Judge Reinholdt's the manager of a 7-11. I miss the pirate suit.

Stacey: Who knew I had so much pent up animosity towards Stacey? Here’s what I came up with, almost totally off the top of my head. Stacey goes to some random UMass and winds up back in NYC, one of those girls with a crap job but Marc Jacobs shoes. She’s very brittle, and if she hadn’t already had the diabetes as a food control thing, she might have wound up with an eating disorder. She gets pissed that Claudia doesn’t give her free shit, but also has been known to make bitchy remarks about her designs and choice to not live in New York. At the last BSC reunion, Mary Anne realized that, if she had to hear Stacey’s “…and then Jerome Casablancas just threw up on me!” story one more time, she was going to reach out a foot and trip one of Kristy’s poorly behaved children. But that’s a whole ‘nother club member.

Next: Jessi
Before: Oh, just click on the Fast Times-referencing links.

Why do you always have to be such a mega-bitch?

You'll note that, since the title isn't a reference to Fast Times at Ridgemont High, this isn't a BSC fanficish post. Instead, this may be an ongoing thing. See, here at work, I get Billboard magazine, since I'm one of the people who orders music. Ever read Billboard? It's possibly the most soul-sucking publication (and even they talked shit on Stefani's solo album--DAMN). Every time I read it, there's a running commentary in my head. Sometimes, the commentary also shows up in an email to Tiff, but that's just selfish.
So I'm keeping this window open and writing this post as I read the April 9, 2005 issue of Billboard magazine. You can read along if you like, but I can't promise any beeps when it's time to turn the page.

• cover: OK, did someone do an extensive search to find the ugliest British band? One of the big draws for Anglophiles like me is that, generally, British bands are just prettier. In fact, let's extend that to all of the British Isles. My birthday is June 27, if someone wants to buy me the Belle and Sebastian DVD.
• I kind of really like that Kaiser Chiefs Riot song. I ordered the cd for the library since the single seems to be everywhere. Same with Louis XIV, except I don't really like that song. Generally, this is my cd collection development policy: if I can't escape the song, or know that I could easily force it on at least 3-4 patrons, or have heard of the rap artist (hip hop isn't very popular here, so I know if I've heard of it, it'll be a big draw), I buy it.
• page 3: I heard the new Garbage song. Why are they still recording, again? Also, I heard what can only be solo Billy Corgan on the radio this morning. Why am I compelled to listen every damn time I hear his voice? Who wants some honey?
• page 5: Oasis. Hee.
• Hey Brian, on page 12 Rev Al Sharpton's talking about hip-hop beefs.
• page 15: The most frightening headline, ever: "Blues Traveler, Hootie Return." It's in Melinda Newman's column as well, and, well, it's mean, but I really wish her photo would be airbrushed. Girlie's crosseyed like--wasn't there some Wayans brother character who was crosseyed? I've got an image in my head of a Wayans with his eyes crossed, acting all crazy.
• Actually, a big sidebar for my Billboard reading could be a list entitled, "Who the fuck let them make another album/tour?"
• page 16: I think Michelle Williams is the prettiest of Destiny's Children. Thoughts?
• page 19: Audioslave=unnecessary.
• Here's that Oasis article I was promised. My favorite Oasis memory is when they were on MTV Beach House performing a song that Noel sang, so Liam just sat on a stool. No tambourine, nothing. Bad. Ass.
• Ew, Jet are opening for Oasis. Yuck. Wouldn't mind seeing Oasis; wonder how far I'd have to drive. Not really willing to pay $30-40, though.
• page 37: Todd Martens, everybody: the Dick (High Fidelity, not anatomy) of Billboard. You know he was all like, Wait! I have to change into my Wilco jacket before you take the picture! True to form, though, I am attracted to the guy, and he's got the only column I actually read everytime, instead of just skimming for snark material. A couple months ago, my favorite Philadelphia record store (AKA) showed up there, but I dont' remember in what context.
• page 41: Who's heard about this Alanis acoustic Jagged Little Pill? Do I need to say unnecessary again? Yeah, it's being released only at Starbucks first b/c you have to be in an uncaffienated coma to think it's a good purchase. I really hate Alanis, De-Lovely contribution nonwithstanding. Last issue, there was some local record store owner bitching out the agreement as being unfair to his customers, who want the cutting edge, best, newest, etc. My response: then why are they after Alanis? Why!? (Green slime just fell on my head. Wait, was that "why"?)
• page 63: Is the Bloc Party any good? Now there's a cute British band!

Here endeth the readalong.

They still haven't gone all the way.

Mallory: Mallory’s a children’s librarian. She wears a lot of long denim overall dresses. Her first picture book is about to come out, and she’s thinking about chatting up the single dad who was reading Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs to his kid the other day. She lives by herself and enjoys "forgetting" to call back her siblings, particularly Vanessa, who still speaks primarily in rhyme and is pursuing her MFA at Iowa. 2 of the triplets are well-adjusted, 2.5 kids in the suburbs and all that, and the 3rd is a total fuck-up. He and Mallory get along better than anyone else in the family. Mallory also has a large group of friends.

How am I doing here, people? Accurate so far? Stacey's next, and, I gotta tell you, it's kinda bleak.
And if you're not a BSC fan, sorry. But you know, chances are, if you read this, you know someone who was a BSC fan. Why not impress the pants off her with some random preteenfic knowledge?

Previously on "I'm a Loser Theatre": Claudia and Janine

Phoebe Cates had an affair with her professor.

I came up with all of this yesterday while I was in the shower, getting dressed, and putting my makeup on. See what my mind comes up with to entertain itself during pledge drives?
I realized on my drive home last night that Claudia's sister's name is actually Janine. Oops.

Claudia: Claudia goes somewhere like Colombia College in Chicago (small, not NYC, that sort of thing). She starts with art, but then learns to sew and goes into fashion. She has her own boutique and has been featured in Lucky. A little while ago, she found a picture of the BSC and couldn’t stop laughing at how she was dressed. She blew the photo up to poster size to decorate her store. She was surprised that none of the other club members thought the picture was very funny.

Next up: Mallory.
Last time: Janine.

He spent all the reward money hiring Van Halen to play at his birthday party.

I was thinking this morning about book characters, and what they would be like as adults. Don’t ask me why, I think it was a combination of the current issue of VOYA, which has an article about fanfic, Francesca Lia Block’s new Weetzie Bat book, where Weetzie is in her 40s and questioning her marriage (I can’t wait to read this!), and Blake Nelson’s Rock Star, Superstar, which popped into my head for some reason and has its main characters playing shows with Thriftstore Apocalypse (band in his earlier novel, Girl, which was a HUGE influence on me). So here’s some of what I came up with. Feel free to argue, come up with your own, and/or tell me how brilliantly spot-on I am. I'm going to do a character a day, so I don't get overwhelmed with my own geekery.

The Babysitter’s Club
These are still being written, I think, but the characters are still the same age. Obviously, this game isn’t as fun with someone like Adrian Mole.

Janice: Janice has her PhD in some very science-y thing and is doing Important Research somewhere like Wisconsin-Madison. Stem cells or brain trauma or something. She and Claudia hadn’t talked for awhile, but then an acquaintance mentioned how science people tend to think they’ve got the best, hardest kind of smart and how irritating that can be for the rest of us. Janice called Claudia that night to apologize, and they’ve been a lot closer. She’s the only person Claudia dresses for free. She’s engaged to the guy who used to be her lab’s receptionist temp, who is one of those “creative types”, but not in the Corky kind of way.
Which leads one to wonder, why have I thought so much about Janice when she was a minor and annoying character?

Next time: Claudia.

I think it's strange you never knew.

(bonus points to anyone other than Tiff who gets the joke in the title)

Who wants a story?

I don't know why, but I was thinking about this story earlier today and decided to share, since I think there are people reading this who don't know it, and it's a great story. Unfortunately, I lost the original telling, so if anyone still has that email (Tiff? Cara? Alison Farinacci, whereever you are?), if they could send it back along to me? Thanks. And Google isn't helping for the published version, which I don't like anyway, mostly because I come off as kind of a judgmental bitch. Which I'm not. At all. Stop laughing, you.
Anyway, on to the story, which I shall call, "Desperate for Dinner"...
Now, I don't exactly advertise this, because it makes me look bad and pisses me off, but I didn't date in Pittsburgh, until the last 8 months or so that I lived there. We're defining "date" as hanging out + making out. You should all be remembering that this is the town I grew up in. Yup, it's that sad.
It seemed especially sad one summer night (2001), when 3 girls (me, Tiff, and Cara) were on the Historic Southside, doing something that involved free beer and was sponsored by the Pittsburgh City Paper, my less favorite Pgh free newsweekly. The only redeeming-and-relevant-to-this-story thing in the City Paper was this column where they would set 2 people up on a blind date, then interview them later about how it went. Oh yes, we applied. A short time later, I went on my date.
This would be where that email would come way in handy right about now.
We were set to meet in Squirrel Hill, at the Murray Ave Grill. I got there early. I had time to meet a magazine-buying Richard and see a cute boy that, in retrospect, I should have pretended was my blind date. I also had time to invent worst case scenarios, like what if he showed up in a Peewee Herman suit. Then I realized that this was actually a best case scenario, so I stopped.
I should tell you what I was wearing, because I looked really cute. And yes, I remember. I had on a short black skirt, a navy tank top, white knee socks, and--shit. Shoes? Maybe these Nine West faux trainers I used to have. I should tell you what he was wearing, because total schlub. T-shirt and shorts. Sneakers, but looked like the sort who would wear sandals, and I specifically said on my application form that I have an aversion to sandals. He tried to explain his appearance and general out-of-itness by telling me about some plane he had just gotten off of, from a wedding, but here's the thing. Why schedule a stupid, free newsweekly sanctioned blind date the same day that you get off a plane from somewhere? Not cool.
He also owned no TV, and me talking to someone with no TV and very little frame of pop culture reference is a sad conversation indeed. Also, I said "post punk" and he said "Green Day?" Here's the real sad thing about his lack o' TV: my main concern during our dinner was that it would end in time for me to watch "Bands on the Run" because it was the episode where we found out who won. Tiff and I were rooting for Flickerstick, with their Paul Westerbergian guitar player.
Really, the things I'll do for a free meal.

Epilogue i: Afterwards, I went straight over to Tiff's, where her date turned out to be even worse than mine. I'll let her decide if she wants to share. And Flickerstick won. Hooray!

Epilogue ii: A couple days later, I get a call at work from the terse and irate writer of the blind date column. This is when I was one of only 2 clerks in the children's dept of a busy urban library, during summer reading program, so I couldn't exactly have a long conversation, which Ms. Writer wasn't happy about. I said something about how, had I wanted to meet a boring bland normal guy, I knew where to find them, and wouldn't have needed the City Paper's help. And my depiction in the City Paper just gets worse and funnier from there.
The column never used people real names, but exactly how many girls with bat tattoos who look "like a 50s librarian, but a punk version of a 50s librarian" are out there?

Some other time on "Jessy's Sad Life Storyhour": Unfortunately Large Pants.

and I'm so glad that you were fired

OK, it's getting on that time of year where I start thinking about how I want to spend my summer. Here are some scenes I've been fixated on lately, when the grayness becomes too much even for me (and I like gray):
1. sitting on my balcony with my morning coffee, maybe a book, or in the early evening with a crossword, or...really, just spending as much time on the thing as possible.
2. walking over to a kind of dive-y bar for a nice late afternoon beer (something about my work schedule may have to be changed for this one--or maybe it's on a Friday?)
3. Picnics! With fruit salad, like the one I made for the leaving-Philadelphia picnic, where I went overboard and cut out the watermelon with a star cookie cutter. And records. And lots of salt, like the one Tiff, Cara, and I had 4th of July one year where we were all PMSing and it was all deviled eggs and sour cream and onion chips.
Want to join me? Interested parties should apply at the office. By which I mean the comments field. Or if you're extra-special, you have my email.
I should also mention that, in all of above scenarios, I'm wearing black shorts, kinda knee-length and Bermuda-y, and Chinese cloth mary janes. And maybe for a picnic I've got the 25 cent tube top on.