duh nuh nuh nuh, duh nuh nuh nuh, clap clap – my tribute to 90210.
Thanks to technology, I have been able to download and relive the most ground-breaking, revolutionary teen soap opera on television: Beverly Hills 90210. I still remember coaxing my mother into letting me watch my first episode (Brenda imitating Laverne at the Peach Pit) or chanting “Donna Martin graduates!” during elementary school graduation. I’m getting nostalgic thinking about all the great moments: Brenda and Kelly wearing the same dress to Spring Fling, David Silver going from geek to cool (all thanks to Scott shooting himself and “bleeding all over his mom’s Persian rug”), Brandon and his sideburns asking out a different girl every week, or the Noxema girl getting killed on the day of her wedding to Dylan.
I can’t even count the number of times Steve mentions Kelly’s nose job, Donna wears spandex, Brandon finds a homeless person to help, Andrea’s name is mispronounced, or someone uses the Bel Age Hotel. To this day, whenever I meet someone from Minnesota I point out that the Walsh’s are from Minneapolis.
But the most revealing part of 90210 is how much I really love Brenda and really hate Kelly.
Brenda and Dylan were meant for each other. I loved that they dressed up as Bonnie & Clyde for Halloween, that Dylan taught Brenda how to surf in Mexico, that they donated blood together on Valentine’s Day, and that they always made out or broke up to R.E.M. playing in Dylan’s Porsche Boxster. Brenda was the most interesting and amusing girl at West Beverly with her sarcastic side-comments and her flair for drama. Although she had a rebellious side, she could always be counted on to do the right thing.
So when Dylan chose Kelly over Brenda, I cried. I cried because Kelly was an annoying, self-centered, boyfriend-stealing, best friend-backstabbing, selfish bimbo. And much to my agony, she became a self-righteous, judgmental saint. I wish she overdosed during her coke phase. That. Snob. Needed. To. Die.
duh nuh nuh nuh, duh nuh nuh nuh, clap clap.