
To my dearest darling readers:
All that thinking about recycled television plots got me thinking about recycled television actors, particularly those of the WB drama variety. It’s a wonder that the folks over at the WB weren’t more concerned that their young audience would be confused when Cliff, Capeside’s resident jock, reappeared as Noel, Felicity’s favorite RA, or when Dean, Stars Hollow’s resident grocery bagger, and CJ, the recovering alcoholic/peer counselor who slept with Audrey and then started dating Jen, turned out to be brothers in search of the supernatural being that killed their mother, or when Joey Potter’s moody, mysterious, and well-read boyfriend Eddie and Rory’s moody, mysterious, and well-read boyfriend Jess wound up on other WB dramas which got canned almost immediately.
I would have to say that my favorite recycled WB drama actor is Chad Michael Murray. I love that he played Chilton’s resident preppy asshole Tristan. I love that he two-timed Jen and then asked Joey Potter to sing lead in his band in spite of her terrible voice. I love that he further fueled the Duff/Lohan feud by bringing Hilary to the premiere of Freaky Friday. And I love that he finally got his own WB drama and then promptly married all of his costars. Chad, I salute you.
A close second is Leann Hunley, who played both Tamara Jacobs, cradle-robber and holder of the Pacey Witter v-card, and Logan Huntzberger's gold-digging mother.
By far my least favorite recycled WB drama actor is Sherilyn Fenn. Remember when she played that bitchy restaurant manager who hit on Pacey? And then he got the restaurant staff to go on strike and she got fired? But then afterward his car wouldn’t start and he reluctantly accepted a ride home from her? And then she had a sort of high-speed existential crisis and narrowly avoided crashing her car and killing them both? Yeah. Me neither. And then she played Jess' father's girlfriend in that episode of Gilmore Girls in which Jess ran away to California and was supposed to start his own spin-off series but didn't. And now she plays Anna Nardini on Gilmore Girls, and it would have been such an interesting role if the evil Amy Sherman-Palladino had made Anna at all charming—perhaps Luke’s feelings for Anna would have resurfaced, and his relationship with Lorelai would have been jeopardized, and for that we would have wanted to hate Anna, but she would have been so charming that we would have liked her in spite of ourselves. That would have been a much more interesting role for Sherilyn than the one that she got, which consisted mainly of being nonsensically distrustful of Lorelai. And now in the masterful hands of assclown David S. Rosenthal, Anna continues to be a one-dimensional villain, depriving Luke of time with their daughter. Poor Sherilyn is really a victim of bad writing, but she doesn’t help things by delivering every line in the same huffy, matter-of-fact manner.
Anyway. My boyfriend and I spent Christmas at my parents’ house in New Jersey. My parents gave my boyfriend an Xbox, a gift which will surely eliminate the need for my boyfriend and I to speak to one another, which is nice. Also, I will from now on post only videos of myself singing karaoke and playing Dance Dance Revolution in the comfort of my living room. Sweet.
I hope you all had a merry Christmas and a happy Hanukkah and are in the midst of a happy Kwanzaa. I still remember the first year I noticed Kwanzaa’s existence. It was 1996 and I was fourteen. “What’s Kwanzaa?” I wondered aloud as I sat in architecture class. Suddenly, Russel, the supercute black guy who sat behind me (he was two years older than I was and had never spoken to me before), gave me this answer: “It’s black Christmas.” My heart skipped a beat.
I ran into Russel at a bar in my hometown the other night. He didn’t remember my name, or that we had taken architecture and run track together, but he did think I looked vaguely familiar, which the fourteen-year-old girl inside me found very flattering. He wound up talking to my boyfriend about how during recovery from knee surgery he’d had to poop with his splinted leg stuck straight out in front of him, and somehow this did not at all detract from my romanticized remembrance of the high school him. Anyway, my reunion with Russel, a decade after my Kwanzaa inquiry, inspired me to do some research. So I read up on Kwanzaa, a week-long celebration during which an increasing number of symbolic candles are lit each night, and I must say that it does NOT sound like black Christmas. It does, however, sound an awful lot like black Hanukkah.
I wish you all a happy and healthy new year.
Love,
Lauren