[Permanent disclosure, again, for those who need the help: Spoilers follow.]

• I almost didn't think it was possible, but Tuesday's episode of "Veronica Mars," titled "Poughkeepsie, Tramps & Thieves,"¹ explored even new realms of disillusionment, angst, and general all-out pain for the show. It was also the confluence of several of the show's developing storylines and in-jokes, as well as a continuation of things written here very recently, so much so that for one brief moment the universe unlocked and I was at its center.

• Specifically, only a few days after I wrote about the subject, the series dealt with its own brand of love going to the highest bidder. The episode revolved around Max (Adam Rose), who enlists Veronica to track down a girl he met at Comic-Con. He says they fell in love talking about "Battlestar Galactica" and Chuck Klosterman, and aside from being just one giant screaming wish-fulfillment of a plot setup, it also introduces a guaranteed pain into the episode. As I wrote before — and as this episode bears out — it never, ever works out to fall in love with a girl who makes a living selling herself. Never. Ever. Max is going to learn this the hard way, and his heartbreak is so predestined that you know he'll be broken by the time the credits roll. It's a given.

• Speaking of the "Battlestar" thing: It's a weird running in-joke on "Veronica Mars," going all the way back to Veronica's R.A.-turned-rapist, who liked a little "BSG" with his abduction. Soon enough, Veronica was saying "Frak," and now there's an entire episode built around the fact that these two characters met while talking about "Battlestar" at that holiest of geek meccas, Comic-Con. This isn't the first geek crossover for "Veronica," either: Joss Whedon, Alyson Hannigan and Charisma Carpenter² have all been on the show, ranging from guest spots to major story arcs. So what is it about the show that makes it so appealing for geek references? I don't know. All I know is that there are people out there way more devoted³ to the crossovers than you'd think.

• Anyway: Veronica eventually tracks down the girl, who turns out to be a hooker hired by Max's dickish buddies to help him lose his virginity. But when Max finds out she's a hooker, he refuses to believe his time with her was an act. He's textbook romantic martyr: He believes that yeah, she's pretended to enjoy being with men before, but she meant it with him. What's more, he even arranges with her madam to buy her out of prostitution. It's pretty much exactly the plot of the "Battlestar" episode where Lee falls in love with Shevon.⁴

• And oh, the pain comes on big time when Max finally gets the girl. At first it appears rosy and sun-flecked and full of all the happy things a relationship with a former call girl should never be, but then the crap inevitably gets funnelled through the fan and splattered all over Max's mopey existence. His roommates try and hire his new girlfriend to strip at a bachelor party; Max can't get past what she used to do for a living; etc.; etc. He finally confronts her about the night they met, when she claimed to have a left a card with all her info on it back at the hotel, which was subsequently removed by housekeeping. Max asks her if it's true, and the look on her face as she slowly shakes her head is just devastating. "Veronica Mars" is no stranger to pain, but this is one of the most uncomfortable scenes simply because the destruction was so inevitable. Not inevitable in the typical way of most TV narratives, e.g., let's break up the leads again and keep stringing out the main story. No, this was inevitable because it was bound to fail from the start; there was, literally, no other option. And that's a whole other kind of pain than watching Veronica and Logan go round after round (which is good, though somehow always disconcerting considering how much she pined for Duncan the first year or so), because that relationship has something Max and Random Whore will never have: hope.

• So she leaves him, and winds up slowly paying him back in installments for buying her out in the first place. The first payment is a sweaty wad of singles she earned stripping. Ah, fate.

• Seriously, though, the "Battlestar" and Klosterman references are enough to make me very, very uneasy. Someone else might be flattered or pleased that their favorite show managed to reference their other favorite show and one of their favorite authors; I prefer to sink into a morass of self-doubt. It's like the show knows way too well who it's aiming for. That might not be bad, but it's definitely eerie.

<sup>1. Come on, you laughed. A little.
2. If I have to explain those names, you might be at the wrong blog.
3. I still watched it half a dozen times.
4. Only Max doesn't shoot anyone in the gut, though that would've been an interesting wrinkle.</sup>

If ever I needed proof of Veronica Mars' enduring humanity — i.e., her proclivity for stupid decisions — I had it Tuesday night as she fell for the thousandth time into Logan's arms as the music swelled.

Far from being a superhero with an overdeveloped sense of justice and the nature of right and wrong, Veronica at times has an almost fetishtic way of singlemindedly pursuing a goal. Granted, she's matured as the series has grown; when she was hired to discover the identity of the campus rapist in the first major story arc of Season 3, she didn't set out to crucify the frats like the rape victims wanted her to, but instead tried to find the truth of the situation. But she also has the habit of relentlessly pursuing a chosen goal and letting that lead her, however ungracefully, to the truth. For instance, in Tuesday's episode, she suspected a campus anti-fur crusader group in the recent vandalization of a research lab and the freeing of the lab's experimental monkey and 20 or so rats. So Veronica went to one of the group's meetings and started broadcasting in huge, violent, incandescent letters that she would be willing to go all the way with the group's "more active" protests. It was a pretty stupid way to blend in when she was on a case, but more importantly, it underscored her tendency to simply attack the first line of reasoning until it plays out, instead of more carefully weighing the alternatives. She still solved the case, of course, and did it with compassion, but that's not the point. That stuff came later; in the beginning was the wrath.

So I'm not completely surprised that Veronica went in essence crawling back to Logan, who'd ended their relationship in the previous episode. It's likely that the showrunners decided that they'd been apart long enough; after all, the story's chronology was roughly made to match its recent broadcast hiatus (the previous episode aired Nov. 28, 2006, and I've been waiting for the show's return like no other). But this was only briefly established when Keith referred to the death of Dean O'Dell "six weeks ago." As far as the viewers are concerned, it's only been one episode, a lousy 45 minutes, since Veronica and Logan called it quits (again), and to have them recouple so soon is an oversight in narrative structure. There's a difference between taking a break for repeats and actually extending the show's timeline; sure, it may feel like a long time since "Veronica Mars" has aired new episodes, but that doesn't mean that the writers should behave as if the residents of Neptune, Calif., have actually been up to their old tricks for six invisible weeks while the viewers waited. No major story arcs happened during that time; nothing did. This will become even clearer when the show is eventually released on DVD, effectively eliminating the emotional break caused by the hiatus and leaving only the erratic story that has Veronica and Logan bouncing from off again to on again in a matter of minutes.

But even worse, it's a betrayal of the kind of strength Veronica is purported to possess. Her character is one giant ball of trust issues and emotional unavailabilty, and creator Rob Thomas has gone to great lengths to show that while Veronica is capable of love and devotion, she doesn't come by such sentiments easily. She's been burned by a mom that left and then returned only to wreak more havoc, not to mention a string of complicated relationships that tend to end, well, badly. Veronica's loyalty has had to be earned by the other major characters, but she's got a blind spot for Logan. And while that sucks, I also think it's a good thing, in it's way. Her weakness in that area is a reminder of her fundamentally flawed nature. Everyone has that blind spot, too; for some its gambling, or alcohol, or whatever, and for Veronica it's intelligent assholes with a little too much hair product. I was surprised, and more than a little annoyed, when Veronica went running back to Logan so soon (or "soon"), but I also know that it's one more thing that gives the character dimension and reality, and a reminder of just how good this show can be.

In case it's escaped the notice of even the dullest reader out there, I've got a pretty special place in the black rock I call my heart for "Veronica Mars." Now cruising gamely along in its third season, despite low ratings and a network dumb enough to pair it with "Gilmore Girls" (a show about absolutely, positively nothing at all), "Veronica Mars" is still one of the best shows on TV. But after two full years of exploring high school life, Veronica up and graduated, and is now attending Hearst College. Her matriculation mirrors not just the show's transfer from the defunct UPN to the new CW, but also the fact that the show itself is at a crossroads, namely, the elimination of its premise — high-school private eye — and a gradual change in its mission statement.

This is bound to be a polarizing time for the show's hardcore fans, and it's reminiscent of the similar struggle faced by what some have called the show's ancestor, "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." Granted, I think that comparing any two shows beyond a certain point is unwise, and most people are just linking "Buffy" and "Veronica Mars" out of a well-meaning laziness: Both shows were centered around a strong, flawed, complex female character in high school; both shows placed a premium on witty dialogue and interpersonal relationships; both shows are on low-rated pseudo-networks; etc. But the shows do have their similarites, primarily their ability to explore the hell of growing up through the archetypal lens of high school, the one experience that unites us all in common misery. After its third season, "Buffy" went through the same growing pains now working their way through "Veronica Mars," as Buffy went off to college and the show struggled to find its larger purpose even as its core dynamic was forever altered. More than just having key characters removed and assigned to a spin-off, the "Buffy" universe had to deal with its very own existential crisis: What happens when the teenage superhero starts to grow up?

The show dealt with the inevitable problems the only way it knew how: By pushing through them. The first episode of the fourth season features another pack of vampires led by one of the lamest ringleaders the show ever came up with, but the villain of the week did one thing right: She broke Buffy's umbrella, a symbol of the good work she'd done in high school. It was a crushing, visceral way for the show to proclaim that the times were changing in a big way.

The fourth season, though certainly not a favorite of some fans, nevertheless turned out some great episodes — the experimental "Hush," the crossover "Pangs," the enjoyable one-off "Superstar," the excellent "Fear, Itself" — and, much more importantly, broadened its worldview. College is a world of gray tones next to the starkly defined areas of high school, and Buffy interacted with a greater variety of people with more darkly human (as opposed to demonic) traits, including Parker, who slept with Buffy and never called her again. He wasn't supernaturally evil, just a tool. It was in important step for the show, and one that paved the way for more complex relationships in the characters' collective futures. The fourth season was radically different from the first three because it had to be.

That's the problem, and possible solution, facing "Veronica Mars." The show's first two seasons delved into the dark sides of class warfare between the haves and have-nots of the small town of Neptune, smartly recognizing that cash is the biggest dividing line between the lunch tables in the cafeteria. But university life is rarely that stratified, and the only people who cling to such dated notions of how to define themselves are the jerks who seem to think college is basically Grade 13. "Veronica Mars" is going to have to figure out how to let go of the rich-poor struggle that so often defines the stories.

Veronica used to be a high-school snoop, and but she's going to have to transform into a bigger, more nuanced character to get the show over the tough bumps coming out of two solid years of stories. The show should set about trying to define Veronica in grander terms, like what kind of person does she want to be, in order to work. The central group of characters has been altered — Duncan's gone, Beaver's dead — and the remaining ones aren't what they used to be, none more than Weevil, who's gone from ruthless gang leader to the equivalent of wacky sitcom neighbor in only a few months (seriously, making Weevil the janitor at Hearst was a low blow, especially after offering up the tantaloizing possibility that he might work with Keith). But "Veronica Mars" can and will succeed if it pushes the characters to grow, and if it becomes comfortable with somewhat redefining itself. You don't go back; you go on to the next place, whatever that is.

I sit here, basking in what could only be described as the post-coital glow of a long-desired reunion with one of the greatest shows on TV, feeling somehow more complete than I did when I got up Tuesday morning. In the interests of sparing you seven loyal readers from slogging through some kind of half-assed essay, my regurgitations will be limited to bullet points. You're welcome.

• The season premiere of "Veronica Mars" was pretty much everything I'd hoped it would be. I didn't have quite the emotional baggage tied up in it as I did with the "Studio 60" premiere; my early, earnest, teenage love for Sorkin's "Sports Night" pretty much ruined me on that count. Likewise, I'm curious about "Lost" this year but am wary of the show after the gradual decline of its second season. But "Veronica Mars" is still engaging, honest, and confident of the road it wants to walk. Creator Rob Thomas' script did a solid job at handling some necessarily clunky exposition: Having all the high schoolers wind up at the same college; having Keith address Fitzpatrick by name while driving him to meet Kendall; having Logan and Dick mention Beaver's suicide; etc. He introduced new characters, hinted at possible relationship conflicts, and ended the episode on dual cliffhangers. Brilliant.

• For instance: The light. The show has always confounded a realistic expectation of lighting design, casting its characters in stark rays of pink or blue or green in the midst of such mundane settings as classrooms and low-rent apartments. Keith's office is still bathed in an orgy of neon coming from nowhere, and Veronica's criminolgy classroom has stained glass windows for no other reason than that the show is constantly injecting flourishes of color into every situation.

• Veronica's criminology professor? Jeremiah f***ing Lasky. What a weird bit of typecasting.

• The only bad note: Thanks a pantload to the CW for foisting the godawful Aerie Girls on the viewers. It's just a group of stupid women who sit around and pointlessly discuss the show during the commercial break. That's bad enough, but infinitely worse is that it's sponsored by a women's clothing line. Look, I've already got enough to deal with loving a show that's been paired with "Gilmore Girls" by the clueless network, not to mention the fact that most of the shows I love seem to revolve around a strong female lead. I'm already doing my best to fake my way through life, okay? The last thing I need is to see a gaggle of dim giggling women speculating about Veronica and Logan or Lorelai and Luke (which come on, you know she's not gonna wind up with Christopher).

• The show is still committed to unraveling a weekly mystery and progressing a larger story arc, as evidenced by Keith's trip to the desert with a Fitzpatrick, as well as sidelong confirmation of what was in Kendall's briefcase in last season's finale (apparently a mountain of cash). But there was no major introduction to a season-long puzzle, as in the murder of Lilly Kane or the school bus crash. That's not to say that this season's planned multiple-mystery set-up won't be satisfying. It's just a little sad to see the show's original conceit go.

• Is Duncan still hanging out in Australia with his dead ex's baby? Is he okay with Veronica sleeping with Logan? Didn't they part with all kinds of professions of eternal whatever? I'm just saying, she could call the guy.

• Seriously, the whole Aerie thing made me deeply self-conscious.

What was in Kendall's briefcase?
Why didn't Keith show up at the airport?
And just how the hell did Aaron Echolls win an Oscar?

Here's to another year.