The music of Blind Melon is on my television! The strains of "No Rain" (geddit? GEDDIT?) ring out on the soundtrack to open this week's episode, and I'm briefly thrown that I'm hearing this attack of mid-'90s music nostalgia without this being in the context of a Behind The Music or a Whatever Happened To That Dancing Bee Girl special on VH1. But proudly it plays ("All I can say is that my life is pretty plain/ I like watching the puddles gather rain"), as we pan along the Orange County waterfront, which we find is under the cover of pouring, dousing rain. A straight-out-of-Central-Casting voice that was the answer to a request for "a morning radio type" voices over, "Well, I cannot believe I am saying this, but it's raining in The O.C." His trusty female sidekick chimes in, agreeing, "I know! It's crazy! I gotta tell you, the traffic is a nightmare. The 405 is jammed; the 5, the 710, they're all gridlocked." The male voice -- let's name him Wild Bill In The Morning, just in case we should happen by these FM jokesters again -- adds, "Stay safe, stay dry, and let's all pray for sunshine." And for those of you who do not live in Southern California, let me be the one to tell you that this is a pretty accurate depiction of how people react to the rain: with a level of horror so acute the sky could just as well be raining blood. And good luck finding anything else on local news. And enjoy hearing the line, "Am I the only person who knows how to drive in this?" everywhere you go. Pretty much the only inaccuracy here of seeing rain in California in 2005 is that it probably wouldn't be accompanied by the dulcet tones of Blind Melon. Somewhere, deep in a ramshackle ranch house in the Valley, Soul Asylum is like "why not US?" and starts planning their imminent reunion tour.
Cohen manse. Ryan makes his way to the windows of the pool house and pulls up the shade to discover that...it's raining! Oddly, he didn't hear it pelting against the roof or falling into the swimming pool in all the time he's been up, because California TV rain is polite enough not to interrupt the sleeping. Over in the main house, Seth experiences the same phenomenon of only hearing the rain for the first time when he sees it. Standing at two respective glass doors now, Seth and Ryan spot each other from across the pool, and each beckons the other one to cross the rainy expanse for a visit. Seth gestures. Ryan gestures. Seth gestures. Ryan gestures. Seth disappears from sight for a moment and returns holding a big basket of bagels, which he hopes will be enough of an incentive for Ryan to come over. Bagels, that is, because I hear the Cohens are Jewish and enjoy bagels. Any truth to this? Ryan gestures with a grimace and a circular motion around his stomach indicating that he's really not that hungry, and suddenly I understand why this website didn't exist in the silent-movie era. It would have sucked to have recapped, like, "Damsel in distress is tied to train tracks by the villain as train approaches and extremely dramatic saloon piano plays." Actually, it did exist, but it was called mightybigmime.com back in the day.
Seth disappears again and this time returns with his cell phone, which he dials. Oh, good. Dialogue. I was starting to worry that this entire episode would take place entirely in mime, and I didn't know how people would react to Seth's getting trapped inside a tiny invisible box. I'm glad it's not going to have to come to that. Ryan picks up his phone, and Seth informs him, "I kind of need to talk to you. So, you coming over for breakfast?" Ryan hems that he has "a little cleaning up to do," suggesting that Seth pop on over to the pool house instead. Seth regards the weather conditions and notes, "Have you looked outside? It's like the opening sequence to The Day After Tomorrow." At which a cold chill is added to the rain, as Seth feels the acute loneliness of being the only person on the planet at that moment making reference to the movie The Day After Tomorrow. And not to get all Ebert And The Other Guy on you, but the opening sequence of The Day After Tomorrow actually takes place on an ice floe in Alaska. And it's not raining. And there are no bagels.
Seth and Ryan both finally puss out, Seth concluding, "You want to do it over the phone?" Hot. Ryan agrees this might be best, and Seth embarks on his usual morning cardio routine of thirty straight minutes of self-obsessed speed-talking. He notes the rainy conditions, informing Ryan, "This is very reflective of my current emotional state." So you're telling me that the reason we've had one of the rainiest winters ever in the history of Southern California meteorology is because SETH COHEN IS IN A BAD MOOD? Well, at least all those people whose houses have slid down mountains into the middle of the highway know where to send their insurance claims. Seth adds, "I'm gonna lose her, man. Summer's leaving for Italy tomorrow. It's gonna be nothing but cannolis and canoodling with Zach." You know what word teenagers say a lot? "Canoodling." Ryan agrees that it's a day for bad moods, seeing as he hasn't spoken to Lindsay since last week when she ran out at the non-adoption party. Seth suggests that it will all work out for the best, and just at that moment a thunderclap inspires Seth to ask, "You don't think that's god trying to tell us anything, do you?" Ryan thinks they shouldn't take any chances; he thinks this means he should talk to Lindsay. Seth suggests in something of a huge non sequitur that they stick together, "kind of two by two, like Noah did." He wants to live on an ark with Ryan and repopulate the entire human race? Ryan suggests that sticking together can't hurt them, and as another thunderclap rings out, Seth looks skyward and puts way too fine a point on it: "No worse than our women can."
Opening credits: "I'm done with all the travel and don't need to do more roaming/ And so I'll stay in the squarest state and never leave Wyoming." Time for some other states to start getting their due, y'all.
Kirsten Cohen lies in bed in the dark, plaintively staring at a smiling photograph of her with her husband in happier, more Delaney-free times. As she puts the photograph face down on her side table, her actual husband comes in from the room, toweling off his head and informing her, "It's ten o'clock. Are you gonna stay in bed all day?" She tells him, "Maybe. I like it here." Sandy sits down on the bed to her and tells her, "I feel like we've become like strangers." She retorts that she was taught never to talk to strangers, and promptly rolls over and away from all Sandy Cohens, real, photographed, or otherwise. Sandy tells Kirsten he's sorry she's upset, and she recalls that "last time I checked, everything was my fault." Sandy's cell phone rings, and we're all so sure of who it is that Sandy might as well have customized his phone for it to ring the NYPD Blue theme song. Kirsten closes her eyes in horror as Sandy makes for the phone, and you'd think that if the FBI were smart enough to come visit the house, they'd be smart enough to trace calls on a cell phone. Maybe, secretly, they really want to see Rebecca Bloom just as little as we do. And, if so, smartest FBI ever. Anyway, Sandy picks up the phone and says Rebecca's name, which causes Kirsten to leap out of bed and announce, "Now I'm up." On the other end of the line, Rebecca talks into a pay phone in the diner from the end of Million Dollar Baby, explaining, "I wanted to run, Sandy. I got on a bus. I was on my way. But I realized I couldn't leave without saying goodbye." Well, you're saying it now. Sandy reminds her yet again that there's still a chance with her case as long as she doesn't flee, and tells her, "Stay where you are," as Kirsten throws on a robe and storms down the hall. Sandy -- for some reason that I fear will never be adequately explained -- seems to be wearing long, navy blue jams. ["Is it because he's a surfer? He was surfing? In the rain? I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt." -- Wing Chun] I'm sure the Blind Melon confused his fashion sense insofar as what decade it is, but seriously Sandy...jams?
Julie Cooper-Nichol stands her in kitchen with a bagel cutter, slicing the carb-filled delicacy like she's getting ready to cater her own Bat Mitzvah. Oooh, the kids at cardio bar are not going to be happy about this development at all. She drops one into the toaster as Marissa and Alex enter the room, and Julie starts to bid her daughter a happy morning (because carbs do actually put you in a good mood, so why stop eating them ever?) before noticing that she's not alone. Julie shakes Alex's hand and tells her and Marissa, "I'm just making bagels. I figure if the Cohens can do it, why can't we?" Cohens and bagels? Haven't heard a thing about it, actually. Alex begs off, saying she doesn't eat breakfast, which Julie deems "very punk of [her]." Cigarettes and whiskey for breakfast is punk. Nothing for breakfast is lame and gives you some wonky-ass breath. But Julie continues on, "You know, I used to like the punk in my day." Heh. Marissa tries to cut her off with a sharp "Mom!," and Julie corrects herself, "You're right, Marissa. It still is my day. I was just being modest." The toaster dings and the bagel pops up, and Julie announces, "We'll be keeping kosher in no time." Hope you had the forethought to savor that while it happened, because this episode's best line just came and went. Julie spreads cream cheese on a bagel as a pounding guitar Hot Girlie Action Theme Song begins to play and her daughter gets frisky with her girlfriend right behind her mother's back, and when Julie turns back, the music abruptly stops and Alex announces that she has to go. Julie gives a fist pump and counsels, "Rock on." If she weren't twenty times more of a poseur than you ever were, Julie, I'm sure she probably would.
Alex takes off, and Julie continues spreading cream cheese on her extremely continuity-challenged bagel, which now has less cream cheese on it than it did when she last turned around. See, yeah. This is why the Cohens can do it and you can't. As Marissa unconvincingly stage-directs herself toward the refrigerator, Julie tries to bond, telling Marissa, "She seems nice!" Marissa barks an unconvincing "Uh-huh," because vowels and "H"es are totally punk rock, yo. Julie adds that she has no problem with Marissa's having friends stay overnight, but that it would be nice if Marissa would let her know beforehand, that'd be great. Marissa asks, "You didn't get the memo?" Man, if this hasn't become the single most one-note performance since the soundtrack to Eyes Wide Shut. Sorry, but if Josh Schwarz get to spend the whole hour making obscure '90s pop culture references, I though you could at least indulge me one. Thanks. Marissa drinks milk straight from the container (punk rock!) as Julie lectures that she could really stand to know what's going on underneath her own roof. "Oh," Marissa says. "You want to know what's going on with me." I mean, not really, so if you...oh. Rhetorical. "I'm gonna tell you the truth," she says. "No screaming, no crying" -- no acting -- "just the truth." Julie smiles and says that makes her very happy, as if there were some big secret she'd been waiting to hear rather than her daughter just spending the better part of this season acting like a totally uncontextualized pool-furniture-throwing bitchmonster all the time for absolutely no discernible reason. Suddenly emboldened to tell absolutely anyone within earshot about the big ol' fish taco meal she's been ordering in for lunch every day, Marissa fixes Julie with a look and announces, "Alex is my girlfriend." Julie is willfully ignorant, smiling and responding, "I know! And I'm so happy that you've made a new friend. But I hope you keep seeing Summer, and..." But Marissa is so punk rock that she doesn't cut anyone off where the script tells her to, so it's a while before she gets around to her line: "Mom, not my friend who's a girl. My girlfriend." Thunderclap. Marissa leaves her mother in stunned silence, and I will bet you a shiny nickel that they cut the line "Now THAT is punk," which she should now be saying out loud to an empty room.
And now, the least punk thing that's ever happened. Lindsay sits on her non-punk bed and practices her non-punk oboe and somewhere even Kenny G is all, "Can you play some Sex Pistols on that thing, because man this is all pretty gay right here." Repeated rings on the doorbell would interrupt this vast display of please-give-me- a-wedgie-on- the-back-of- the-school-bus-for- I-am-the-biggest-nerd- in-Harbor-history-itude, but Lindsay keeps right on playing. Her attention is briefly captivated by a tight shot on an open suitcase sitting in a corner of the room, and the sound of the rain is finally, briefly drowned out by a collective gasp from the entire viewing audience of this show followed by a hopeful "Going somewhere? Forever?" spoken by all of us in unison. But this reverie is soon broken by a knock on Lindsay's window, and she walks over to it to open her non-punk shade and find a soaking-wet Ryan standing on the other side. She looks perplexed (and if you can't figure out that not answering the door for someone + someone standing in the rain = someone wet standing in the rain, I think we have know why the show hasn't let Lindsay go to any of the smarty Physics classes she used to so enjoy), finally opening the window and slurring, "What are you doing?" Ryan reminds her that she wouldn't open the door, and Lindsay explains, "It's because I don't want to see anyone." He tells her in rat-a-tat Seth-Cohen-ese, "Bicycle, monsoon, seriously flawed plan, freezing." Schwartz, repetitive, shortcut, dialogue. Don't worry. He'll know what I mean. Lindsay melts at this random laundry list of future Mad Lib words, smiling and letting him crawl in through the window. He gets through and does a straight-up pratfall on the other side, and when he gets up, Lindsay is there with a towel (a non-punk towel) to wrap around him and his soaking-wet clothes. Yeah. That'll dry him right off.
As Lindsay putters around the room trying to think of a "one time at band camp" joke that won't seem dated all these years later, Ryan suggests that she might have opened the door for him a half-hour ago. She responds that she thought he was Caleb. Why? Was someone standing on the front porch requiring paternity tests of the doorbell and the mailbox and the welcome mat? Lindsay adds that he scheduled her a DNA test and Ryan, shocked, asks, "He scheduled you a DNA test?" We know this was happening. Least punk plot twist ever. Ryan asks Lindsay if she'll go, and she tells him no, and another awkward pause later, Ryan notices the suitcase and notes, "Well, you're going somewhere." She exposits that she had been packing up to move in with her father, but now that Caleb might not be her father, what's the point, right? So she might instead go to "Chicago." I...wait, what? She explains, "We have family there. Actual, no-doubt-about-it family." Well, you'll know for sure after the test. "And my mom is thinking that...the best thing would be to start over." Ryan reminds Lindsay that she doesn't know for sure Caleb that isn't her father, and that she should at least find out the truth. He tells her that would be the reason to stay, adding, "The other reason." She tells her that a DNA test "sounds so sci-fi scary," and he offers to go with her. She mutters an unconvinced and non-punk "okay."
Summer wanders around her bedroom in a horrific yellow dress with a big-ass doily around the neck that Renée Zellweger wore to the Oscars that one year when it looked like she, Joan Allen, Juliette Binoche, and Gwyneth Paltrow were all on their way to audition for roles in Starburst! The Musical. Summer looks in the mirror and asks no one, "Who looks good in this much yellow?" A knock on the door prevents Joan and Melissa Rivers from popping in and answering the question for her (and probably referring to her numerous times as "Rachel Barton" on the red carpet in the process), and Summer looks toward the closed door and yells, "Zach, thank god. Look, I really don't know about this dress." But as she pulls open the door, she finds Seth standing on the other side, wet only on the top half of his grey sweatshirt and wearing a Spider-Man mask. He announces, "It's your friendly neighborhood Seth Cohen." She just asks, "What?" Seth explains, "I look stupid in hats and I don't have a raincoat, so Spider-Man here is really the only protective waterproof headgear I own." She retorts that it's too bad he wasn't wearing such protective headgear when he was dropped on his head as a child, and he snaps back, "Oh, zing." Banter police, arrest this scene!
But Seth has actually come for a reason, and he'll get right to it, thanks: "I know that my visits to your bedroom are probably getting a little repetitive." Seems like the classy thing to do would have been not to call attention to it. But Seth's attention is soon diverted elsewhere by the suitcases and the dress, and he notes, "You're really going." She tells him she doesn't see many other options, seeing as she's in the wedding and all, and Seth is all nervous, asking, "You are?" She asks, "Why do you think I look like lemon meringue?" and Seth swallows hard and notes, "I guess you and Zach are really serious." Summer shifts uncomfortably and asks, "Are we gonna do this again, or did you, like, actually come here to advance the plot?" Using your characters ironically to point out flaws in the script does not stop them from being flaws. It's why "meta" is a prefix rife with negative connotations and it's why Adaptation was the most overrated movie of the last ten years. Such writing shortcuts should be used as sparingly as possible, and preferably never in the presence of Nicolas Cage. Or, in the worst-case scenario, TWO Nicholas Cages. Seth, all freaked out about how Summer is now like a member of Zach's family, shifts his focus and tells her that the reason he came by was to tell her she needs a special adapter for the plugs in Europe. I'm sure she's been to Europe. He wishes her a safe flight and wishes her a bon voyage, and Summer worldlessly shuts the door with him on the other side. Seth, meanwhile, puts his Spider-Man mask back on and walks away sadly.
By the way? In The O.C. this week? Raining. Sandy enters the Million Dollar Baby Diner and finds Rebecca sitting at a booth, beckoning him over. You guys know why Sandy isn't being followed? Yeah, neither do I. He throws his coat in the booth and sits across from Rebecca. She thanks him for coming, and he tells her, "It wasn't easy. It rains in Southern California, suddenly no one can drive." And seriously? One drop of rain hits the pavement in L.A. and you will hear that sentence spoken more often than "Can you believe this weather?" or "There was a tsunami somewhere, and yet we complain more about some passing sprinkles...does that make us insular and self-obsessed?" Rebecca sits in silence, and Sandy finally notes, "You're shaking." It's what extremely old people do. Sometimes they also pee a little by accident. Seems like the classy thing to do would be not to call attention to it. Rebecca tells him that she doesn't want to run anymore, and he tells her to come back with him. She asks, "And do what? Sit in jail? Destroy your marriage?" He tells her that his marriage has nothing to do with this, suggesting again, "We'll explore amnesty or some sort of plea bargain. I think we can make this right." Rebecca thinks about excusing herself to the bathroom but realizes it's already too late.
Over at Alex's punk shanty, a knock on the door reveals a soaking-wet Marissa, who kisses Alex in a fit of passion and announces, "I told her!" Alex: "You told who what?" Yes, exactly. Marissa explains that she told her mother about her and Alex, and when Alex is too punk to jump for joy, Marissa suggests that she should be happy about this and Alex asks, "It depends. Did you tell her to piss her off?" Which would be...punk? Too punk? Not punk enough? Marissa moves in on Alex and promises that she told her mother "so this could be real. For us." Alex urgently asks what happens now, probably realizing with some terror that Zach and Rebecca are seriously on the chopping block and that if she doesn't do something seriously Hail Mary right now, she's . Marissa says she can't go home, and Alex tells her to stay there. "But first," Alex suggests. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes." Why not just noncommittally wrap a dry towel around her wet clothes? That'll usually dry someone right off.
Speaking of which, Lindsay and Ryan walk into her bedroom, Ryan wearing the same clothes he was before, all of which are now completely dry. Lindsay thanks Ryan for coming with her, and he asks her, "What's more romantic than a DNA test?" Certainly not what happens , when she lies down on her bed and he lies right on top of her. She asks what she should do if the test comes back positive, and he reminds her that Caleb will adopt her. But she doesn't even know if she wants that anymore. Ryan informs her, "Well, you're not going to Chicago. Let's just forget about that option." She tells him, "I know that. I couldn't handle the cold and the wind," which inspires him to remind her that it is the Windy City, even though that expression actually has nothing to do with the weather, and...ah, nobody listens. Lindsay and Ryan banter further about her distaste for deep dish pizza, but then she brings home her real reason for wanting to stay: "I couldn't be without you." At which Ryan notes, "I come in right below pizza. That's good to know." Dude, if you ranked right below pizza on my personal scale, you'd come in...second.
Kirsten sits in her office at the suddenly-prosperous Newport Group, her eyes closed. Julie is soon to appear in her office and ask, "What are you doing here late on a Saturday?" Kirsten responds that she's trying to "distract herself and failing," and Julie turns her talk to the weather, noting that she doesn't think her hair can survive another day of this. Julie ups the ante, bemoaning, "I don't know if my marriage can." Julie smells blood in the puddles, sitting down across from Kirsten and asking, "Gossip?" Julie tells her, "You have no idea," and Julie asks, "You want to break into Caleb's liquor cabinet? Dish some dirt?"
Smash cut to Kirsten sucking on a stogie and coughing elaborately, as smooth jazz plays in the background. Julie holds a cigar cutter between her fingers and smirks, "I'd like to use this on Caleb sometimes." Heh. And, ew. Julie pours some more scotch and reflects, "Nothing like a rainy day to reflect on what a mess your life is." Kirsten confirms, "My life is a pretty big mess. I may even beat you on that one." At which they engage in a bitch-off, the old Yente mother version of the freestyle competitions in 8 Mile. Kirsten goes first: "My husband is currently transporting a fugitive who used to be his ex-girlfriend." She still is his ex-girlfriend, but the crowd seems to like it, so let's see what DJ Julie Cooper has to say in response. "Well, I'll see your fugitive former flame and raise you a lesbian daughter." Kirsten, wide-eyed, asks, "Marissa?" Yeah, as if Julie has any other children. Kirsten suggests that it's just a phase, and Julie answers, "It was for me." Was for me, too. Dating women is for crazy people.
Back at the one road into Orange County, Sandy and Rebecca come upon a road block and a sign reading "road closed." Rebecca gets all freaked out at the flashing police lights, and Sandy opens the window to find a rain-slickered gentleman on the other side who tells him, "Sir, the road is completely washed out ahead. We need you to turn around. We should have the road open by morning." Sandy and Rebecca look at each other, amazed that one of the most industrialized highway systems in the world has gotten completely washed out in puddles of contrivance.
I've just named by new band "Puddles of Contrivance." In honor of this show, it will be a shitty punk band accompanied by a punk oboe.
We are now listening to "The End of the Road" by Boyz II Men, which is playing in Seth's darkened bedroom. Ryan enters and asks, "You're listening to Boyz II Men?" You know who Boyz II Men are? Fag. Seth explains from under his covers, "I can think of no sadder song in the whole world." Ryan assumes that things didn't go well, and Seth responds that unless he can think of one last, grand romantic gesture, Summer is gone. Falling off the roof in a superhero mask is a grand romantic gesture? Oh, sorry. Spoiler. Ryan reminisces that he remembers the first time he heard about Summer, and that he thought it was weird that Seth would have named his boat after someone he'd never met. At which Seth sits suddenly up in bed and cries out, "Eureka, Ryan!" Uh-oh. I sense rapid-fire patter approaching O.C. airspace. "I can't believe I just said 'eureka,' that's okay, that's it!" Yep. There is was. Seth is up and pacing now, telling Ryan that he's thought of the grand romantic gesture sure to win Summer back. And that is? "I shall take her on a sailing adventure aboard the Summer Breeze." But Ryan, it seems, took a meeting with the head story editor (god, I'm glad SOMEONE did), and he takes pains to remind Seth that he sold that boat. Seth hops on his bed with an even louder "eureka" than before, noting, "I shall buy back the Summer Breeze!" Ryan now takes pains to point out that Seth doesn't have any money, and Seth cleverly points out that if he wanted his parade rained on, he would just step outside. Oh, I get it. Because of the raining. Seth says there's nothing to worry about insofar as finding the money, screams yet another "eureka," and demands "Turn this music off. It's depressing me" as he storms confidently out of the room. Whatever. That song rules. Fag.
Good thing that song is also playing in Summer's bedroom, where she sits on her floor and holds her cell phone in her hand. Her finger hover over the send button on Seth's entry. His phone number, by the way, is 714-555-0155, so at least y'all who are thinking of starting a Seth Cohen phone sex fanfic blog have an accurate way of getting in touch with him. A knock on the door causes Summer to lose focus with the whole phone thing -- and she'd be pretty disappointed to find out that Seth has one of those fake TV phone numbers anyway -- and in walks Zach. He asks, "You're listening to Boyz II Men?" Fa--...sorry. He walks in and notes the several hundred pieces of luggage sitting on her bed, fretting, "We're gonna be backpacking. You know, going from hostel to hostel." She mutters a quiet "Ew." Zach tries to tell her that it will be an adventure, but she's already unhinged, taking this inopportune moment to wonder aloud, "Don't you think it's a little much that I'm in your sister's wedding? I mean. after all, I've only met her, like, once." Zach tries to offer her some insta-character, reminding us that she's "alienating and severe" and, therefore, doesn't have many friends. Summer continues to look downcast, and Zach asks her plainly, "Do you not want to come?" She promises him that she does, but adds, "I have to get a special plug for my hairdryer." At which Zach pulls an adapter out of his pocket and smilingly announces, "I already got you one." Awwww. This is officially the most electricity ever generated between the two of them, ever. Geddit? GEDDIT? It's...sigh.
Knock knock knock. Alex answers her punk rock door to find Spidey-Seth on the other side. She sees the mask and knows it's him instantly, asking, You here to fight crime?" He takes off the mask and comes in, telling her, "I'm here to get my job back." She tells him he was the flakiest employee she's ever seen, and asks how long he'd be planning on keeping his job this time. He tells her that it's until he made $500, and she tells, "with great power comes great responsibility," which I guess means she's just given Seth his job back, albeit it in a very Chinese riddle type of way. Oh, and also Seth needs the money in advance. Which she actually allows, which is stupid and probably illegal. As she walks out of the room to access some cash-rich lockbox she apparently keeps under her bed, Marissa wanders into the room and asks no one in particular, "Should I be getting dressed or are we going back to..." She spots Seth, whom she probably should have been able to hear from the room of that tiny apartment. The three of them meet in the living room and exchange a series of "oh, my god"s, until Seth starts in, "Lemme get this straight." Yeah, get something straight. As the Hot Girlie Action Theme Song plays anew, Seth surmises, "You broke up with me for Marissa?" Alex offers him some hot lesbian payola, handing him a wad of cash, but Seth is far more interested in this new developing plot, asking, "Who better than a superhero understands secret identities?" Alex manhandles him out of the place, but he stares at them first and tells him wants to get "the visual." Oh, please. Alex and Marissa have never ever seen each other naked.
We're at a location called the Pink Motel, though the "M" of the neon pink sign is burnt out, so it's kind of a like a groovy European place called the Pinkhotel. Fancy and whore-like at the very same time. Inside of seedy Room 19, Sandy and Rebecca have set up camp at the foot of the bed, Rebecca cracking open a bottle of twist-off wine as Sandy asks, "What'll it be, Ding Dongs or cheese sticks? "Or"? "OR"? Rebecca notes that they're drinking a dessert wine, and chooses Ding Dongs. Sandy deems the whole thing "one classy picnic," and if you don't think that's the name of the first Puddles of Contrivance album, it's like you've never known me at all. Rebecca calls attention to the fact that they've gotten washed out overnight (thanks for the recap, but I thought we discussed leaving that to the professionals from now on), and Sandy notes, "That's El Niño for you." It...is? Rebecca fact-checks that as well, proposing, "Or fate...tomorrow we head back to reality, but for now it's just us." Sandy talks Rebecca's wandering skeleton hands out from his hair and reminds her, "Except it's not just us. It hasn't been just us for twenty years." He then excuses himself to go outside and call Kirsten, and from the look on his face as he steps from Room 19, at least one person here is relieved that the whole of Southern California has been turned into an ad hoc cold shower.
"I appreciate you selling me my boat back," Seth says to the guy he apparently...sold...his...boat to. I guess? It's raining, by the way, and Seth watches as a long-haired, tattooed, muscle-bound guy who fought on American Gladiators under the name of Blaze cracks open his garage and warns Seth, "I made some modifications to her." A tarp dirtied with the sweat of the last nine teenage girls this particular boating enthusiast has killed in cold blood comes sliding off the boat, and we discover that Blaze has renamed the vessel Gimmie Sex, written in the font "'70s Porn Theater Sans Bold" in the color pink. Who's "Gimmie"? A waxy-looking Seth mutters a shocked "Dear god," but God has disavowed the existence of the Gimmie Sex, and is therefore of little help to you. When did we start spelling "Gimmie" with that extra "i" at the end? Is that a regional thing? In Canada, I hear it's spelled "gimmoue." ["Yes. It's pronounced 'del-OO-zee.'" -- Wing Chun]
Kirsten, as is her custom, lies in bed alone. The photo of happy happy Sandy and Kirsten lies face down on the side table, but as her phone rings, she reaches over to answer it and we discover that the photograph has magically righted itself. Poor continuity, stuck overnight at the cheap motel on the other side of the washed-out road. She picks up the phone to find Sandy back in the motel room, offering a chipper-as-possible "Hey, honey." He tells her that he tried her last night, and she responds that she fell asleep early after her long, drunk day at the office. He explains that the rain still hasn't stopped and the road still isn't open, and Kirsten's sympathy extends far enough for Kirsten to observe, "Right. The conveniently washed-out road." Which, exactly. Sandy purses his lips but would probably find Rebecca all up in his grill, like, "Are those lips pursed for ME?" all old and doddering and wonked-out like Lucille II during a dizzy spell, so he relaxes his face and promises, "I'm walking home if I have to." Kirsten gives a look that's like, "Well, I'll call the cobbler to make sure your shoes are in ship-shape form, because I'M WAITING, HERE," and stares sadly into the maaaaaagical picture of the two of them. Kirsten remembers that she likes Sandy just enough to offer him a tender-ish "just get home," and Sandy offers, "I'll see you soon." Really, there was no other road? Where did Rebecca's bus take her, to The Past?
Cooper-Nichol Manse. Where it is, by the way, raining. No, I know. You know who's good at driving in it? No one. Marissa is in her bedroom, pulling clothes out of her bureau drawers in a wholly non-believable fashion, and Julie is soon to return from her P-FLAG meeting, enter the room, and be all, "You got a minute?" Marissa tells her no, not really, but Julie thinks maybe she does: "I would like to talk to you about your friend, Alex." She continues on, "I experimented too, at your age." Who didn't? And may I say...most awkward prom night ever. Julie adds, "Albeit, it involved a little Motley Crüe and a lot of Jäger." I think maybe Julie Cooper was my awkward prom date. And, if so, may I just say that that means I completely rule. Julie understands, therefore, that this is a phase: "But I won't make a big deal out of it if you won't." Julie finally realizes that Marissa is packing, which gives her pause to ask, "Where are you going?" Wherever it is, she'll have to travel through THE RAIN to get there, that's for sure. Marissa informs her mother, "I'm moving out. You have my cell if Caleb kicks and you need help counting the cash." Not when your mother who pays the cell-phone bill cuts off your service, you entitled loon. No matter. Marissa grabs a bag and unconvincingly act out of the room. Hey, Julie? Now that you're alone, I've got "Dr. Feelgood" cued up to the part where...okay, no. I understand. You're upset. Just call me whenever you...hey, where are you going?
The Gimmie Sex having been returned to its rightful owner, Seth and Ryan sit in the boat in the living room, Ryan outlining the plan of attack: "You take Summer for a spin in the pool in the Gimmie Sex?" Seth notes that it's "a symbolic gesture," actually waiting to add, "By the way? Our exes are dating each other now," as if that's not the absolute first thing he, they, and everyone they go to so-called "school" with would be talking about. That is BIG news. That's not below-the-fold, after-I'm-done-putting-the-boat-in-the-pool news at all. "Marissa and Alex, no longer welcome in the red states," Seth adds by way of explanation, but since a constitutional amendment was passed against Mischa Barton's acting already, she's got two big, big strikes against her. By the way? America? Thanks for finally putting something worth voting for on the ballot. Ryan confesses that that's something he "wouldn't have predicted." Oh, don't worry. It'll all be gone and forgotten about in a few weeks anyway. And once more, the Hot Girlie Action Theme Song kicks up on the soundtrack, so it's a good thing they're not going out of their way to fetishize this or anything. Kirsten enters the living room at this moment, promises not to ask why there's a boat in the living room, and tells Ryan that Lindsay called to say that the results are back and that she wants them to go with her. And yet no Hot Paternity Test Action Theme Song tells me how to feel about it all.
Zach and Summer finally make it out of her bedroom with her forty-seven bags. Summer turns back because she forget Princess Sparkle, and as soon as she's back in the her bedroom, the phone starts to ring. She picks it up to find Seth -- no, really -- on the other line, calling in order to not advance the plot. He asks what she's doing, and she reminds him that she's leaving for the airport to go to Italy, but first, he tells her, he has something he wants to show her. He tells her that he needs one last shot before she gets on the plane, and she reminds him again, "You had your shot. Remember when we were dating and you sailed away?" She vamps on that he has no right to do this to her, and that she's hanging right up on him right about now. But Seth's ruthless, asking, "When you're with him, is it like what we had?" Well, she's just going to have to wait until marriage to find out if he's as awkward and unsatisfying as you were, I guess. Summer shoots back that if it had really been that awesome, Seth wouldn't have left, so now, she says, "I'm leaving you." And with a slam of the big, fancy phone, she's off to parts continental.
Orange County Paternity Testing Center, Long Overdue Subplot Resolution Wing. Chance of drama-enhancing rain sound effect: near 100%. Lindsay, Ryan, Kirsten, Renee (shut up, Renee), and Caleb sit in a silence which Lindsay finally breaks with "Someone please say something." Well, it's not brilliant, but it's better than "Can you believe this weather we're having it's raining cats and dogs I mean look at it it's really coming down I mean who can even drive in this am I right?" Caleb notes that there sure is a lot of rain out there (all right, that'll DO), and Kirsten agrees. So does Renee, but only with a nod because I think they're paying her only enough to keep her around the set, and if she has any more speaking lines in her six remaining seconds as a character, they can't count her as an extra and they'll have to pay her more than scale and free string cheese from Craft Services. Kirsten promises that, no matter what happens, Lindsay will always be a part of the family, and Caleb agrees, "I couldn't have said it better myself." Because it's not what he thinks at all. A gruff woman in a white lab coat comes into the room with a manila folder, flips it open, explains, "Our results demonstrate we have a match. Caleb Nichol is the father of Lindsay Wheeler Gardner." "Gardner"? I slept through something, didn't I? Caleb smiles ghoulishly, as if he could smile any other way, and tells her, "I knew you were my daughter." He gives her a hug and a kiss on the forehead, and she tries to smile, but ew.
Seth lies in bed in the dark listening to Boyz II Men again, and Ryan enters as Seth says, "I just hope they get the sex over with early. Like, just join the mile-high club over the Atlantic or something." Ryan takes a bite of an apple because he hearts healthy living, and tells Seth he's sorry about all of this. Seth has the presence of mind to ask what happened with Lindsay, and Ryan tells him that she is, in fact, Caleb's daughter. Ryan asks Seth if he wants to help Lindsay move her stuff to Caleb's, and Seth responds that he plans, instead to watch something called Sherman Oaks, which is "a reality show knock-off of The Valley" and ouch I just fell into the matrix. He socially commentates, "Why watch the angst of fictional characters when you can watch real people in contrived situations?" I could NOT agree more. Speaking of which, watch the premiere of Top Model Wednesday at 8 on your local UPN affiliate. That show is the best. That's America's Top Model, Cycle Four, with your host, supermodel Tyra Banks. Wednesday at 8, with an encore performance on Friday night. Who will be America's Top Model? Find out Wednesday! At 8. O'clock. Don't forget.
"Lay off your brakes! Can't anyone drive in this weather?" You know who can't? Sandy Cohen, who is aggressively climbing into the rear or the traffic in front of him. Rebecca counsels him to "relax," but he's all about not relaxing. She asks if they can talk about last night, asking if what they had once meant nothing to him. He blee blah bleeeeee blar blar watch Top Model blah-di-o-la, but that was ancient history, and Sandy's married now and leeeeeeeeeeeeeeee loooo loooo looooo, and he's got to get back to Newport and tell his family he loves them. But first, the chief administrator of the Newport Driver's Education Academy has to do a bit of Toonces the Driving Cat down a slick embankment, as Sandy loses control of the wheel and the car zips right over a nearby cliff. Wheeeee! It finally comes to rest at the bottom of a hill, and Sandy jumps right out and climbs around to the passenger side to make sure Rebecca is still alive. If not, don't even feel bad, because she totally might have just died of natural causes anyway. Damn. Alive as ever. A truck pulls up just then, and the driver calls out to make sure they're okay and then lets them know, "I called 911! Cops are on the way, tow truck, ambulance." Thank you, helpful plot device! Sandy calls out a thank-you and the driver takes off, and Rebecca immediately goes into flight mode. But wait! What about amnesty? A plea bargain? It's been, like, nine seconds since anyone brought those options up. Sandy tells her that she can't run again, and she's all, "Babe, I am already running," and how can we miss you if you won't GO AWAY?
Orange County International (OCX) by night. Summer sits to Zach and across from the castrating bitches of his mom and sister. Summer's cell rings and Seth's shiny mug comes up on the ID, but she ignores it in lieu of some exceedingly dry family bonding. She says she's excited to meet Zach's father, and they immediately turn talk to the Italian art they'll be seeing. Zach's castrating mother asks Summer if she's a fan of Botticelli, and Summer tries gamely by saying she prefers his earlier works, such as "the comedies." Well, I'm convinced. After a dead, we're-mean-and-you're-dumb pause such as we're used to, Summer slinks off and says she's going to go buy a magazine. She suggests People, US Weekly, and In Touch, but Castra-Mom asks for an Economist, and her evil daughter wants a Xanax. Can I combine and have the In Touch and the Xanax? Because 37,000 feet above Nebraska is no time for anything other than a giant yellow arrow pointing at Cameron Diaz's excess cellulite in wide-angle as she frolics on the beach in St. Tropez. Unless that's also what's in The Economist. I really wouldn't know.
Summer retires to the OCX gift shop, and checks her voicemail to find that Seth has, in fact, left a message. And here it is: "Hey, it's me. Look, perhaps you're screening. Perhaps you're being screened by Security. I just wanted to say I'm sorry to leave things like that, okay?" Endearing behavior if you like the guy, prosecutable behavior if you don't. He then makes the sound of a horse neighing and tells her that Captain Oats says hi and to have a safe trip. What a thoughtful horse.
Alex is SO the top in this relationship. She sits on the couch swigging a beer, and Marissa enters with some of her tiny clothes and says that there's no more closet space. Alex agrees that there's not, and Marissa tries the spirit of compromise, noting, "I can live with less shoes." Correction. You can live with fewer shoes. I guess their shared grammar closet is stuffed with didactic lessons about how we're supposed to call them "womyn" from now on and didn't have room for anything else. Alex jumps up and says she has to get to work, and she asks Marissa if she'll walk her, noting, "I love walking in the rain." It's going to be raining whether Marissa is with you or not, but...you know what? Never mind. We're almost done here. Marissa agrees to do just that, but first Alex has a few more house-meeting-ish issues to take care of: tomorrow is garbage day, and rent is due the first day of the month. Welcome to seedy, reality sucker. I love that the "started to fight when the money got tight and they just didn't count on the tears" section of their relationship started nine seconds after they moved in together. Shut up, Marissa.
And take Lindsay with you. Ryan enters her room to find her still tending to her suitcase, but she's got a bit of surprising news: "I talked it over with my mom, and I want to go with her. To Chicago." I guess pizza won in the end. Bring a scarf, bitches.
Captain Oats sitting on the armrest, Seth plops down on the couch with the remote and does a Shakespearean aside to no one in particular: "Hours of mind-numbing escapism." He hits the remote and is greeted with nothing but snow. Which no one can drive in either, by the way. "The satellite's out?" he asks. "Ugh. I refuse to be denied this one small pleasure." He gets up and runs to parts unknown...
...while back at OCX, Summer walks out of the gift shop (did you get me some gummy peaches? I freakin' love those things and I can only ever find them at the airport) and runs into a panicked Zach. He tells her that the flight has been delayed and that his sister -- never given a name, I don't think, poor thing -- is having an anxiety attack because she thinks this is a sign she shouldn't get married. And if that's really what she thinks, she totally shouldn't get married at all. Zach asks if she can offer "a girl's point of view," and Summer agrees. But just then, she looks down and notices a little boy playing with a Captain Oats on the floor right near her. He's even kind of a got a Li'l Cohen Junior outfit on. And he exists almost entirely in slo-mo, as do most adorable TV moppets sent to earth to give adults some perspective on their actions. Summer stares at the kid for a while in a way that would make her have to register with a special government agency if she moved into a house in your neighborhood.
Zach comes back over to fetch Summer, and she tells him, "I can't do this." He tries to tell her it's fine that he doesn't want to talk to her sister, but she indicates that it's bigger than that: "I mean, I can't go. I can't do this." Zach looks at her. Looks at the kid. Looks at the horse. Looks at her. I can't make this shit up. Watch Top Model. Looks at the horse. Looks at her. He puts his hand on her neck -- and not to KILL HER, which would be appropriate -- and tells her, "Truth be told, I didn't think you'd make it past Security." Pussy. Summer tells Zach how sorry she is, and he excuses her, "You can't fight fate." And with a free spot, now they can invite someone off the guest list sixteen minutes before the wedding. He kisses her one last time ever as a cover of "Champagne Supernova" kicks up. You know, you guys, you used the actual Blind Melon song and the actual Boyz II Men song. Would you mind giving the Gallaghers something to be happy about for once? Jesus. It's just that this song came out when I was in college, and while it's not even their best single (that would be the straight-up Lennon rip-off "Don't Look Back in Anger"), it does have a bit of sentimental value. Oh, college. The answer to the question, "Where were you while we were getting high?"
Sandy takes Greyhound, The Official Travel Sponsor Of The O.C. And O.C.-owned subsidiaries, and steps off a bus into Kirsten's arms. She asks him if it's over, and he promises, "I promise you it never started." I love that he's forgiven just because he deigned to step onto a public transportation vehicle. Where were you while we were getting high?
Seth wears his Spidey mask and climbs up on the roof of his house because he really, really, really wants to get struck by a LOT of lightning. He ties a rope around his leg, reaches for the satellite dish, falls backwards, and is left handing upside-down with his Spider-Man mask on. Anyone else see how this was going to end before this show even started airing? Where were you while we were getting high?
Marissa walks Alex to work as the guitar solo kicks up. Oh, it's the best part of the song. A song I didn't even know I liked until today. I also know every word to "Wonderwall," because, again, college. Marissa turns away from the front of the Haaaaaaate Shop and finds a darkened figure standing out on the pier, facing the ocean. Unless she moved to Chicago, Hawaii, Ryan, I think you're probably facing the wrong way. Where were you while she getting bi?
Hey, the number to call the cab company has then same three-digit exchange as Seth's cell phone. They must be located in the same neighborhood of Fake-TV-onia. Summer leaps out of a cab in front of the Cohen house and hears him screaming for help out back. She runs out back and they have their big reunion. He asks her what she's doing there, and she tells him, "What do you think, Cohen?" With which she lifts up the mask and engages in some highly derivative upside-down kissing, because that movie made a lot of money and having a Vera Drake homage here would have been a cinematic reference accessible to many fewer people.