The Importance Of Not Being Too Earnest

Previously on Dawson's Creek: Dawson and Joey had sex, Jessica's eyes fell out and exploded into a hail of throwing stars that embedded themselves in her stomach, and Sars felt guilty; Joey snarled at Dawson for having a girlfriend when they slept together, and Dawson tried to get her to chill; Joey got a job at Emma's bar; Jack swooned at his pop-cult prof; Bobby Briggs got all Gordon Gekko on Pacey; Pacey and Jack moved in with Emma; Joey thought maybe she and Dawson made "a huge mistake."

Cue opening montage of Joey "It Churl" Potter agonizing over an email to Dawson "Headwig And The Angry InchOh, Ew. Sorry" Leery. It's titled "The Incident," and as a testicle rages on about Eve and the apple, Joey sighs and shrugs and writes "Dear Dawson," then frowns and picks her cuticles and sips coffee and rubs her forehead. The testicle would like to know, "Whatever possessed you, bay-behhhhh?" Excellent question, testicle. Enter Audrey "Clairol De Lune" Lidell with an armload of shopping bags to drop her customary "quit angsting and get on with it, Potter" science on Joey. Joey whines that writing a good email is hard, and Audrey agrees, adding that that's especially true when it's "a huge mistake." Joey tells her to shut up, but Audrey goes on about how email is "the scourge of the modern age" and "the internet has made it way too easy to express oneself," blah blah blah shout-out-cakes -- I think her point is that online communication is a poor substitute for just talking, but she goes on for so long that I kind of lost track. Anyway, she winds up her diatribe and asks what Joey has so far. Joey confesses that she got as far as "Dear Dawson," but erased it. They debate whether that greeting seems "cold." Audrey reminds Joey that she did just "nude up with" the guy, then jokes to my unbridled horror that maybe they did it "through a hole in a sheet, that's very Dawson and Joey," like, Lidell! Four minutes! Unnecessary roughness! Joey, laughing, tells her again to shut it, and Audrey asks what Joey really wants to say, then. Joey doesn't like the way things ended; she wants Dawson to know she cares, but she also wants to "hold onto [her] righteous indignation." Indignation over wh-- oh, right. God, she's annoying. Anyway, Audrey's all, "So call him up and say so," but Joey thinks they'll just fall into their old patterns: "Email is a far safer alternative at the moment." Okay, Audrey says -- then pull out all the stops. Get all schmoopy, but "be real, Joey," and say everything you want to say that you can't to his face. Joey smiles that she's right, and thanks her. The Sad Piano And Clarinet Of Ew, You Slept With That Guy?! cue up as Joey writes, "Dear Dawson, I don't know where to begin. Because I'm an idiot." No, she really writes that.

Time-lapse. Audrey turns on a light in the fading dusk as Joey works on the email.

Another time-lapse. Audrey is passed out in front of the TV. Joey, now in a different shirt, continues to tap away. Cut to the computer screen and the text of the email -- it's mostly about how maybe she and Dawson need to "separate," and how she doesn't know if she'll still be there when he turns back around. I've used that line a couple of times in my life, and it sounds great in the movies, but in real life? Doesn't work. Take it from a practicing drama queen. Shot of Joey looking satisfied; another shot of the screen and the bushwa in the email about how she wishes Dawson well. Time to send. Long story short, Dawson's email address is in her address book right to "Campus Wide," and while Joey's yawning and rubbing her eyes in exhaustion, her finger slips on the track pad and she sends the email to the whole campus. Oblivious, she gets up, turns off the TV, and slumps down on her bed.

Two Guys, A Girl, And A Nasty Protein Shake. Jack "Unambiguously Sentenced To The B-Plot" McPhee shuffles through the apartment and turns up his nose at Emma's liquid breakfast. Banter about British stereotypes. Pacey "Bud Fox" Witter appears, besuited and sipping coffee. Jack and Emma bust on him for his attire; he sniffs in response that "some of us have to work for a living." Jack moves on to teasing him about his hair. Pacey asks if it's "too much product," but I actually like the gel; it's the gratuitous chin pubes I could do without. The running "joke" about Pacey looking gay is unfortunately revived for another jog around the track, and then Emma nags him about doing the dishes, and then there's a bit of "humor" about Jack and Pacey blaming each other for leaving the door unlocked, and then I fall asleep because the scene is boring and has no discernible point.

Joey and I bolt upright at the same time. She creeps over to her laptop, takes a deep breath to steel herself, and opens her email to find dozens of messages from other students in response to "The Incident." Confused, she checks her sent mail folder, figures out what happened, and yelps, "Audrey?" Audrey comes to, and when Joey tells her that she sent the email to the entire campus, Audrey groggies, "Well honey, why would you do that?" Hee. Joey explains that she clicked on the wrong address by mistake, and Audrey half-yawns that she tried to tell Joey the email "wasn't a good idea." Joey glares at her: "That's all you have to say?" Well, Joey, you can't hit a girl with a problem like that pre-coffee and expect to get results. I might have managed an "it's all about witness protection, dude" before going back to sleep. Audrey's on my wavelength, shrugging a sleepy "I don't know -- 'sucks to be you'?" before flopping back on her pillows. Joey fixes her with a wide-eyed stare, unable to believe that Audrey isn't leaping out of bed to unsend the email, stroke her hair, or otherwise make Joey the center of her early-morning universe.

Boiler Room. Pacey arrives at 9 AM, but the office is already a hive of stage-business activity. Bobby Briggs busts on him for his tardiness and makes a snitty did-your-mommy-dress-you-today comment about how Pacey looks "like a pansy." "Pansy"? Ah, the hard-charging heterosexual world of high finance, where the wrong tie means you take it up the ass. Whatever. Shut up, Bobby Briggs. No such luck -- Bobby refers to Pacey's alleged lack of sack, and sticks the young Jedi with a stack of cold-call files on rich guys and the prediction that Pacey won't succeed in selling them anything. Let's just assume the writers' thoroughly misconceived idea of how cold calls actually work as facts in evidence, and move on to Bobby haranguing Pacey about how his good looks won't get him anywhere with the cold-callees, so he should "stop batting his eyes at [Bobby]" and get to it. As Bobby breezes off, Pacey asks grouchily if the cold-calling is a punishment for something. Bobby says he's just trying to get rid of Pacey: "I don't have enough desks!" Yeah, well, all the desks in the world won't prevent this "plot" from plunging me into a coma.

Jack and Jen "Liza" Lindley file into class. Jack is all hectic about getting a good seat, the better to drool on the hot prof, and yanks Jen out of the way so that he can sit on the inside. As they clamber over another student (who, weirdly, looks a lot like Tobeyman, I miss Tobey. Come back, Tobey!), Jen shoots him a "whatever" look. Jack claims he just wants to see the blackboard, but Jen isn't buying that and gives him guff for ogling Professor Freeman. Audrey, suddenly seated on Jack's other side, is there for the same reason, and Jen gives her guff too, pointing out that she must have her own classes to go to. Audrey shrugs that off, and Jen says that maybe Worthington will boot Audrey if she misses enough class, but as they start to do shtick about that, Jack officiously shushes them. Jen leans over him to tell Audrey that "this is studious Jack, not to be confused with fun-time Jack," and he doesn't like to miss a word of Freeman's lectures. Jack ignores them as Audrey asks how Jen manages to nap during class, between Grams and studious Jack and everything. Jen very seriously says that she doesn't, and then Freeman calls the class to order and Jack shushes the girls again. Freeman, who is wearing what looks like a guayabera, announces an extra-credit assignment that involves going to the movies, then poorly delivers a weak joke about it, which Jack laughs too hard at. Audrey and Jen look at him like, "Um, it's not that funny, G," and Jack's all, "What?" Freeman drones on about the trope of the beautiful girl playing ugly in film while Jen and Audrey whisper about Miss Congeniality and Jack adopts a mien of great concentration; Freeman adds that students can see him after class to find out more. Oh, dear.

Over at Worthington, Joey arrives late to class as Professor Flip-Flops is telling everyone to "knock back [their] Ritalin and settle down," like, ha ha, a Ritalin joke! So current! Not. A pan around the classroom shows the students reading what we know is Joey's email to Dawson, and tittering at her arrival. Yeah, because that would happen. As Joey slinks to her seat, Flip-Flops blithers on pretentiously about Portnoy's Complaint, saying that the class "won't be dabbling in Roth's stream-of-consciousness sexual rivers much longer," like, what does that even mean, Flip-Flops? No, really. What does that mean? Oh, it doesn't really "mean" anything? I see. Then you might want to look into shutting up. Flip-Flops eyes Joey as she passes him, and adds that fate assigned them some additional reading the night before "via email." Joey freezes for a second, then shrugs and continues unpacking her bookbag; Flip-Flops wonders aloud why they shouldn't focus on something the students actually might have read. He begins reading in a stentorian voice: "'Dear Daw-sun. I don't know where to begin.'" Joey, horrified, tries to interrupt him, but he rudely cuts her off by saying that "nobody likes a show-off," then needles her with the observation that she doesn't "reach a point for several paragraphs," so he'll just skip ahead. Heh. I hear that. Flip-Flops continues reading, with a great deal of ironic gesturing and snarky tone: "'In the moment when we touched, maybe we went somewhere else that rose above all this, but then we landed, and I think maybe we crashed.'" Flip-Flops makes a dismissive moue. The class laughs. Joey puts her hand over her mouth as Flip-Flops muses on the difficulty of writing about sex, despite the universality of the experience, and the difference between Roth's writing and Joey's, in which she "distances herself from the act with vague metaphors." Joey purses her lips, determined not to break down. Flip-Flops walks towards her seat and tells her, in a tone that's almost angry, that she "can't be stream-of-consciousness if [she's] observing from the shores. Right?" Joey doesn't meet his eyes or respond. "Right," Flip-Flops perks, and strides away. Shots of Joey's classmates laughing smugly at her as she makes melted-wax face.

Okay, we all know that that shit would never happen, right? That no way would a professor risk a lawsuit by using an email like that in class, not to mention reaming out the author out so crassly? And that the students, if they reacted at all, would probably cringe in sympathy with Joey rather than guffawing in her face? And we all know too that Flip-Flops's so-called burn on Joey is stupid too, right? That stream-of-consciousness is about a style, whereas the "distancing" in Joey's writing is about a tone? That Contrivance just overflowed my bathtub again? Okay, good.

Shut up, thetruth.com.

Back at the Boiler Room, Pacey -- whose neatly gelled 'do from earlier has morphed into a wig-like spherical pouf -- is flailing on a cold call. As the customer hangs up on him, Bobby swaggers up to hit him with a few more salesmanship koans, advising him to ditch the sweet-talk and "make them feel like morons for doubting your financial prowess." Pacey doesn't understand how he's supposed to sell the stock when he doesn't know anything about it, but Bobby rolls his eyes at Pacey's navet and tells him to find an "in" with his potential customers -- "become them, become who they want to be," blah blah blah Gordon-Miyagi-cakes. "You're never gonna land a guy like Topper playin' the nice guy." Who is Topper? He's the call on Pacey's list. Bobby waxes boring about Topper's miserliness, then tells Pacey to grab his keys: "We're going off-campus." Oh, goody. I can't wait to hear more of Bobby's philosophical musings on money, power, and closing the deal. Oh, no, that's not right. I could actually wait forever and a day to hear more of that crap, because it's boring, trite, nonsensical, and a waste of my goddamn time.

Brit Bar. Emma is trying to train Joey, but Joey is resisting, reminding Emma that she has worked in restaurants before and managing to work in a reference to having seen them burn down as well. Emma, not impressed, points out that Joey's never worked "in this dive," has she, and steers her to Table 3. Table 3, to the surprise of nobody who has ever watched television before, is animatedly discussing The Email Of Infamy in a totally unrealistic fashion. Instead of saying something credible like "oh my God, I soooo don't envy that chick, what a nightmare," the girls snottily posit that they'd never send an email like that, at least not if they ever wanted to hear from the guy again. Joey smiles tightly and asks if they know what they want to eat, but they don't seem to hear her; the guy at the table protests that "not all guys are like that." The first girl dismisses him with, "Oh, whatever, Mike -- you're gay," and Mike theorizes that maybe the guy in question is gay too, "and that's why he screwed her over." Look, Mike, I don't know what you've heard, but James Van Der Beek is engaged, okay? So not gay. So never slept with The Flash. (Heh.) Anyway, the first girl sniffs that the emailer is obviously starved for attention, and when she makes a crack about The Real World, Joey has had it. She angrily blurts out that maybe the author never meant to send it out to "the gossips at large" -- maybe she just wanted some "private closure" and never thought she'd have to hear "the Oprah psychobabble of her life-lacking peers." "Life-lacking peers"? Hot diggity, that's bad writing. Plus, that's so not the way to handle it on Joey's part. Just mention in a mild tone of voice that, you know, you wrote that email, and then just stand there let 'em squirm. Katie Holmes does a good job selling the line -- "Now do you guys want something to eat, or should I just bring over a nice tray of bon-bons so you guys can hunker down and watch your stories?" -- but the kids at the table greet her outburst by sending a "bitch is crazy" look around the table. The second girl says, "Maybe later," and Joey frowns and walks away as they all laugh at her.