Seth Cohen, Hot Jewish Man of Sarcasm

So, since this blog is for all my (sometimes embarrassing) feminine things, I will take this opportunity to make a confession: I love the first season of The O.C. Yep. I do. This is clearly the worst of all the bad teen dramatic comedies I have watched for an entire season (not counting the random episodes One Tree Hill or Jack & Bobby).

The worst. The most melodramatic. The most over the top convoluted plot lines. Worse than the Dawson’s Creek's would-be teens played by 20-somethings spouting dialogue written by 30-somethings. Worse than Felicity, an entire series premised on a girl following a guy who does not know she is alive across the country to college and then getting a not-even-a-break-up haircut so bad it became a cultural icon. Yeah, the first season of the O.C., it’s worse than that. And while I had the good sense to stop at the end of the first season, while I and the plot were still ahead, I still really enjoy it to an embarrassing degree. To me it’s the television equivalent of caramel corn. It’s light, fluffy, so sweet it is almost sickening, and 20 minute after I’m finished I’m hungry again because I completely forgot I consumed it.

So whilst I fry my brain trying to cram a semester worth of very complicated legal rules in there, I try to balance it out with the most captivating, least substantive mental food I can find. It’s my opinion of a balanced psycho-diet. Dee-licious.

Now back to Ryan’s arms, Sandy’s sexy jewbrow, and my personal favorite, Seth’s dorky quippy self-loathing.