The Imortality of Television

Well, all y’all who follow me on Instagram, (or hang out with my roommates), know I have a problem with The OC. Yes, The OC; as in the long concluded television show from the early 2000’s.


I’m obsessed, despite the fact that this is my third binge on Seth Cohen & The Gang. I already know everything that happens. I could see Oliver and his antics from a mile away, knew that Marissa was a goner, and that Taylor would win us all over. But regardless, here I am again, diving deep into all 92 episodes in one slew.

Actually, dived. I have five episodes left.

In case you were wondering, that’s 4,048 minutes in each slew. 67 hours. And usually I’m so enthralled that I won’t multitask; which means a full 202 hours total have been thoroughly dedicated to this damn show.

The first time around was when the show was originally released and everyone was obsessed. I was merely part of the target demographic – young, moody, and hormonal. This is made even more obvious as I realize that I actually owned quite of a bit of Summer Roberts’ wardrobe.

The second time the binge began, life was dull. I was trapped in the real life Orange County bubble, living at home in a boring town, treading water until I went to college. My enthrallment with Marissa, Summer, Seth, and Ryan gave me something to do.

This third time, though, I have no excuse. I’m not bored or moody (unless hungry), and I’m not overly hormonal. I have no need to replace real relationships with virtual ones. I actually have my own adventures. And yet… I’m more obsessed than ever. I straight wake up in the middle of the night wanting to pray for Marissa. And after she died – whew – I got all mercurial at Mom’s Bar, thinking about how Marissa Cooper will never legally venture to dive bars, drink crap tequila, or dance badly.

Because she’s dead!

“Because she’s not real!” My roommate continues to retort. The woman is a saint. (My roommate obviously. Not Marissa Cooper – that chick could never get it together enough to event act saint-like.)

So where do characters go when they die? They aren’t buried in the ground. They don’t float to heaven. Where do all these fully-formed, complex, ambitious, dramatic men and women go when their people stop playing them? I like to think that somewhere out there, all my favorite characters are still living in alternate universes.

Which means there’s a lot of Jennifer Anniston’s out there, doin’ their thing; but my favorite, of course, is Rachel. Somewhere, she and Ross are living, fashionably child rearing and arguing.

Monica and Chandler are also doing Monica and Chandler things with their babes.

Ryan Atwood is a cop obvi. (i.e. Southland & then Gotham after he gets a promotion).

Seth & Summer are procreating.

Marissa is dead. (WAAH.) As is the entire original staff of Seattle Grace Hospital, so I really don’t have to worry about any of them anymore.

I hope Dr. House is okay, though.

We’re about to see what the Gilmore Girls are up to.

I like to think Carrie Bradshaw & Big are fiiinally happy.

And Miranda is living in Brooklyn, hopefully appreciating Steve.

Also, to be perfectly honest, I totally think the Brady Bunch are residing somewhere in the midwest where the cost of living is lower, having family reunions or something.


This is why I can’t have nice things. Or rather, nice shows. I’ve been banned from starting a new series for at least 6 months after this one finally ends. 67 hours later.

Well, here’s a picture of Turkish OC for good measure. At least I’m not the only one. The Turks are super into it as well, apparently. 


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