond, so he asks if people don't call her that anymore. "Not since I left the 212 area code," she huffs, speed-walking in order to escape him. Drue offers to walk her home, or carry her books, or "get a soda at the malt shop"; more non-funny jokes at the expense of Capeside's non-nightlife ensue. Jen tells him, in so many words, to go away. Drue complains that he's stuck in a "one-horse town" with "no decent Chinese food," and he'd expected a warmer welcome from Jen. Blah blah blah why doesn't Jen introduce Drue to her friends blah blah blah her friends already knew him but didn't mention that to Jen blah blah blah he wanted to "soak up some secondhand impressions" of her, blah blah blah fishcakes. Drue wants to catch up on old times; he missed her, he says. Jen doesn't buy it, saying that he didn't miss her, he missed the fact that she'd do whatever drugs he bought "in Washington Square Park." If you try to buy drugs in Washington Square Park, you get busted by an undercover cop. It's been that way since 1995. Whatever. Drue says that not all the Ecstasy he bought "turned out to be sinus medication" -- heh -- and complains that Jen makes it sound like they never had any fun. Jen snits that she doesn't have that kind of fun anymore and again tries to cut him off at the knees; Drue says he digs "this whole hip-to-be-square thing" she's got going, and he just wants to hang out, "what do you say?" Jen says no, never, not ever, and breezes off with Drue still trailing behind.
International House Of Fishcakes. Gretchen "Just Tell Us, Already" Witter, wearing a loud seventies-Cher-vintage halter that makes her boobs even bigger; Dawson, his hair plastered down like the bastard child of roof thatching and WD-40. "Fish-related crisis." Gretchen is interviewing for a bartending job at the IHOF. Feeble and untimely Coyote Ugly joke. Gretchen needs this job. Enter Gale "Anchors Aweigh" Leery, kitted out in a thirty-years-too-young-for-her Delia's tank top, no bra, newswoman hair, and Edie Sedgwick lipstick, to quiz Gretchen on her "plans for school," since Gale wants to hire someone permanent. Dawson looms over Gretchen all Mr. Nose as she stammers out that she's in Capeside "indefinitely." Gale asks if there's a reason for that, like, butt out, Gale! "Not a very interesting one," Gretchen mumbles, and based on the unreasonably long and melodramatic build-up to said reason, I'd have to agree. Just out with it already. Anyway, Gale asks if Gretchen can start the day. Gretchen can. Gretchen beams at Dawson. Dawson beams back smugly. Gretchen is forty. Dawson is fugly. I am very, very bored.
Mitch "The Flash" Leery bawls out the football team, addressing them as "gentlemen." Shut up, Knute Schlockne. Whistle fweeping. Jack makes a catch. The Flash tells them to "take five." Jack gasps for breath, winded after running a four-second running pattern and catching a girly throw from a production assistant off-camera. In other words, whatever. Andie waves at Jack from the sidelines in her "Laura Ashley Presents: Louis Braille Creations" dress; in the background, we hear The Flash telling the team to drink water because he doesn't want them "cramping up out there." Hey, The Flash? Shut up. Shut up a lot. And don't say "cramping" out loud, ever. And shut up. Jack drags ass over to Andie, who tells him that he'll never believe what happened. Then she just stands there, and Jack has to ask her, "Something good, something bad, what?" Andie says that Miss Watson, the college advisor, "actually called Harvard" on Andie's behalf. Yeah, right. Because early-action apps didn't just get turned in, like, two weeks ago. And because admissions officers don't explicitly tell you NOT to do that. And because Andie's application wouldn't get bounced into the "no way, no day" tray as a result. Oh, I'm sorry -- they did, they do, and she's toast. But I guess I have to climb back onto the running board of The Suspension-Of-Disbeliefmobile for another bout of carsickness ["On that tip, I was recently delighted to discover, the
HREF="http://www.dawsonscreek.com/" TARGET="_new">official DC site actually has a whole section -- linked from the homepage, no less -- devoted to the show's 'Logic Leaps.' Heh." -- Wing Chun], because Andie goes on to say that the woman Miss Watson spoke with told her that everything "looked good," and she remembered Andie's essay. Andie squeals about that for a bit; Jack arches a brow and says warily, "That's great, Andie." Just then, The Flash grumps at Jack that "break's over, let's go," so Jack has to go. Andie chirps nonsensically while I struggle to care, and fail. Jack returns to the scrimmage. Kerr Smith's body double sails through the air to catch a pass. Jack lands on his shoulder and dislocates it.
In the hallway the day, Jack has a sling on his left arm, and Andie -- clad in a pair of Capri pants scrounged from the bottom of Phyllis Diller's closet -- accidentally bumps into it. Ow, sorry, ow, sorry. Oh, the gifted physical comedy. Oh, not. Jen says that the shoulder looks a lot worse than Jack led her to believe, and Dawson says The Flash said Jack wasn't even coming to school that day, but Jack grumbles that "it's fine, it's nothing." He and Andie tell the others about the gross sound the shoulder made when they popped it back in, and Andie says that ER "does not prepare you" for that. Again, writers, don't tempt me to switch over to the rerun on TNT.
A random Mitch-from-Dazed & Confused clone comes up and tells Jack he's "sorry about the shoulder." Jack thanks him. Mitch and the gang just stand there. "Is there anything else we can help you with?" Dawson snips. Shut up, Dawson. And by the way, you don't want an answer to that. Mitch and his friends shift from foot to foot and wonder "if the party was still on." "What party?" Jen asks. Mitch worries that the party's actually "a surprise or somethin'." Andie asks, "Is what a surprise?" A scrawn comes up, slings an arm around Jen, and oozes, "Happy birthday, Lindley," and then high-fives his friend: "Party tonight, dude!" "You know it, dude!" Andie chastises Jen for not telling her about her birthday, and Jack and Jen explain to her that it's not actually Jen's birthday, and Dawson gets all superior and notes that, while it's not her birthday, "people who call each other 'dude' seem to be attending your birthday party. You might wanna look into that." I call everyone "dude," including my mother, and I know I should stop it with that, but still -- shut up, Dawson. And speaking of things to look into, how about "looking into" a bottle of Salon Selectives, Grease's Pieces? "Yeah, huh," Jen laughs before walking away. Weird shot of Dawson wiggling his mouth.
Over at the PB&B, Joey walks outside to sit by Bessie "Sole Proprietrix" Potter on the lawn and asks if Bessie can decipher an anxiety dream Joey had. Bessie, who has an unfortunate 1961-vintage Shirley Jones flip going on, tells her it means she should stop "stressing" about college -- she'll get in "someplace great," she'll get a whole whack of financial aid, "and everything'll be perfect." Joey thought so too until her meeting with Miss Watson the day before, when she found out that she's fourth in the class. Bessie lights up and tells her, "Joey, that's amazing!" but Joey says that the places she thought she wanted to apply to all want fourth in the class and a concert violinist, or fourth in the class and winner of the Westinghouse Science prize, or fourth in the class and "legacies like Andie." Ouch. Maybe she shouldn't even bother; maybe she's "just wasting the application fees." "Your defeatist attitude has got to go," Bessie tells her (roger that, sister), and asks what Pacey says, like, WHO CARES what Pacey says? She's SEVENTEEN. She's not going to MARRY the guy, and she shouldn't consult him for college advice ANYWAY, and if I'd offered a boyfriend's opinion as to my college choices, my parents would have sent me to Connecticut for deprogramming. Anyway, Joey can't talk to Pacey about it; he's barely going to graduate himself, and if she shares her worries about this with him, he'll think she's whiny and pathetic. Bessie joins me in rolling her eyes before reminding Joey that going to one of the top schools could give her opportunities she's always dreamed about, "right?" Joey sulkily allows that that's true. "So your dreams are your dreams, Joey," Bessie tells her. "You can't apologize for them." Word. Joey makes melted-wax face; Bessie urges her to talk to Pacey: "You'll probably find out they're his dreams too." Aw, Bessie -- you had me until then. Joey looks sad. Bessie tries out for the International Coffee ad campaign.
If I have to sit through this The Legend Of Crapper Vance trailer one more time, I don't know what.
Locker-cam. Jen comes up behind Drue and bitches him out for throwing her a non-birthday party. "Birthday non-party"? Oh, who cares. Jen crabs about how she's spent the school day "fielding" birthday wishes from strangers, and how her French class sang to her "in French." Ah, yes. "Bonne anniversaire à toi" and runny Brie. I remember that crap. Anyway, Drue gladhands his way down the hall and talks up the party to Jen, saying that it's a great way for him "to meet people," and it'll make up for all the partying time they lost since she left New York, not to mention get her out of the funk she's been in "since Phantom Freshman dumped" her. Ouch. Jen snaps that first of all, Henry didn't dump her -- she dumped Henry. "Technicality," Drue shrugs. Snerk. She goes on that "this isn't a funk, it's my personality." Hee! Drue makes a face and drawls, "Harsh." On and on this goes. Drue says that "people are sheep," something he says that "the old Jen Lindley used to know," and they need a reason to celebrate, which he provides -- but not, alas, by leaving the show with all due haste. Jen: I ain't goin.' Drue: You can't miss your own birthday. Jen: It's not my birthday. Drue: But everyone thinks it's your birthday. Jen: I can and will kill you. Drue: See you at eight, sucker. Sars: [Zzzzzz.]
Streets of Capeside. Andie tries to bright-side it for Jack, saying that the shoulder injury will give him more time to work on his applications. Jack tells her to "lay off the lectures" for now, or at least until he gets some painkillers into him. Motion seconded; motion approved. Andie agrees, but then stops him short to suggest that he use it as "a really great essay topic." He makes "yeah, yeah, whatever" noises and asks if they can go home. Andie says soon, she has to get a birthday present for Jen first. It's not her birthday, Jack points out. Andie knows, but "it seems kinda rude" to show up without a gift. Jack glares at her.
IHOF. Gale, wearing a Hallmark paper napkin, sets a plate down in front of Dawson, who says with a tight-lipped smile, "I'm never eating a home-cooked meal again, am I?" No, Slick, because your mother doesn't exist to see to your comforts. ["Or, yes, when you realize that seventeen is plenty old enough to open your own damn can of soup." -- Wing Chun] Also, shut up. Anyway, Gale says -- a lot more pleasantly than my mother would have -- that he'll just have to settle "for four-star gourmet cuisine." As if…nah, forget it. Too easy. Dawson comments that Gretchen seems to be working out so far, and there's a shot of Gretchen's boobs cinched into a belly-baring tie-top paisley shirt, which so isn't appropriate work-wear for a so-called four-star so-called gourmet so-called restaurant, but ANYHOW, then Gale worries that Gretchen won't stick around for very long and wonders why Gretchen isn't "furthering her education" instead of tending bar in Capeside. Go take a pregnancy test, Nosy Grier -- it's none of your business.
"Because maybe college isn't the be-all and end-all that parents make it out to be," Dawson smugs, putting away a notebook. Gale looks annoyed (and it's about damn time) as Dawson turns up his nose at "those great books nobody reads" ["Speak for yourself, proud member of the Illiterati; I know plenty of people who read them because they were in my class" -- Wing Chun] and describes college as "a holding pen for eighteen- to twenty-two-year-olds." Gale hopes that Dawson is only saying these things to "get a rise out of" her; Dawson says that people don't go to college to learn, they go to drink beer and get laid. Except he says it a lot more pretentiously than that. He also uses the word "commingle," and pronounces it incorrectly. And he's fugly. And nobody would commingle with his XXXL ass anyway. Shut up, Dawson. Gale says she doesn't know how she wound up with the only seventeen-year-old in the country who thinks "that's a bad thing." "I'm not opposed to those things," Dawson says primly, picking up his cutlery. "I'm just saying I think the whole idea of higher education is a little bit of a misnomer. You know -- I think people should call things what they are." Oh, where to begin -- shall we start with you, Hydrocephalus Fuglicus? And by the way, you can't call an idea a "misnomer." You can call a term a misnomer, but that's not what you said, because you don't know the fucking language, so fucking SHUT UP. Gale sucks her teeth: "Like when people running away from their problems, they should admit they're running away from their problems?" Zing! Dawson gets a "busted" look, but asks if she's talking about "somebody we know?" Gale and The Flash have noticed that the applications in the mail all come from faraway zip codes. Dawson snipes that it must never have occurred to them that their "movie-obsessed son" might go to California for school. Well, since said son makes a snotty point of reminding everyone that he's no longer movie-obsessed…but Gale skips over that and pointedly says that she and The Flash don't care where he goes to school, "as long as that's what you really want," and he shouldn't make a decision that will affect the rest of his life "based on the wrong criteria [sic]." Dawson sighs, "Like?" Like trying to put an entire continent between himself "and a certain girl [they] both know," Gale says gently. Dawson looks down. ["If I were Gale, I'd be grateful I lived in the same town as that girl, and that it would put a continent between Duh-son and me. But then, if I were Gale, I'd have drowned his giant melon in the creek years ago." -- Wing Chun] ["And you'd dress your age. And wear a bra. And stay divorced from Steroid Annie. There's really no applying logic to Gale's life." -- Sars]
Cut to said girl asking Pacey not to laugh at her or tell her to get over herself if she admits to what's bothering her. Oh, goody -- more pointless what's-wrong-nothing-tell-me-it's-nothing-okay-then-well-actually-it's-this-that's-wrong-why-didn't-you-just-tell-me-I'm-sorry fun times. Pacey agrees not to give her any shit. Joey is fourth in the class. Pacey doesn't think that's a problem, but rather "a reason to quit studying." Joey doesn't know why she bothers, she knew he wouldn't understand, blah bling blah, he apologizes and tells her to start over, and he pulls her into his lap while saying that he doesn't think that's what's really bothering her. Joey yammers on about always thinking that, if she did well in school, "these doors would open" for her, but maybe she's naïve and hasn't set realistic goals for herself. Pacey is blatantly not listening. Joey realizes this after a few more sentences, and calls him on it; he protests that he was in fact listening, but that everyone should have Joey's problems, and she's got one of the brightest futures of anyone her age, while he's not going to get into any school "where they don't give him his own tools." Then he gives her a "lighten up" smile. She regards him in silence, then gets out of his lap, saying, "Put on your shoes, let's go out." Pacey accuses her of bailing when the conversation gets "emotionally complex," adding, "Who's the guy in this relationship?" Like, ha ha. Not. After a little more battle-of-the-sexes tripe, Joey tells him that he can stay in her room, or they can both go to Jen's un-birthday party. She leaves. "Right, I'll get my shoes," Pacey mutters, in a tight close-up that doesn't do his skin any favors.
Non-birthday party. Tons of kids, blasting music, the usual. Jen, arms crossed over her chest all hostile body language, walks in the front door with Dawson, spots Drue, and starts bitching elaborately about him, including a reference to Drue convincing people "that he's the sausage king of Chicago," like, please please leave John Hughes out of this -- he suffered enough for his sins with Curly Sue. Dawson asks "the inevitable question." "Was he my boyfriend? No," Jen says quickly. "Was he an indiscretion? Yes." Dawson laughs knowingly. Shut up, Dawson. Jen adds that she's not sure "what [Drue] remembers -- we were both chemically altered at the time," and that's all she has to say on the subject. Dawson smiles condescendingly. Shot of Drue passing out cups of punch.
Pacey and Joey wind through the crowd. Drue greets them. Non-witty repartee. Drue hands them both cups. Pacey takes Joey's away from her: "It is a proven fact that you, Madame, cannot handle your alcohol." Joey glares at him and asks if it's his contention that he can drink, but she can't. Yes, he says, because, as she pointed out, he's a guy, and if he's getting yelled at for it, he should "get to act like" a guy once in a while. As a woman who could whip most men's butts at quarters, closed down East Village bars every weekend once upon a time, and on one occasion took eleven shots of vodka in an hour and a half and didn't even puke, and whose mother could and did drink fraternity brothers under the table, I'd like to object to the inherent sexism here. I don't endorse heavy drinking, but you don't have to have a dick to do it. All right, then.
So Joey just seethes at Pacey, who promptly backs down and yammers about getting Joey's approval, and he'd never drink without asking her first, and instead of getting even more sickened by his neediness, Joey actually smiles all satisfied. Whatever! Not Siamese twins! "That's fine," she says, setting her jaw. Pacey, surprised: "It is?" "Yeah. We'll both be guys tonight. Cheers," and she walks off, sipping from her punch. Pacey follows her like a whipped dog. Whatever, whatever, whatever. Cut the cord, the both of you.
"Bedazzled is hilarious!" Yeah, and I'm James Earl Jones.
I'm not really James Earl Jones. Just, you know, wanted to make that clear.
More party fun times. Girls in bikinis by the pool; token minority extras with SuperSoakers. Jen confronts Drue: "This isn't your house, is it?" Drue is "shocked" that she'd think such a thing, and dryly accuses her of ingratitude, but Jen thinks he didn't throw the party at his own house because, if the party gets busted, Jen gets blamed, because the partygoers won't remember who invited them; they'll only remember that it's a party for Jen. Drue glibs a little, then admits bitterly that it isn't his house, and "maybe [his] house…isn't even a house." Jen snarks at him some more. Drue goes to hang with the drunken shirtless idiots in lounge chairs.
Joey, a cross-eyed look of tipsy concentration on her face, sloshes herself another cupful of punch. As she raises the cup to her lips, Dawson cracks, "So, number four with a bullet, huh?" Joey glares unsteadily at him and asks how he knows that. Dawson smirks that "Kenny Reiling and his friends have already established a betting pool." Color me impressed that the writers actually used a name from seasons past! But not that impressed. Joey rolls her eyes and semi-slurs, "Kind of pathetic, isn't it," and talks about spending twelve years "being a total control freak about school" and practically giving herself an ulcer and doing a ton of extra credit projects, and it only gets her -- she raises her cup -- "fourth," and flops down in a seat. "Joey, fourth is amazing," Dawson tells her, standing over her and adding that "the race isn't even over yet." Fixing her with a smitten gaze -- ecchhh -- he asks if she's celebrating. "Yeah," she snorts, "the future -- whoopee!" Dawson sits down and tells her that, with her grades and SAT scores, she can go anywhere she wants to, but Joey grumps that she'd just like to "make small talk without the subject of college coming up," and asks sarcastically if he's not going to ask her where she sees herself in five years. "I don't have to," Dawson smarms. "Aren't you the same girl who wanted to be an anthropologist or an oceanographer?" She's also the same girl who "wanted to be" an artist, so whatever. Joey rolls her eyes and asks him if he knows how little money anthropologists make, and then tells him that she only said that "to get [his] goat." "Goat"? Dawson looks mildly dismayed as she continues, "I mean, your buttons are so easy to push -- well, were so easy." Ha! Looks good on you, ass (tm Wing Chun).
Dawson arches a brow and asks if that means she has no desire to do anything or go anywhere in her life, that she'd "be just as happy hanging around here in Capeside," and she closes her eyes in a mixture of weariness and drunkenness and slops that she didn't say that, and he shouldn't put words in her mouth. "I'm just trying to figure out why someone who's about to reap the benefits of something she's worked for her entire life -- she's trying to drown herself in 80-proof fruit punch," Dawson murmurs. Joey rolls her eyes again and turns away: "Look, don't do this, Dawson." Word. Go talk down to someone else. Dawson, shocked that his emotional manipulation doesn't work on her for once, passive-aggressives, "Okay. Cheers," and walks away. Joey watches him go with a big old "whatever" face.
Drue and friends set up a table and start dealing out poker hands. Drue needles Pacey -- does he want to play, or does he have to ask permission from "old ball and chain" first? Pacey can't even find the old ball and chain. Drue says he saw her talking to Dawson; cut to Pacey's stony face as Drue corrects himself that "she took a walk with the birthday girl," so Pacey should stay and play cards. Pacey shrugs, "Well, it's your money," and takes a seat.
Walking on a lighted dock outside the party house, Jen says in a tone of tolerant amusement that they've walked far enough, and what did Joey want to tell her. Joey, even further into her cups now, asks, "Is here good?" and totters over to a bench and clambers up onto it and sits on the railing -- and here I thought for sure she'd pull an Abby and pitch into the drink, but she didn't -- and says she wants to make a toast: "All the love and happiness in the world, to my friend Jen Lindley, on her birthday." Jen giggles and reminds Joey that it's not really her birthday. Joey shrugs that that's all right, then says in a tone of inebriated confidentiality that "we're not really friends." Jen stares at her, at once charmed and shocked by Joey's candor, and laughs, this time in disbelief. Joey says she's kidding: "We are. I think we are. Do you think we are?" She babbles on for a bit before Jen stops her: "You know what, Joey, let's not delve too far into it, 'cause then we'll just remember why we're supposed to hate each other." Joey turns to her and says all maudlin drunk, "I don't hate you -- I love you!" More laughing from Jen as Joey gives her a sloppy hug, and Jen strokes Joey's hair and tells her, "Joey, you love everybody tonight!" Then Jen asks if Joey can summon the "brain power" to answer a question, and Joey says that she can, as long as it's not about the future. Jen says no, it's about the present, and asks if she knows where Drue lives. "Ding ding ding, I do know the answer to that one. Drue lives in an apartment at the yacht club with his mother." Jen asks about Drue's father, and Joey relays the story Drue told her about the father taking off with "some New-Age chippy." Jen is taken aback.
Andie, wearing a scary keyhole top and a schizo-crimp-tastic hairdo, smiles perkily as Jack reads flatly from the cover of a book with a bow on it, "You Too Can Get Into The College Of Your Choice." Evidently, that's Andie's non-birthday birthday present for Jen. Jack hopes aloud that that's "a private joke between" Andie and Jen. Andie sulks that it's "a very helpful book." Jack says that, as a present, it "pretty much sucks." "What's your problem?" Andie grunts. Jack doesn't want to spend "every waking moment" thinking about college; he'd like to enjoy the remainder of his senior year. "And I don't?" It doesn't seem to Jack like she does, no, because ever since finishing her own applications, she's gotten on Jack's case about his, and he's sick of it -- he's happy for her, but he doesn't need her to control his life, and she shouldn't do it to Jen either. Andie: I can't just watch you ruin your future. Jack: I only had football to look forward to, and now that's gone, so get down out of my grill.
Conga line on the porch. Clouds crossing the full moon. Andie comes down the dock, exclaiming that she's looked all over for Jen and Joey. Joey points out sloppily that she didn't look there, because if she'd looked there, she would have found them. "Ignore her," Jen whispers. Hee. "So where's Jack?" Jen asks Andie. "He's avoiding me! Am I too controlling?" Jen and Joey, in unison: "Yes." Hee! Andie thanks them poutily for the vote of confidence. Joey intones philosophically that some people like salad dressing on the salad, and some people like it on the side. Andie and Jen stare at her. "Ohhhh-kay," Andie says, and adds that she just wants everyone she knows to live up to his or her potential. Joey announces that she has great potential as a waitress. "That's great, Joey," Jen tells her, patting her arm, and suggests going back inside: "I've got somebody that I…owe an apology to." She and Andie start to head back indoors, but Joey has other ideas: "Before anyone leaves this spot, we have a very important question to answer." Jen folds her arms and mouths at Andie, "I don't know," and rolls her eyes. I'd just like to say that, while Katie Holmes's take on drunk is pretty good, Michelle Williams's "indulgently sober onlooker" is hilarious and spot-on. Anyway, Joey asks where they all see themselves in five years, "and not the version you answer to your college advisor -- come on." Jen cracks that she'll be starting work on her master's thesis, "Are Men Necessary?" Like, ha ha. Not. Andie says that she guesses she'll "be in PR," because she's good at "painting a happy face on disaster." ["I agree, but on the grounds that she's annoying and pushy." -- Wing Chun] "Andie," Jen chides her, and Andie shrugs, "Well, you know -- think about it," and Jen starts laughing again. It's Joey's turn, but Joey -- who really, really needs a deep conditioning treatment -- dodges it with, "You tell me." Jen predicts that Joey will go to an Ivy, then move to New York and get a job in a funky SoHo art gallery for almost no money. Joey laughs sardonically and asks why New York, and Jen calls New York "finishing school for cynics like us," and Joey splutters, "I'm not a cynic!" and the other two crack up. Then Andie proposes that they all come back to the same spot in five years to see if any of the predictions came true, and Joey and Jen agree. They start inside, Joey weaving a bit and the other two steadying her, and then Joey worries that they won't remember the date: "It's not really Jen's birthday." "I'll remember," Jen says, trying not to laugh. Kind of a sweet scene -- it's about time the female leads started hanging out together.
Inside, Jack asks Dawson if anyone besides them isn't having fun, and Dawson says it's hard to tell: "Everybody else could be having fun, or they could just be imitating the fun they've seen people have in movies." Jack laughs; it's actually not a bad line, but the sight of Dawson's chest hair sends me scurrying for a barf bag before I can enjoy it properly. Naturally, moments later, John Hughes is again invoked, this time in Sixteen Candles, as a nerdy-looking kid knocks over a pyramid of soda cans. Jack makes a comment about the kid, and Dawson, whose hair has flipped its part over to the other side, says he forgets that Jack "actually know[s] these people," and Jack, whose sling has also switched to the other side, makes "you don't know how much you appreciate something until it's gone" noises, and at that moment Dawson spots Joey coming inside, and Jack mutters that Dawson probably knows the feeling pretty well while I flip through the Pottery Barn catalog for ideas on how to incorporate this anvil into my decorating scheme.
At the poker table, a forty-year-old woman begins removing her top as Drue comments that he "love[s] this girl -- it's like she's trying to lose." Joey edges into the room, slits her eyes at Pacey, and then bitches him out for playing strip poker. Pacey defends himself -- it started out "as just poker poker," and then Drue lost his money to Pacey and changed the stakes, but he's done now, and they can leave. Joey sarcastically asks why he'd leave when "there's a half-naked chick in the room." Pacey tries to placate her; she keeps sniping, then decides, as we've all seen in the umpteen thousand previews for the ep, to join the game herself. She sits beside the forty-year-old, who looks uncomfortable, and demands that Drue deal her in. After Joey delivers the "what does a girl have to take off in order to play this game" line, Pacey claps his hands and declares that that's enough. She's drunk, she's "bordering on disorderly," blah blah blah patronizing-the-drunk-girlfriend-cakes, and I know I'm supposed to find Pacey's white-knight routine lovable, but, much like when he punched out Rob The Dock Dude on Andie's behalf last season, it's got a paternalistic subtext that I don't like. Dawson's "save or screw" line to Pacey is despicable, but the first part has the ring of truth; guys who think girls need protecting bug me. But that's me. Sooooo, there's more back-and-forth on whether or not Joey should leave, and she stands up, and Pacey tells her that she's forcing him "to make the ultimate guy maneuver," and then he slings her over his shoulder and carries her out. See what I mean? Love Pacey all you want, but if my boyfriend hauled me out of a party like a duffel bag, he'd have a fight on his hands…not to mention vomit down the back of his shirt. Joey crabs at Pacey to put her down. Dawson watches them go, Scorsesean brow furrowed.
What does "icy cool breath, that's what it'll do ya" mean? Anyone?
Shot of the full moon on the water. Jen can't believe she's saying this, "but thank you, for the party." Cut to Drue and Jen sitting Sixteen Candles-style on a table to a cake full of lit candles. Very much alive prior to the airing of this episode, John Hughes promptly drops dead, inters himself in a coffin six feet deep, and begins twirling in his grave like a top. Jen says the party "turned out to not be so horrible." Drue thanks her for coming and says he hopes he got the right number of candles. "It'll do," Jen chuckles. Jen is about to make a wish, but Drue wants to give her her present first, so she doesn't "squander" the wish on "something that may actually be in this box." It's a pretty small box; I don't think a new agent would fit into it. Jen takes the box, but before opening it, she says she's sorry "about [his] parents," and apologizes for making assumptions about him. Drue urges her to open her present. She smiles that he didn't have to do this. He knows; he wanted to. She opens the box to find two moldy Sucrets inside. "What the hell is this? I hate SweetTarts," Jen mutters. Okay, she doesn't say that last part. "I think you know what it is. Halls Vapor Action, BAY-BEE!" Okay, he doesn't say that last part. "Ecstasy?" Jen chokes out. "Drue, I thought that I made my feelings perfectly clear on this subject." "You did -- too clear," Drue says, but he thinks she's "protesting too much." Jen says that she's an idiot for thinking he'd changed, and he snorts that she hasn't either: "Your hairstyle, maybe, but people don't change. Not that much." Yes, they do, Jen says, and delivers a speech on growing up and responsibility and how dying young and leaving a beautiful corpse isn't all that, and winds up by saying that she doesn't want the present. Drue says fine, then she won't mind if he leaves it "right here" (we don't see "right here," but it sounds like he puts it on the table), for "safekeeping." Jen eyes the box, then glares at Drue. I think we're meant to believe that she's tempted. Drue smiles at her and gets up off the table. Jen sits there with her cake flambé.
Jack, the sling back on his left arm, plays with a football in his room. Andie knocks and enters: "It's Dad. He's dead." Okay, she doesn't. She does apologize for not being "more understanding about football" and for getting on his case about college. Jack tells her to keep going with the apologizing. She protests a little, saying that she's not as obsessed with the future as he thinks: "I don't want it to get here any quicker than you do." She has a funny way of showing it, Jack says. Andie says that, in a year, her whole life will have completely changed, she'll live somewhere different and have different friends, "and you know, in times of uncertainty, I look for things that I can fix." She shrugs and bites her lip. Jack tells her gently but firmly that she can't "fix" him; he has to make his own mistakes, and she has to "work on letting go of things [she] can't control." Andie agrees, but whines that, year, they won't be going to the same school for the first time ever. Jack says that he tried to start kindergarten without her, and Andie says that that's just family lore, and she, the more responsible one, "[is] definitely the older sibling in this relationship." Yeah, no kidding. Time to stat page make-up for some alpha-hydroxy, honey. More sibling banter.
PB&B. Pacey opens the passenger door. From inside: "I can't walk, Pacey." "Before, I had to drag you kicking and screaming, but now you want to be carried? No." Heh. Joey starts to haul herself out the car, hissing that it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind -- shut up, Joey -- but Pacey swings her legs around, telling her that tonight she's one of the guys, "and guys walk." Shut up, Pacey. They manage to get Joey onto her feet, but she stops short, all hunched over: "Uh. I don't feel so good." Pacey shuts the door and tells her cheerfully that she'll feel even worse the day, and she still "won't be any closer to getting into the ivy-covered institution of your choice." Ouch. "Pacey," Joey says all cotton-mouthed, and I thought for sure that she'd hurl at that moment, but she doesn't; instead, she leans against the car and explains that she's done some thinking. "Yeah, drunk thinking," Pacey sighs, but Joey goes on, barely seeming to hear him, "Maybe…maybe that's not what I really want. Maybe I just wanna stay here." It's beautiful there, and maybe she could just… "Just what?" Pacey interrupts. "Stay here and work as a waitress all your life? Come on," and he tells her she's not making sense and hasn't all night, but before he can take the thought any further, she interrupts back with, "I wanna be with you, Pacey -- I wanna stay and be with you!" Okay, okay: aw. Pacey tries to keep the joy of hearing those words from taking over his face, then sighs and tells her that, if she wants to be with him, "then staying here would be a really stupid idea." Joey looks bereft, but he finishes strong: "Considering I don't plan to be here. I plan to be wherever you are." A smile creeps slowly but surely across Joey's face: "Really?" He nods, adding, "Not that you deserve to hear such things right now," and slings an arm around her shoulder, and they head towards the house, and Joey PSAs that she shouldn't have gotten drunk, and Pacey says that she's "destined for academic glory" while he's "circling the drain," and that's a problem, but she shouldn't have thought that she could solve it "with alcohol, of all things." "No," Joey agrees grudgingly. Pacey says that alcohol never solves problems, "and I'd hate to think that I fell in love with a moron." She smiles victoriously and turns to him and puts her arms around him: "So you're in love with me, huh?" Pacey does the Monkey Boy thing and says, "Not currently, no," and says she's just "some drunk girl" he has to get inside without waking up the paying customers, and then he finally admits, "Yes," and we cut to Joey grinning like a madwoman before asking if she can kiss him, and they kiss. "But I'm still not carrying you." Joey looks sulky, then flirtatious, and she does the whispery-little-girl thing, and then she hikes her tongue down his throat, and he agrees to carry her halfway. Oy.
IHOF. Dawson finds Gretchen cleaning up, and congratulates her on the job. Awkwardness. Gretchen puts a glass on the bar. Dawson asks for a rain check, but Gretchen says they aren't drinking -- for every quarter she can bounce in, he has to tell her one thing that's bothering her. She's using a highball glass? Pfffft. Amateur. Blah dee blah. Plink. Gale accused Dawson of wanting to go to college in California to run away from his problems. "And you think she's right?" Plink. Dawson doesn't know. He's seen things lately that make him want to "run screaming to the opposite coast." Dude. Don't stay on our account. ["Word. Is it because you're a bit short on the airfare? Because it's on
me." -- Wing Chun] "Like?" Plink. Dawson doesn't want to answer. Gretchen won't budge, so he confesses that he's seen "how much [Joey] loves [Pacey]." He's seen it in her face. He's seen them hold hands, he's seen them kiss, and tonight he saw them fight, and he's used to seeing that -- "but not like this," Gretchen finishes. "I think it was actually worse than the kissing," he mumbles. Gretchen sighs, sad for him. Then she relates that she took a film class in college; when Dawson asks if it "was…a monumental waste of time," she says no, and then tells him what her professor called "the most bogus line in Hollywood cinema [sic]," namely "there's no place like home." She goes on to say that it's what everyone remembers about The Wizard Of Oz, but "it doesn't resonate" because, in the film, home sucked. Oz has its problems, she says, "but along the way you make friends, good friends, with people that you never knew existed when you were growing up." As she unfolds this explication, Dawson stares at her all crushy-like. Blah blah blah "all the things you wanna be, you already are. And it's fun." "Well, if it's so much fun," Dawson says, "then what are you doing here?" For the record, Wing Chun is voting that she failed out of school, while I think that she got pregnant and dumped by her boyfriend. We've got a lot of snack food riding on the bet, but nobody wins this week, because Gretchen says she doesn't recall Dawson getting to ask any questions, and Dawson asks what if he can bounce a quarter into the glass, and Gretchen is confident that that will "never happen." More icky flirtatious banter about the quarters as we dissolve to the exterior of the IHOF and then fade out.
time, Pacey and Joey consider having sex. With each other. But they won't. Trust me.