If you notice me wearing all black and burning incense in the next few days, don't be alarmed. I'm simply mourning the death of the best primetime soap opera of two years ago. Sure, the last two seasons of the OC didn't exactly reach the high bar set by the first two seasons (and what does, really?), spawning numerous pointless storylines and some of the lamest characters ever to be seen on primetime TV (Che, Johnny, Hercules). But remembering the OC for its latter-day sins would be like going to James Brown's wake and talking about how much of a junkie and wife-beater he was. So I want to remember the OC for the good times. . . like when Ryan fights Luke that first time. . . or when Ryan fights Luke that other time and they burn down the house. . . or when Ryan and Luke find out that Luke's dad is gay and then they both get in a fight with the kids from the other high school. . . or when Peter Gallagher uses the super-powers granted to him by his gigantic eyebrows to solve whatever problem the kids have created for themselves that week.I know some of you are snickering, but I can assure you that my appreciation for the OC is 100% not ironic. In what could have easily been just another teen drama about the mundane troubles of the idle rich (which if Laguna Beach and The Real Housewives of Orange County are any indicator, would definitely be a more accurate portrayal of Newport Beach), ended up being a brilliant story of male-bonding between outsiders living within the community of vapid, materialistic snobs, giving hope to wise-cracking comic book geeks everywhere that they too can befriend a hot-headed, soft-spoken bruiser from the wrong side of the tracks and sleep with Rachel Bilson. Plus, I have to give the show credit for introducing a generation of tween-pop loving girls to something outside the world of top-40 radio, even if that alternative is Rooney and Death Cab for Cutie.
RIP OC.
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