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 cheesedick 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.

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.

Fade up and onto a Parisian restaurant balcony where Brenda and Donna sit at a table, eating.  Donna's yammering on about all the delicious French pastries she was just shoving in her maw at a human trafficking soiree that was absolutely reported to Interpol.  Brenda busies herself pushing food around her plate while not paying attention.  Donna notices this and queries, "What's wrong, Bren?"

Brenda says, "You know how you keep on thinking that you're seeing David? Well, it started happening to me." I know that sounds like a fucking waking TERROR, but she actually means that she's now falsely seeing Dylan everywhere, as evidenced in Part 3.  She continues, "I started thinking, what are we doing here?"

Donna, now living that glass half full life, declares, "We're...immersing.  We're learning new things in a new language, in a new culture." She's really selling it and I'll say it again: I love these two together.

Brenda agrees, continuing, "I would hate for people to look at me and think that I was some pampered kid from West Beverly High.  I really wanna be a whole person, with many sides, many talents, and many interests.  I just don't know what they all are yet." Erm...is it bad that I'm one thousand years older than Brenda and am still striving for these very things?

Donna says that she's glad Brenda came to France instead of Kelly - which: SAME - because, "She'd be the one complaining, and I would've felt like I had to cheer her up.  And honestly, I just haven't had it in me." Glad to have confirmation from her oldest mate that Kelly is, and always has been, a self-involved slag.  A real friend for the ages.

Brenda seems touched and assures her, "You know, you're gonna be okay.  And I'm gonna be okay.  I mean, this is the summer before our Senior year.  We're gonna find out what it's like to be on our own, and we are gonna have the time of our lives." I'm pretty certain this soundbite was used in the tv ads for the Season 3 summer episodes because hearing it is making me feel some kind of way: young, hopeful, unjaded, and non-dead-eyed for the first time in at least five years, so.  Nostalgia's a helluva drug.

Donna agrees with a non-grating giggle (those are reserved for Mz. Taylor OH YOU'LL SEE) and a, "Absolument!" She then sheepishly asks, "So, uh, what was that time difference again?"

Brenda cutes, "I'll race you to the phone, because I want to catch my boyfriend right before he proceeds to have a good ol' roll in the sand - the first of SEVERAL times he's going to do that this summer - with my pick-me so-called best friend, because being betrayed and repeatedly lied to by them over the course of the next many months won't instill in me a deep-seated distrust in all people, including and especially those closest to me, that I will never overcome or anything"...

...and then they scamper off into the night.

Part 3 of Season 3, Episode 3: Too Little Too Late; Paris 75001 - The writers of this show really said, "Non-toxic men? I don't know her."

How many more ways can I state that the guys on this show - main cast and tertiary - are true, witless pig-men who should be banished from society? I know it's only going to get worse before it gets...significantly worse, so joke's on me.  Enjoy some more Y chromosome nonsense, I guess.

Kidz Kampztown, USA.  They're playing Red Rover.

How the hell was this game ever allowed? Remember the bruises? And the persistent burning sensation in your wrists after another kid barreled through the chain of arms? Parents: is this still a thing? Because I can't imagine it is.  Signed: Ye Old Marm who's clutching pearls over her uncouth childhood activities.

Fuuuuuuuuuuck.  Still lurking from the sidelines: Steve, topless and broiled; Brandon, self-satisfied and not working.  Brandon queries, "What is it about guys that makes them suddenly want the one girl they can't have?" Because you're a manipulative, narcissistic prig who views women as less-than and mere prizes to "win," thereby feeding your already-bloated ego? And I'm sure a host of additional personality disorders but that's the first theory that comes to mind and we haven't got all day.

Steve, still 44: "I don't know, I think it's hormonal." Please.  I just ate.

Back over to AHHHHHHHNdrea: she blows her only friend - i.e. the whistle - and announces lunch...

...and this complete irritant ditches his dermally-compromised companion to run after her, GRABBING HER ARM IN THE PROCESS OF COURSE - which just made me feel like this, and also a whole lot like this - to which she responds, "Not now, Brandon." NOT EVER.  God.

STILL HOLDING ONTO HER ARM, he ignores her very clear and concise boundary-setting and begs, "No, come on, please just listen to me for one minute, okay? I didn't sleep much last night.  I was thinking a lot about what I did and what you said.  You were right.  I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to offend you or insult you."

AHHHHHHHHNdrea's titanium spine melts down into a puddle of T1000 right then and there and she immediately (and far, far too easily) forgives him with a smile and a, "Apology accepted."  Goddamn it, The Zuck.

At least she promptly turns and walks away from him and his low budge apology, though he, naturally, can't let that be the end of it, so he follows her and asks, "That's it? Just like that, apology accepted? Ya know, you do have every reason in the world to think I'm scum." Self-aware king? She takes it a step further and calls him pond scum - yes! More of this! - but she's entirely too nice about it and when he asks if they're still friends, she much-too-kindly tells him that they are.

They smile back and forth at each other...

...and they're very cute here and if he wasn't such an arrogant, pustulating penis fissure, I might have endorsed their union at some point.

He also can't seem to turn the fucking page because he continues to follow her and asks, "You really like [Jay], dontcha?" because he desperately wants her to Cheap Trick him since it really gets his rocks off, so when she confirms that yes, she bafflingly does like that soggy piece of wood mulch in mortal form, he has to cover his ass and say, "That's good.  I'm happy for ya." He's also miraculously able to admit, "You called it.  Ya never know what you've got 'til it's gone," which I guess was admirable, but the bar for this clod is truly located in the absolute dregs of the Dead Sea, so that's not saying much.

Whatever, she walks away and he stares after her wistfully and don't worry, Brandon: your dreadfully-coiffed, deeply bigoted, equally-as-unjustifiably-smug princess is right around the corner.  I can't wait to drown myself in the tub before then!

Part 2 of Season 3, Episode 3: Too Little Too Late; Paris 75001 - Join me for a horrifying journey into the depraved mind of an egomaniac YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHO

 Brandon reaches PEAK atrociousness here.  Let's beat him to death.  With words.  And maybe like, The Craft level shenanigans of some kind.  AHHHHHHNdrea could learn a lesson or two from the great Nancy Downs.

Such as: not doing this with this alarmingly uninteresting - and dastardly, given the Young Republicans of it all - bag of uncooked farina.  I'm loath to make such a proclamation, but: YOU'RE BETTER THAN THIS, AHHHHHHHNDREA.  And also Brandon.  But we'll get there.

And for now, she's giddy: "Pinch me, I still can't believe I'm not dreaming." As she says this she's running her hands up and down the back of his neck, which damaged me on an anatomical level from which I will never fully heal.  He smarms, "Hey, chalk one up to the dreams do come true department," so not only is this guy a grade-A BORE, he's a fucking cheesedick who goes around spewing truly vom-inducing lines like that one.  The camera pans back and around these two sick fucks...

...to Brandon, clearly in a real place of lurk as he pushes a laundry cart and glowers in their disgusting direction.

As is his wont, this lowest common denominator appears because of course he does, to add his two delusional cents to the mix: "She's tryin' to make you jealous, ya know.  Girls pull stunts like this to make you realize you like them," and this has just positively never happened to Steve, not once.  Brandon insists it's nothing, and that he wasn't even staring at AHHHHHNdrea and the putty-colored probable-bigot with whom she's currently canoodling.

Steve, 44, lays it on the line: "If you're gonna make a move, buddy, you'd better do it before it's too late." He then walks away to go blind other unsuspecting victims with his nuclearly braised upper body.  Brandon looks back over at...

...this, stop it...

...then exhales and violently shoves the laundry cart out in front of him, because nothing says "quality guy" like one who throws a fit after being rejected by a woman.

Part 1 of Season 3, Episode 3: Too Little Too Late; Paris 75001 - Stimulants, while not required, are strongly encouraged for this one. You'll see.

I gotta say: Part 1 has me snoozin'.  But at least Brandon feels terrible the whole time, so I have that to keep me warm on this frigid Los Angeles eve.

We start at the Beach Club...

...with the Kampz for Kidz or whatever the hell...

...and the smalls have clearly tired of Brandon as much as the rest of us, seeing as they're burying him alive in the sand.  They're gonna need to shove a couple of scoopfuls in that maw of his, however, seeing as he's still able to breath and speak, calling out, "AHHHHHNdrea.  AHHHN...AHHHHHNdrea, AHHHHHHNdrea.  This is gettin' a little out of hand."

AHHHHNdrea for some reason still enjoys his company and giggles, "Sorry, Brandon, I can't help you.  I'm busy right now!" probably talking the ear off some poor 7-year-old about her Senior year syllabus as Editress-in-Dweeb for the ever-loving, National Press Club Journalism Award-winning FUCKING Blaze.

Cut over to this little boy.  As a non-spoiler because this is a long-in-tooth episode of television and we're all marching toward death so who cares: this kid's name is Cameron and he's deaf and AHHHHHNdrea will overstep some boundaries this episode to get him in the Kidz for Kampz program; his mother will be kind of a drag about the whole thing which is entirely understandable due to the AHHHHHHHNdrea of it all; and Brandon will use him as a pawn in order to get AHHHHHNdrea to stay in town instead of going off to the Republican National Convention (fuuuuuuck) with her damp paper towel of a boyfriend, Gray Berman or whatever the fuck his non-name is and it's just as much of a heart-string-puller as it sounds - that is to say, not at all.

Anyway, it's clear that Cameron's interest in Kiddie Kamptown USA is piqued, but he knows his downer of mom won't let him join so he just makes a frustrated face to himself (mayhap because he senses The Zuck on his horizon?), asks for a book to read and calls it a fucking day.  Same, Cameron.  Same.  Except instead of "asks for a book to read," mine would be "asks for a bottle of wine to take to the head."

Worthless Henry! Having reached peak worthlessness in the previous episode, he's back to rib Brandon about being whatever is the opposite of Employee of the Month: "Layin' down on the job again, Walsh?" - WHEN IN THE FUCK IS HE NOT - "Get back to work, you lazy bum." DRAG HIM TO FILTH.  Except that this is all said good-naturedly before he walks off to go, I don't know, meet Worthless Nat at the Peach Pit for their weekly Worthlessness Anonymous gathering.  Thanks for coming out, Worthless Henry!

AHHHHNdrea announces to the kids that it's lunchtime and everyone runs off, including AHHHHHHHNdrea...

...leaving Brandon behind as he should be, always and forever.

Sadly for her, he manages to extract himself from the sandpit and catches up, saying, "You got a good group of kids there," and then begins to ask her to hang out later that night...

...but as in the last episode, she cuts him off to call out, "Jay!" who has arrived to pick her up, and then back to Brandon: "I'm sorry, 'scuse me, I gotta go.  I'll see you later, okay?"

Brandon sad sacks, "Okay," and inject this directly into my VEINS I love it.

Cindy appears out of thin air for her 45 seconds of airtime, asking, "Oh, is that AHHHHHNdrea's new boyfriend?" Brandon me-OWs, "I don't know, he's a boy; he's her friend," and oh, how I cherish a bitchy and bothered Brandon.

Shot of Jay and AHHHHHHNdrea hugging like the two no-sex-having geeks they truly are.  Steamy.

It's obvious Cindy is only here to torture her shitty spawn, which is apparent when she twists the knife even further: "Well,  she certainly looks happy!" Brandon laughs through a grimace with, "I hadn't noticed." Having done her part to inflict spiritual damage upon her weasel of a son, Cindy's off to go hang with another turd - Jim - to play gin rummy.  Sounds like a nightmare!

BAH.  A true jump scare occurs as a topless - and epidermically defiled HE'S SO PINK - Steve appears, also as if from nowhere, holding a folded-up newspaper (sure, Jan); he asks Brandon, "Have you seen today's Times?" There is no way in HELL that this brain-wormed stooge reads "the Times" or anything other than the back of the Alpha-Bits box on the daily.  I guess we've already reached the inevitable point in the episode where I need to slap on my Suspension of Disbelief dunce cap.  Anyway, Brandon says he hasn't seen the paper and Steve tells him, "Dylan's old man made the front page.  He's up for parole."

Brandon reads the headline and lets out a big old theater kid-exhale: "Well, to tell ya the truth, I think Dylan's better off with his old man behind bars." You know what should also be behind bars? Whatever is happening atop Steve's head right here. 

Part 4 of Season 3, Episode 2: The Twins, the Trustee and the Very Big Trip - Oh, whatever.

 Part 1? I’ve got you covered.  Part 2?? Why, it's right here.  Part 3??? At this link, natch.  And now, fall into Part 4 and feel as dejected and disgusted as I do.

We remain at Brenda's House of Horrors.

Inside, we're in her bedroom where she stands at her dresser, shoving items into a bag as Dylan tries to reason with her, i.e. get her the fuck out of town so he can be a very handsome pile for the rest of the summer.  He implores her to calm down, to which she replies, "I'll be fine as soon as I get outta this house," and, referring to Jim and Cindy: "They are manipulative, they are arrogant, they are mean."

As she walks to the other side of the room, Dylan proclaims, "Yeah, they're your parents," and yes, this Perennial Little Boy Lost would ABSOLUTELY be the expert in the field of Just Fucking TERRIBLE Parentage, given:

Exhibits A through M; and:

Exhibits N through Septuple Z.