Previously on Capeside, 90210, Professor Creepy leered at Joey; Chef Danny cheated on his wife with K. Lo and made Pacey feel weird about it; Dawson flaked out on his shrink. Nothing makes sense to him anymore, apparently. Well, that's what he said, anyway.
Boston, somewhere. Jen and Dawson sit on a bench and chat about his upcoming appointment with the psychiatrist. "You're not thinking about chickening out, are you?" Jen asks, sipping her latte. He's not. "I might ditch, but that's something else entirely," he says. Jen smirks, and assures him that therapy isn't so bad. Dawson wonders how just talking about crap solves "everything." Jen shakes her head and tells him that, actually, Freud "considered him himself quite lucky if he could manage to convert hysterical misery into common, everyday unhappiness." Dawson flares his nostrils. "So the goal here is unhappiness?" he asks. Jen nods. "Exactly," she says. Dawson looks less than thrilled, so Jen swiftly dismisses Freud as "dumb," what with the whole penis-envy thing and all. Dawson grins. "I love College Jen," he says. "I feel like I'm in a French movie." Jen sort of shakes her head and brings the conversation back to Dawson, telling him that therapy "isn't bad," and that the majority of people could benefit from some face time with a shrink. Dawson wonders if she didn't feel weird, talking about her issues with a total stranger. Jen shrugs and tells him that it wasn't any weirder than blabbering "to no one, over the radio." Jen has a radio show now? Where have I been? Oh, right, curled up in the fetal position in the corner, rocking back and forth and singing "I don't want to wait" over and over again under my breath. Dawson swears that he, at least, listens to her show. "You and Grams," she says. Dawson sighs and stares off into the distance. "Thank you for doing this with me," he tells her. "Any time," she replies. They smile at each other. I have to admit, these two aren't that bad with each other. I'd almost call them cute, if I didn't have a cold, dead heart fashioned from stone and steel.
Credits. Excuse me, I have to get into that corner I was talking about.
Worthington: Turning Girls Into Women. Joey's studying on her bed, while Audrey, in the doorway, rips a video camera out of some poor guy's hands. "Love you, mean it!" she shouts, and slams the door in his face. Joey looks up. "How come your film geek looks like Tom Cruise and mine looks like the kid who didn't want to go to the dance in Sixteen Candles?" Audrey asks. Which film geek is this? Surely, she doesn't mean Dawson. Does she? Nah. Joey mumbles that Audrey should be nicer to "George," since "he'll be famous one day." Audrey rolls her eyes. "Whatever," she says. "All I know is, I practically had to sleep with him to get him to loan me his digital video camera." Joey sifts through the piles of paper on her bed and asks distractedly why Audrey needs a video camera. Porn seems to be the unspoken accusation. "My audition tape. Real World Ibiza, here I come!" Audrey grins. Joey chuckles, as Audrey wonders which tone she ought to take in said video: "Vamp, vixen, or all-out slut?" Joey raises a brow and is relieved that at least Audrey is trying to represent "all colors of the rainbow." Audrey shrugs, and asks what Joey's up to, what with all the stuff in her bed. Joey groans that she has another meeting of The Rose Lazar Fact-Finding Committee, also known as The Project Professor Wilder Made Up To Get Into The Pants Of His Undergraduate Students. Joey mutters that she's really behind. She needs "footnotes for the footnotes" of the stuff she's reading. Audrey doesn't care about all that school-y stuff; she wants to know what Joey plans to wear. Joey doesn't care what she wears. "Okay, and where would Madonna be if she had that attitude?" Audrey asks, flinging open Joey's closet door and flipping through her garments. Joey should, I think, try to be more like Madonna. You know, wear a "Motherfucker" shirt to Professor Creepy's class, dance around campus with a bunch of cowboys, demonstrate a blowjob on an Evian bottle in the cafeteria. She'd get a lot more dates, anyway. But no. Instead, Joey's muttering about all the juniors and seniors on the RLFFC. "They're dropping names so fast and furiously, they're practically leaving dents in the carpets." Oooooh, I feel so sorry for poor little motherless Joey Potter! It's so hard when your neighbor pays for your entire college education at a hoity-toity liberal arts college, where you're handpicked -- as a freshman! -- to work on a project as unusual and interesting as this one! Is it wrong that I'm jealous of a fictional academic undertaking? Don't answer that. "[Professor Creepy] knows I'm an idiot," Joey moans. "Why would he even bother picking me for something like this?" Audrey rolls her eyes. "Please!" she squeals. "Because you're hot! And he's a teacher. And don't tell me you didn't consider that a possibility." Audrey says this like it's a good thing. Rather than deeply gross, against the code of conduct at most universities, verging on sexual harassment, and -- did I mention gross? At least partially because Professor Creepy is deeply miscast in this role. And it's not like Hollywood is going through some sort of horrible hottie drought; there are plenty of more mesmerizing-looking men who could play a dreamy college professor. Like Jude Law, say. Although Jude Law guesting on Dawson's Creek is one of the signs of the apocalypse. Joey mutters that she didn't come to college to be considered "a piece of meat." "So, you'd rather be a brain in a jar?" Audrey asks. I don't understand why you can't be a sexy brain in a jar, but I'm clearly out of the loop. "Then I wouldn't have to worry about what to wear," Joey sasses. Audrey flings an outfit on Joey's bed and smiles at her.
Liberty Hell, the birthplace of Civilization. See what I did there? Shut up. Anyway, it's the restaurant's anniversary or some shit, and Chef Danny feels bad because he's making Pacey stay in the kitchen, slaving over crepes all night, instead of allowing him to come to the party. Pacey is like Cinderella, and Chef Danny is his evil stepmother. His evil, possibly gay stepmother. Hey, I'd watch that show. Anyway, there's some cooking talk that I'm going to just gloss over because I'm not getting paid to recap Yan Can Cook. It's all blah blah caramelize blah blah asparagus blah blah Chef Danny is not the owner of Liberty Hell. Oh, whoops, that was exposition in there, hidden amongst all the yammering. Apparently, he's, like, the second in command. For a while, he lived at the restaurant. Literally. For months at a time. "That has got to be hell on a marriage," Pacey says. "Speaking of, is Emily going to be here tomorrow?" Chef Danny makes an anguished and guilty face and admits that she can't make it. Oh, and did I mention that K. Lo was in that scene, too? Yeah, there was a reason I didn't. And the reason is that she's boring and I hate her. In fact, I'm boycotting her. Nevermore shall the name Karen Torres -- or any variation thereof -- pass my lips. Fingers. You know.