I’ve traded in my walk tonight to relive a bit of my distant past:
I found Season Two at the library Saturday and popped in the first disc last night. Funny how something I haven’t thought about for thirty-three years came screaming back at me when the opening credits rolled. Oh, I don’t remember any specific episode at all, but that beginning sequence? DUDE, IT WAS LIKE I WAS SEVEN YEARS OLD AGAIN. I had a huge crush on Shaun Cassidy (yes, that’s right and I’m not embarrassed by it or this simple fact: I owned all of his records) and Pamela Sue Martin (naturally). Parker Stevenson didn’t do a damn thing for me until I was about seventeen or eighteen. By then, I’d outgrown Shaun Cassidy AND Pamela Sue Martin, but watching them now, I can totally get back into that wee-lass-crush I had way back when.
Hopefully I’ll be able to burn through the five discs before Saturday, since I won’t be able to renew the set and I don’t want to pay late fees for it.
Coming up on strange cousin susan will be a post about Nancy Drew, the books, I mean. It’s been in draft form for months now and I haven’t gotten past the post title, but this might serve as its impetus. FUCKYEAHNANCYDREW!!











