CAUTION:  My girl, Carol, speaks her mind in a strong, brassy and vibrant fashion.  If you are offended by straight talking, adult oriented language (sometimes, there's a "very" in there), please be aware that you may well find it here.  Carol shoots from the hip and tells it like it is, pulling no punches and taking no prisoners.  That's why I love her & why I hired her.  If it's not your bag, let's part still friends and salute our differences in tastes (I'm sort of a strong strawberry flavor...)  ~*~Katrina~*~

After the Apocalypse, er, the Emmys 

I have two choices next year: Either watch the recording the day after, taking scrupulous notes on only the winners for my columns, or watch the recording the day after as a member of the mainstream television audience, then check online for a requisite list of the winners with which to write my columns. I can’t do this in real time for the sole purpose of buffooning everybody in sight and get the job done, I already do this when I watch the soaps themselves. 



By now, you’ve probably read every Emmy-related column, commentary, review (including my own here, and here), article, wrap-up, recap, firsthand account, dirty dish and trivial trivia that you could recite the entire contents, transcript to ad lib, and then some. 

What started off as an attempt to merely add my two cents to the deafening crowd has turned into a desperate search for a stand-out, with different details and maybe a modicum of appreciation. As negative, crass, morbid and morose as I can sink, there are times I get sick of it, too. 

I can’t promise peaches and herbs, but I’ll try. 

SoapNet’s Daytime Emmy Preview ultimately failed in giving viewers a close-up, firsthand synopsis of what it’s truly like to stand around the red carpet for hours and hours in the humid pre-Indian summer of New York City for just one glimpse of a celebrity come to life. I doubt the format could work as is, what with celebrity co-stars given the formidable task of acting like a secondhand Mary Hart meets Joan Rivers, performing on-the-spot, casual, fluff interviews about designer gowns and shoes, and Emmy chances, when I’m sure they’d rather be a part of the celebrity crowd surging past their adoring fans, mingling with like-minded celebrity colleagues and kicking up their celebrity heels at those infamous after-parties. I know I would. I’d have to be paid a handsome sum to stand there flagging down one celeb after another celeb-wannabe and try to be clever yet informative, courteous yet insightful, inconspicuous yet effortlessly organized. 

Still, I couldn’t help but feel a missed opportunity cavalierly lost amidst the soap networks’ obvious commercialization of certain favorite actors, characters and new characters (AMC chose the preview show to debut early the recast of Jackson’s autistic daughter Lily over the return of Sarah Brown/ex-Carly, GH to daytime, but over at ATWT). And there’s Roger Howarth (ex-Todd, OLTL; recast Paul, ATWT), within inches of asking some revealing questions about switching network shows, his real feelings about having played Todd all these years and his aversion to the press on any other given day. 

The one lengthy, slightly informative but extraneously gushy, encounter between co-host Linda Dano (ex-Rae, OLTL) – the less added about her the better – and Nancy Lee Grahn (Alexis, GH) showed me their close, mutually respectful relationship, Grahn’s innate feminist ideals and both ladies’ ability to be classically, dutifully, perfectly worshipful of deceased lifetime achievement awardees. 

Juxtaposed against that was Dano’s lighthearted usual pandering to her guests, as if conducting her own warm and fuzzy talk show. Her welcome of Lorenzo Lamas (Hector, B&B) seemed particularly suited to the falsely prettified front of daytime drama; this man who regularly mocked the physical imperfections of everyday people on a reality-TV sexiest human being contest, now available for similar scrutiny looking about as well-preserved as a male Joan Rivers with his equally well-preserved blonde trophy wife. 

She succeeded, however, in glamorizing one major reason we all keep watching these awards ceremonies, by narrating, highlighting and cheerleading the fashion runway of the rich, famous and celebratory, as annoying as this tendency became toward the end of the 1½-hour special. Only, I hardly paid attention because of my intent to capture exact quotes, subjective impressions of phony or odd behavior – the close proximity with which Dano conducted her interviews, for one example – and worse for me, to be clever in the reenactments for your reading pleasure. 

It’s weird, but I stopped watching the show and started dissecting what was wrong with the show in its myriad, separate parts, idiosyncratic to me. 

Had I been there in person, without a camera, I’d probably in all honesty be acting exactly like Ms. Dano, an utterly smitten fan. 

Shh! Don’t tell. Remember, I have a reputation to uphold. 

NBC’s live airing of the 31st annual Daytime Emmys kept giving me deja vu, then amnesia. The ceremony reminded me of all the other ones in years past, but then I second-guessed whether I even remembered enough of those in years past to make such a caustic cynical observation. 

I still don’t know what to make of the telecast entirely, because—as I mentioned twice above, in my tagline and in the preview special comments—I was too busy looking for fault to notice the show’s overall impressions, in its entirety, the way I used to from seven years old to about the time I hit high school and discovered my daddy’s penchant for sarcasm in my writing style. 

I know who won and lost. I kept track of the many times the camera crew failed to capture the gut wrenching reactions of co-stars, collective casts and rival networks following the announcement of the nominees and the winners. I couldn’t help but notice the cleavage and trailer trash factors in several of daytime’s leading ladies. 

Yet, I missed Tyler Christopher’s (Nikolas, GH) infamous gum-chewing incident while co-presenting an award with Natalia Livingston (Emily, GH). I also missed the category they co-presented. 

Ditto for the number of times Tamara Braun (Carly, GH) jumped up and down, as brought up by The View’s ever-petty Joy Behar the following Monday (sour grapes is an ugly thing, ain’t it?). Maurice Benard (Sonny, GH) didn’t sit next to Braun or Grahn? Benard looked disappointed at losing an Emmy? Rick Hearst (Ric, GH) forgot to thank Rebecca Herbst (Elizabeth, GH), his LiRic partner, when he won for best supporting actor? 

Sorry, my mind was elsewhere... Vanessa Marcil’s beige-covered breasts, Lisa Rinna’s white-covered nipples, embarrassment for Cady McClain’s (Rosanne, ATWT) long-winded acceptance speech, where they panned to co-star Howarth who looked sympathetic, Hogan Sheffer’s (ATWT head writer) black mop toupee, the bloated, hooker look sported by the ladies of The View, and what else I wrote over the weekend on other columns (see beginning paragraphs for the pimping). 

After the first two days following the Daytime Emmys, I always feel burnt out anyway, having exhausted the topic to death in as nasty a light as possible. [Disclaimer: I never tire of other people’s rants about the Emmys, however; so, JenJen, curse on, girlfriend!] 

In that spirit of reinventing myself and proving you – my large faction of critics (with personal vendettas, fan-based bias, or what-not) – wrong, below are my praiseworthy notices... when I wasn’t staring at Vanessa’s breasts: 

·        Eden Riegel (Bianca, AMC) has always been compared to Audrey Hepburn. I never saw it before until Emmy night. I can’t remember what she wore, I’m not into designer names, I’m not a girly girl that way, but I do remember how long and graceful her neck was, her soft brown hair up high off her face and that exquisite porcelain skin.
  • Eric Braedon (Victor, Y&R) normally scares the crap outta me, on- or off-screen. He comes across as a no-nonsense disciplinarian you don’t want raising his voice above a whisper. But it was such a pleasant surprise to see him kidding around about his over-sized, last-minute Armani purchase with SoapNet Emmy Preview show co-host Walt Willey (Jackson, AMC).
  • The sight of Kathy Brier (Marcie, OLTL), Maurice Benard (Sonny, GH), Cynthia Preston (Faith, GH), Alicia Minshew (Kendall, AMC) and Ingo Rademacher (Jax, GH), to name just a few, just relaxing but looking oh-so cool, hip and luscious in their fine threads almost gave me a renewed sense of hope for soaps in general. I like when my faith in the innocent glamour of my superstars is on the verge of being restored.
  • Seeing Ilene Kristen (Roxy, OLTL) tear up over nostalgia at the many years she’s been in daytime and the overwhelming concept of finally being acknowledged for her first Emmy nomination, reinforced that innocent faith, and restored her likeability factor twofold. How very different she is from her personas.
  • Leave it to soaps’ grand dames to leave a wacky wonderful aftertaste in my funny bone. Eileen Fulton (Lisa, ATWT) and Jeanne Cooper (Katherine, Y&R) hammed it up for the cameras in SoapNet’s Emmy preview show as only they can, with one making a nonsensical comment and the other doing a verbal double-take. I have no idea what the heck Eileen said either but who cares, she’s Eileen Fulton.
  • Scott Clifton (Dillon, GH) and Tony Geary (Luke, GH) provided the desultory laughs in SoapNet’s preview show during their in-between interviews, Clifton promising a goofy happy dance if he won outstanding younger actor and Geary confessing that he’s almost got the hang of being in soaps... something like that, I’m lousy with punchlines.
  • The editor and layout designer in me always loves to check out the graphics of anything, be it in a newscast or an Emmy telecast. The Daytime Emmys always has a topnotch graphics team. The introduction of all the nominees, especially in the performance categories, with clips of their best work, looked slick, unified and lushly golden. I only wish the Emmys had more time to include clips for every nominee.
  • A nifty new trend started this year is announcing newsflashes at the Emmys. Rebecca Budig (Greenlee, AMC) got engaged to main squeeze Bachelor Bob Guiney, and SoapNet preview show co-host Linda Dano was the first to share it. Ty Treadway (ex-Colin/Troy, OLTL) revealed his wife Monica was pregnant, a revelation given him by her moments before he went on-stage to present an award. It kinda forces people interested in soaps to watch the entire ceremony and related shows in hopes of gleaning some news and gossip nobody else has been privy to in the know-it-all online community.
  • The Y&R outstanding daytime drama reel gave me goosebumps. I could actually detect bits of compelling storyline tying in all the characters, from the consequences of a young woman’s choice to strip to the torment of a long-lost brother’s serious injuries, to the betrayals within a business tycoon’s family, to a whole lot more. That reel, with a suitably driving musical soundtrack, was the best promo CBS could ever muster, nearly convincing me to start tuning back in and kicking myself for having missed these many years already.


On May 22, the day after the Daytime Emmys, somebody posted about Maurice Benard’s (Sonny, GH) public appearance, comments defending his character as never having been abusive to Carly, and one alleged comment in particular, which has since been passed around from NOL and MBU to DL and SZ. When someone or several someones in the audience piped up that a lot of posters at SZ (’s GH board) disagreed with Benard about Sonny’s innocence as an abuser, he reportedly told SoapZone to “kiss my ass.” After being informed of SoapZone’s displeasure at reading the “kiss my ass” statement, Benard reportedly repeated the insult. 

This, of course, sparked heated debate in nearly every third thread over at SZ (and probably other soap boards), with Benard fans defending his right to fight back and rightly having had enough of the constant, at times, down and dirty flaming of his character and person, and detractors calling him a big crybaby who can’t take the heat and a poor role model for the public figure who should know this sort of thing comes with the fame package. 

His manic depression has come up, cries of foul play and diva-like on-set demands. DL posters fueled the flames with more post-Emmy, behind-the-scenes third-hand accounts of Benard’s angry, sulking, immature behavior at losing the leading actor honors and a hilarious comment slamming Sonny’s diminutive stature as hardly fearsome mobster material from ATWT’s head writer Hogan Sheffer at an after-Emmy party—if this is even true—something about taking a dump the size of Sonny. 

My first response matched that of most detractors. How dare he mouth off about the people who are keeping him on the air and paying his salary? He thrusts himself in the public eye, criticism—good, bad and ugly—is part of the game of celebrity, like it or not. He’s supposed to raise himself above the petty fan bickering, like a Kristina Wagner (Felicia, GH) or a Genie Francis (ex-Laura, GH). Shouldn’t he be concerned with doing his job well, tending to his family and having a life, instead of picking fights with fans? 

A protective instinct washed over me, borne of nearly a decade’s worth of lurking, posting and getting to know a fair amount of the regular posters on the various boards, as well as the archetypes of fans. That instinct also encompassed the fact that I, too, am one of those fans who’ve, on more than one occasion, gone on public record against the character Benard’s played since the late ‘90s and the acting choices Benard’s been known for (the infamous refusal to play Loon Lake as written). 

Perhaps, this protectiveness extends to a fear that if one actor starts talking back to fans on the message boards, other than the Rick Hearst (Ric, GH) love fest, the sanctity of a fan-driven soap opera website will go the way of CompuServe forums and rotary dial-ups. To me, a message board remains always and forever the exclusive domain of fans, everyday people like you and me with families and bills and real-life drudgery, concerns to deal with, who allot just a few hours a week to indulge in a hobby and feel, even for a split-second, important, validated, heard. 

Before the Internet, the only recourse a fan had was writing letters to a superstar with no hope of a reply other than the standard, automatic machine-generated autographed photograph, or standing in long lines for hours at extravagant congratulatory industry shindigs like the Daytime Emmys for just a glimpse of a superstar passing by with his or her entourage... furthering the divide between the HAVEs and the HAVE-NOTs, deepening the resentment along with the adulation. 

I don’t know about anybody else in the same situation, but I derive more from interaction with my fellow fans than I have a handful of celeb sightings on- or off-line. 

A few years ago, word got out that Nancy Lee Grahn (Alexis, GH) might want to post amongst her fans on SZ about politics—this was when ex-President Clinton needed bolstering—stumping for her liberal-Democratic party. I objected, due partly to an aversion of discussing the three forbidden zones (sex, religion and politics) instilled in me by my old-fashioned father, of extreme radical liberal thinking in any guise, famous or otherwise and mostly, I didn’t want some hoity-toity actor messing around with my one good thing, the sanctity and safety of fan-based, fan-run, fan-populated message boards. 

I viewed actors as interlopers, famous people who could barely string two sentences together without a whole lot of misspellings, much less figure out how to turn their PCs and MACs on, much less navigate a message board and the vagaries therein. They had Hollywood, Broadway, and in daytime’s case, SoapNet, big salaries, free advertising and myriad chances to rub shoulders with bigger stars in far more glamorous settings, while we picked our teeth with KFC leftovers. Why would they wanna take over our boards, too? 

That said, when the rest of my senses caught up, I realized, yeah, actors like Maurice Benard are famous and in his major, frontburner contract way, more rich than I’ll ever be, but he’s still entitled to human being status. For once I sat there imagining what it’s like to constantly bear the brunt of wanted and unwanted criticism, from nameless, faceless strangers who knew nothing about the real me or what I had to go through on the job on a near-daily basis. Fighting back could almost be argued as a natural response. 

But then again, I have been in his shoes to a certain extent. All of us fans who go out on a limb to share our outspoken observations have; I daresay, we’ve suffered the worst, harshest brunt. The insults, threats, stalking and personal digs at my expense, over a soap opera, would rival the Maurice Benards of this world, for sure. And I’m sure, you have your own horror stories. When fans aren’t battling each other, sometimes they must deal with the slings and arrows of the stray arrogant actor, with all the intimidation power such celebrity could muster. It happens. It’s happened to me. 

I don’t know if Maurice Benard said SoapZone could kiss his ass or not. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he had. It sounds like him, from what I’ve heard off-the-record. 

Maybe the guy’s been having a bad year, having to play out storylines he’d rather not but forced to put on a happy face for the sake of his job and his already shaky reputation as an actor who may be intensely talented but who also could just as easily throw a scene in protest over a story’s lack of quality. 

It’s odd, however, that he would even acknowledge a website (he’d previously insisted he doesn’t do online), much less make such a childish remark. 

In any event, this incident will either propel him forward further as a celebrity people love to watch, or sink him back as yesterday’s has-been struggling for one, final glory day. Me, I could care less what happens to him anymore. He done used up all my good graces. 



Greenlee could wear 10 different styles of undress – that white satin halter top, yeow! – and she’d still be the meanie who nearly landed Kendall in the electric chair with her shirt-ripping courtroom antics. Having Ryan compare Kendall’s recent actions – breaking up a wedding by nefarious means – to Greenlee’s criminally amoral one is practically signaling to the viewing audience that a) the head writer thinks you’re stupid and will swallow anything, b) Greenlee is remorseful and making amends, so give her a chance, c) Kendall must be knocked down a peg or two in order for Greenlee to look remotely sympathetic, and d) you’re so stupid and gullible, you’ll fall for it. Well, judging by the responses on the boards, this sudden re-characterization of Greenlee as a saint and Kendall as the devil incarnate has failed miserably and resoundingly. 

As much as I adore Alicia Minshew’s take on Kendall, she does not do a lover scorned and on the warpath very well. Her scenes with Vincent Irizarry (David), at his character’s cabin, rang false, forced and slightly pathetic. Sashaying inside, sloshing the champagne around and vowing revenge in as cool and hip a manner as she could possibly muster reminded me of Olivia Newton John’s Sandy in “Grease” trying to pull off a leather-bound greaser chick at the end of that movie. Just don’t buy it. Minshew works best when she’s actively fighting to be understood, accepted and worthy, in vain, not copping a Greenlee. That’s not even an aspiration I’d advise on her worst day. 

If they’re not careful, Tad and Krystal will soon become soaps’ most repetitious caricature of annoying, pushy and one-note. Tad the Cad, the supposed romantic lothario of Pine Valley, is a tough sell when all I see is a beady-eyed, lipless, middle-aged bully constantly harassing people to give up their secrets, including his own family, and grabbing their arms for full effect. Hard. Krystal fares no better, bugging her eyes and pricking her talons into her helpless victims’ chests. I’m just waiting for Liza to shove right back. Let go and please leave town, the both of you. 

Oh gee, Jacob Young’s doing another impression of Anger Boy under a new recast’s name? Lucky, JR, it’s all the same to him. Talk about unoriginal, entrenched niche. My luck, he’ll probably win an Emmy next year for it. 

Can someone out there reasonably explain the appeal of Maggie? She’s always annoying me in one form or another, browbeating Lena for not loving Bianca enough, twisting the knife into Babe about how wonderfully natural Bianca’s mothering skills are with Babe’s supposed daughter Bess, why, Bianca got the baby to stop crying instantly... she might as well go all the way and say, “You’d think that Bianca is Bess’s real mother, not you. Come to think of it, you’re not good enough to be near Bianca....” I suspect the real reason Lena left the States wasn’t to tend to her sick mother, but to escape Maggie’s incessant, co-dependent Bianca cheerleading. 


If OLTL does not garner Emmy nominations across the board for its Viki’s heart storyline next year, I’ll be convinced finally that the NATAS-run awards is fixed, bought and paid for according to popularity and pressure. I’ve a love/hate, intrigue/fear relationship with soaps, for most of my soap-viewing life. The best soaps adhere to the genre’s near-depressive fascination with the unpleasant aspects of life, things that most of us would rather not experience, much less discuss: diseases, infidelity, betrayal, unwanted pregnancy, premature, accidental deaths, murder, kidnapping, brainwashing. This focus on the bad is responsible for soaps’ reputation as the embarrassing stepsister of entertainment, and why so many in the industry are fond of mocking it as a whole. After two years of AMC’s sturm and drang, my own mom quit cold turkey for decorating shows and historic documentaries. 

Once I’ve steeled myself for the torture and torment (however unrelenting at times), the experience itself of living through these characters and their sad, sorry tales of very real tragedies and crises ends up invigorating and enervating me, like a good cry would, releasing perhaps my own similar experiences on the matter, similar feelings and thoughts, or just enjoying the cathartic bond of empathy, connection, appreciation of my own life. 

It’s been hard doing that in today’s soaps. Hardly any story around is worth re-living or immersing myself in for the cheap theatrics, cheap thrills and cheap excuses to showcase a cheap set of young, untried talents. 

Furthermore, I can’t identify with Blair crying rape, sort of taking it back, but not really and now she’s all about Todd again after almost losing her daughter Starr for good. I don’t get co-dependency like Lindsay’s for Rex. Kelly’s incessant whining does nothing for whatever waning curiosity in this deader than a doornail of a cross-promotional story of switched babies. Todd, under Trevor St. John, acts more and more like he can’t wait to pull something heinous, just for the pure thrill of the horrified reactions. Jessica doesn’t so much move me as infuriate me with her precious mannerisms, eyerolling, lip-licking, dress-smoothing. Kathryn’s just there to titillate. 

But Viki losing her heart and finding it again through Ben’s last, loving donation is something else. It’s a return to real soap. I’ve forced myself to go through the fear, the possibility of loss, the memories and the resolution right alongside Viki, and her loved ones, well worth the trouble and the box of Kleenex. 

The May 19th fantasy episode had Viki dreaming in a riddle wrapped up in a heart-shaped puzzle—a fabled blend of “Alice in Wonderland” and “A Christmas Story,” set to reality 2004, of how her loved ones react to her giving up and letting death take her. This worked. I don’t normally respond well to dream sequences. They tend to, especially on OLTL, come off as hokey and a tad psychotic. Oh this one had the psychotic bit, with Starr’s head spinning around in technicolor (shades of Veruca Salt in “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’s” remake?) and her five-ft. tall cancer stick box. But the running theme of “Follow your heart,” “Dance with me, Blondie,” “You’re not dead,” really hit home, perhaps for the first time in my life, uncomfortably reminding me of my own mortality, promising an uplifting end. 

If I were ABC Daytime president Brian Frons, I would think up another cross-over to tack onto Viki’s moving story, one that might appeal to a broader cross-section of the audience and do more than appease the ticked-off old-school fans who’ve tried to follow the network’s soaps for years longer than they deserve. How ‘bout bringing AMC’s resident heart doctor, that miracle worker every enemy can’t help but turn to and demand of Pine Valley Hospital’s Dr. Joe to reinstate... David Hayward, to help save Viki? Sure beats that impersonal, apathetic pinhead Dr. Gardner... And it sure would give Dr. Hayward something to do besides serve as a sex doll to the likes of Kendall and Krystal. 

John’s photo of Natalie with her pool trophy and fiancée Caitlin before her death years ago look like they were taken by the same photographer, with a penchant for snapping the shutter slightly elevated as the subjects gaze upward, faces larger than the rest of their bodies, more than a tad retouched. 

Every time I see Natalie, however, my eyes immediately go to her jugs. I call it the Kelly Moan-aco syndrome. And what is with her off-again-on-again-off-again cell phone? Jessica can’t reach her because it’s been turned off. But then within the same time frame, in the middle of some Nat and Paul moaning, John reaches her within two rings. After that, Jess tell Kevin she still can’t reach Nat, which means Nat turned off her cell phone again after she’d inexplicably turned it on two minutes before John had called, which would make that about 15 minutes before Jess tried again. 

A weird thing happened when I watched my replay recording of the May 20th episode, in the scene where John begins interrogating Dr. Long in his detective office at the Llanview PD. Above John’s head hung a clock that read 11:20. I look at my watch, it’s 11:20. I was hoping to see the clock again after a few more scenes elapsed, maybe I could catch the continuity crew screwing up on the job and having it read something like 5 p.m. or something, but no such luck. 

The directing on this show... no wonder it never wins an Emmy. Two weeks ago, John and Natalie are arguing, with Paul watching intently, at an Atlantic City casino. As the camera closes in on John’s emotionally conflicted face, the face of an old lady playing slots comes into view in the foreground, slowly blocking John’s face. The extras also stand around with goofy smiles on their faces, even when they should at least look concerned, quizzical. Case in point, the carousel in Central Park, Blair wailing for her kidnapped daughter. Or how about the episode of May 19?, when a scene opened with a camera shot of Asa’s backside and Bo’s crotch, to quickly pan upward, as if by mistake. 


Every time I watch this show lately, I come away pissed off and ready to pick a fight with anybody resembling Emily, Jax, and Carly. 

This time, it’s not their fault, much... but that of TPTB, who consistently refuse to add scenes that would lead logically up to the cliffhangers (or give these browbeaten characters some compassion). Instead, it’s like they’ve only written down the cliffhangers, with the means tacked on as an afterthought. The laziness of this maneuver shows. 

Nikolas agrees to his second assignment from Lorenzo, even though it involves breaking the law if caught, breaking and entering espionage over a bid submitted to the Quartermaines. He may think he’s Connor, but he still believes in right and wrong the same as Nik, as proven by his vehement reluctance to hide from the military, having given in only after some considerable emotional blackmail by his presumed wife Mary. Keeping his character integrity doesn’t matter to TPTB as much as reaching the cliffhanger, setting up a far-fetched situation where “Connor” is confronted by Emily with a gun, just as he nearly glimpses the photo of the two of them she’d just put away in the drawer. 

But then, Emily wouldn’t have even been at the Quartermaine mansion to catch “Connor” red-handed. She had to work at General Hospital (doing what, I’ve no idea). In the May 20th show, after having lectured Lorenzo on morality, citing Nikolas as a superior example, then thinking her little lecture on proper, honorable, legal behavior has succeeded in helping Ned win Lorenzo’s support again (and making me wanna puke), she trots off to Mary. Forgetting that she told Mary off not an episode earlier, Emily asks if Mary wouldn’t mind covering for her (doing what, I’ve no idea), in a voice clearly signifying a demand than a request. Mary sweetly obliges. Not one word about why Emily would harshly criticize Mary for moving on with another man and condemn Mary for not grieving long enough for her deceased husband, Connor...winning no favors from me. 

Over on another floor of the hospital, Jax is earning his reputation as an arrogant, selfish bachelor and ruthless corporate raider by treating Sam and her pregnant state as a means of ownership, as he would real estate or a take-over. Throwing his money at problems, instead of solving them head-on, has always been a huge turn-off for me about this character, and he does it again. Sam’s lying there on a hospital bed, about to undergo an amnio—putting the needle in her stomach ain’t exactly painless—when Jax strolls in, demanding his rights, threatening his rights, owning his rights, before the final results are in. He can’t help but pick a fight with Sonny either, right over the head of Sam who is pregnant with a baby and isn’t in the best condition to sit through their macho face-off. One entitled bastard is bad enough, but try two, in TPTB’s never-ending search for that perfect supercouple. Courtney—who’s never hidden her Sam bias, through loyalty to Carly and jealousy with Jason—actually had the audacity to defend Jax as doing the right thing, deftly ignoring Alexis’s contention that the mother, Sam, has been routinely ignored in all of this, and then claiming she only has objectivity in mind. Courtney is about as objective as Carly when it comes to Sam. 

Carly really needs to go on that vacation. It’s a long time coming, for both her and her portrayer. Too many times on-screen is too many times. Absence may not make my heart grow fonder, but it will give me a break from snarling Carly 24/7. I could almost talk myself into enjoying Carly’s hypocritical stances as tough ghetto girl, as merely an excuse to check off every insult lodged against her enemy of the moment—Sam—as a direct reflection on her own pathetic self. Again, as she did with a pregnant Alexis, Carly barged in the hospital room before Sam’s amnio, shooting darts, posing ferociously, hands on hips, hips jutted out, snickering, voice smooth as silk, talking trash about how if she really wanted to destroy Sam, she easily could without breaking a sweat, doing anything possible to cut down Sam’s value as a woman and a human being. This, coming from a spittin’ image who would normally (if she were Sarah Brown and not an imposter) sympathize with the likes of alike they are, it’s almost comical. 

So Sam doesn’t wait to recover from her fall and has an amnio right away. Fine...she’s three/four months pregnant, just about the right timing for an amnio. But if memory serves me correctly, her tummy should not be flat as a pancake. The only thing big on that examining table are Sam’s boobs. 

Yet another example of TPTB going for the cliffhanger, forgetting the means: Sage sprains her knee on the ladder and screams at the shock of Georgie pulling the rope. The shock of screaming caused Sage to lose her voice, perhaps permanently unable to sing. From just one mild scream? Sage has screamed before, louder and longer, with more surprise and horror, and yet this pipsqueak is what does her voice in? Ah, the better to re-introduce new singing sensation Brook(e) Lynn and cause another problem for GQ. 

Sonny going along with Jason in the DNA switch, and Jason promising to lie about fathering Sam’s baby took an awful lot for me to buy. But the intense struggle between these two in the hospital church succeeded about 90 percent insofar as I’ll wait and see how much more these two characters can be assassinated before I jump down TPTB’s throats about another wasteful rewriting of history. 

After I watched CBS’s “Helter Skelter” a few weeks ago, I can no longer look at Catherine Wadkins’ Mary without seeing one of Charles Manson’s disciples, Leslie Van Nutbar, smiling sweetly before killing innocent victims, sitting in a courtroom, skipping away with her disciple cohorts. It’s like waiting for OLTL’s John McBain (played by Michael Easton, who used to be a vampire on PC) to take a bite out of Paul. 

I’d take Greg Vaughan (Lucky) more seriously if he’d stop prefacing every sentence with, “Y’know what...?” He’s even gotten Rick Hearst (Ric) doing it in the interrogation room. At one point, Vaughan was saying, “Y’know what...?” in every sentence. I stopped paying attention to the actual scenes and just started counting. 

Skye screams something awful, in a good way. But in the May 18th episode, her eyes were crossing too, making me forget the hostage story for a second, and wondering if Robin Christopher was fixated on the doorknob for some reason. Maybe her script had been microscopically embedded there. 

Threatening to take over the show: the ubiquitous gazebo. Nobody knows why it suddenly appeared, or why everybody and Courtney’s love interest have taken to clandestine meetings and attempted murders over there. Is the docks undergoing renovation? 

I know who little Mikey resembles, and it’s not Sonny, Carly or A.J. He’s the spitting image of AMC’s Tad Martin. 

And I mean that in the most sincere way. 




You do know that I wouldn't sit through two hours of Vanessa Marcil's three-brain-celled patter coupled with gratuitous shots of that bald jackass, Dr. Phil for just anyone, right? But because you asked nicely and because I'm so run down that I can't even muster my usual foaming hatred of all things award-related, I did it and I even made it to the end. Fair warning that the fact that I only follow one show (and an unpopular one at that) and think the entire daytime industry is a self-fellattng circus not worthy of attention or accolade may have coloured my views just a tad: 

In no particular order and typed as I watched the broadcast (dude, if we had IM this would have been much less painful):

·        WTF? That living douchebag, Lorenzo Lamas, can still get work? No, really, WTF? Figures that he's on B&B.

·        Someone as vapid as Lisa Rinna shouldn't have the privilege of exposing her boobies on primetime tv. Only classy people should get that honour.

·        Note to Chad Brannon : The big J.C. likes to be thanked first. He's kinda picky like that.

·        I love that Bob Barker refuses to show up every single year. He takes the Emmys even less seriously than I do and I've never even been nominated. Love it.

·        Hahahahahahahaha ... that's me still laughing because Eden Riegel didn't win for Younger Actress. My Bianca hate is validated. Too bad I stupidly sat through so much of the Michael Cambias: From Rapist to Popsicle storyline before recovering my sanity and bailing.

·        More schadenfreude to see Maurice Benard and Eric Braeden go home empty-handed too.

·        Hope Cameron Mathison enjoyed accepting Bob Barker's Emmy. That's as close as he'll ever get to one of those babies.

·        Lifetime Achievement is code for take the damn statuette and enjoy your allotted two and a half minutes of screen time for this year (unless we've already downsized you out of a job, of course) isn't it? Minting a few more Emmys for the elderly is certainly less expensive than, you know, writing storylines for them.

·        I now know the secret to making a kick-ass clip montage: crying scenes to set the mood, rapid-fire sexin' up shots, a liberal dose of slapfights (extra credit for hair pulling or those wussy haymaker punches that still manage to fell your opponent), more mackage, usually of the running into each others' arms variety, cheesy disaster footage (fire = good, explosions = doubleplusgood) and cap it with a shot of everyone in formal wear or doing some cheesy dance moves from a dream sequence. But dude, that scene from B&B of the redneck porno knife fight in a burning barn? I don't think I could ever top awesomeness like that. 

Next time, can't I please watch the Latin Grammys (Spanish version only) instead? 



May 24, 2004

May 12, 2004

May 4, 2004

April 27, 2004

April 20, 2004 - GH

April 14, 2004 - OLTL