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 Molière-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.
"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.
Opening credits: this week, I received possibly the most deranged email I've ever seen in five years of writing for this site. Insane as it was, it was a healthy reminder that it takes all kinds to make the world go round, and that some of those kinds might actually be Jason Schwartzman disguising himself as a girl just so it doesn't look like he's doing all of the Schwartzman defending by himself. But fair's fair, and I'll stop making fun. Oh, and in a completely unrelated story, Phantom Planet totally takes it up the ass.
School. Exterior. Day. Sun? Shining. New era gag? Running. And all is as it should be in the world. Ryan notes that there was some kind of glitch in Project Wooing Woo, about which Seth tells us, "A simple 'no' from the Woo would have been sufficient." A girl says hi to Seth, and when she's out of earshot (or, more specifically, "not out of earshot"), Ryan asks, "What about her?" Seth shoots the idea down immediately, ambiguously saying he has a "history" with this so-called "Tiffany Rosenberg." Something in the back of the bus on the Hebrew School field trip to the macaroon factory? Yeah, I've got those, too. Oh, fine. Seth wants to talk about it more: "Third grade. Class field trip to Sea World. I tried to sort of talk to the dolphins. She overheard. There was taunting. It was really bad." Ryan -- who seems to have gotten the same terrible haircut I've recently been the recipient of (except in Ryan's universe, he never heard the phrase, "You're just going to have the try it again on the back, there") -- offers, "How about I point out a girl and you tell me if you would date her?" Seth clarifies, "How about I tell you whether or not she would date me," which is exactly what Ryan meant, actually. They point out a couple of passing girls and Seth does his cover of the "Yes No No No No No No No" song from History of the World (if you've never seen it, just forget I even said anything...even I know what I'm talking about only half the time or so anyway) until he is soon to be interrupted by a passing Lindsay Faux-han, who asks point-blank, "Are you shopping for girlfriends in the quad?" I toggle with my television's contrast in a vain attempt to make Lindsay's dark, dark pink blazer match her much, much lighter pink shirt. And for a girl who had, as recently as last week, cast herself in the role of poverty-ridden social pariah, that is one exceedingly trendy -- albeit horribly unmatching -- midriff-bearing booby shirt. Lindsay sarcastically deems this girl-watching "classy" and "not at all demeaning," but she's obviouisly studying diligently for the Irony AP, because I don't think she meant a word of that. She asks for further details on the ranking system, and when they tell her it's mostly a "yes" or a "no," she takes the time to judge them accordingly. "No," she tells Seth. "And no." Nice to see you again too, Lindsay Downer. ["She's the number one killer of domestic cats!" -- Wing Chun]
Lindsay takes off as Ryan wonders if her decision could be changed contingent on a haircut that doesn't feature a rattail and two tickets to a Stryper concert. But Seth knocks Ryan quickly out of his reverie, noting, "I can't believe I finally met her," referring to her as "Lindsay Cohen" and insisting to Ryan that he set that up for Seth right away. Ryan quickly refuses, which Seth takes to mean that Ryan wants to think pink(s) and take a crack at Lindsay himself. But Ryan promises that this is not the case, because he's too obsessed with hoping it might be picture day at O.C.H.S. and at least he'll be able to get his hands on one of those black unbreakable combs and just COMB THAT THING DOWN ALREADY, ALL RIGHT? It really looks bad. Ryan cautions Seth that Lindsay is "argumentative, bossy, difficult," which Seth correctly notes is his type. He asks one more time in three different ways if Ryan can "hook it up" for him, and Ryan reluctantly says that he can. Seth walks away and Ryan looks unsurely after him, as he always does when his magic graphing calculator doesn't have the answers he needs.
Oh, my one and only singular deity, what in the name of Jacques Chirac has French fashion pooed onto Marissa's head? We'll leave alone for the moment the fact that the rest of her outfit looks like Diane Keaton circa 1977 mated with the entire history of professional golf and sent Mischa Barton out into the world to be this fashion's new emissary to the world. But THE HAT. Is a thing of perfection. It's a green belle chapeau, with a patters of '70s wallpaper and a poof so poofy that if she's looking for her small lawn-boy friend, she might start by taking a gander underneath THE HAT. But, moving on. For now. "This is a new era, Summer," attests Marissa "THE HAT" Cooper, running gaggishly. Summer "THE HAT ADJACENT" Roberts walks to her, looking cute, but unfortunately you're either part of THE HAT or you're part of the solution, so she's guilty by association right now and so are all of us. Marissa notes that her new era is the result of a lack of boy drama, which a skeptical Summer simply doesn't believe: "You're a magnet for boy drama." If by "magnet," Summer means that Marissa will draw it close to her with her undeniable pull, she don't. If by "magnet," she means that at least half of us find her absolutely repellent, she does.
But Marissa recaps (which, leave to the professionals) that the friends-with-Ryan thing seems to be working out. Summer asks after D.J., and when Marissa doesn't register a response, Summer gasps, "With the deltoids and the trapezoids," and I'm not going to lie to you people because I really feel that we've become friends...I'm sorry, but I have absolutely no idea what means. Seriously. Did everyone get a graphing calculator? What's going on? Marissa bemoans the fact that, since she and D.J. "broke up," she wouldn't even know where to find him. But Summer, suddenly a hacker into some blue-collar workers' database, has at her fingertips the knowledge that D.J. works "at the Henderson's." Amazing! She's smart at all the most convenient times. Marissa turns the tables and asks Summer how her lunch with Zach and her father went, and Summer says that it was all good based on a lack of "manic Cohen chatter" and "incomprehensible Cohen mumbling." THE HAT smiles and tells Summer, "Speak of the devil" as Zach walks up behind her, and Summer tries on a mix of hopeful and terrified (which Marissa has tried on and bought...in hat form!) when she asks, "Cohen?" She proclaims this development "right! Great! Better!" This line of dialogue, for some reason, makes me crave the pain-fighting power of Nuprin. Summer turns, sees Zach, gives her bohunk a big, big hug, and says hello to "Duckie." She explains to THE HAT, "We have nicknames." Zach asks, "We do?" And for those of you too young or foreign to know this, I'm assuming that "Duckie" is a reference to John Cryer's character Phil "Duckie" Dale in the '80s film Pretty in Pink. He's the nice guy. The friend. The one who seems like he should be right for you in a thousand different ways. The guy you don't end up with. ["Often because he is clearly gay but doesn't quite know it yet. Am I talking about Duckie or Jon Cryer? Yes." -- Wing Chun] Summer holds onto Duckie for dear life and explains that THE HAT is sad "because she doesn't have anyone in her life as perfect as you." Zach (sorry, I'm not doing it) says that he knows lots of eligible bachelors, but Marissa says that she's not interested in being set up because every time she goes out with a guy, THE HAT demands, "Feed me," makes the guy disappear, burps, and grows ever larger with each passing day.
"This is the start of a new era for us, Sandman," says STOP DOING THAT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT LA LA LEE LEE LOOOOOOOOOOO I'm going crazy with the new and the era and the hey hey hey it hurts me. Anyway, that was Caleb talking, and I really do enjoy the nickname "Sandman" for Sandy. He and Caleb walk up the steps to some outdoor eating location that looks just lovely, as Cal further explains that he finds it heartening that he and Sandy working together and battling the odds. Sandman (it's fun!) notes, "You're bringing a tear to my eyes, Cal," which...well, he's not. Sandy tries to get to the facts of the case, but Cal interrupts anew, asking if Sandy's hungry and mentioning the high quality of the frittata. Man, Alan Dale really pronounces that word in a way that allows you to hear each of the individual "t's." He punches that home by asking Sandy, "Are you a frittata man?" Yes, Sandy. Are you? They move their way to an empty table because the restaurant is "TV Crowded," where there's only one table left so it's easy to find a place to sit but it's not empty so you don't look like a loser for going there. Every place on TV is TV Crowded. Sandy boring borings about a trust that Caleb had been paying into that belonged to a member of the city councilman's office, by which we are to infer that Caleb has been doing a whole lot of bribing. Caleb continuously tries not to get back to the topic at hand, recommending "a round of drinks" (Sandy kiboshes the notion on the basis of the fact that "it's 10AM," but maybe Caleb would want to try giving Marissa a call?), and once again mentioning the frittata. Yes. Yes, it's fun to say. Fine. I'll say it. "Frittata." Wheeeeeeeee! Sandy asks again about the trust -- in particular, why Caleb set it up -- and Caleb non-explains, "Charity, tax benefits." Sandy asks about the woman who runs the trust -- a Renee Wheeler, whose name I'll imagine is going to get more important as this episode goes on, so I'll repeat it for those of you who may have dozed off, face first into your frittata: Renee Wheeler. Caleb claims not to know her, rants a few more moments about wanting a frittata (no, I'm not kidding), goes silent for a second, and then mumbles out of nowhere like a crazy man, "Phyllis." Eh? "My old secretary," Caleb explains. "She retired three years ago. She set up the trust." Sandy asks why Caleb couldn't just tell Sandy this over the phone. Caleb says something about frittatas. Not kidding. Scene.
The only two matriculating students at O.C.H.S., Ryan and Lindsay, don't sit to each other in this particular class. While everyone else works quietly in the spirit of learning, Ryan stands up and saunters back toward Lindsay's desk and just kind of stands over her until she looks up and notes, "You're lurking." Maybe he was just blinded by your new outfit, designed as it was by the heralded Roy G. Biv. But we'll never know for sure, as Ryan sits down and immediately starts fumbling: "Um, look, uh, for all I know, you have a boyfriend." Lindsay tells Ryan that she doesn't. He asks if she would maybe want to maybe and feel free to say no but maybe you'd like to go out on a date. She says yes immediately, and after a moment, he asks, "So, you'll go out with Seth?" What, no soundtrack spit take? Lindsay asks, "What?," but quickly collects herself when she realizes that Ryan wasn't actually asking her out at all. She takes stock of what's gone horribly, horribly wrong in her life: "You want me to go out with Seth and I said yes, so yes." Ryan thinks that's "great" in a way that doesn't sound like he thinks it's great, and she proposes the following night with a barked "The sooner the better, right?" She thanks Ryan, and he returns to his desk quickly, feeling like he should blame THE HAT for his troubles even if he doesn't entirely know what that means.
"Look who has a new ficus!" incoming CEO Julie "Lady Pleather" Cooper says as she marches into Kirsten's office carrying an enormous plant. Kirsten is in literally no mood, no mood at all, and she insists that she has "a ton of work to do," and if Julie wouldn't mind am-scraying in the "now" vicinity, that would be awesome. Kirsten thanks her boss lady for the plant, but actively reminds her that "right now, this company is one failed deal away from total ruin, which means [Kirsten has] to ficus -- focus." Julie laughs and cocks her head, repeating back "ficus focus" in a way that makes me hope someone makes that mistake in my presence so I can do that to them. Julie tells her scattered underling not to worry, and that "the boss is here," adding, "Let me lighten your load," which is exactly what a psychotic old boss of mine used to do all of the time when she'd go missing for three weeks and then barge in all chirpily and be like, "Hello, dah-lings!" and then continue to not do anything. And no. I don't mean Wing. ["In this case only because I don't call people that. Oh, and I also don't offer to lighten anyone else's load." -- Wing Chun]
Julie walks around to the other side of the desk and asks what Kirsten is reading. Kirsten somewhat patronizingly tells Julie that it's "budget projections for year. It's very dense." Julie worries that Kirsten is calling her stupid, and Kirsten hits Control+S on her top window, the appropriately named "Extremely_Halting_Plot_Development_.doc," reminding Julie as if we've ever heard this before: "All I'm saying is that we have an extremely important presentation tomorrow." Oh, do we? Julie picks up her ficus and tells Kirsten that Julie has a lot of reading up to do before the presentation, offering a parting shot: "Running this company is about more than just plant life, Kirsten. Even you should know that." I think this is usually how my interactions ended with my old boss as well, but I'm not sure, since the average human tends to black out after having a stapler successfully lobbed at his head. ["That one might have been me." -- Wing Chun]
And now, on another hilarious episode of D.J. and the Hendersons. THE HAT pulls up to a house that looks a hell of a lot like her house, where she finds D.J. doing some lifting of large fertilizer, which is still a ton less shit than he will have to deal with once THE HAT rears its ugly head. If we could even see that head, hidden as it is below...well, you know. Anyway. She gets out of the car -- bonjour! -- and walks over to where D.J.'s working. His rippling muscles register a drop in the barometric pressure, and he looks up to spot THE HAT standing before him. She's also wearing a brooch that has, I think, magic powers. I just clucked like a chicken. Tell me it's the brooch. Well, D.J. doesn't seem to tickled (at least not lately) to see THE HAT or the hat it rode in on, and he offers her the terse explanation that he's "busy" and goes about feigning that he's taller. If only someone around there had some sort of height-increasing hat of some kind. THE HAT tells him, "You can't be busy all weekend long," and he gives her a look like, "You don't have any idea what it's like to be thirty-seven! Ask your last boyfriend. He'll tell you." She drives it home with a little product placement: "The Killers are playing tomorrow night. They're really good." Meaning, "They're better than The Walkmen, but still not a strong enough device on which TO HANG THE DRAMATIC ACTION FOR AN ENTIRE EPISODE." That's actually what she meant, D.J. She was dumbing it down for you because you're a layman and foreign and you spell your name without spelling your name. D.J. asks kind of snidely, "So, what, are we friends now?" THE HAT tells him she'd like to try -- rumor has it that one day she'd also like to try acting -- and D.J. asks how her boyfriend feels about that. She tells him that she doesn't have a boyfriend anymore, thanks, and D.J. responds, "I guess that explains what you're doing here talking to me." THE HAT tries again to promise that she didn't know Ryan was coming back, but D.J. expresses similar sympathy for her plight. She turns to leave -- oh, man, but THE HAT totally has a big-ass green bow on the back -- but then turns back and tells him, "Bait Shop. Tomorrow night. I'll be there if you decide to stop by." Can't go. Don't like Bait Shop. Wish for more organic set locale, because if I wanted to go to a concert, well, then...y'know. I'd probably go to one. Marissa leaves. D.J. stares after. Dude. This guy is a hulking mess of old. And his Adam's apple is, like, a Clue weapon.
Noooooooo! Over at The Bait Shop, Seth adorably does exactly 1.9 seconds of manual labor, and manual laborers all over the land are like, "Yes, that's exactly what it's like. But I usually put down my lever and my pulley as soon as there's an opportunity for banter." And, speaking of which, Ryan makes an appearance now, and Seth stops pushing some equipment, which he had been doing in the world's most awkward way possible, and listens as Ryan tells him that he's procured a date for Seth with Lindsay. Seth clarifies that he wanted to "marry her, not date her," and that he never thought she would say yes. But she did. Because it's the TV. Seth tells Ryan that he's not getting him out of it and Ryan tells Seth that he's not going. The compromise? Contrivance! Seth says that he'll only go if Ryan goes with him, and as Ryan asks, "As what, your chaperone?" I'm almost simultaneously mouthing along, "As what, his Love Connection chaperone?" Almost the same joke! Except, according to the Chuck Woolery math, my joke is exactly two minutes and two seconds funnier than Ryan's. And if you understand what I just wrote...well, you probably watched a lot of Love Connection when you were growing up. And for that, I am genuinely sorry.
Just then, Alex (she's such a tough broad they gave her a boy name! That is so rock and roll!) strides by in her CBGBs shirt, which looks as genuine on her as when kids would show up in to junior high with t-shirts from the Hard Rock Café in, like, Sri Lanka. How unbelievably international, you'd think! And then right after that, you'd think, "You bought that at Sears." She tells Seth there's a clogged toilet "with [his] name on it," and I briefly forgive whoever clogged and ran and quietly commend his ability to spell Seth's name har har har. Alex says a quick hi to Ryan and is off, and a moment later, Ryan reads Seth's mind and just says, "No." But Seth pumps his arm and responds, "Yes." Ryan says there's no way Alex would go out with Ryan anyway, but Seth tells us that between her tattoo and Ryan's wristband, they're the "ultimate wrong-side-of-the-tracks love story." Don't read us the O.C. Season 1 press release; Ryan hasn't been on the wrong side of the tracks since he rode the Silver Spoon train through the Cohen house on his way to answer the door with a clicker. He's not a bad boy anymore. And Alex? Well, she's just an idiot. But Seth belabors it just a bit more, promising, "You are the Sid to her Nancy, the Kurt to her Courtney, the 50 Cent to her...Mrs. Cent." You leave her out of this. Mrs. Cent was a saint. Seth gives Ryan a sociology lesson on the life and times of the modern teenager, informing him that kids don't even date anymore, and that instead they go out in groups and then hook up after that. Ryan tells Seth he's never done that, and Seth kind of hilariously responds, "No, I know. But I read about it in the New York Times Magazine" Yep. That's where I learned that my generation enjoys committing their thoughts and musings in an online diary some computer experts refer to as a "blog." Anyway, Seth suggests this "group hang," better that Alex loves it. But he didn't see Alex's t-shirt, I guess, or he'd know that the only thing she loves is revolution.
"Group hang?" Alex segues, barking at Seth in her office while she walks around performing idle but doubtlessly revolutionary tasks. She tells Seth that he possesses the mental maturity of a seven-year-old, but Seth bargains her up to "eight and three-quarters." She tells him that tomorrow just happens to be her night off and asks, "Why would I want to spend it here? With you?" Yeah, the consensus is that we'd also like to spend as little time at The Bait Shop as humanly possible unless we're being financially compensated to do so. That's why I keep coming back. By way of a response, Seth rants that he's "a youth in need," fake-crying, "Somebody stomped on my sandcastle, and my ball rolled out into the middle of the street." She tells him she effing gets his point, thanks, and Seth adds that she and Ryan would be perfect together, considering how anti-establishment he is and how much he enjoys "sunset walks on the beach, punching people, and not smiling." And again, that would be a pretty funny characterization for Ryan, if that were actually still his character. Alex, somewhat hurt, asks if that's how Seth sees her, and he volleys, "Yeah, only with less smiling." She tells him that he's out of his mind, and he keeps right on going that maybe, just maybe, he is so far out of his mind that he's in hers, and that what she's thinking is that she really wants to go. She playfully agrees to go and then kicks Seth out of her office, and the proud sails of the good ship We Can See What's Coming appears on the horizon from twelve zillion miles a way. On a clear day, you can see the ending.
Ah, the big meeting. In a conference room at The Bluth Company, Kirsten talks to a number of serious-looking suited men, as scale-models of large buildings sit on the table with small scale model roads and trees and the answer to the lifelong quandary, "What happens to Matchbox cars after they get sold on eBay?" Kirsten is trying to reassure The Big Client that the recent dip in company earnings is only a temporary condition, but just as she's getting her business moxie on, the conference room door opens to reveal CEO Cooper-Nichol, who offers a cheery "Good morning!" and an apology that she's late. Kirsten tells Julie that she's been going over the plan for the mall development, and Julie is only too happy to offer help straightaway, asking if there are any questions she can answer. Kirsten tries to keep to the agenda, noting that this isn't the Q&A portion of the meeting, but Head Suit #1 has a question, thanks for asking. Here's the first one: "How will Caleb Nichol's potential indictment affect the rollout of our development?" Julie cheerily responds that it won't, "because we won't let it, Mr. Herbert, will we?" And while that sounds like a perfectly sound answer to me (it's the kind of evasive answer I've gotten used to referring to as "government policy"), Kirsten looks very unhappy with it and leaps in to clarify, "What I think Julie meant, Mr. Herbert, is that the success of the Newport Group is not contingent on the ideas or opinions of any one person." Julie keeps challenging her Botox by smiling even more broadly, at the same time telling Kirsten that she and the boys can take it from here, and that Kirsten should just run along and make a copy of a document for her. When Kirsten points out the Julie has just handed her the lunch menu, Julie just shoos her right out of the office. With the actual word "shoo." Kirsten takes her leave, and Julie sits down in her big comfy chair, asking Mr. Herbert what his question is. I'll bet it's going to be really long and complicated. "How do you explain the company's failure to hedge its portfolio against the rise of long-term interest rates?" Julie pauses for a moment and then lets the word "Yes" escape from her lips in a way that the stage directions must have dictated must meant to be delivered "funnily."
Back at school, the group hang is taking shape. They're walking outside because Ryan had his one class of the day and Seth is batting his usual zero for zero, and they are soon to come across Summer. As she approaches, Ryan whispers to Seth not to mention the date, and Seth quickly confirms that he will, in fact, be taking the high road and not bringing it up. Until Summer employs the third-degree tactic of, y'know, saying hello, which incites Seth to fast-speak, "I have a date." Summer turns around at this news and says something that is NOT, "Hey, I hope you and Katherine Harris have fun," but three times later and damned if that isn't exactly what it sounds like. The good news is that I'm going to find a way to incorporate that line of dialogue into everything I ever write, ever again, especially if it can be followed by Seth's rejoinder "It's with a girl." Summer literally vomits up a bile-y laugh -- Katherine Harris a girl! -- and just as good acting and amusing dialogue seems to fill the screen with its soft, sepia glow, into the frame walks THE HAT with her typical brand of none of the above. Summer catches up with Marissa (she's not wearing THE HAT anymore, so the nickname might be a bit...nah, she's totally stuck with it for the rest of the episode. THE HAT must be punished) on what she's recently learned, telling her that Seth has a date with a real life ex-Secretary of State of Florida and also a real live girl. Seth tells Summer not to wait up, and she spits, "Zach and I will sleep just fine, thanks." Seth tries for the smooth comeback, getting through "I'll sleep just fine tonight to, with...I'd love to remember her name, right there." Seth and Summer part ways (camera crews, go get them. You're letting them get awaaaaaay!), leaving Ryan and THE HAT on screen. THE HAT asks what Ryan is doing tonight now that Seth is abandoning him, starting, "'Cause if you wanted to do something..." Man, just when you think she's run out of way to screw the yard boy. Ryan hedges, and THE HAT guesses that he has a date as well, and she quickly takes her leave because a new civilization of very short, human-like people were discovered living underneath THE HAT, making their own weapons and speaking their language as recently as 18,000 years ago and she has to call in some anthropologists to talk about what's going on underneath THE HAT. Because seriously, you can fit a lot of shit under there.
Tate Donovan shows up too late this week and is just way too Tate Donovan-y overall to get himself a clever nickname. There he is, on his boat, doing boat things, causing me to write a bunch of things about pirates and then deleting them. The usual. He is soon to be visited about by Julie, who is being suspiciously nice. He wants to know what he's up to. She tells him she has a concern about work, and he suspects that the power has gone to her head already. She tells him that "being CEO is a bitch," which he says he imagines would make her a natural for the job. She tells Tate Donovan, "I tried to Google myself today and crashed the entire computer network." Try putting your name in quotes, and don't be afraid to use the middle initial. That's what I do. She gets to the heart of the matter, telling Tate Donovan that one of their most important clients ran out on a meeting with her and that she...well, sucks at her job and her life. Tate Donovan thinks it's "fun" to hear Julie admitting faults, and she asks for a pep talk that he is happy to provide: "You are savvy, and that goes a long way in this business. Hell, if I had your instincts I never would have lost a dime." Aw, he thinks "instincts" is another word for "boobies." Julie asks if Tate Donovanthinks this whole mess is fixable, and he replies, "If there's one thing that you're good at, it's getting money from rich, old men." Julie thanks Tate Donovan for giving her "the confidence to execute Plan B." Tate Donovan uses the expression "new era." And for this he must be mauled by lions.
Tonight! The Killers! I'm recapping a Killers concert DVD. Extras include band interviews, the latest video, and the dénouement of this episode of The O.C. But you don't have to watch that, because this episode is now really much, much more about The Killers. Whatever. We know what's going to happen anyway. Seth and Ryan enter That Bait Shop to find Lindsay standing alone near the bar waiting for them, looking mad and cross-armed. Seth sends Ryan down to talk to her and says he's going to find Alex, and a shot later Ryan is standing to an icy Lindsay, who asks what he's doing there. He tells her he has a date as well, and she asks if it's "one of those group hangs" she keeps hearing so much about. That was bad. It's not "new era" bad, but it's pretty bad. Meanwhile, up on The Bait Shop's near-empty balcony (because nobody likes The Killers, or if this is what "sold out" looks like, someone needs to review the somewhat stringent boundaries of the Orange County fire codes), Seth points out Ryan to Alex and tries to sell her on his innate hotness. The four of them come to meet awkwardly in the middle of the floor with four strained "hey"s, and it seems -- and I'm just talking here -- like each of these people might be better suited for the other person's date. I know. It just came to me.
"Yes, your honor! Yes!" This is what Sandy calls out, sitting in an easy chair and watching television in a very interactive way. He's extolling the virtues of Judge Hatchett, which I've never seen, but he certainly seems to be enjoying it in a way that makes me wish that, during the many years I spent working at home with the television on twenty-four hours a day, there had been another option in my market than The Tony Danza Show. Yes, that's actually a show. But Kirsten is less concerned about the proliferation of sassy syndicated TV judges and instead frets about Sandy's current state of mental health and wardrobe. "You're in your pajamas," she notes. "You've got orange Cheeto dust all over you. What happened to my husband?" First problem: he's turned into me. Kirsten sits down to Sandy, and he explains that Caleb is being completely impossible to deal with: he sent Sandy to meet with the aforementioned Phyllis, who Kirsten knows "died last year." Sandy makes sure to put way too fine a point on it: "Literally. Dead ends. And that's the best lead he's given me yet." Sandy once again returns to the notion of just giving up and living on an island using coconuts for currency or whatever, but Kirsten wants to stick to the matter at hand. She tells Sandy that if Caleb is acting strange, it's because he's hiding something, "which means it's your job to figure out what that is." If it's not a the bottom of the bag of Cheetos, Sandy's going to have some trouble finding it.
Ding-dong! Man, every day is Halloween at that house, with the people dropping in and the doorbell and the ringing and the hello. Kirsten opens the door to discover Julie in some fancy eveningwear, telling Kirsten and Sandy, "I know I'm not your favorite person right now, but I have a way to make it up to you." Sandy notes, "This can't be good," and Julie is ready with her idea: "Let's have a party!" With which a team of caterers follows Julie into the house, Julie continuing on, "I went ahead and called Mr. Herbert and several other clients and invited them to a party." Kirsten expresses horror, and Sandy all but spells out S.O.S. in Cheeto dust on his t-shirt, but Julie adds that Caleb thought it was a great idea, here shoehorning in the totally unrelated plot point, "He went to the club to meet someone for work." But she doesn't know who. Maybe he went to The Killers concert. Everybody else did.
The Killers are better than The Walkmen. The lead singer is cute. The drummer is sleepy. One of the bass or guitar players appears to have climbed on stage with his last band, 'Til Tuesday, in 1983, and has still not left the stage for a modernizing haircut of any kind. They play. They play. They play and play and play and play and play. Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice watch from a comfortable spot on the floor, Seth finally leaning over to Lindsay and being all, "So, Killers." She thanks him for the "stellar observation," noting that it's one he's made "eight times now." Yeah, you're welcome for the free ticket, bitch. Alex, now in her Nighttime Hair, asks Ryan if he likes live music. He tells her "not really," asking in reply, "You?" She tells him, "It's my passion," which is negative date points for anyone who says that about anything, ever. Unless they're talking about me. Seth makes eye contact with Ryan and the two of them retire exactly eleven inches from where they were just standing, Seth saying, "Dude, I'm dying." But that's the best part about going to a concert. Once the music starts, you don't have to talk anymore. But I guess that's only if you're actually going to the concert to watch the band, which doesn't seem true in the case of The Bait Shop, where Orange County's residents only flock in order to see a television show sell a new artist to a demographic with lots of discretionary income. Other than that, man, this show is totally all about the music. Seth says he feels like they finally hit rock bottom, which is the entrance cue for Summer, Zach, and THE HAT, who appear on The Balcony Of Lost Fans high above.
More b-roll concert footage. Summer, Zach, and THE HAT snake through the crowd, THE HAT apologizing for being "the third wheel." Grammarians: start your eye rolling. They are soon to crash into Seth and Lindsay, because there's only one place to go in Orange County, which means that for twenty-seven episodes last season there were null set places to go in Orange County. They each snuggle up to their respective dates, leaving THE HAT to play an awkward game of THE HAT In The Middle, Seth touching Lindsay for the first time ever and Ryan -- oh, Ryan and Alex are there as well -- swallowing up some more time as the seven of them all take the time to introduce themselves to each other again. They move on awkwardly, and Lindsay guesses they were just in the exalted presence of some ex-girlfriends. Perfect etiquette for a date, Seth launches into the truth (you fool! Have you never been on a first date before?), saying that Ryan and Marissa are an "epic tale," and that his relationship with Summer is fascinating as well, continuing, "She was my shorty last year, but then she got served." A swift elbow in the ribs from Alex stops Seth from continuing for now, and everyone is very amused.
Party at the Cohens'. Julie busies herself schmoozing the good Mr. Herbert, while Kirsten is relegated to the cheap seats, where Tate Donovan sucks down the free booze. Kirsten worries that the whole thing is coming across as slightly unprofessional, but Tate Donovan has just been elected Orange County's official Master Of All That Is Obvious, helpfully noting, "[Julie's] schmoozing a crowd at a cocktail party." Is that a fact?
Killers. Killing. Check. Zach stares at Summer while Summer stares at Seth while Seth talks to Lindsay and Lindsay stares into the void of mortality, wondering where it all went so terribly, horribly wrong. Summer says that she needs to save the poor girl and is going to step into the conversation, and Zach suggests that Summer "put the Cohen obsession on hold and watch the band." There's a band? Zach and Summer get snippy, and THE HAT excuses herself to go watch Ryan and Alex not talking. Meanwhile, Seth screams in Lindsay's ear about his lost relationship with Summer, in the course of which he both employs the phrase "new era" and misuses the phrase "you and I."
Chung-chung! Sandy pulls his car surreptitiously up to "the club" Julie so helpfully directed him to, and he gets there under the cover of darkness just in time to watch Caleb hand off a suspicious package to a suspicious woman, who drives away in a suspicious car to the strains of suspicious music. Sandy copies down her suspicious license plate number (1491PCE) with a suspicious pen. I don't know. I feel like maybe there's something fishy going on.
Moments later, Caleb is found to be drinking a scotch alone inside the club. Sandy is soon to plant himself to his father-in-law and ask who the woman was. Caleb stumbles and can only come up with a line about her being "an old friend," to which Sandy is basically like, "Slow clap, Caleb. Slow clap." That is to say he's markedly unimpressed with the lie. Sandy guesses that we have recently been in the presence of one Renee Wheeler, who Caleb once again claims not to know. But Sandy's got Caleb's number, that magnificent bastard, and he adds that he's already called in the license plate number. "Well played, Magnum P.I.," Caleb announces, and Caleb gets three angry emails telling him that his references are too arcane. You too can shoot off your missive in the direction of caleb@oc.org, because for some reason he's a non-profit. Y'know. Tax reasons. Caleb stands to leave, because that's just what the stage directions tell him to do, and Sandy tells Caleb that he's only going to ask this once. Ask what once? This: "Are you having an affair?" Caleb promises, "We're in much deeper water than that. Believe me." Well, that ought to make everyone feel much, much better about things.
Seven people came to see The Killers. As The Killers take their leave of the stage, Seth has proven his utter dilettante status again, having not watched so much as a full second of the band he was so excited to see. He tells Lindsay how over Summer he is, and Lindsay finally just picks up and walks away from him about two hours too late, telling him that there's something wrong with him. He counters that argument strenuously and in a way that's filled with words, saying that if he were to talk to Summer, it would only be to tell her how much he doesn't need to be talking to her. Lindsay suggests that Seth make it fast, indicating the door through which Summer, Duckie, and THE HAT leave, proving that they have absolutely no interest in encores or music. On her way up the stairs, THE HAT runs into D.J., who has decided to come because his friends had an extra ticket. He's able to come to The Bait Shop and even to drink, but if he's wearing a bracelet, it's less likely it's to prove he's over twenty-one and more like to feature the words "Medic Alert." Because the man is 107. D.J. and THE HAT stare awkwardly in a way that's called "ACTING!," and THE HAT bids a quick goodbye and takes off. Ryan sees her go, and Alex turns to him and offers, "Why don't you tell her?" Ryan feigns confusion at the whole thing, but THE HAT promises that she's not offended and continues, "I'm not really feeling the spark." Ryan is up and gone.
And then, outside, Summer tells Zach that she most certainly was NOT talking about Seth the entire night, but an angry Zach says, "It sure felt like it." She asks if he wants to go somewhere else, but Zach suggests, "Maybe you should go home and log onto some kind of Cohen chat room." So help me god, I will ban you faster than you can make up a handle of Cruel_Summer_47. Read the FAQ, Roberts. Read the goddamn FAQ. But as the slamming doors and general French farce continue unabated, Seth comes running out on the boardwalk and asks if he can talk to Summer for a second. Zach leaves, Summer follows, Seth follows her, and that's how you to do The Locomotion. Summer tells Seth to beat it and holds hands with Zach, whose jaw looks strangely broad in the pale moonlight.
Back inside, an unremittingly piiiiiiiiiiissed-off Lindsay staves off Ryan's attempts to be friendly. He offers her a ride home, and she says she wouldn't know what to do if he tried to help her again, thanks. He tells her the whole Seth date thing was probably a bad idea, to which she spits back, "The invasion of Iraq is looking pretty good in comparison." And not that I don't agree or look for any excuse to weave references to failed Bush policies into every conversation I ever have, but this does seem a bit like the writers suddenly remembered that Lindsay had activist bumper stickers on her car a while back and were like, "Can she say something worldly? Just not something about Tibet. We don't really know what that means."
The Big Clients are Big Drunk. Julie small-talks with some suited guy who may well by Mr. Herbert about where he boards his horse, and when Kirsten tries to move things back toward business, Julie cuts her off and sends the good "Steven" off to get some more drinks. "See?" Julie says once they're alone. "I'm not totally useless." No, that's true. In fact, without her, all of the clocks I hung up in my home to indicate women and feminism and power and how it's used wouldn't have just turned themselves back about fifty years.
Seth and Ryan meet up, alone. The new era blew, so they decide to swap it up again, Ryan taking off to find Lindsay and Seth going to collect his Alex consolation prize. Seth first. We join Alex handing The Killers what looks like about six singles (what a concert!), which is a strange business decision considering much of this episode's action was contingent on this being HER NIGHT OFF. Killer #1 takes his leave, and Seth is soon to appear at the door to her office. "So, to recap," he says in a way that makes me be like, "Fine, YOU try it for a change," Seth tells Alex that he got blown off by two girls in one night and wah wah wibbity wah. Alex responds that she's not surprised, and after Seth thanks her for twisting the knife, he apologizes about the "group hang," and I would like a more formal apology to me for the existence of the expression to begin with, if some semantic terrorist group would be willing to claim responsibility for bombing this episode with it and getting shrapnel all over my viewing experience. Seth bids Alex a good night and starts very! Slowly! Getting! Away! before Alex calls him back with a "Hard to believe, all those girls running out on you." She tells him that he was bratty and immature, but that every once in a while there was also a hint of, if it's possible, charm: "Especially when you're not talking about Summer." Dude. He's damaged goods. And you're only the bronze medalist in the Seth 500 Girlfriend Dash. Run away. But it's too late; Seth asks Alex if she wants to get "an ice cream," and she kisses him, which...awwwwwww?
D.J. drives his shiny red pick-up truck (things are good in the gardening business, people) to an empty parking lot where he see THE HAT's car. She, meanwhile, is crouched on the beach below a docked boat, because she hides in strange places that are easily discovered. D.J. finds her and tells her he's come to surprise her, so...surprise! They kiss and I hate it and even the tide is trying to run away.
What happened to Lindsay's car? Her brother, Che, must be using it tonight to plan the revolution. Bumper-stickered cars unite! Hold a bake sale for a bomb! Lindsay's waiting at the Newport Beach bus stop; Ryan's car pulls up and he asks her if she wants a ride. She curtly tells him again, "No, thanks." Ryan jumps out of the car, and Lindsay's defenses break down immediately. She tells him she knew it was going to be disaster with Seth, but that she only said yes because she thought Ryan was asking her out. "Didn't mean to say that out loud," she adds. That's why the plinky music is so plinky. Ryan tell her that he wanted it to be him, but that he never thought she'd say yes. He asks her out propuh and she offers, "It's possible."
Because we're in an ascendant montage here, we'll pop back into the Cohen house for a moment, where Sandy walks into the bedroom to find Kirsten taking off her party finery. She notes that the client resigned the contract, and Sandy notes that Caleb is guilty of something he thinks they're better off not knowing. He gives her one more chance to make a quiet life out of "Cheetos and Dr. Phil," and Dr. Phil is like, "What's my take of the Cheetos?" Kirsten tells him, "Not the man I love," and I think it very pretty.
Meanwhile, Summer and Zach sit uncomfortably on Summer's floor and watch television...
...D.J. and THE HAT snuggle under the dock
...and Alex and Seth get ice cream.
Meanwhile, Ryan and Lindsay start getting along very well as Bono literally SCREAMS over them, and the script's closing line of dialogue is replaced with the stage direction, "This is where the clever dialogue would be, but we got very, very lazy."