Arsenio giving advice to richie teens with too much cash to buy real brains. Hey, Get Real changed their font. Cool.

The next day, Platypus is bragging about her date the night before: "We're going to a play tonight, mixing business with pleasure." "So did you get kissed?" Sarah asks. "He's calling me later," Platypus says, ignoring Sarah's question. "We gotta pick up the pace," Sarah tells Joss. "Maybe I should try dating a black guy," Joss muses. "Whoa, revolutionary," Platypus quips. "The last couple of guys have been white," Joss continues. "This will give me a chance to be hurt by men of all races." Platypus asks Sarah if she's going back to the laundromat to seek out more dirty-underwear men. Sarah answers in the negative, proclaiming that laundromats are just "a hotbed of misery." Change "misery" to "germs" and you've got Walt's underwear. Platypus answers Sarah's question of where to meet nice, available guys: "Public library, dog park, cheese counter at Balducci's, Staten Island Ferry, poetry reading at the YMCA..." Joss tells her she's just showing off, but Platypus goes on with her list, "Strand books ["Um, nobody calls it that." -- Sars], yoga class, art gallery in SoHo --" Sarah looks interested in the last suggestion. Notice how Platypus doesn't mention hospital emergency rooms? I guess that's her corner to work.

Predictably, Sarah is next seen at an art gallery in SoHo. She stands in front of a piece of art and stares at it. Of course, since it's not a mirror or a meditation on her dinners, she doesn't understand the beauty of the object. An arty male approaches: "I'm sorry, I don't want to interrupt you but you've been staring at this painting for like twenty minutes." "Yeah," Sarah begins, and horror of horrors, we see that she is wearing some beatnik-wannabe beret. God, that's as bad a wearing a black turtleneck and tight black pants to a blues club and knowing nothing about blues music to boot! Sarah goes on with her arty thought: "I was just trying to figure out why the -- the --" "Penises," Arty Male supplies. They both laugh, because not being able to say "penis" is funny and not at all juvenile. "Yeah, why the penises are attacking the Madonna and Child," Sarah finishes. Arty Male explains, "Um, well, I think that the Madonna and Child represent art, and the attacking penises represent the assault of a male-dominated, testosterone-driven society on the traditional ideals of beauty and truth that art expresses." All right, who let Dawson on the set? "Yeah, that's what I expected," Sarah says. Yeah, and I'm Winston Churchill. Sarah asks if Arty Male is an artist, and he tells her he's a painter, sculptor, and busboy who wanders through museums and galleries "looking for inspiration. And I've found it." Sarah, modest as usual, says, "Oh, this painting really inspires you?" Arty Male laughs and tells her he thinks the painting is "a load of crap" and that he meant Sarah inspired him. Did you hear that noise? That was me retching up my lunch.