Why I'm risking it all for addiction to O.C. (From Gazette & Herald)

Why I'm risking it all for addiction to O.C.

Gazette & Herald columnist Hannah Gibbons, 17, writes here about life's little interruptions.

"I'll have that coursework in on..." Not Monday, not Monday. "Monday."

"Do you want to come into town on..." Not Sunday, not Sunday. "Sunday?"

Nope, I don't, not one jot, nor do I want to spend the entire day of rest risking RSI at a computer trying to finish a critical appreciation of The Alchemist in time for its deadline.

My insolence wasn't unfounded. There was, perhaps, not a very good reason, but a universally used one, for why I stayed on the sofa like a recluse all last Sunday, away from human contact (my sisters were watching too, but we all know what TV reduces us to).

After 12 long and painful winter Sundays, with nothing to do except tick off time until this very day - the second season of the grossly decadent, ostentatiously immoral, absolutely entertaining O.C. returned to the box with a glaring and bronzed vengeance (that's the 'Orange County', for the greatly under privileged who have yet to have their lives enlightened by its ominous sunshine).

It seems crazy that I might ostracise my social life, or jeopardise my A-Levels for a TV programme, but this is no ordinary TV programme.

People become alcoholics because their mother marries a man twice her age, who happens to be blackmailing you and who also happens to be your best friend's grandfather.

People hang out at the 'pool house' and make their beverages in a juicer, instead of a latte at Starbucks, with their best friend who happens to be a reformed delinquent from 'Chino' and who might be expecting a baby, although the parentage is dubious.

People have bushy eyebrows and make them the new fad. And all this is done in 30-degree Californian sunshine, so any hint of desperation or clinical depression is simply over-looked by a few shots of palm trees and an artificial orangey glow.

And this is the best part - every one of these sleek, articulate creatures from the underworld are the same age as me, your typical, misunderstood 17-year-old trying to make it in a world where you don't just slam the bedroom door to get away from your parents, you sail into the Atlantic on your yacht.

There's something horribly addictive about watching lives exactly parallel to yours (once you overcome the fear that perhaps you're not as cool as you anticipated) and it's actually quite heartening to realise that having all your friends in 'therapy' isn't as valuable to a fulfilling life as they make out.

It's not just the bored youth, it's the bored adults too who watch wistfully with recognition of the free love of the 70s and venture to draw similarities between California and Preston poly.

My advice to a nostalgic or insecure population - if you haven't already, give the O.C. a go - its life affirming stuff.

Updated: 14:52 Wednesday, February 09, 2005