Previously on The O.C.: We got a week off because this show figured it was falling too deep in the ratings shitter to make us watch a special holiday-themed episode on the wonders of Thanksgiv-Veterans-Purim-Mukkah. And this is exactly what I was thankful for.
Morning time comes to The O.C. again, and we discover Seth and Ryan in the pool house, enjoying one of their patented before school conferences so typical among average American teenagers. Joining a Seth-begun, Seth-sanctioned, Seth-tastic conversation already in progress, we discover Seth "Seth Seth Seth Seth Seth" Cohen chasing Ryan "The Architect Skit" Atwood out the door, practically screaming, "So you're saying you won't help me?" Ryan responds that he has "a Physics quiz" that's making him "kind of busy," and I wish someone would cement him as the science nerd he's so clearly become and buy him a kitschy t-shirt from some Contemporary Scientist catalogue I've just made up that reads, "Physicists Know What Matters" or some other, better delicious pun about Physics. Seth begs that "this is a crisis," which, in modern Seth parlance, means, "This is about me, me, me, and my needs. And me." More specifically: "Zach and Summer. They're full-on dating now. And that means I need a new girlfriend. Pronto." Is that really what that means? Dorky Seth Cohen, whose girlfriends pre-Summer were all featured on a poster of the animated Josie and the Pussycats hanging in his childhood bedroom, now feel entitled to serial monogamy? Well, it doesn't so much fit with his character, but without this inciting event, we wouldn't be able to embark on this hour of Molire-esque, date-swapping hilarity, so, fine, Seth wants a new girlfriend. Then I too want a new girlfriend, which doesn't make any sense either, but if I say it really fast and wear a cute hoodie, I'm sure no one will notice.
Ryan smells this rat, asking Seth whether he intends to date someone just to show up Summer. Seth promises that "there's [sic] other reasons," like maybe he's looking to meet someone who will agree to teach him subject/verb agreement, because I know I'm getting really nitpicky now but that just drives me insane. They reach the kitchen, and Seth throws Ryan a bagel (in some cultures that officially means he's just been Bar Mitzvahed) and begs, "Let's break bread. Let's discuss broads." And I would totally call them out on their chauvinism except another character is totally about to do that for me, so instead I'll just mention the fact that the last time someone referred to women as "broads," they were talking about the comparative sexiness of Christie Brinkley versus Linda Evangelista. ["Probably more like the comparative sexiness of Farrah Fawcett versus Suzanne Somers, because it was a long time ago." -- Wing Chun] Ryan, however, does not have time to choose "Sexpots of the '80s" for $200, as he remembers as this point that he left his graphing calculator in Seth's room and that he has to go get it. What was he graphing? In Seth's room? Seth doesn't care either, asking, "You know what else is in my room?" A copy of the real script that allows you to express sentiments other than the static and self-obsessed? A copy of London Calling on something even cooler and more retro than vinyl? A painting of you that ages while you, Adam Brody, remain exactly as you are? Ryan here too starts exhibiting a wee spot of impatience, sniping, "What? What is in your room?" Don't worry. Seth will tell you. Seth knows lots and lots of words: "My yearbook. Full of new ideas for fresh-faced loved ones." Seth suggests that they go through it and pick a few lucky finalists for the "Win A Date With Seth Cohen!" contest he's apparently just invented, and that Ryan can even have a few of Seth's "leftovers." Ryan tells Seth that he's "not dating this year," giving Seth a hard rap on the chest with his bagel (in some cultures that officially means they are now married) and reminding him, "That's the game plan." Ryan means for that to be the end of the conversation -- it's all graphed and calculated and everything -- but Seth chases after him and insists, "I'm not entering this new era alone." Oh, you won't be alone. You'll have hundreds of enraged viewers who can't stand hearing the words "new era" again during this episode chasing you out of the county with lit torches and shouting.
“ Seth tells us Tina Woo is in 'the a cappella group' and is the 'co- president of the improv team, "Shenanigans."' Look, Seth, if you want to go out with me all you have to do is ask; you don't have to recast me as an Asian high- school girl just because it's what society wants you to do. ”
"It is a new era," insists Sandy "Like Butta" Cohen as he rounds a corner in his manse, talking to Kirsten "I Can't Believe How Much It's Not Like Butta" Cohen. Sandy tells Kirsten that getting fired was the best thing that's ever happened to him: "Now the only person I answer to is me." And, as recently as the last episode, the Cheetos Cheetah. "And my father," reminds Kirsten, who, by my logic, apparently believes herself to have been sired by the Cheetos Cheetah. Sandy whimpers in defeat, and Kirsten reminds him, us, unborn children, Ukrainian defectors, and the residents of Omicron Persei VII who won't be seeing this episode for several more light years, "All I'm saying is that he's your only client." Not to be outspent in this currency we call "love," Sandy shoots back the barbed "And you work for his wife." Sandy pours coffee and wonder what on earth Caleb was thinking, and Kirsten heaps a big shmear of plot development onto her bagel and tells Sandy, "You can ask him. You'll be hangin' with him all day." He holds his hands up in the international sign for "Don't give me shpilkis, shiksa!" and tells Kirsten, "It's a new era!" Just at this moment, Seth and Ryan re-enter the kitchen, Seth carrying a yearbook opened to middle page somewhere. Check out Page 54, Seth. It's where my picture is, with the annotation, "Most Likely Not To Condone A Running Gag About Eras Or Their Comparative Newness." Beware, Cohen. The yearbook never lies.
But Seth has other ideas for the yearbook's usefulness, as he announces to his family, "I think I found a new girlfriend." Kirsten tosses off the gem "Here in the kitchen?" Which, heh. "No," Ryan announces. "In the new era." Seth reads the description for a "Tina Woo," who he lets us know is in "the a cappella group" and is the "co-president of the improv team, 'Shenanigans.'" Look, Seth, if you want to go out with me all you have to do is ask; you don't have to recast me as an Asian high-school girl just because it's what society wants you to do. In other news "Shenanigans" is funny. Seth notes, "She's musical, she's witty. Hopefully, she's free for lunch." Can't talk. Recapping. Kirsten thoughtfully asks Seth whether he's really ready to date again after everything that went on with Summer, and Sandy literally becomes my Uncle Hershel from New Rochelle when he counters, "What, better he should mope?" Sandy blames Kirsten for her pre-9/11 mentality (I'm paraphrasing), saying that if he listened to her, he'd still have, like, an actual job, and we know what a bummer that can be. So Seth appeals to Ryan's greater knowledge (though he is nothing without his robot graphing calculator. NOTHING!), asking, "Ryan, would you rather I go for the Woo or keep talking about Summer?" At which the soundtrack actually does a musical equivalent of a spit take, abruptly stopping like the player piano when the villain comes swaggering through the swinging saloon doors. And we should be grateful for that somewhat cheesy moment, seeing as it is the only moment in this entire episode when the plot isn't taking the back seat to the continued whoring of new music. Only in silence can that moment be forged. Kirsten breaks the silence first, lifting her coffee cup and proclaiming, "Here's to the new era." The clink coffee cups and announce a unison "Amen" that, once Woo arranges it into four parts, is really going to kick ass.