So much has happened since last I wrote. Undeclared got picked up for a full season, the Yankees choked in the World Series, Roswell didn't get cancelled, and Diet Coke with Lemon tried tempting me to the dark side. My conclusion? There's a reason we associate lemon additives with cleaning products. If I wanted to knock back a cool, refreshing can of citrus gasoline, I'd be at Texaco right now sucking on the pumps. ["On the other hand, Diet Pepsi Twist? Yummy." -- Wing Chun] In sum, this show's been gone awhile; lest strange characters confuse lost viewers, we go straight to the credits sequence and then dive into the first scene.
The Good Times Gang chills out in a common area that somehow looks nothing like the Frosh Pit, but apparently is. Wasn't the sofa under the window? And wasn't there a kitchenette? And what of the giant, mustard-colored cloth wall-hanging with strange colored leaf stencils on it? It looks like the last remaining trophy of a picnic gone horribly, horribly wrong. But the crew doesn't care. Steve, Lizzie, and Rachel sit merrily underneath the cloth atrocity, with Heath, Shaggy, and Ron in nearby chairs. Most of them are guzzling from the thick red or blue Solo cups that are the trademark of college parties and shows without product-placement deals. Except, of course, for the Solo Cup Company, which relies on student boozers to keep it afloat. Adam Sandler's "The Hanukkah Song" finishes playing on the stereo, eliciting much merriment from our tipsy cast. "I didn't know all those people were Jewish!" marvels Lizzie, thrilled to have learned something about life, religion, and marijuanikah, The Official Herb of Judaism. Heath snickers uncontrollably. "Adam Sandler is performing on campus, in front of us, in, like, twenty-eight minutes," babbles Ron deliriously. "It's...aah...." He deteriorates into inane celebratory stammering, which sounds as if someone dumped a plate of hot French fries in his mouth and then grabbed hold of his tongue. Heath laughes again. Lizzie puts on her Thinking Face and wonders if Sandler is nice. "I went up to Richard Dreyfuss in a carpet store, and I was like, 'Are you Richard Dreyfuss?' And he was like, 'No,' but it so was," she shares. Perfect line delivery there by Carla Gallo. Steve tries to engage her by opining that What About Bob? was a fabulous movie, but his theory is ruined by the fact that he's completely wrong. I walked out of the theater because, despite Bill Murray, there's only so many times I can watch Richard Dreyfuss turn purple and vibrate all his facial veins. He's got to be one of my least-favorite actors. He put the "pus" in Mr. Holland's Opus. Shaggy interrupts my rant, chiming in that Charles Barkley once flipped him the bird during a basketball game, which puts Shaggy in an elite crowd of about three million people. Lizzie dreamily says that she and Eric adore Sandler, which prompts her to jump up and call her long-distance boyfriend so that he can worship her for getting tickets to this event and not offering him one. Steve's face falls as his eyes flash deep green.
"Helloooo," bellows a voice from the doorway. It's Hal, Steve's trippy father, clad in a very Chandler ensemble of khakis, a sweater-vest, and a heinous shirt. Mugging behind the frosted glass, he presses against it and shrieks, "Help me!" before poking his head through the door with a theatrical smile, as if to say, "Gotcha! I wasn't really trapped behind the glass! But if you hadn't known I wasn't trapped, would you have thought I was trapped? You would've, right? But I wasn't!" The gang greets Hal enthusiastically -- a little too enthusiastically, because guys, you're in college, and you're hanging out with a dad who isn't even buying you beer for the trouble. Stop it. "How's it going, students?" Hal asks brightly. "Ready for a little Sandler action?" Steve is startled to learn that his father will be attending the show with them -- and at Heath's behest. Lizzie totally should've tried to score a ticket for Eric, then; if he's close enough to take Steve to his copy shop, then he's close enough to drop by campus for a Sandler show. Unless there's some kind of toner-cartridge scandal or a hole-punching emergency. "He called, we got to talking, [and it] turns out your dad's a big Sandman fan," Heath gushes. "I'm the biggest!" Hal sing-songs. I'm a bit surprised Heath is a Sandler devotee, but then again, he is a guy, and I don't know any guys who aren't. Except my dad. Love you, Dad! Steve is dumbfounded, wondering how long his father's had this fixation. "Since I got divorced and had time to watch cable all night!" he crows. Ron and Heath whoop loudly with Hal, because divorce rules, and so does late-night cable porn! "It's gonna be so great, man! All the guys together again!" Hal shouts, raising his arms triumphantly and with a distinct air of mad-scientist about him.
Steve bursts into Ron's and Shaggy's room and complains that Heath won't stop talking to Hal. That's an awful lot of proper nouns for one sentence. "Your dad's cool," Shaggy offers. He's sitting on the bed with a guitar over his knee, which I hope means he'll be penning and singing Rachel a love song written entirely in her native Dolphin. I could help. I've got a great idea for the first line: "EEeeeeEEEE, Eee EeeEEEEeeeeeEEE, E e Ee." Wouldn't you just melt? Ron observes that everyone loves other people's fathers and loathes his or her own. It's worth noting that he's sifting through laundry while he talks. "My dad? He's a big, fat moron," Ron says, pausing to sniff a pair of underwear before deeming them clean and proceeding nonchalantly, because everything's fine, nothing to see here. "You guys would love him, but it's embarrassing when you're his kid, you know?" Steve hangs his head and allows that Ron might have a point.
Eric screams through the phone to an excited Lizzie. "Are you KIDDING?" he roars, delighted. Apparently, it didn't occur to her until just now to tell Eric that, probably a few weeks ago, she lined up and bought tickets to an Adam Sandler appearance. We ogle their prom photo again, in which Lizzie looks rather angelic and Eric looks like a very dirty Sunday School Jesus-clown who teaches children about Christ through humor and balloon sculptures. "Remember what we did on our first date, baby?" Eric oozes. "We rented Happy Gilmore, huh, didn't we? You're my Happy Gilmore!" Lizzie coos, "You're my Happy Gilmore!" Eric drops his voice an octave and breathes, "I'm your Big Daddy." Lizzie starts to repeat it, then gets embarrassed and giggles, because she hasn't embraced her naughty side yet.
UNEC Auditorium. Students pour out the doors, raving about the show; Ron tries to imitate some snake bit Sandler did. "Oh my God, that was awesome! Oh!" Ron orgasms. A smarmy, oily tick in brown leather sidles over and asks whether the UNEC Concert Committee cobbled together an acceptable show. The kid's name is Perry, and he carries himself with the air of one who's utterly ignorant of how inconsequential student government usually is. Everyone enthusiastically praises the concert and gapes appropriately when Perry smarms that not only did he meet The Exalted One, but he'll be hanging out on their mutual floor that night. Ron barely chokes out a sentence. "If you're lying to me now, I'll shank you prison-style," he stammers. "Ooh, Ron, I'm trembling -- wait, oh no, I'm not, because he's coming," Perry says importantly. Lizzie quivers, then shrieks with joy, because she feels like this could be her first break in the lucrative, rewarding field of Celebrity Whoring. Hal grabs Steve around the shoulders and dudes that this is when the real fun starts. Steve silently prays for a swarm of locusts to come and gnaw at his flesh, taking him away like so many gallons of Calgon.
Frantic and antsy, Ron doles out nervous instructions to Lizzie, Shaggy, and Rachel -- intelligent stuff like, "Don't bother him." Ron figures that if they make Sandler uncomfortable, he'll flee. "And we don't want him to leave," Ron points out. "We want him to think, 'This is the kind of place where I can hang out,' and 'These are the kind of people that I can be friends with.'" Lizzie and Shaggy nod, rapt, while Rachel stares in skeptical fascination. Ron orders the crew not to quote a Sandler movie back at him. "It's like sketching a Picasso painting and then giving it to Picasso," he explains. Oh, I don't know -- maybe if you quote Little Nicky, Sandler will be horrified at what he's wrought and disappear into the Appalachian Mountains for a year of hermit-like isolation and introspection, at which point he'll realize that he should just accept the fact that he lacks range. Rachel can't fathom all the energy Ron's devoting to an ordinary dope like Adam Sandler. "What's the big deal? You'd think the Queen was coming," she scoffs. Ron hops into the blender and whips himself into a bigger tizzy. "The Queen is just an old lady," he argues. "Sandler is, like, a god, okay?" Rachel decides she's had enough insanity for one night, and retreats to her room for some studying. "Studying over Sandlerizing?!" Ron sputters. "She's nuts!" We see Shaggy quickly, just long enough for him to agree with Ron and act very calm about his irrelevance. He didn't want lines in this scene anyway. Ron blathers that this event is so momentous, it's made him blow off cramming for a test the day worth 80% of his mark. Is Seth Rogen Canadian? Because you don't hear "mark" used synonymously with "grade" very often in the States...I'm checking...Yes! I'm right. He's from Vancouver. I get a cookie.
And now, the cameo begins. Adam Sandler stands in the red elevator, flanked by his two pals Allen Covert (best known, I think, as Sammy from The Wedding Singer) and Jonathan Loughran (here, a bearded scraggle of a man), both of whom have been in at least the last four Sandler movies. Allen usually gets the bigger parts, from what I recall, but his cinematic association with Sandler also appears to have been longer. Maybe giving Loughran the biggest part here is some kind of compensation. Sandler stares at the ground, bored. Get used to this expression -- he wears it throughout. Allen complains of being tired. Perry, escorting them upstairs, clenches his fists, scared that Sandler will back out. Everything in his trousers has retracted back to fetal sizes. He'd be sweating like a thawing corpse if all that hair gel hadn't clogged his pores. "I think we should go," Sandler says half-heartedly. "Perry set it up. We should be around normal people. This is going to be healthy." Loughran whines that he's starving, so Adam suggests that he order a pizza once they're upstairs. "What am I, the pizza guy?" Loughran bitches. "[You think] I know every number wherever we go?" Dude, you're in a college dorm. The flyers? Are everywhere. The toilet paper is made of Pizza Hut coupons. Adam teases him about being defensive, and whether he's going to burst into tears. "I'm just hungry, all right?" Loughran snaps. They rib him about the deli tray from backstage, and the whole scene just comes across as very forced, and not terribly amusing, either. Adam Sandler seems especially flaccid, like he was asked to write his own material and instead went out and snorted fifteen margaritas with salt, woke up hung over, and sketched out the script on his underwear while heaving his guts over the hotel balcony. Allen -- mimicking Adam while pretending this is his own, fresh delivery style -- minces at Loughran, "It's time for my four-o-clock feeding! Maybe you can burp me afterwards!" He then makes fun of Loughran's job, which wounds the burdened soul. I don't know. I'm bored. Is Sandler only energetic when he's on something? He's treating this guest-spot with all the enthusiasm of a 7th Heaven cameo. But it's still early, so maybe he'll improve.
Upstairs, Steve, Lizzie, and Ron wait tensely in front of the elevator. Ron admits that he's nervous, but just then, the elevator doors begin to open. Lizzie is practically fondling herself, she's so tingly.
What is Out Cold? Is it a movie, or a documentary about the London twins' careers?
Perry struts out of the elevator, with a reluctant Adam and Allen in tow. Loughran peels off immediately in search of food. "Hey, what's up?" Perry slicks. "Waiting awkwardly, I see." Perfect. Perry turns around and adds, "I was just hanging out with my friends, Allen and Adam...Sandler?" I love the way he says it, like, "Sandler, is it? Yeah, Sandler," because although they're blood brothers and shit, posse members don't use surnames. "How are you guys?" Adam says, pleasantly enough. "Fine," Lizzie pants. "Thank you," Steven says quickly. "..." says Ron, because an ellipsis is the only eloquent thing he can string together in the face of such fame. Adam shuffles uncomfortably and wonders whether the night's plan involves chilling out in the hallway. Lizzie stammers that he should, of course, come into the common room. "Welcome to the fourth floor," she grins.
Loughran bumps into a pizza-wielding student near the vending machines, and offers him five bucks for a slice. The kid refuses, because he only has one piece left, but proffers half a Hot Pocket™. Loughran decides not to give himself intestinal cramping. Up ahead, he spots a guy in a 49ers jersey; apparently, it's Jerry Rice, but he's a lot whiter, fatter, and uglier than last I saw him. Loughran asks Jerry whether he knows the phone number of the pizza place. "Yeah," the guy answers, sarcastically, which is another load of hooey. We practically had the Papa John's number tattooed to our breasts, along with the price of the late-night special and the closing time. Freshman year, we phoned for breadsticks every Friday night and paid by check -- usually written out by the girl across the hall, because my roommate was too hammered to spell "Papa" and couldn't remember how to hold a pen. I'll never forget that one night she bathed my hair with garlic sauce and then dipped a breadstick in it.
Still unsated, Loughran peeks into a study area and asks Rachel whether she has any food to spare. She takes one look at the scraggly giant before her and says, "You're not gonna kill me, are you?" Loughran is confused.
The gang sits in a circle , crammed into the available chairs and couches, watching expectantly Adam Sandler. Dead silence. Lots of foot-tapping. Adam gnaws on his finger. When he sees the Will Ferrell episode, he's going to feel like such a hack by comparison. Ron decides it's time to initiate a little man-love. "Hey," he whispers, leaning toward Adam. "I want you to know...that I really get you." Sandler stares at him for a second, awed at the lunacy. "Aw, thanks," he says insincerely. "That's cool. I...get you." Ron exhales slowly, dazed and delighted. Christmas has come early; Mom and Dad got him the older brother he always wanted. Trying to kick-start any kind of small talk he can muster, Adam asks what they do for fun besides go to class. Heath and Steve wiggle, and Hal laughs too loud before booming that they hardly ever attend class because they're too busy partying, being young stallions and all. "What are you, a senior?" Sandler asks. Hal laughs again. Heath is wearing bright red socks, which can mean only one thing: laundry day. Ten bucks says he's been reduced to turning his Jockeys inside out. Steve self-consciously admits that Hal is his dad. "That's a cool dad, to bring you to a concert with cursing and all that," Adam says, momentarily forgetting that Steve is not nine.
Shaggy has been silent too long. He's been sitting over there in the corner, percolating, fetching granules of genius from the darkest corners of his untapped mind. Finally, though, Shaggy wants to speak, and damn the cad who tries to stop him. "Adam Sandler, I just...uh, I just want you to know, uh, that, uh, I'm a really big fan," Shaggy blurts. "Especially Billy Madison. That was like...that was like, punk rock." Adam is nodding, accepting praise like a man to whom accolades mean nothing because he surrounds himself with booty-smoochers. Then, Shaggy continues with an absolutely glorious line. "But, like, everything after that, I just didn't like, you know," he shares. Bless you, Shaggy. Except for The Wedding Singer, I thought I was alone in finding him overrated. Bless you, and a triple helping of Word Cheesecake with chocolate sauce on top. Silence in the room. "Heh heh heh," Adam fake-laughs. Lizzie gawks. Heath buries his head in his hands. Steve laughs to fill the silence. Adam whispers to Allen that he should make sure Shaggy leaves immediately. Allen leans over Adam and whispers the evacuation order to Ron. "I can totally hear you guys from over here," Shaggy sniffs. Ron bristles and orders Shaggy to leave, which turns into a chorus of angry voices demanding his exile from the Circle of Adulation and Bum-Bussing. "Nice meeting you," Adam snarks. "Go go go go go," urges Steve, as Heath offers a low-key apology for their independent-minded friend who obviously needs a public flogging to relieve him of original thought.
Perched on a couch, Rachel politely asks if Loughran lives in their dorm. "No, I'm, uh, Adam Sandler's assistant," he admits. "He's out in the hall." Rachel shrugs. I'm inclined to agree with her. Gamely, Loughran bites into the succulent rice-cake sandwich she prepared for him. "This is awesome," he lies through a dry mouthful of rice cake and homemade Skippy, made from gourmet Styrofoam packing peanuts. Rachel melts, thrilled that he enjoys her cooking and eager to make him try her "Chicken Surprise" casserole -- the surprise being that it's made of tree sap, Ginseng, and Kleenex.
We cut back into the common room, which is now backed by the familiar strains of "Hold Me Now" by the Thompson Twins. Ron again decides to strike up a conversation. "Is David Spade...is he like that?" Ron asks. "'Is he like that?'" repeats Adam, confused. "You know, is he like that?" Ron says more urgently. Based on tone and language, I think he's asking if Spade is gay, or perhaps if he's a goer, nudge nudge wink wink say no more, but naturally Adam Sandler betrays nothing and nods, "Yeah, yeah, I think he's a good guy." Ron sits back again, Zen-like in his calm embrace of this newfound knowledge. "I thought so," he murmurs.
Shaggy bursts forth from his room, guitar in hand. "Is it cool that you could play, maybe, 'The Hanukkah Song'?" he begs. The group groans and shoos him away. "I thought you left," Allen snorts. Sandler is okay with Shaggy's return, but says it would be too weird to play it again after having sung it in concert not half an hour ago. Perry points to hapless Shaggy and swears, "I don't know him." Hal perks up and offers to sing something he just wrote. "That's funny, that's really funny," Steve laughs, patting Hal on the shoulder as if the gesture might somehow propel his father through the floorboards. Of course the other gang members think it's a boffo idea, and Sandler even musters some enthusiasm. "It's about Steven's mom," explains Hal. "My ex-wife." Sandler snickers.
Hal twangs an intro to his ditty, with Steve hunched over so far in his seat that he's become an orb of shame. He listens with his eyebrows raised and an expectant grin on his face, as if he's teetering on the brink and any second now his father will either ruin his life or radically improve it. He's stuck, mostly mortified, yet ever so slightly hopeful that one of his father's hands will snap in half and stop the madness. Shaggy nods vigorously during the intro. Hal sings in a high voice, "You thought you were so cool/ Treatin' me like a fool/ But I'm more than a tool/ Baby, I'm a man." He uses about four notes for the song; it's the most basic thing ever, and we're supposed to find it deeply ironic because Loudon Wainwright is an acclaimed, talented humor singer/songwriter in his own right. Sure, it's funny; Hal is essentially a very high-volume nerd dipped in bitterness, and although it's sometimes a brilliant thing, it's not fun in large doses -- rather like bad tequila, but without as much retching. Steve mouth curls so far up into his nostril that he's snorting his own tongue.
Loughran, meanwhile, complains to Rachel about the rigors of assisting Mr. Adam Sandler. He has to run the schedule, on top of taking care of the dog, which chafes him because what kind of idiot owns a dog but doesn't know how to care for it? A famous idiot, that's what. "At home, I set everything up for him -- his VCR, his TVs, everything. I gotta do it," he sighs. "He doesn't know how to get the video on. He can't do anything." Rachel listens sympathetically; after all, she lives with Lizzie, who can't be any smarter than your average door handle. Loughran laughs at the weird reality of his life -- he's in Sandler's movies, then he takes care of the pets. They giggle together. "I gotta do something else, move on," he decides. Rachel supportively coos that he'll definitely find a job that befits his talents. "It's great that you haven't been sucked into the whole Hollywood fantasy myth," she praises. "Life's too short. Carpe Diem." Somewhere beneath the mountain of facial hair, Loughran looks touched. "Sandler would never say anything like that," he broods. "He would've asked me if I was going to cry, or something." Rachel smiles that if Loughran can run Adam Sandler's life, he can do just about anything. "Yeah, I could," Loughran nods, emboldened. "Thanks. You're really smart." Rachel blushes. "And hot," he adds, staring. "You're perfect." And so it comes to pass that Rachel and Loughran hook up, which is rather revolting because it's obvious that she's destined to shag our Shaggy, and not this chunky, unfunky guest star who looks forty-five and probably has worms.
Loudon Lounge. "Dumping me's a crime/ You're way past your prime / You're running out of time/ You'll never find a man," wails Hal. "You're gonna hit a snag/ It's gonna be a drag/ Some things already sag/ Nah nah nah nah NAH/ Nah nah nah nah NAH/ You'll never find a man!" Steve, naturally, is mortified. Shaggy nods and grins and does that thing where he tries to sing along, even though he clearly doesn't know the words and hasn't heard the song before. Heath laughs so hard he weeps, and Allen's wide grin splits his face. Ron should look embarrassed, but I think Seth Rogen is biting the insides of his cheeks to keep from breaking character, and the resulting effect is that he's both constipated and eating whole lemons. Hal strums wildly and roars, "Aaaah!" Adam ponders this for a moment, then says, "Uh, I was thinking about going now." Ron is silently angry. Adam points to Lizzie and invites her along, an offer she accepts with horny rapidity. Sandler leaps up and awkwardly thanks the group and Perry before anyone can protest his departure.
Holed up in his room, Ron rails on Steve. "What the hell was that?" he yells. "Adam Sandler was here for, like, ten minutes!" Steve screams, "It's not my fault! It was my dad, okay? Seriously, how would you feel if your Dad came in here and started playing a song about your Mom's sagging?" Ron sputters that he can't understand what the fuck that nonsense was. "Come on, guys it was a funny song," Shaggy defends Hal. "I thought it was hysterical." Both guys tell him to stop talking immediately, and decide to blame the catastrophe on poor Shaggy and his guitar, Hal's unwitting accomplice. Ron then blasts Shaggy's conduct. "You go to them, you're a fan. You let them come to you, you're a friend," he fumes, choking on angry spittle. "And then you insult his MOVIES, which are FUNNY! You're just an IDIOT!" Shaggy, wounded, argues that Sandler came to him, which should absolve him of guilt. Bill Clinton, perched behind him in full cardboard-cutout glory, figures he understands what that's like. "You're an idiot!" Ron rants. "For the love of Pete!" Shaggy pouts. "You're a freakin' idiot!" Steven adds. Hurt, Shaggy points out that it's unfair for Steve to project his anger onto Shaggy, when he's really insanely jealous that Sandler and Lizzie are riding the Love Boat. Steve, startled, explains that there's no way Lizzie and Adam are cooking the noodle. "Yeah, they are," Shaggy duhs. "Of course they are!" Ron interjects. "He's Adam Sandler." And if this episode really is based on a true story, then the show obviously had Adam's consent to recreate it, which means that in real life he's dead proud of bagging a college girl despite the obvious age (he's older) and maturity (she's older) differences. What a fucking tweak.
Heath moseys into the room and casually hopes Ron's not about to scalp himself. Seething, Steve apologizes to Shaggy. "It's not your fault," he corrects himself. "It's his fault!" Heath insists that Hal shouldn't be denied his musical catharsis and self-expression. Heath's facility with words explains the apparent frequency with which he gets laid. He could sweet-talk a pair of handcuffs into opening up for him. Steve overacts that he can't believe what he's hearing. "You're cathartic, you idiot," he fires lamely at Heath. Heh. Heath dumps the pity card onto the floor and announces that Steve ought to appreciate his parents, because at least they're nearby and not living it up on a different continent. "Stop inviting my dad over!" begs Steve. "Well, maybe I'll stop inviting you to hang out with me and Hal," threatens Heath. "Oh!" Steve convulses, waving his hands idiotically. "How will I ever li-ive!" Hal pops in, conveniently deaf. The boys snap out of their rages and jovially bid him goodnight, waving in sync and lavishly praising his performance. As soon as he's out the door again, they sag, backed by the Guitar Riff of Dissent in the Ranks.
I think Allen is in the Taco Bell commercial that pimps the Microsoft X-Box. Good for Allen.
The morning, Lizzie does the Walk of Shame into her dorm room, wearing the same clothes and staggering like a woman who didn't know she'd been eating plain sausage all her life until the day someone cooked her a Bratwurst. She clicks the door shut and then winces, knowing it probably woke Rachel. Sure enough, her mussed head pops up from under the comforter. "Where were you?" Rachel whispers. "Oh, uh, with Adam. Sandler. At his hotel," Lizzie stammers, desperately trying to act blasé. Rachel slowly smiles. "What happened?" she asks. "Nothing!" Lizzie snaps immediately. "Uh, we watched a movie. Erin Brockovich. Uh, it was very good, uh, it's based on a true story. It's good." Lizzie then turns the tables on Rachel by asking about the Neanderthal lump in her bed. "We just talked, and then he fell asleep, and I couldn't wake him," Rachel lies. "Where's Adam?" Lizzie replies, "Early flight," then slowly turns around to remove her sweater, realizing exactly as we do that she donned it backwards after her night of intense carpentry.
The phone rings; it's Adam, for Loughran. Rachel wakes him up as Lizzie corrects her sweater's position. Sandler tells Loughran that they're in Portland already. "Well, you have a great time up there," he says. Adam chuckles. "Okay, we will," he replies. "Are you coming?" Loughran defiantly refuses to join him, having found an incredibly special person named Rachel with whom he'd rather pass the time. Rachel looks touched, then slightly alarmed. "Which one was Rachel?" Adam asks. "The one with the bigger boobs," whispers Loughran ineffectively. Technically, this wouldn't help, because Adam Sandler never met Rachel, so as far as he knows, "the one with the bigger boobs" than Lizzie's is Ron. Lizzie, mildly insulted, curiously peeks at her chest, which is exactly what I would have done, and might be doing right now. Loughran insists that he's in love with Rachel and bravely blows off Sandler's friendship. Rachel, meanwhile, is slightly distressed that the hairball has professed deep feelings for her. "I'll get you a t-shirt at the Trailblazers game," Sandler promises Loughran. "Size extra-goofy." Loughran slams down the phone and yells, "Aaah, he drives me nuts!" Rendered immobile, Rachel nervously asks Loughran what's happening; he, in turn, rejoices that they don't have to get up yet, and wonders where he might acquire a student ID card. Lizzie desperately wants to snort, but suppresses the urge.
Heath tries to tempt Steve into joining him for an afternoon of wacky misadventures at Hal's House of Hijinks. Steve, having just acquired a kicky new yellow highlighter, opts to stay in and paint textbook pages with it. "See you later," Heath Brits. "See ya lay-uh," mimics Steve. "Say hi to Hal for me."
Lizzie stumbles across campus in a post-coital daze; Ron scampers up behind her, hungrily keen to know whether Adam played in her sandbox. "All right, Ron, let's not go there," lectures Lizzie. "I have a boyfriend. Adam and I just watched a movie, Runaway Bride, and then we ordered pizza. Barbecue chicken [sic] pizza." Ron is thrilled. Lizzie flees to class, and Ron stares proudly after her. "Gotta rent Runaway Bride," he mutters. Oh, Ron, don't go there. Not after theYou've Got Mailfiasco. This must end.
Jauntily, Loughran swaggers across campus with Rachel, fresh out of one of her classes. He airily swears that professor hasn't boned anything human in ten years. "Yeah, but you didn't have to tell him that!" she cries. Loughran protests that the professor picked on him mercilessly. "That's because you said that The Bicycle Thief sucked, and that Predator was the best movie ever made!" she rages. "I was just saying what everyone else was thinking," Loughran insists. It's possible this boorish imbecile is a slightly more evolved Homer Simpson -- and I don't like it. Survival of the Fittest isn't a game I want Homer to win. Don't try to change him, baby. A bald stand-in skips off the Smallville set and pretends to be Rachel's professor, approaching to compliment her on a compelling paper. "Save it for class, Picard," sneers Loughran. "Keep it in your pants, pervert, okay? She's a student." The Bald Eagle is a tad stunned, especially when Loughran violently stands up for Rachel's honor by pointing fingers and naming himself her boyfriend, and thus, defender of all zones erogenous. "You got a problem with that, Sinéad? Huh, Mr. Clean?" Loughran shouts, backing The Bald Eagle toward a running fountain. Helplessly, the professor begs for mercy because he's toting a laptop. Rachel calls out to Loughran, but he won't listen; rooted to the spot, Rachel just watches. Sigh. Useless! Loughran knuckles the prof into the fountain and cackles, "Ha ha ha ha, he's wet! He's wet because of me! Ha ha!" With that, he shoves The Bald Eagle again for a second dunk. "Aw, you gonna get your hair wet?" he taunts. Rachel backs away, finally aware that strange things are afoot at the Circle K.
Hal's House of Hijinks. Someone on this show fetishizes mustard. We had mustard-tasting beer, a mustard-colored tapestry from hell earlier this half-hour, and now Hal's walls and lamp are bathed in depressing, murky French's. Just for a day, couldn't someone worship pickles? Or ketchup? Hell, I'd settle for a Dijon blend. Anything. Hal is perched right up to the television set, watching videos of oddballs doing tricks to embarrass or scare other people and any home viewers. It's like Candid Camera, and also Dawson's Creek. Gingerly, Heath tries to draw Hal out from his emotional shell, checking to see if he's truly okay given the harsh song he penned about his ex-wife. "I'm totally fine. I've decided to have fun, that's what I've decided to do," Hal asserts. His brand of fun comes from watching his tape library and being a vicarious kook. "This is the best of the whole bunch!" he enthuses, frantically pointing at the screen. A dumb-ass is running around a telephone booth with a roll of tape. "He's got the tape, he's wrapping up the phone booth so the guy cannot get out of the phone booth!" Hal crows. "He's trap...Oh, different guy! He's doing it to all these different people!" Heath is rightly alarmed, pressing Hal to admit it's the third time he's watched these tapes...today. Politely, Heath praises Hal's copy of America's Funniest Home Videos: Uncensored. "And thank you for introducing me to Tom Green," he continues tactfully. "That was also pretty special stuff." Hee! Heath's delivery is spot-on hilarious. He quickly transitions, "Do you think that it would be a good idea if we got out into the real world for a little while?" I don't quite buy Heath rooting around for paternal affection and settling on Steve's lonely dad as the best source. Indeed, I don't quite buy Heath rooting around for paternal affection. He's more of a fuckbunny, and although it's nice to give him depth now and again, we should also probably see him shirtless more often. Hal has an epiphany. Gasping, he hops up and exclaims that he knows exactly what they can do that afternoon. Heath cottons to his faux-father's impulse and sputters that they absolutely cannot replicate the damn video skits. "If it's this much fun to watch it, can you imagine what it's like to actually do it?" Hal sparkles. Heath tries to fight it, but realizes he won't be able to quell Hal's enthusiasm, so he capitulates and hunts down the video camera.
Lizzie plops down on Steve's bed, worried that, what with her slutting and his father's mental crisis, Steve might somehow be having a bad day. "Um, so...did you have fun with Adam?" Steve probes tentatively. "Nothing happened we watched The Pelican Brief and ate shrimp cocktails," Lizzie blurts, blazing through her falsehood so fast that Steve is duped into thinking it's true. But for one thing, she's a rotten liar; second, at some point, her pals will either rehash the event in a year for shits and giggles or compare stories, either of which will root out the truth; and third, does anyone really think Adam Sandler watches crap like Runaway Bride or The Pelican Brief? Or anything decent, like Erin Brockovich? Or, indeed, anything but tapes of his own movies and television appearances? I think not. Steve, though, can't hide his relief, angelically beaming at Lizzie and sighing, "That does my heart good." Lizzie nods innocently while Steve rambles on that he refused to believe the gossipmongers and their horrible assumptions about Lizzie's sexcapade, as he trusted she'd never be so easy. Except for that time she banged you, Steve-o, but hey, let's all forget about that. Brightly, he asks whether The Pelican Brief was any good. "Yeah," Lizzie blankly asserts. "Morgan Freeman was really good." Steve starts to agree, then pauses, realizing that of course, Morgan Freeman isn't in that movie! It's Denzel! So she's either lying, or incredibly dumb! Although that's actually quite a poser, because with Lizzie, it's always one or the other.
Ron exits a men's room stall humming Hal's song. He jolts upright when he sees a cross Rachel staring at him. Naturally, his first thought is to ask whether she heard anything, which cracks me up because he obviously is referring to more than just his jaunty singing. Rachel pleads with him to help rid her of Loughran, but Ron stubbornly refuses, clinging to the last thread of hope that Sandler will have to return and collect his lost friend. "He threw my Sexual Ethics professor into a fountain!" notes a fatigued and freaked Rachel. Ron deflates, hating her aloud but resigned to helping her anyway.
Loughran maniacally plays a handheld game while lying in Rachel's bed. Ron stands awkwardly at its foot, trying to worm his way into a conversation with which he can break Loughran's tightly clenched grip on UNEC. He begins with some half-hearted and lame psychology, rambling about how lame college is and how he can't wait to get out of there. Fortunately, the phone rings, because Ron was about to derail that train and the carnage would've been hella ugly. Ron grabs the ringing receiver. "Yo diddly ding-dang ding-dang doong-doong doooo diddly-o dang yo thwbbbpt," Adam Sandler says. If I didn't get that transcription quite right, please don't tell me. I beg you. Because I just wrote the words "doong" and "diddly-o," and didn't feel as good as you might think. Ron cleverly deduces that he's speaking to Adam. "Who's this?" Sandler asks. Ron starts the spiel about how Sandler definitely wouldn't remember him, but dang it, Adam cuts in, "Ronnie? It sounds like Ron, am I right? The chunky guy with the glasses?" This absolutely delights Ron, who lights up like Michael Jackson at a makeup counter. "Yeah, uh, yeah, that's me," he stammers. Geeked, he passes the phone to gross Loughran and bolts from the room...
...and into the hall, where he screams and skips, bragging that Adam Sandler knows him. "I'm the chunky guy with glasses, right here!" he boasts. Aw. But he's so much more than that -- he's also got a dangerous stock-trading addiction, bless his rogue heart.
Sandler quizzes Loughran on his travel plans, but Loughran insists that he won't be returning to the clan because he's in love. Rachel, drying a dish in what looks like a kitchen sink, nearly faints with distaste. I'm perplexed, meanwhile, that I can't piece this damn dormitory together. I need a floor plan. My Frosh Pit feels funny. "Does this girl even like you back?" Adam asks. "Or is this like the receptionist thing at the Sony lot?" I sort of hate and love the fact that half this cameo is literally phoned in. It makes the double meaning so tidy. Blushing, Loughran swears that Rachel totally digs him. Rachel breathes tensely and fantasizes about digging him a grave. After pretending to accept Loughran's decision, Sandler then dangles a tempting carrot indeed -- TiVo. It seems he's bought a TiVo unit, after much urging from Loughran, and it's fantastic, he loves it, he'd never go back to regular VCRs, and TiVo totally paid his special-appearance fee for this episode. Predictably, Loughran's bruised at the thought of life proceeding without him, and meekly asks whether he ought to return home. They strike a deal: if he comes, Adam will personally call for the pizza. "Okay...you call this time, and time, I'll call," Loughran wimps. Blech. Get out, already, old man. Your AARP membership awaits. Loughran slinks up to Rachel and says, "I think you'd better sit down for this." Thrilled to act distraught, Rachel triumphantly feigns worry and beelines for a chair.
That night, Heath and Steve lie awake in bed. Curiously, Steve asks what Heath and Hal ended up doing together. "Just hung out," Heath says vaguely. "It was great." But he senses that something's amiss, and he apologizes for inviting Hal to the concert without checking with Steve first. "Hey, um, sorry I called you cathartic," Steve offers. They snicker, a substitute for the patented hold-and-snuggle that doesn't befit such macho studs as these. Heath hesitantly broaches the subject of Hal's mental state and how much he misses Steve's mother; Steve agrees that perhaps they should all hang out more often. Although there's no real explanation for his change of heart, which perplexes me a bit. I guess he grew a conscience.
Cut to the dorm lounge, where Hal holds court with his homemade video of tricks and tomfoolery. He's running amok at a bank of payphones, wrapping blue electrical tape around an old man and his booth. "Steve, look at this!" he giggles proudly. The old man starts bitching, "Stop filming! You want trouble? Don't get me riled up!" He ends up knocking the camera out of Heath's hand; the entire gang guffaws, writhing with mirth as we fade to black.
I liked this episode a lot better the second time around, but the Sandler cameo still grates because it sucked out the episode's energy. The show seemed to crawl during his storyline and the accompanying nonsense with Loughran and Rachel, and I think part if it stems from the fact that for whatever reason, Sandler played himself. His weird, loudmouth characters don't seem to fit the Undeclared mold, and he can't play much else, so there was nothing left but for him to be Adam Sandler. So he tried to parody himself, which exposed the sad truth that Adam Sandler the Man isn't remotely interesting enough to beget a kooky and compelling Adam Sandler the Parody. The Will Ferrell cameo remains the shining example of how to do it right -- and the irony of it is, he doesn't even look like Yasu.
During the credits, Lizzie calls Eric and gently breaks the news that she bagged Adam Sandler. "Are you serious?" he intones. Lizzie apologizes profusely. "WOOHOO!" cheers Eric. "Woohoo! Hoo hoo hoo!" She's utterly stunned that Eric isn't devastated. "Of course not," he soothes. "If I had the opportunity to have sex with Melissa Joan Hart, I'd do it. Oh, my girl, how cool is this?!" Touched and totally turned on by his psychotic tendencies, Lizzie beams, "You are so sweet!"