Let's Make Fun of all the Clothes from Famous Original Beverly Hills, 90210
Monday, March 31, 2025
Part 1 of Season 3, Episode 5: Shooting Star / American in Paris - Speaking of shooting, time to shoot myself into the sun after this one.
Monday, March 3, 2025
Part 4 of Season 3, Episode 4: Sex, Lies and Volleyball / Photo Fini - Let's get repulsed! For a few reasons.
Get all the way in: Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. And now - FINALLY - Part 4:
Monday, February 17, 2025
Part 3 of Season 3, Episode 4: Sex, Lies and Volleyball / Photo Fini - Please. No more volleyball on which I poorly provide play-by-play commentary. What's that, you say? There's another whole part to recap after this one? And it ALSO includes volleyball? *begins silently weeping*
Have a look-see: Part 1; Part 2.
And now you're all caught up and can dive into Part 3 with vim and vigor and dread because Steve is a true piece of shit within the first ninety seconds. Check it!
Sunday, February 9, 2025
Part 2 of Season 3, Episode 4: Sex, Lies and Volleyball / Photo Fini - Get ready for a state of unconsciousness, because this one is basically that box of tea with the comatose bear on it.
Check it: the Part 1 recap can be found here.
And now onto a complete barbiturate of a Part 2. Prep your adult sleep sacks for a nice, long nap after this one, babes. (Am I selling it?)
Monday, January 27, 2025
Part 1 of Season 3, Episode 4: Sex, Lies and Volleyball / Photo Fini - Alternative title: Sexual Harassment, Complete Fabrications About Being Attracted to David Silver, and Volleyball / Donna Gets Trafficked
Let's have a laugh in the midst of *gestures at the entirety of the universe*.
Friday, January 10, 2025
I Love You, L.A.
I love L.A.
I grew up in Littleton, Colorado, a suburb thirty minutes south of Denver, which to me was the epicenter of mundanity. I wanted out, early and often. Initially, it was to New York City I wanted to flee, having experienced it secondhand through TV and movie screens and embarrassingly fancying myself a six-year-old Big Apple oracle.
Around the age of seven or eight, my fixation shifted to Los Angeles. Maybe it was being surrounded by my dozens of blonde-haired, bikini-clad Barbies, or the L.A. Gears my parents gifted me - the HEIGHT of West Coast chic and a key(chain) to a city I had only ever visited as a teeny toddler in the early-1980s, and of which I had no memory.
My dad always had on in the car KOOL-105, the oldies station in Denver, and I remember listening to The Mamas & the Papas' "California Dreamin'" and the whole of the Beach Boys Surf Rock era catalog, on particularly bleak winter days during that period between mid-January and mid-March, after the city had been stripped of any and all of the twinkle and sparkle and glow of the holidays, and all that was left were nude trees and brown grass and seasonal affective disorder at a time before anyone was willing to admit they had a mental illness.
Surprisingly - to exactly zero people currently in my orbit - the preoccupation with the City of Angels gained a foothold in my brain and heart and soul when a little show called Beverly Hills, 90210 premiered in 1990. Ten-year-old me was done for. Big L.A. had won. It was only matter of time until I made her mine...
...twenty-two years later. What can I say: a dumb bitch called "life" got in the way - "best laid plans" and all that muck - but at thirty-two, I arrived. For various, boring reasons, I had to move to the Bay Area for a five-year period between 2016 and 2021. I am forever grateful for that time - I met a couple of my closest friends during that period, and because of them and their love for me and of San Francisco et al., I came to appreciate an area of of this state I had only ever viewed as a vacation destination, but nowhere you'd actually choose to live.
These same friends quickly - though good-naturedly - grew weary of me and my perpetual mentions of Los Angeles. It was as though I was the worst kind of person - the dreaded Name Dropper - but the only name I was dropping was that of a fucking metropolis almost 400 miles away.
Nearly two years into the pandemic, I made the decision to move back to my beloved. It was time. In anticipation of the relocation, I wrote on the blog: "An unwanted relocation. Divorce. Death. Some of the worst humans I've ever encountered. But also: a couple of the best. And finally, FINALLY: a return to the (adopted-by-me) Mother Land (i.e. L.A.) by year's end." I was READY.
I've been back three (THREE WHAT) years now. It's home. My home. As corny as it sounds, I feel that in my bones. The history. The architecture. The evening air. The constant scent of oranges. My favorite neighborhoods: Whitley Heights, Hollywood Dell, Beachwood Canyon, Franklin Village, Los Feliz, Echo Park. The tallest palm trees I've ever seen in my life. Seeing those same trees with a backdrop of a dusky pink-and-periwinkle sky as you're driving south on Sunset through Silver Lake toward downtown. My heart skips a beat and I love L.A. over and over and over again.
Cue Randy Newman forever.
Wednesday, December 25, 2024
Part 4 of Season 3, Episode 3: Too Little Too Late; Paris 75001 - SPOILER ALERT: I hate it here.
In true HERE WE GO fashion, here we fucking go.