More “90210”





Intentionally Cheesy Movie Night 18:

Beverly Hills, 90210: Sex, Lies, and Volleyball







Hold up! I need to call bullshit on this cover! This is clearly a Season 4 picture! WTF! But onward.


I realize this is just one episode of television. But it is a strong possibility that “Sex, Lies, and Volleyball” is the best episode of “90210” ever. Shit goes on that I could barely believe was possible. As far as cheesy television goes, this episode really hit the nail on the head when it came to filling almost every moment with something awesomely cringeworthy.

I wasn’t going to take notes, and just watch the show, then write from memory. I got as far as remembering the awesomeness of the credits, like even for this show, and this is what I’m saying about the intensity of this episode’s amazingness. Even the credits are spectacular.









That is as far as I got because then Steve and Brandon are like, looking for a volleyball partner for Steve and doing something for this beach volleyball tournament. Basically, they are being ballstastic about being around all these “hard-bodied babes,” according to Steve, and that is when I had to take notes, because I realized I was in for something really special in this episode.

And I was. Because the next scene is possibly the most wonderful thing ever, in every way. First of all, it’s Niki! I love Niki! And she overhears David playing his keyboards, and gets all hot for his “sound,” and he…he finishes his thing, and spins around before he sees Niki. And she says something about how he’s got moves, which I couldn’t write down because I didn’t dare take my eyes off the magic unfolding before me.

You see, David’s hair…I’m really not sure how to explain it. It’s randomly parted to the side, sort of? And sort of frosted looking? Niki’s breathing heavy and staring at David like a psychopath, and talking about how she and her boyfriend “have an arrangement,” and she says she thinks keyboardists are way hotter than drummers, which explains a lot regarding the way she is panting over David and his sound, and THEN. She says, “Do you know ‘I Want Your Sex?’” So of course there is misunderstanding over the double entendre, and she means the song, and then says David reminds her of George Michael, which might be the awesomest thing that ever happened on the show.

On to the annoying sublot in France that basically is Donna acting like a total Ugly American and refusing to speak French and Brenda is wearing the first of many vests with no shirt, and tells Donna that it’s the best way to learn. Donna says “Yeah, right,” and storms off, and it’s bizarre, and the music gets so intense, and I’m so confused, but then am reminded that Donna has a learning disability. But then she buys a tart in a bakery and the bakery lady is not having Donna’s bad attempts to speak French and calls her an imbecile, which Donna understands, and gives this speech that is supposed to be really patriotic, but is really unfortunate, and then. Then! Donna is celebrating her victory over understanding someone calling her an idiot in French by eating her tart, and this new lady is stalking her and taking her picture, and it is really, really awkward because Donna's like, sucking her finger and stuff. But it turns out, the woman wants her to be a model.

In one of the biggest cult phenomenon storylines that I’ve ever witnessed, Dylan and Kelly have Sexual Tension, playing volleyball together and Dylan is touching Kelly way too much. This was before Superman even entered the picture, so I feel extra bad for Brenda, who is back in Paris telling Donna in that very still, serious way that showed you she meant business, that Donna better not dare drop out of the program to become a model, and I get angry about society’s pressure to keep us as followers as best as possible.









Steve is liking this chick he met, but of course she meets Brandon and likes him better. So he’s like hey Brandon, could you maybe not go after every girl I like? And I really sympathize with him, because, seriously Brandon. But Brandon says this chick is so “special,” and it’s like, really? This one girl you met a couple of days ago is special enough to hurt Steve’s feelings?

Over in Dylan and Kelly’s inappropriate friendship, he is helping her baby-sit her baby sister, and she of course overhears him being sweet on the monitor, and he gets Erin (the baby) to calm down, and Kelly’s like, awww. But then Dylan starts acting like James Dean and he doesn’t talk about Kerouac, but he does tell Erin she can’t trust anyone but herself, because people let you down. Nice thing to say to a baby, Dylan. And Kelly is like, “He is such a troubled soul,” and furrows her brow.

This is the episode where Brenda starts smoking! And is still judging Donna, who is still being naïve, and it’s pretty boring, but also hilarious, in terms of the level of intensity and Donna’s outfits: First like a call girl, then like a ballerina daisy. Then Pierre hits on her, and she realizes she was wrong to ever think of leaving Beverly Hills, and Brenda dispenses wisdom from her bed. I seriously am hardpressed to think of another character who had quite so many scenes where she was just like, sitting in bed. It’s actually one way the show was sort of realistic.

Anyway, that’s that, and Steve agrees to not stand in the way of Brandon’s minute-long dream of this chick, and Brandon can’t be cool, and has to kiss her right in front of Steve, while the wound’s still fresh.

And Dylan and Kelly…pffffft. Well, I should tell you she is wearing one of the most confusing outfits I’ve ever seen. It’s a white halter top, with white shorts, and high-heeled white sandals. She looks really nice, but it zooms me back to the early nineties to an unsettling degree. And then she stands in the doorway of Dylan’s place, and the light is hitting him just so, and he is wearing a white wifebeater and black pants to go with her white outfit. Will the bride walk down the aisle? Imagery on “90210” is awesome. And yes, she does! She shuts the doors behind her, and 17 years ago, a lot of people let out a collective “Noooo!” because the show ends right there.

Oh yeah, I totally forgot about Niki and David! I think I was just that blown away by their awesome first scene. Basically, Kelly catches them making out and storms away in disgust, and he chases her and she yells at him, as she should, except that it’s all ironic because she’s right, it’s shitty to cheat on someone just because they’re in France, but that is just what she helps Dylan do. But David ends it with Niki, who’s all distraught at the prospect of a future without David’s magnetism and sound, but luckily he gives her a parting gift: his demo tape.

On top of all this were many volleyball montages and some of the most hilarious background music ever. Two very enthusiastic thumbs up to this fine episode!





OMG, I forgot about another bit of awesomeness: Kelly’s leopard-print dress!

Click here for Part Two!




Home For Dinner


Some nights when I was growing up, my mom would  be all, “I’m tired and do not FEEL like cooking. Do you guys want to get pizza?” And we’d be thrilled, because we were kids, and IMO pizza nights are always awesome. But when she did cook, my mom did it fabulously, and most of all, she always has had a way of making certain foods feel like home. Such as:



Noodle Mess – basically Beef Stroganoff with a kid-friendly name. Beef pieces, carrots, excellent gravy, and egg noodles. It was one of those rare meals that pleased both children and adults at our dinner table.


Clam Fritters – she made fish and vegetables go into pancakes. Brilliant. Seriously, these things were just delicious, and by far one of my favorite dinners ever, especially since we were traditional Catholics and had many Fridays with fish-based dinners. Clam fritters > halibut IMO.


Oven Fried Chicken – Breaded and tasty like regular fried chicken, but cooked in the oven with a Bisquick coating to be healthier. Bisquick also goes into clam fritters; it’s magical (AAHHHHHHH!!!!).


Mish-Mash/Witches Brew – Kraft (or more likely, store-brand/No Frills) macaroni and cheese, kidney beans, ground beef, canned corn. Since shortcutted with chili for the beans and beef. On Halloween, Mom got into the excitement of the day; she knew how much it meant to her kids, and she’d have Witches Brew waiting for Robb and me, as we took a break from trick-or-treating, all cold, yet determined. We went after school by ourselves, then after dinner with my dad, and it was epic. Many miles, and many pillow cases filled with loot. This mission required sustenance, and Witches Brew was perfect. Mish-Mash, but with cut up hot dogs for Halloween! (Halloweenies!) It felt safe and nice to come home to, and also was made up of delicious ingredients that I highly recommend even if it sounds gross!


Big Meats – heh. Seriously though, as I said, my mom didn’t cook growing up, and when she got married, it was the mid-‘70s, during a weird time best explained by “Freaks and Geeks,” and she was hit with the realization that she had no idea how to make A Roast. But she’s a fast learner, and ended up making, for my money, the best roasts ever. I was always super picky with meat, but my mom’s roast beefs, chickens, and hams were pure art and delicious. They were Sunday night dinners, somewhere in between casseroles and Steaks Diane for company. Roasts were for family gatherings, and smelling them on some Sundays helped salve the sting of knowing there was school the next day.




On Monday, I’m going to tie all this into Thanksgiving, so I’ll hold off here right now! In the meantime:




What food feels like home to you, traditionally speaking?

What food feels like home to you, non-traditionally – friends, family, etc.?




Hope to see you on Monday at my Fab Five blog about the holidays and food!

I Believe In Magic.



Do you believe in magic
In a young girl’s heart
How the music can free her
Whenever it starts

And it’s magic
If the music is groovy
It makes you feel happy like an old-time movie

I'll tell you about the magic, and it'll free your soul
But it's like trying to tell a stranger 'bout rock and roll









In a current storyline of “Heroes,” a deaf woman has discovered she can see sound. In a particularly beautiful scene, she plays a cello. And she can’t hear the music, but she sees colors coming from the strings as she slowly releases herself and seems to dance in spirit with the colors, as they weave in and out and light up everything in her world for those moments.

I think we have more than five senses. I believe in magic. I might possibly be considered clinically insane, but that’s okay because I also don’t believe in true crazy. Madness, yes, crazy, no. I have many reasons for believing all these things, but if I could sum it up into one moment, it would be the one where I saw Kurt Cobain for the first time. I was working at CVS, stocking the new magazines. Now I’d known who Kurt Cobain was, but I still remained in a place of ignorance. I still bought into the notion that good was clean, and traditional morality was where it was at, and music should be positive. I am loathe to admit it, but I’d dismissed Nirvana and Cobain in particular as Part Of The Problem.

I opened the box with the Rolling Stones, and there was Nirvana on the cover. And it was as though time stood still. I couldn’t hear anything around me; I was transfixed by Kurt’s face. He looked like an angel. A deeply sad, deeply troubled person with the most sensitive eyes I’d ever seen. I wanted to know this man, wanted to be in his presence.

I didn’t start listening to his music until later in life, and I’ve since learned that was part of the problem, for Cobain. Everyone wanting to look at him, to know him, to be in his presence, sometimes without even taking the time to listen to his words.

I wanted to save him, Kurt Cobain, that day that I first saw him. He just seemed so sad. The next time I saw him on a magazine cover, it was because he died. And I knew it was too late. Lather, rinse, repeat, and you get my unbeknownst to me God complex of my 30s.









And almost 21 years from the time I first lost a real life friend to suicide, I’ve been feeling flooded with the helplessness of all the people I couldn’t save. In my dream the other night, there was a lot of Christ imagery, but the irony of my dream was to really violently shoot it into me that it is pure narcissism to think I am here to save the world. That is missing the point completely. Because I’m just as fucking crazy as the demons that take out lives. I’ve just been blessed with some hope. Eyes on my own paper.









In the song “Something In the Way,” Kurt Cobain sings

Underneath the bridge
The tarp has sprung a leak

In my dream, I realized all that was needed to save the house was to move the tarp, and dry off.









In my dream, I spoke out, said I loved my friends so much. And several people commented that it made me a good friend, and I hope so, but I also know there was a strong element of pride there, the desire to control. I was relieved to be released, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, and put my friends in possible danger, and got shot.

But The Beatles said that “there is nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be. It’s easy. All you need is love.”

And two Beatles are dead, one shot because one “crazy” person became obsessed with a person who wrote “crazy” lyrics, and still their words remain.









I look at the world and I notice it’s turning
While my guitar gently weeps









I believe in magic for the same reason I believe in God, against all excellent arguments against both. Because I believe in music. Javier told me that one of Kurt Cobain’s hates was violence against women. Why? How did he get there? Where did those lyrics come from? Why did one of the most beautiful men and influential artists know how to scream like that in “In Utero?”









Where does it all come from? I don’t understand arguing God versus the lack thereof, and different religions. I still pray my Catholic prayers, and I talk to God, and I talk to people who’ve passed in case they can hear me, and I choose Jesus as my savior. That is the step that I have put my Indiana Jones foot on. I step down, and it feels floaty, but it’s there, just like the dreams where the highway is in water.

But like, those are my dreams. That is my faith. I always said that if I get married again, I want it to be not a leap of faith, as if there isn’t a chasm beneath two people, in life itself, as if the ground is solid. We’re all going to die or at least get old, and either way there will be sexier people and smarter people, than us. And then what do you do?

I’m hoping it will be like what Corrie Ten Boom’s father said to her in The Hiding Place. She was so upset, realizing one day he’d die, and he was all (total paraphrasing from memory, with reverence to the book), “Corrie, when we wait for the train and I hold your hand, when do I give you your ticket?” And Corrie answers, when the train is about to come.

Corrie’s father says, that is God’s gift to us, grace. He gives it to us when we need it. And in the meantime, he holds our hand and keeps us safe.

And then we get on the train.









That is my little corner of the world, the step I choose to take because maybe I need it for comfort, but is that so bad, since our time here is limited? And maybe…maybe God does exist. Maybe magic does exist. Maybe people, even the ones “no longer with us” just want us to notice that the world is turning, and all alone is all we are, but all you need is love.










Maybe it’s heresy. I won’t know, no one will know, for sure, what this all means, or doesn’t mean. In the meantime, I’m going to go reread The Lovely Bones, watch “Across the Universe,” listen to some Nirvana, and prepare to go out for Halloween tonight, a night that celebrates the freaks, the crazies, the rebels, all the people who remind us that death is real, and magic might be too.









In a current storyline of “Heroes,” Hiro is learning that his pride in his gift is killing him. So he is letting go of his pride, but he isn’t letting go of his gift. He still wants to stop people from jumping off the ledge. So do I. So did, in my opinion, every single person in this world who died too soon.

Instead of judging Kurt Cobain, then wanting to save him because his torture was beautiful, I should have just listened to him. What he had to say. I didn’t. But I will keep listening now.









If you’re still reading, thank you. Thank you to all the “crazy” people in Myspace who come out to see me and welcome me into your own corners of the world. Thank you for letting me be crazy. Thank you for loving me. Or even for hating me, thank you just…I know if I’d just been shot in the waist and bleeding out on the ground, that someone would see me.









Last week, I was feeling more down and out and weak in every way I thought I could think of. Then I got mail and I thought it was bills. But first, I got a -- there is no other word for it, sorry for the corny -- precious gift from someone extremely special, that made me LOL and cry at the same time. Then the next day, I got the most gorgeous bracelet in orange, my favorite color, from someone else extremely special.

Both were from women I met on Myspace. Who weren’t even initial friends, but we found each other through playing around on here, doing our thing. Somehow, that led to this. Crocheted bacon and the favorite bracelet I’ve ever worn.









I believe in magic, because I believe in music. In art. That things and people that get written off as crazy and belligerent or unwanted and invisible can somehow, always, be seen.

I believe in Myspace because I believe in magic. “Heroes” is a story that has a lot of flaws, and if it weren’t for Javier, I’d have abandoned that particular ship. Javier goes down fighting and never stops being loyal. Myspace may or may not be sinking, but the people left on board are pretty fucking awesome. And regardless, sink or swim, “it’s been an honor playing with you tonight.”










The Fab 5 is hosting a Halloween party! Gift cards for best costume and random door prize! Hope you’ll stop by!

Repost from March 2007, because someone in VGF brought it up and I got all nostalgic.





Well, That's Soda Disappointing!


I hate Coke® bottlecaps now. Remember back in the day, when you just had to open the bottle and look at the cap? Maybe not, because I am 50 years older than most of you, but you used to be able to just know by looking at the cap if you'd won a NEW bottle of Coke! (NOT New Coke!) Instant gratification and/or rejection! Free 2-liter bottle! Sorry, try again! Either way, you knew what you were getting. Now it's like:

K6745859337
R9857382385
D2389547645

And you're supposed to go to their site? And input the numbers? Which is doubly annoying, because I hate "input" as a verb.

These have been pissing me off for as long as I can remember. Well, not literally, or else my first paragraph would make no sense. But you know what I am saying. They've been around for too damn long, and much like the BC tray rule of present time, I yearned for their inevitable retreat into obscurity, to no avail.

So okay, fine. I've been told (in (usually) nicer ways) that sometimes I am a closed-minded beeyotch. Maybe that's the case here. Let's find out, then. Let's find out if technology has somehow managed to make the bottlecaps of today even more fun than the bottlecaps of yore.

What do I have to do first? I can barely read this thing! And I am the friend in the group who, maybe I can't hear a word you're saying from two feet away if, you know, there is a truck making some noise 25 miles in the distance, but dammit, I can read a street sign from 500 feet away in the middle of the night! So if I can barely read this thing, Coca-Cola® really should maybe reconsider their packaging.

Okay, so I can either enter my code at the website, TEXT them (WTF, no way, I learned my lesson the time in that one drunken moment of weakness when that warmhearted psychic on TV said she could answer just one question for me), and/OR call them at an 866 number.

And now, I think I really need to rethink my "career" "aspirations," because I am currently hardpressed to think of a more awesome job, material-wise, than talking to people all day who can't work a bottlecap.

Anyway, on to the site!

Ha ha, imagine after all my bitching, I win like, a boat? Or a mystery box! That would be awesome.

Okay, the site is actually less obnoxious than I'd expected. Sorry, I know that approximately 127 of my friends here are (awesome!) graphic designers, but I am glad that things got toned down there, because for awhile, it was like, "YOU WANT FLASH? I'LL SHOW YOU FLASH!!!" and most websites were just, crazy! And annoying! We seem to have found a happier balance, these days.

What! I have to register? That's bullshit, and also kind of creepy. I'm going to use Shannon's email address. Just kidding, Shannon! But I AM going to use my zack morris email. If the government wants to know what I am drinking, they are just going to have to muster up the effort to spy on my survey bulletins like everyone else!

Oh, well, look at this, you can ASK them, "Why register?" And -- geez -- check out their answer:

Why should you join MyCokeRewards? Because it's easy for you to get the rewards you want and deserve for drinking Coca-Cola brand products.

Equal parts amazing and horrifying. Of all the advertising tactics, the one I loathe most is pandering to this country's sense of merit-less personal entitlement. I mean, because you drink Coke, you DESERVE rewards? I never knew! Let's move on...

...to something that I really need to just copy and paste, because...wow:


Congratulations on joining this exciting new program from Coca-Cola. You're just a few steps away from earning rewards for drinking your favorite Coca-Cola products, like gift cards, electronics and trips. Just a few more steps and you'll be on your way.

Please enter your birthdate, email address and let us know if you are a resident of the United States. All fields are required.

Let's get started creating your MyThirst ID.


Heeee. A "MyThirst ID!"

Well. Okay. First of all, I decided to be really crafty and say that my birthdate was February 29, 1960, because that wasn't a real date. My brilliance knows no bounds. BUT, they caught me! Pretty sneaky, sis!

But they also told me my email address wasn't valid! Oh no! I guessed I hadn't signed on in awhile, so yahoo suspended my account. Finally, I put in (inputted, if you will) my Thea4ever address. What's a bunch more spam in that account? You got me, Coke®.

But that didn't work either! So basically, there is meat in my trifle and all of that work was for naught! I have no other choice but to send a concerned letter to the company.

I feel I should mention that in their unfailing ability to keep a finger on the pulse of what the people really want, Coca-Cola® has provided us with the one and only Hank, the virtual rep! He's "pretty helpful," according to those crazy Coke folks!



(Click.)

Hank is totally ready to spring into action!



Hank says...

"Hi, I'm Hank, your virtual assistant for MyCokeRewards!
If you have a question for me, type it in the box above and I'll try to come up with an answer for you."

Okay. "My email address is invalid, according to y'all."

He was not tripped up by the y'all, but he gave me a mealy-mouthed non-answer, much like the time I was working at Welcome Wagon, after months of hearing stupid "Yay, we're making so much money as a COMPANY, aren't you so proud! It's like, we're fishing and every single person here helps with getting more fish!" I'm not kidding. So during one meeting where I was particularly annoyed, I got my proletariat on and was all, "So when do we get to eat the fish?" and the VP with the nice suits had obviously not read that particular chapter in his Dale Carnegie books, and didn't really answer me at all. That's what Hank was like. So now I have to type the Coke folks an email.

What?!?! Okay, GET THIS. You have to enter all that same information just to contact Coke, and even more, because you have to put in your name! Whatever, I get to type an email. This will be fun. IF they accept my email address!

Here we go!



Dear Hank,

You can imagine my excitement when, upon purchasing some Coca-Cola, I realized that I was getting much more than just a liter of the most delicious beverage ever created! I was also getting a chance to win prizes! Really, just the soda is prize enough for me LOL but I really wanted to check out your website! So I did, and arrived at your site tremendously excited at the prospect of getting my very own MyThirst ID! I don't even have a library card LOL!

But imagine my terrible disappointment when my email address was not accepted. My email address is Thea4eva@yahoo.com. I've had it since 1997, when I chose the name based on the awesome Thea Vidale and her self-titled television vehicle starring a young Brandy Norwood. So I am positive that it is a valid email address.

If you could contact me regarding a way to acquire a MyThirst ID, I would really appreciate it. COKE RULES!

Love,
Judith

W/B/V/S/A/D/G/C/D/I/O/K!


It went through! So I guess my email address is good enough for the gander, but not the goose. The goose with the golden egg, in this case, because now that I've seen the clip art stencil of a boat, I want to win a cruise!

I'll keep you guys posted as to whether Hank's a good guy who calls girls back or not. Keep your fingers crossed!

Warning! This is a very Dear Diary blog! It gets into “90210” detail, and enough of my estrogen and navel-gazing thoughts to warrant me a Lifetime movie of my very own. Enter at your own risk.




Other blogs I’ve written about “90210”:

A television’s companion IMO on whether a “90210” ep is worth your time!

Graduation episode recap!

Love and money!





Last Saturday, the day after my reunion (woohoo, more on that another time though), I managed to finally, after 15 years, catch the episode of “90210” where Brandon uses Kelly as a decoy at some college government thing because Josh who later gets killed off because he was kind of awesome is giving Brandon a good dose of Woodward and Bernstein karma. And these were Very Important Episodes back in the day when I was still a teenager. So they felt extra special, fresh off the prior night’s nostalgia. I was stoked and DVRed the next episode, where they kiss, and was filled with the old, comfortable ambivalence towards this show. Which led to two Facebook statuses, and then I played the episode I DVRed, and felt my “90210” thought vomit rising to the surface. I figured I’d put it all in one neat blog, so people are warned about what lies ahead. And with no further ado, I present to you:







My Thoughts During

the “90210” Decoy

Kelly Episodes



- Seriously, Muntz. I know you’re a doofy dude and all, but for real? You are going out with a girl for two years and about to Finally Do It For The First Time, and you choose freaking Steve Sanders’s dorm room as the perfect place for this? Now, I’m not materialistic, but if I were the girl I’d be pissed. You’re in a frat. Tell your brothers you’re about to get laid and they’ll cover you for your keg fees or whatever it is you spend your money on. Spring for a hotel, for crying out loud. At least light a candle! Somewhere that’s NOT Steve Sanders’s dorm room he borrowed from Andrea!

- I get that they were trying to evolve Kelly since she wanted to shed her high school image and all, but I do not see why this has to translate into her dressing like a senior citizen whose kids would still tell her, Mom, let me take you shopping; you’re dressing really frumpy. Normally I wouldn’t even say anything because I certainly know what it’s like to gain weight and want to cover up, but that’s the thing. I had Jennie Garth’s workout tape, “Body in Progress,” that she made during this exact time. She was totally in shape. She wasn’t as skinny as she was in high school, but she’d become a woman and looked great and really healthy. But I remember those times, and it was pre-J Lo, ass-friendly years. I too hid my butt and strong-but-not-skinny legs, and pretty much dressed like Jennie Garth. So I started out laughing at her terrible outfits, then realized, oh man. But I’ll leave it at this for now, except to say speaking of which, what happened to belly shirts? I’ve bitched before about all the new shirts not having waists, which is like my one thing I’m cool with on my body (not trying to self loathe, but I’m just keeping it real), but why not have belly shirts? There are awesome clothes for smaller girls, why not give something to the ladies who might not love their whole body yet, but want to celebrate their curves! It’s like belly shirts came in with a vengeance, and left with just as quick a vengeance. Theories?

- So I could fanwank it that Kelly’s just jealous of Claire’s slobbering like a hungry and horny puppy over Brandon, but she’s all, “She’s in high school” to Brandon. And like, don’t get me wrong; I appreciate the sentiment if she were talking to Jason Priestley, but Brandon’s a freshman in college. It’s not like it would be creepy for him to date a junior or senior in high school, especially during a time where sex still wasn’t a given. And yet there was Kelly saying it all, “Brandon, you pervert,” which was dumb.

- Speaking of Claire, in retrospect, she is a great sociological metaphor for the vast difference between Generation X and Generation Y. I’m watching it all, what the fuck Claire; why are you so bitchily hitting on Kelly’s boyfriend? But now that I’m older and have dealt with this issue from a Gen Y’s eyes (I’m first-year Gen X), I relate a little to what Lucinda the “Saw” chick is saying about how women are treated in society. Like Kelly’s frumpy outfits, it’s a little sobering to watch these episodes now and realize that Claire was annoying and Lucinda was a bit of a snake, but at least they didn’t seem like they had perpetual sticks up their asses like the…well, the blondes on this show. All the non-blonde chicks were always held up as villains to the good and pure Donna and Kelly, but really the non-blondes were the awesomest ones IMO. I still don’t know if I dig Claire or not because IIRC, she pissed me off a lot back in the day, but I could totally chill with Lucinda, and Brenda and Valerie were always my favorites. I really think I want to re-watch this show and figure out more of this shit, because when I grow up, I want to be a “90210” brunette! Because God help me if I need to judge people and wear blazers for the rest of my life, you know?

- And while I’m going on about women and society, what is UP with this show’s double standard with sex? I’m hardly the first to say it, but it really pissed me off tonight. It’s very “Real Sex” or something, because Kelly and Brandon are off on an overnight together even though she is with Dylan and he is with Lucinda, and Dylan is over Lucinda’s set decorator’s idea of a quirky, sexual woman would live in (which to be fair wasn’t bad), and she’s all like practically on top of his lap on the couch, all snuggling in and mastering the single entendre (TM Oz) while Dylan moves his eyebrows around but does not at all stop her, and like, I think she has candles lit or the lights off and it’s all EXTREMELY inappropriate, and then they kiss and Dylan totally kisses her back, but then opens his eyes and looks at her like he’d tricked her into showing that it was true, this was Ursula pretending to be Ariel or SOMETHING, because I honestly don’t know why she was some kind of terrible cheater compared to suddenly righteous Dylan, and seriously if you’re just playing undercover boyfriend or something Dylan, kissing her is kind of like sniffing a bit of coke when you work for the DEA. But don’t get me started on the DEA. Moving on…oh no wait. There is also this awful way Brandon behaves when he gets to Lucinda’s after totally making out and being lovey dovey with Kelly, like at least Lucinda was just sexual; Brandon cheated physically AND emotionally, yet somehow has the unmitigated gall to give her this look of hate and disgust as though he caught her cheating, and tells her he didn’t miss her at all.
 






Saving grace realization of this episode: No guy I ever liked That Way told me I was like a sister to him…and as a result, I never talked creepy like Kelly did to Brandon after they kissed. But seriously after this scene, why does Brandon get to treat Lucinda like shit again, exactly?








Links!

Danny Drennan is the godfather of anyone who ever writes about “90210.” Seriously, check out his recaps; they are exquisite and hilarious and brilliant.
Click here for Season 5, where he begins!

Tara Ariano is an amazing writer, and her “90210” recaps (starting in Season One!) have been a godsend.
Click here!

It’s Susan’s day at 5 Bloggers! She wrote part two of the Halloween story and it’s awesome!
Check it out!

Nearly a year ago, I posted a blog, “Videogames of My Life.” Though I am an avid gamer supporter, I had no idea what was in store for me in 2009, game( r )-wise. I started playing along, to various degrees, on Javier’s 360. And I also met a bunch of truly awesome people on the video game forum at Amazon.com (VGF > GBF for LIFE!!!). So almost a year later, I have a newfound love of video games, and though my gamer status is dubious at best, I now present to you:





Video Games Of My Life: Part II






Grand Theft Auto IV


I was at one gathering in Oneonta at someone’s apartment, where people were playing Grand Theft Auto. Not sure which one, all I know is that I was unsettled. So when Javier anticipated GTA IV with glee and gusto, I was not thrilled. But it was an Important Game, so I stepped back and tried to support. He played it while I wrote on the weekends. And here and there, he’d present to me choices he had to make. “Baby! Should I kill this guy or stay loyal to him?” He’d ask, and present me with the details of his important video game decisions. I’d give my take. Some of the time, like I believe when it came down to whether to kill Jacob or not, he would take my advice.

One way or another, I was intrigued by this process. A game where your choices could affect your entire game? That was really cool, in my book. I grew more interested and open minded, and Javier started saying that I should play when he beat the game. I knew I still couldn’t work the controller for something so complex, but agreed to navigate the game as he manned the controller.

I was drawn in by Niko’s story, and really took to heart, how he wanted to make a better life for himself here in New York. So I tried to help him become an upright citizen. I didn’t let him steal any cars, and Javier was all, “Seriously? You’re going to make him walk again?” Yes. My poor Niko, running around and around. I tried to play with him stealing no cars, or doing anything shady. As a result, Niko spent most of his time jogging from place to place, getting hot dogs from the vendor and taking naps, and calling up Jacob to hang out like a lovestruck booty call. “Not now, I’m busy man!” Jacob would say whenever I called.

Though I finally relented when Javier asserted that we had to at least complete missions, I still kept Niko pretty much on the up and up. And still have not even come close to beating the game. So I might need to revisit it and allow Niko to get his hands dirty a little bit. We shall see.







Mass Effect


Another game where I played navigator. On the plus side, I’m very happy with Commander Shepard’s look -- I spent a lot of time on her avatar (is that the right term for what she is?). On the minus, I have no idea what in the world I was doing. She seemed pretty cool and sympathetic, jogging around, asking questions. But I couldn’t fight where necessary, Javier took care of that. And overall, I lack a sense of what Shepard is doing to begin with. Something with…I don’t know. Bad guys who seem good but are threatening a world, good guys who aren’t. A) It’s been awhile since I played, and B) I really think Mass Effect requires a player who is simply better at games than I am. I had a good time though. And I understand it’s a brilliant game.







Rock Band


The Christmas after I got Javier his Xbox for his birthday, he got Rock Band for Christmas. His sister started flipping out over how awesome the game was. So Javier set it up, and I played with him and his siblings. The very first night, I got put on drums, and I steadily lost my religion. I SUCKED. So, so bad. I got booed off the stage, and though it was humiliating, I was relieved. No more terribleness in front of everyone. Until they were all, “It’s okay, try again! You can do it!!!”

I could NOT do it. I can do the guitar and the bass all right, so long as I don’t try Expert or even Hard, most days. Mostly, I prefer to sing. It’s still technical, and more about how you fit your voice to the notes than actual singing (though I’m sure excellent singers can do it justice), but I can do it. And man, is that game fun. I understand it’s not necessarily a gamer’s game, but I love it big time. I love unlocking venues, and figuring out where to go next, and the charge of the crowd experience while on stage, trying my very best to keep up with “War Pigs” and the like. It’s probably my favorite video game I’ve ever played, point for point.







Arkanoid/Alleyway/Circus


After doing my last blog, I felt horrible about leaving this out. My childhood friend Tina introduced me to Circus on her Atari, and for the first time EVER, I felt like I could actually rock out an Atari game. Then I played Alleyway on Gameboy for many, many hours. Now, I play Arkanoid. Same concept, on the 360. I love it and hate it at the same time, because it rules, but man is it stressful when you lose your bottom line and fly without a net. Fun, though.







Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Turtles In Time


My toes, my toes! ’Nuff said. Love the TMNT, but outside of Gameboy Fall of the Foot Clan, I suck. Where does my turtle go! He spends most of the time either offscreen, or with foot damage.







Chessmaster


“We should play chess! Let’s get a chess board! I’m kind of really good at chess!” I’d say to Javier. So he accommodates me by downloading Chessmaster. And proceeds to kick my ass. Every. Single. Time.







Word Puzzle


This is barely a game. But I LOVE it. It’s a word search, and very stressful, because when someone finds a word, the game lets out this BANG BANG BANG BANG sound, one for each letter. It’s fun when you’re winning, obnoxious when you’re not. But definitely worth playing for me, because it’s one game I stand half a chance at winning.







Marvel Fighting Game


I’m not sure what this game is called. The pic seems right, if not I’ll remedy later. Javier is asleep so I can’t ask him, and I’m worried that if I try to find it on the Xbox, I’ll break the whole system at worst, and at best get distracted and not finish the blog. But it’s a cool game. The thing is, I never have any idea what is going on. I mash my fingers on the buttons and try to give it all my spirit. Sometimes I win; sometimes I lose. One thing I always do is pick the brunette pirate chick in green, though on screen she’s blonde in blue. She’s always been there for me, and though this game hurts my fingers without fail, I enjoy being loyal to a character, and if I win, it’s nine times out of ten because of her. She is majorly bad ass.







Tetris Splash


I included Tetris and all its forms in my last blog on this. But Tetris Splash is new to me. I’ve never gotten to go toe to toe (My toes!) with another person on a two-player game of Tetris. It is awesome. So inherently stressful, but Tetris Splash is like metal (music) to my brain. Enough screaming, and it all balances out in the end. I love Tetris and all it entails. PLUS, I won like two or three fish for our video game aquarium, and what’s not cool about virtual fish?







Peggle


Ahhhhh, Peggle. The one game I’ve ever brought to the table, and one of the more controversial games, from what I understand. There are people who HATE this game and dismiss it as video game schlock. Fair enough, but I don’t care, because I think it’s brilliant. I was told about Peggle by my friends in the video game forum, when they found out I adored Tetris. Some people were like, “NOOOOO not Peggle!” But I told Javier about it, and we checked it out, and we both fell in love with it. The entire game is one big, awesome acid trip. Mind you, I’ve never taken acid and never plan to, but this game is a psychedelic DREAM! Full of unicorns, flowers, brightly colored pegs, bouncing balls, and a healthy dose of irony. It is genius. When you clear a board of orange pegs, the game plays “Ode to Joy.” It is a fluffer, Peggle is. And I love every second of it. Some say it’s too much of a luck game, but I’m pretty proud of my increasingly good shots. And really, it’s hard to be upset at life when you’re on the “Working from Home” board, with bears and picnics and daffodils, just because, why not? LOVE!






What are your favorite games?

PS3 or Xbox 360? Or Wii?

What is your stance, if any, on Peggle?

Is there a way of helping Niko make a better life for himself without spending the entire GTA game at the hot dog stand and Jacob’s?





©2009

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My Father


When I was little, I was pretty in tune with what was going on, for a kid my age. I was the only child for five years, so I didn’t have the same fun ‘n games ‘n toys existence that I may have had with other siblings around. And I spent those years in an apartment building in a poorer part of Long Island, where there weren’t too many kids to play with, and everyone around me was just trying to make ends meet.

This, combined with my learning to read when I was three, led to a precocious existence in which I got that life was no joke, and childhood was no shield to reality. I liked it that way. I mentioned in my Five Bloggers blog that I was a baby/child actress, and even at such a young age, I was aware of what was going on around me, and that life sure was an interesting place.

But I kept reading in all my books, how time after time, adults and even older kids remembered nothing of their early years. This disturbed me. This was my life I was living here. I was just going to forget all of it? That just didn’t seem right to me! I may have been young, but I thought my life was quite worthy of remembering!

My father gave me hope in that department. He kept a diary of events, every day, and would recollect things from “a year ago today,” or sometimes from when he was a little kid. He brought home book after book after book, and though he and my mom still struggled for money as he finished law school, then got on his feet as a lawyer, I always had entertainment and insight into worlds past and present. I was indebted to him, for my brain power.

But it would all be for naught, if my formative years just fell by the wayside into the shadows as I got older! I realized this one afternoon when I was four. Going to McDonald’s was a rare treat, as my parents made sure to stretch the food dollars into economical but healthy meals. It irritated me then; I’m grateful for it now. But all of which is to say, though McDonald’s was inexpensive, it was still junk food, and therefore a treat to me as a kid.

My father took me to McDonald’s that day. We walked there, and on the way back, a block away from the apartment, my father took my hand as we crossed the street. As I clutched my Happy Meal in one hand, and my father’s hand in the other, I vividly recall thinking to myself that oh man, I really needed to get on this “memories” business, lest I forget them all when I was grown. And I decided right then and there that this was the perfect memory to start with.

I remember it all. It was sunny out, but the sun was hidden in part by the buildings around me and the scattered trees. There was a lot of noise, as it was Hempstead in the afternoon and we lived on a busy street.

And though I do remember bits and pieces from before that moment, that was my First Official Memory. Walking back home from McDonald’s with my father, happy. The world full of promise and future memories.

Tomorrow my father has to go into bypass surgery. Triple or possibly quadruple. I found that out in a voicemail he left me this morning. And though he is the one having to go through it, he took the time to assure me that though it sounds scary, it’s not as big a deal as it may sound.

I know that, actually. I’ve known a woman who got a triple bypass and a man who got a quadruple bypass. Both of them came out of their surgeries not only okay, but much healthier for them. I know that my dad will be okay, and even better, after tomorrow.

But I wanted to give him something. I wanted him to know that in the same way he took my hand to make sure I didn’t get hit by cars and, unbeknownst to him, help me make My First Memory, that even though I’m thousands of miles from Colorado, tomorrow as he goes into surgery, I’ll be holding his, and making sure that he was safe too. Through my love and my prayers, and thankfulness for him.

And in his other hand, I hope he’ll hold almost 60 years of memories of his own in his virtual Happy Meal. Along with the knowledge that when he wakes up, there will be many, many more awesome memories to come. I know he will be okay, and now it’s my turn to make him feel protected.

So I wanted to write this. To say thank you, Dad. For my life, for my brain, for my first memories and those after. For being you. Speedy recovery -- you’re going to be just fine, and feeling better than ever.

If anyone who prays wouldn’t mind praying for my father, I’d appreciate it so much. And if you don’t pray, thank you for your thoughts and support. I can’t be with him tomorrow, but I wanted to send some heavy support his way.

I love you, Dad. Thank you for the McDonald’s. And I thought you’d appreciate the humorous irony in my writing about McDonald’s in a blog about your bypass!





My dad is the reason I love The Beatles -- and this scene is the reason I lost $50 in a bet to him one time!








Update: My dad's surgery was postponed till Friday at the earliest. Which I know is tough. So I hope you'll keep sending out the good vibes, thoughts and prayers. Thank you with all my heart to everyone who commented, or who just read and care. It means the world to me, and I know my dad really appreciates it.

I know "w/replies" is a little weird to some people, depending, but I'd rather do that than have people think I ignored their comments. Have I mentioned my stupid firewall! Anyway I'm not posting a new blog here for at very least a couple days, so I figured it would be okay to update this one. Have a great Labor Day!




Hi, Hater


You don’t have haters. You’re just an asshole.

~ Carl




“I thought you were so nice.”

It’s happened more than once, but it always disappoints me. Some people meet me, and think I am the sweetest person in the world because I’m friendly and have never run in cliques that did not have an open door policy for anyone new to be a friend if s/he wanted.

Unfortunately some people, often the ones that are most used to being shunned, latch onto that one aspect of my personality and don’t really notice the other parts. They consider me a friend, but don’t really get to know me beyond, “She will be nice to me.”

It’s happened my whole life, including on Myspace. Here, it kind of surprises me a little more. Yes I go by Judi Sunshine, but that is actually an ironic nickname, another story for another day. And yes, I gush with embarrassingly adolescent love for people I’ve never met on here, at times. I genuinely want everyone in the world to have a good life.

But I’m also fucking opinionated and have a big mouth. I think on Myspace I made that clear before I ever got into the blogosphere. My page is like a whole call to arms and revolution, against a background of a deeply fucked up nymphomaniac. The initial way I even got into the blogosphere was finding TCOOO’s blog, and running my mouth off in there because love him or hate him (I love him), he and his commenters do not pussyfoot around.

Yet there have been people on this site who decide they like me and that I am nice, then kind of put me in their pocket as someone they can make a priority or not, but if they run into trouble, know I’ll be there to be nice to them and have their back.

Not always. Not if you’re hurting one of my friends here who actually makes time for me and I am close with. Not if you’re acting a fool and refusing to own your words and actions, but expecting everyone else to. Not if you make rules you yourself won’t play by.

I can be very judgmental and self righteous. I struggle not to be; those are flaws I need to work on, and do work on. But it can be very hard to find the line between being judgmental and being opinionated. For better or worse, I like being opinionated. I like other opinionated people. Debate is fun for me. Learning to spot my own bullshit is enlightening and invigorating. That is who I am, and who I choose to keep company with. Passion for life is beautiful to me, even if it comes out acerbically. Sometimes especially if it comes out acerbically.

I resent people on this site telling me to do as they say, but not as they do. To mind my tongue and the company I keep. To sit still with my hands folded and let them run the classroom. Shit, I didn’t even do that when I was IN a classroom. I’ve been a rebel my whole life, sometimes in behavior, always in spirit.

I don’t like being told what to do, and to paraphrase Locke from “LOST,” I really don’t like being told what I can’t do. Myspace is like a big old playground, old-school style. Some people want to come into the playground and replace all the bitchin’ equipment with the plastic bullshit kids are given today. Then they cry “hater” when they jump off the swing and fall into the gravel, even though they could see there was no rubber foam to catch the fall of their choice to jump off the swing.

This is a brutal, dirty playground on Myspace. With hot slides that burn your ass on a sunny day, and seesaws where your partner can totally just get off and slam you down back to the ground when you’re up in the air and there is nothing you can fucking do about it.

That’s the playground. That’s the game. Why be a killjoy and go tell everyone to behave themselves, when they’re the ones keeping it real? I believe in social anarchy. And the biggest reason of all is that it keeps me in check. It’s not a bad thing, to learn to own my words, and my actions. It’s not a bad thing to lose friends who would drop me the second I didn’t agree with them. It’s not a bad thing to know that by supporting satire profiles, that I could have one made of myself. People have in the past expressed disappointment in me for supporting “drama bloggers,” asking how I thought it would feel if I woke up and there was a page making fun of me. And I’m like, well it might suck. But I’d hope it would at least be funny and smart, and maybe I could learn more about how I annoy or offend people, and work on that.

It’s worth it to me, to be on this playground. The plastic, rubber, close-to-the-ground playgrounds with stupid twisty slides two feet off the ground would bore the shit out of me. I like going to places that could very well send me home with skinned knees and palms and surges of adrenaline. RIP Action Park.

Which leads me to my main point. The word “hater.” To go back to the playground analogy, if someone starts chasing you around and trying to hit you because you are fat, yes, that is a bully. That could be considered a hater. But if that same person is chasing you around and trying to hit you because you stomped on their sand castle, that is not a hater. If you stand around the yard with a clique who only talks to each other, looking down on everyone else, then expect love and loyalty from the ones you ignored when your clique goes somewhere else, they are not haters for giving you shit over the days you couldn’t be bothered to say boo to them.

There are people who don’t read my blogs, I am sure, because to them I must often come across as incredibly insipid. They are not haters; they don’t like my writing. If I can’t handle that, I shouldn’t post flowery blogs contemplating my navel.

If you want to go around pissing people off, it is your freedom of speech, and I support it 100%. But for the love of Newton, stop calling them haters when they piss you off right back.










Myke linked to me and I am linking back. thank you DJ Myke <33333




© 2009