Angst and anger. Fears and frustrations. Sex and, well, sex. Drugs and, oooh, is that vodka left over from the party we had last week? WHOO!

Welcome back to American High, people.

For those of you not in the know, American High originally ran on the Fox Network last summer. For. Four. Episodes. Bastards. Swooping in like Florence Nightingale on three hits of acid, PBS picked up the show and is now, as we speak, running with it.

We pick up where we left off. You know, following desperate and scared high-school students around a tony North Shore educational establishment while they try to figure out their futures (or lack thereof); watching them make out in basements and bedrooms and contemplate having sex but then remembering that there are, like, TEN CAMERAS on them; witnessing horrific and completely uncalled-for parental behavior that has, on occasion, forced me to pick up the Yellow Pages and let my fingers do the walking right over to the Child Welfare Department and drop a dime on one or two morons...you know, fun stuff like that.

And now, without further delay, I bring you American High...

We come upon guitar-strummin' Kaytee, doing her thang in the hallway again, with the googly-eyed Scott gazing at her dreamily. In a voice-over, Kaytee says, "Everyone's all, 'Oh, Kaytee, you're going to be famous,' 'cuz I write a lot of songs." She hits some power chords on her acoustic, and Scott dramatically places his hand over his heart and falls over to the side as if to say, "Kaytee...your music-lovin' ways pluck my heart-strings...please...please...allow me to lick your sternum." Dude. Get a ROOM. And then get some Astroglide and a Penthouse and STOP LOOKING AT HER LIKE THAT, MAN! It is OOKING ME OUT.

Thank God we move on to meet Pablo, a Dorothy-Hamill-bowl-cut-sporting young man who, for the entire summer, had difficulty finding out what "home" was. Hey. Pablo. It's that place where someone else pays your bills and does your laundry and makes sure you eat something other than Sugar Smacks for every meal. Then Pablo's hugging some smaller, chubbier version of him and saying how the only reason he ever came home was to tuck in his little sister. That's sweet and sad and all, but I'm too busy wondering whether he's trying to look like her or vice versa. Whatever, because all of a sudden, Kaytee's burgeoning breasts are being attacked by some invisible jacketed creature and --

Um. Hello? A damn Coke commercial? Before I can tell what someone's doing to Kaytee's burgeoning breasts? That hardly seems fair. And what the hell is PBS doing with commercials anyway? Even if they are relatively tasteful and nicely executed -- I thought being a PUBLIC BROADCASTING station meant they didn't HAVE to have commercials. Whatever. I'm going to get more ice for my drink...