Based entirely on this thread, I decided to give The OC another chance. I put aside years of near-Daria levels of cynicism for you people, I hope you appreciate that. Anyway, I was settling down to watch it when three precious little letters caught my eye. McG. Where the crap have I been?!?! I didn't know McG was involved! I humbly apologise to all. See, I'd been looking at it all wrong. To truly appreciate the sparkly masterworks of McG demands a very special mindset: Drunk.
And let me tell you, with the help of my insane proof percentage non-brand named companion, The OC becomes art transcending all other human experience. It no longer matters that you can't see any discernable age heirarchy between characters when you can't actually find your own face any more. For the first 20 minutes or so, I sat utterly transfixed by how much pouting Vaguely Blond Male Character does. He never closes his mouth! Ever! And Very Dark Guy (Dad of some kind?) that frown! It's outstanding! But Seth? Well, I guess he's a lot funnier when he's not being an accomplice to the worst film homage in televisual history. Meh.
However, it forced me to confront some hard truths. I had to confront the terrible reality that I really am a horribly shallow person. Sure, I might watch 24, and find politics fascinating, and like Dibert, but yes, I am a shallow, superficial, shell of a person: Mischa Baron is so hot I barely care how stupid her plot/ dialogue/ character is. Ridiculous novelty lesbian plotline? Doesn't matter! Only one expression? I don't care! In desperate need of the Morgan Spurlock Diet? Away from me, moral responsibilty!
God help me. I've already started pouting at inanimate objects, and standing in porches that clearly don't belong to the house in my signature stock footage. I'm one of the damned now aren't I? I might as well start carrying weird tiny dogs around in my handbag.