First and foremost, I want to send a massive shout-out to my Homie For Life Benjamin, who came to Los Angeles from San Francisco last weekend for a visit, and presented me with The Most Amazing Gift Ever:
Yes, my friends know me spookily well. And yes: within this adorable box (which has become like, my everything) are baked goods straight from his kitchen. These heavenly slices are called "Banana Walsh" (for my beloved "Brenda Walsh") HULLO FUCKING AWESOMENESS YOU GUYS which is Nutella (he had me at "Nutella") swirled banana bread. Trust me when I tell you he's an EXTREMELY talented baker, and these little wedges of perfection are just the tip of the iceberg as far as his abilities with food goes. But he seriously could've put his dog Blue's hardened feces inside the box and I would have still blown a load over it. Also, just like one Brandon Walsh, I was a Life Ruiner and was ultra-death-sick last weekend. My stomach is a shifty bitch who will end a good time before it's even started, and because I ate, like, a Rolo with a side of air, I wrecked our plans of drinking a lot of the hooch and...drinking a lot of the hooch. Instead, we stayed in and watched Mean Girls 2 (which is just as terrifyingly wretched as you think it will be); She's All That (FILMED AT WEST BEV...meaning Torrance High School, but it will always be West Bev to me - GO WILDCATS! Also: fucking kill me, please), which I never realized or didn't care about the one time I saw it back in the hazy, halcyon days of 1999, when I was wearing track pants in public and topping them off with part-mesh, dragon-print shirts. Next up was Clueless - a classic, obvs - filmed at Occidental College, which was also the filming location for...you guessed it! Beverly Hills, 90210 Goes To College. Absolutely gripping tidbits of information, I know. What does any of this have do with anything? Nothing, actually. It just further proves the theory that the inside of my head is basically like the inside of Homer's brain, only instead of black-and-white cartoon characters playing "Turkey In The Straw" it's pretty much a continuous reel of this with the first few chords of the BH, 90210 theme song in the background:
ARE WE QUITE DONE HERE, you ask? Yes, I think so. I also wanted to mention to the reading audience at large that I really appreciate all the comments on my blog posts. I may not respond to them because I am a lazy sack of dicks, but I will attempt to be better about acknowledging them. Just know that my favorite thing to do (besides writing about this show and watching a lot of Seinfeld) is be asleep. So that kind of takes up the majority of my time. ANYOHMYGODGETAMOVEONITWAY, on with the show...
...in which Brenda's sort of a cunt, Dylan's parents are shady as fuck, Brandon gets very little screen time (HOORAY), Steve breaks out both The Steve SAUNders Summer Special AND his trusty belly shirt (HEAVEN HELP US), I actually feel kind of sorry for Kelly (even though she squeals, giggles and baby-talks her way through most of her scenes) and Donna and David fall even further down the rabbit hole of their awful, jacked-up relationship which we will only be spared from NINE SEASONS FROM NOW when this moldy, hellfire beast of a show has reached its long overdue conclusion. I guess let's dive in and hope for the best and then be really disappointed.
We open at the H.O.W., nighttime. Or maybe it's like, four in the afternoon, who knows.
Inside to the Foyer Of Walsh, where Jim's coming down my Dream Staircase in his Gay Pride shirt, getting ready to leave for some Nerdlinger Accounting Something Or Other. No one cares.
He joins the rest of the family in the living room and tells Cindy that he can't find some blue shirt of his, and then Brenda chimes in with, "Uh, Dad, actually I wore that shirt to the beach last week," and Jim asks her why she has to wear his shirts, and she's all, "Because they look great," and remember when we all thought that was the case? I recall stealing my brother's shirts a lot and they were enormous and baggy but man! Did I think I looked fly as fuck in them (Real Talk: I did not look fly as fuck in them). So then Brandon has to meet the quota of Grossly Inappropriate/Incestuous Comments for the episode by adding, "Mmm, girl in a guy's shirt, Dad, there's nothin' like it," and it's only taken all of about a minute and a half and I already need to go lie down. And by "lie down," I of course mean "simultaneously slit my wrists and drown myself in a tub-full of acetone and fire."
So then the news report they're watching starts in on a story about Shady Fuck And Dumpster Garbage Dad Jack McKay getting caught or turning himself in to federal marshals in Mexico on twenty-three counts of income tax evasion. Does ANYONE care? No? We're all just waiting for The Car Bomb Heard 'Round The Marina in Season 3 when Jack is presumably blown to smithereens while wearing a really unfortunate sweatsuit? And then rolling our eyes so much that they get stuck like that in Season 10 when the writers can't think of any more story lines for Dylan and they bring Jack back from the dead? Exactly.
Oh, and here's a shot of Not Real Jack McKay. This is the second Not Real Jack McKay in as many seasons, if you're keeping track, or playing some really depressing, solo drinking game at home like I am.
As the report goes on, Jim says to Cindy, "Smartest thing she ever did was break up with that guy," about Brenda and Dylan, and I guess we're supposed to believe that he says it all under his breath on-the-sly or some shit, but he's actually really obvious about it and Brenda absolutely would've heard her idiot father. And then he's all, "It was only a matter of time before they caught up with that crook," and Brenda pulls out the whole, "He's innocent until proven guilty," and I am so, so bored already I'm actually REALLY looking forward to seeing Steve's navel later in the episode. At least it will give me something to do, i.e. throw up the Entemann's donuts I just ate all over my hands, laptop and the cat sitting in my lap.
Cut to Dylan's apartment/condo thing and he's broodishly watching the report or broodishly listening to it in the background and his phone rings, and I CANNOT WITH THIS here's his answering machine greeting: "Hi! You know what to do, after the beep-a-rooni," and YOU GUYS. SERIOUSLY. THERE IS NO WAY IN ALL THE HOLY HELLS that this would be Dylan's message. "Beep-a-rooni"??? He's supposed to be all Mysterious Bad Boy (although he's really more GIANT Bad Boy Cliche) and this is his outgoing answering machine message??? Was the writer who came up with this line brand new, and like, this was their first line that they ever wrote for the show? A show which, APPARENTLY, they had never fucking seen? This is the shit that makes my aneurysm act up. ANYway, of course it's Brenda calling, although why she didn't immediately hang-up, change her number, her name, her hair color and move to Coeur d' Alene, Idaho after hearing this message I don't know, and she's all, "It's me, Brenda. Are you okay? Dylan. Dylan, please pick up." Whatever.
So we start with approximately 87 hours of track and field events in slow-mo. First up is this guy doing the long? jump? And panting. And grunting. Also presented in slow-motion.
