Rainy Sunday marathon


No Facebook. In fact, no mention of internet at all (which, if they had it, was surely AOL dial-up). No cell phones and not even multiple land lines. Only beepers and subway tokens (ha, tokens) and a young Eddie Vedder with a terrible band name (Reigndance?), and a Mazzy Star/Suzanne Vega siren, stylistically and emotionally preserved somewhere between Parker Posey in Party Girl and Winona Ryder in Reality Bites, and a lady rapper befriending a gal from Alabama, the latter an obvious product of neighborhood dance competitions in chain-hotel ballrooms (cut to the spandex short-and-bra set), and a smart, hyper-defensive poet, a bisexual artist, some lava lamps and chiseled abs and a frat-boy haircut, a respectful exchange with a homeless drug addict, earnest discussion and, believe it or not, authenticity.

Thanks MTV. Thanks Hulu.


2 thoughts on “Rainy Sunday marathon

  1. I still can’t shake the 90s love. The need to wear Docs or spaghetti-strap dresses with baby-tees. Do you feel like the 90s were better and more open? I don’t recall things being weird like they are now. Life was grimy, raw, and real. Is this how all people feel about the decades they grew up in?

  2. It’s funny that 90’s-nostalgia is a trend for some (millennials) and true nostalgia for others (you & me)…

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