I Like to Watch

May 13, 2007 | Being a TV critic is like being a very bad parent. When a promising new show comes along, you embrace it wholeheartedly, cooing at its little quirks and listing its countless charms to anyone who'll listen. Then, the second your perfect little baby makes a big mess or wanders off or disappoints you, you launch into a detailed tirade on its failings, tying each minor offensive into a larger theme of What's Wrong With These Sorts of Shows in General like some crusty old crab, ragging on an entire generation of spoiled, shallow whippersnappers.

And how do your precious little cuddle-muffins feel when they're suckling on the nourishment of your lavish praise one day, and then unceremoniously booted out the door the next, left to scrape and scrounge just to survive for another season?

How the hell would I know? I've got a whole houseful of brand-new cuddle-muffins to look after, not to mention an endless list of YouTube videos to watch for next week's First Annual ILTW Comedy Festival (a cherished tradition since 2007).

A carefree mind of her own

But I have to admit, every now and then I think about one of the filthy little monsters I sent packing and I get a wee bit nostalgic. Suddenly, I remember the way that sweet little thing used to babble and squeal, back when it was still cute and each tiny step it took amused and delighted me instead of making me roll my eyes and grumble, "Go tell Daddy, chumpy. Mommy's very busy doing the extremely important and complex work of deconstructing Mark Burnett's new pirate show!"

Last year, Fox sent me a messenger bag that says "The OC" on it, and sometimes I look at it and cringe -- not just because it's my kid's diaper bag and I don't feel like wrangling with someone else's feces at the moment, but also because I miss "The OC." I miss stupid Seth and boring Summer and repetitive Sandy and sad-eyed drunky Kirsten. I even miss sleepy Ryan and bony Marissa, but most of all I miss that point in the credits where the camera swoops up from the sea, soaring over a hillside littered with matching McMansions and Phanton Planet sings, "California! California! Here we coooome!" It honestly gives me a little lump in my throat, just thinking about it.

Yes, I do remember that "The OC" was only truly plucky and precious for about two years, some would argue even less. But back when it was cuddly and adorable, you really couldn't keep your eyes off it. Sandy and Kirsten would bicker and flirt, Seth and Summer would bicker and flirt, Seth and Ryan would bicker and flirt, and then Ryan would get all sad because, even though he looked like he came straight off a sailboat in Martha's Vineyard, he actually grew up dirt poor with a drunk daddy and a slut mommy. "It was such a sweet little story at first," I mumble to myself, like a slut mommy telling her junkie daughter, "You were such a beautiful, smiling baby! (Heavy pause.) I just don't know what happened..."

But then, it's not surprising that "The OC" lost whatever was left of its golden California glow when the kids graduated from high school, because college ruins everything. Just look at "Veronica Mars," my favorite child, my perfect little angel! When I read a few weeks ago that the show might not get picked up for a fourth season, I felt a sharp pang of guilt for feeling lukewarm about it this year. Why did I send my sweet bunny rabbit off to college, and only to send her care packages rigged with plastic explosives?

In part, at least, because college isn't fun to watch on TV. High school is romantic. College is this dumb time we'd rather not think about. Look what happened to "90210" when those freak jobs went to college: Donna was front and center, we spent far too much time watching Brian Austin Green getting his groove on, and suddenly we couldn't pretend to be watching for the kitsch factor, it was just another crappy show. Even when you're a major geek in high school, it's romantic -- in fact, it may be even more romantic. And even when you're insanely popular and happy in college, it's a wee bit shameful.

When Wallace got tied to that flagpole in the pilot, and Veronica had to cut him down? That was a classic, satisfying high school moment: Spunky underdog saves the new kid. Nothing like that could happen at Hearst College. Annoying feminist groups vs. dicktard frat boys? Shallow sorority girls and sadistic professors? To be fair, these were all perfectly fine choices for college story lines, but somehow they didn't have the same bounce to them that stories set at Neptune High had. The goofy teachers, the lame high school cafeteria, the wild parties at someone's house when their parents were out of town: It was all so much more funny and more tragic and more ridiculous than college could ever be. We could laugh at it all, because everyone was young and dumb and didn't know any better.

Next page: Choosing Veronica's career path