Marina scenes, accompanied by a mall-ternative ovary. Cut to The Only Record Store In Capeside. Gretchen "Old Sassy Tree" Witter walks in, sporting a soccer-mom-ish ironed hair-don't, and spots Dawson "Miffy Lube" Leery browsing the aisles, which inspires her to grab a disc from a display and hand it to him: "If you're looking for something new and different, may I suggest Morcheeba?" Not a bad choice, actually, but then she has to ruin it by pontificating: "They're a little Herbie Hancock, a little Biz Markie [which she pronounces 'marquis,' with the emphasis on the second syllable -- the hell?], and just a touch of Poe tossed in for good measure." Well, no, not really. Maybe Portishead meets Bowery Electric by way of Saint Etienne, but…Herbie Hancock? Regardless -- shut up, Gretchen. Gretchen gives him guff for never even having heard of Morcheeba, and I'd really really like her to knock it off with the pop-culture Virgil act. A guy in a button-down hands Gretchen a flyer, looks Dawson over, and keeps moving (heh), and Dawson asks, "Party invite?" "Not just a party, a rave," Gretchen says, and we get a shot of the flyer, which has a bunch of bands listed in the requisite Tron-esque font and lots of electrical imagery. Dawson makes a crack about "suburban, rhythm-impaired youths," and Gretchen philosophizes that "it does a body good" blah blah blah "let loose for a while" blah diddly-ah "raves aren't just an outlet for dancing" blah dee blah "sort of a…declaration of independence" blah blah blah outdated-cultural-commentary-cakes, like, did she read that in an old issue of Wired? Shut UP, Gretchen. "Yeah, right up there with the Boston Tea Party," Dawson snorts. Yeah, really. But Gretchen just blabbers on about "rebel subculture" and how raves serve as their generation's attempt to define "who and what [they] are" and "how [they're] gonna live [their] lives," and let me just clarify one thing right now. I've never gone to a proper rave myself, so I'd hardly call myself the arbiter of accuracy on the subject, but my best friend got way into the rave scene in college so I know a bit about it, and first of all, said scene is more over than Hanson. Second of all, rave culture is hardly our generation's Woodstock. Rave culture is about getting really fucked up and staying out all night. That's it. Underground Culture Sensei needs to ease up on the exaggeration throttle. Dawson agrees with me, saying he doesn't think they can "keep tedium at bay by wearing glitter and jumping around to techno-pop," which I confess made me laugh, but Gretchen says patronizingly, "It's called fun," and Dawson should come with her and check it out. Dawson takes a pass, saying that it's not his "scene," and when Gretchen argues that he's never gone to a rave, so how would he know, Dawson says he's never gone two-stepping either, but he's not about to buy a pair of cowboy boots.
Gretchen corrects him, "Yeah, well, two-stepping isn't all the rage with the nation's youth." Gretchen, check the dial on your time machine -- it isn't 1992. The nation's youth listens to Limp Bizkit now. Look it up. Gretchen keeps trying to convince Dawson, using the word "intro" as a verb; Dawson wisely keeps declining. Gretchen calls it one of the "terms and conditions" of their "new-friendship clause" that each of them exposes the other to new things they haven't tried before, like, did Dawson sign up for Outward Bound? No, he didn't, so SHUT. UP. Gretchen! Dawson asks for a rain check but promises to take her up on it next time, threatening to show her "how insufferably uncool [he] can be." If she hasn't figured that out by now...I mean, come on. Gretchen says that he doesn't give himself enough credit -- huh? It's not just 1992, it's also Opposite Day? -- and adds, "I mean, at worst, you're just mildly uncool." Dawson thanks her. She urges him to at least give the Morcheeba disc a spin, and they head for a listening booth.