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~*~

Fat Like Them 

Welcome to the Third Reich, ABC Daytime style. Unfortunately, planting beautiful young people in place of overweight older soap fans for soap specials and talk shows isn’t anything new, or strictly the domain of Brian Frons. 

Last month, I noticed a disturbing amount of beautiful people lounging about the swimming pool with the young, beautiful, sexy soap stars of ABC Daytime in the network’s “Fun in the Sun” summer promotion—geared towards attracting more teenaged and collegiate viewers. These beautiful people, including one buff, bronzed, 20-something, obviously heterosexual guy – interviewing with OLTL’s Bree Williamson (Jessica), were supposed to represent just a camera pan of your average all-American soap fans, strangely under the size six and age 29 group, but still... 

Then, on August 1, I’m reading a SoapZone thread on the GH board referencing a Data Lounge Forum post that alleged the makers of SoapNet’s and ABC Daytime’s upcoming ABC’s Soap Secrets special preview show shoved some physically unappealing, overweight fans in the background, so the more beautiful, thin fans could be up front in the audience. Another poster chimed in with her firsthand observations about SoapNet’s talk show, SoapTalk, and how the stage manager there asked her, her mother and two other women to move back to the second row so a bunch of blonde babes could be planted in the front row for the cameras to make love to. Another guest told the poster that these blonde babes were paid as window dressing, a common practice by networks apparently. 

While it’s easy to condemn this practice, and I do, I hate fraud of any sort, it’s not unheard of that it exists in the first place. Whether we like it or not, human beings were born and bred to seek out, appreciate and worship beauty. Beauty is in art, literature, replicated in plays, movies, TV dramas. In the 1980s, supermodels were the epitome of perfection and glamour. Before them, rock stars, and before them, movie stars. Studies purport that babies react well to and search out beautiful, pleasant faces. 

I prefer watching my commercials, TV shows, flicks and the occasional porn with beautiful people myself, well-endowed, supple, smooth, creamy skin, perfect, white teeth, full head of hair, no tattoos, no piercings, nothing upsetting my instinctive urge for aesthetic Nirvana. I mean, who wants to watch Jerry Springer’s guests fornicate, pimp Lipton Iced Tea and Verizon cell minutes, etc. etc.? 

However, these are soaps, soaps have traditionally featured a more ordinary species of humankind, men, women and children we, the viewers, are more likely to see next door, around the corner, down the street, in the grocery store shopping for tampons and milk. Soap fans have traditionally been the housewives, the grandmothers, the bedridden, the people who, for some reason or another, have to or want to stay home during most of the day. Now, TPTB want to expand that definition to include the so-called hip crowd traversing regularly to the nightclubs and the beaches, the same crowd that didn’t need re-defining when Luke and Laura married in the early ‘80s on GH, Luke and Laura not exactly looking like the picture of impossible beauty so required of studs and starlets today. 

These soap actors weren’t ugly, they just weren’t standard beautiful. They captivated the audience because they had charisma, intensity, a compelling command of the stage, forcing us to notice the uncommon character of their beauty, as opposed to the cookie-cutter kind. And, upon closer inspection, I guess I require such uncommon beauty myself when I watch TV, go to the movies, whip out the XXX, knowing intrinsically that perfect, unmatched beauty only exists in Barbie dolls, and that that kind of beauty is really kinda ugly in a mass-produced, plastic way. I may notice the cookie-cutter beauty, but I am turned on by the uncommon, charismatic, character-driven beauty (which explains my interest in porn actor Stephen St. Croix, not exactly Ingo Rademacher, but way funnier). 

I don’t know about you, or you peeking behind the bushes there, but I demand more from my entertainment than a pretty face and solid muscles. I’d like to relate to my fiction. I’d like to be enlightened, moved, educated and forced to notice stark raving reflections of unbridled truth, unflinching emotional realism, mental acuity, deep, pure, almost touchable spirituality, in people that seem more like me than a one-dimensional slick piece of centerfold fluff. 

To perpetuate such false advertising as planting young, beautiful blondes in front rows of a failing cable talk show devoted to daytime, or mix young beautiful model-looking “fans” in amongst the soap celebrities smacks to me of fascism, of Nazis and their ultimate solution. Being a Korean-American, at times a size six but more a size 12, battling a C-section bulge, a gallbladder scar, glasses, that’s a problem. 

It’s fake, yeah. It’s shallow, sure. It’s wrong, of course. But it’s also common practice, image manipulation, a dangerous precedent that tells impressionable children and teens that

  1. It’s okay to discriminate based solely on appearance.
  2. You don’t have to work for anything, use your brain and tend to your soul, as long as you are born beautiful on the outside, or can finagle enough money for plastic surgery to reach a reasonable facsimile.
  3. The innocence, inexperience and arrogance of youth commands higher value than the wisdom, strength, suffering and nobility of age.
  4. Only a certain type of beauty is acceptable in this society, white, preferably blonde, big boobs, taut butt, washboard stomach, bulging biceps, no minorities allowed.
  5. Feel free to reward people for doing nothing but show up with a tan and a ton of make-up.
  6. Soaps are so desperate and pathetic that TPTB are willing to alienate the core audience of assorted overweight, elderly, handicapped, infirmed, to make a statement to the in crowd of the mainstream entertainment industry.

Most of us teach our children and comfort our friends with the adage, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” We try to live by that adage, best we can. But the struggle to love ourselves, firm up our esteem and leave well enough alone, au naturelle, is getting harder and harder. 

The advent of such reality-TV shows, as The Swan and Extreme Make-over, as well as giving reality-TV’s complimentary focus on femme fatales Jessica Simpson and Carmen Electra, don’t help that struggle any. 

Magazine articles written by star-struck infidels build up the weight loss, tummy tuck, comeback from flabby motherhood to amazing svelte miracle worker in just six easy months, nanny included, cheering actresses on more for surviving nine months of pregnancy, 24 hours of hard labor, to pull off a body reduction in record time, wearing fashionable, weight-disguising designer fads, instead of becoming a mother – the toughest role ever. Babies are accessories in that fashionable, emaciated world, not real, living, breathing human beings. Then, those babies grow up fed on the junk of a beauty-obsessed society. Hello, Mary-Kate. 

I’m often torn between hating myself because I don’t remotely resemble those beautiful people (or, as a child, my Barbie dolls) and loving myself because I refuse to fall in goosestep with that shallow thinking. 

The last thing I need is my last bastion of hope and relatable entertainment—my soaps—to tell me I’m no longer good enough, thin enough, pretty or young enough.... that they don’t mind taking my money, my warm Nielsen seat, but their full attention is on a bunch of what-if long shots, simply because they’re more physically to society’s liking. 



Halleluiah! According to several soap opera scoopsters, including Eye on Soaps gossip columnist Sage, the abominable baby-switching, cross-over storyline on AMC and OLTL is about to meet its about-timely end this month, or at the very least, by the next. 

On August 2, approximately 2:13 p.m., I read two posts in an AMC thread over at that simply delighted me: Babe would finally hand over Bess, aka Miranda, back to her rightful mother, Bianca. The scenes were taped and will air, possibly in a special, two-hour episode (preempting OLTL in the process), September 6; supposedly Babe’s portrayer Alexa Havins was seen sobbing all day in character. The events leading up to this long-awaited payoff is anyone’s speculation, maybe David, Brooke and Tad revealed JR’s charade for the Adam-inspired sham it really is. 

The bigger sham is that this travesty of a story even made it on the air, much less since spring began. The story’s done more character assassination than an entire room full of Bob Guzas, Jill Farren Phelps, Megan McTavishs and Brian Frons combined, and undermined any future empathic value in new characters Krystal and Babe. 

Instead of focusing on repairing their shady histories, questionable link-ups and amoral techniques for achieving desired happiness, sleeping around, the story writers, enabled hugely by Frons, sought only to capitalize on the shock value of utilizing two innocent newborns in a splashy gimmicky cross-over trick to lure unsuspecting viewers from one straggling soap onto another dying one. Oh and focus on the hand-wringing, crocodile-tear whining histrionics of youth demo divas, Heather Tom (Kelly, OLTL) and Havins, not to mention their (and Bobbie Eakes/Krystal’s) stupendous heaving alabaster-skinned bosoms. 

Outraged fans drew together to protest this farce of a story, some even offering superior rewrites: Babe returns Miranda to Bianca, JR goes to prison, Erica sniffs a mystery surrounding Babe’s presumed-dead daughter Bess and discovers Ace for herself in Llanview, together with David, Brooke, Tad and Krystal, fights, schemes and maneuvers for certain that Ace gets back to Babe, Kelly’s put in an insane asylum for life, Kevin marries Todd, Blair hooks up with R.J. ... Wait, those be my intentions. 

If anyone figures this out and saves the day, it should be Erica.  That would be perfect symmetry and serendipitous justice, reward paid, sentence (for shunning Bianca) served. 

But never mind the hows. The important thing is, it’s being handled and it’s gonna be done soon. (Unless one is to believe a recent NY Daily News spoiler indicating that Bianca may very well be the last to know, around the first few months of next year, Holy Mary, Mother of God, help me...) 

The next issue on the table should be fixing Ryan, Kendall and Greenlee... 



It’s become awfully painful to watch Eva LaRue and John Callahan pledge their eternal love, commitment and faith in each other, when it’s obvious that saying such lines as Maria and Edmund cuts a little too close to home for the separated real-life married couple. I say LaRue and Callahan, because no way in Hades is any of that stuff on-screen fiction. 

Another awfully painful pair of characters to watch has been Greenlee and Kendall, former friends. I spotted their potential friendship from the moment Greenlee attacked Kendall verbally, then vice versa, with only a grudging acknowledgement of each other’s familial similarities in Mommy Dearest. But before I could really warm to what their burgeoning friendship could reveal about these tightly-wound characters, TPTB had to put a man in between them, and no ordinary man, but Ryan, Mr. Holier-Than-Thou Pec Master. Worst of all, they’re rewiring character personalities in order for it to be more palatable for Ryan to fall slowly for Greenlee, instead of Kendall, the woman he’s supposed to be with. Greenlee the noble, self-sacrificing, into trapeze artists and circus clowns, over Kendall, the blackmailing, smirking, bad-cliché-spewing wannabe vixen. If anybody comes away smelling like a rose in all this, it’s Bobby, who did a decent thing in the Monday, August 2nd episode by backing out of his deal with the devil Kendall, telling Greenlee—smiling beatifically, natch—to forget his lame attempts at seduction and go for it with Ryan, if it’s real. 

A lot of us are getting fed up with Ryan, Flatulent Kiddo Superhero. But I suspect the hero impulse stems from deep-seated, unresolved and unacknowledged guilt for bailing on the rest of his siblings, left to fend for themselves in an abusive, neglectful household. Furthermore, I suspect we’ll soon see Jonathan’s true colors in light of this guilt, when he reveals his presence as merely a means to exact payback for Ryan’s cowardly escape. 

As poignant as LaRue and Callahan’s scenes were in art imitating life, her fictional past fling with Zachery Slater resonates more with me. Perhaps because they’re new, fresh, different. Perhaps because any fling out of the staid married norm, and to Edmunch at that, rocks. Perhaps simply because Maria and Zach ooze heavy-breathing, heaving bosoms, clenched groaning, up against the wall desire. I’ll take two for $5,000, Bill. And it’s been some time since I lived vicariously through the acceptable, daytime soft porn, since Brenda met Sonny, then Jax on GH. 

Still, I’d pay big money to see David (or Jamie or the bum behind SOS’s back alley) wipe that smug, chiseled, strangely plastic Ken doll smirk off JR’s face. I don’t think anybody wants to see a plastic villain JR, any more than a rationalizing damsel Babe. Maybe he’ll grow a third boob on his back from drinking the tainted O.J., tainted with a birth control pill. 

Bobby is turning into a nice, stand-up guy, trying to help horndog Maria out of her obsession with Zach, backing off of his blackmailed seduction act on Greenlee. If he rescues a kitten for Colby, I’m all his. 

Whoa! Two GH Luckys in one ABC Daytime summer promotional campaign tour (in Chicago last week)! Jacob Young (JR) and Greg Vaughan (Lucky, GH) were divided only by Kamar de los Reyes (Antonio, OLTL), but they fielded the recast question quite tactfully, almost believably. Young hadn’t been very tactful in previous soap mag interviews about his disdain for the way things were at his former soap gig, and Vaughan has never been tactful about how much work he has had to undertake to improve Lucky (but that was more bad story than predecessor). So it was nice to see the two getting along, Young praising Vaughan’s work and finally looking pleased. Young likes being darker, edgier JR on a show, IMHO, that’s at least trying to work on character development based on character history. 

Every (week) day, JR gets more and more repulsive to look at, though. (Here’s an unhealthy example of what I meant in the “FAT LIKE THEM” posit above, regarding cookie-cutter beauty.) I wish I could come up with a better description for that model pose, chiseled chin thing he does when he’s feigning evil, like a statue made in the likeness of the first man before God put the soul and the brain inside. No, no, no... it’s more like a little boy posing in his daddy’s clothes, sticking his chest out, affecting a menacing grin, but ending up looking devoid of all emotion, save the most cartoonish of mustache-twirling villainry. 

And why do people, especially the usually paranoid, impulsive bully Krystal, continue to cut this obvious chip off the ole Adam some slack?? 

The best and only good to come from the baby-switching, pole up JR’s wazoo mess of a story has been the rediscovery of Tad and Jamie as father and son, their comical repartee, Tad’s one-liners, Jamie’s good-natured, aw-shucks responses, concern and courage, hero complex passed from one generation to another. 

Zach and Edmund in one room together, dancing around the subject of both of them having done Maria... made me all soft and sweaty down there. David could join in and, well, y’know... 

Is Kendall still pretending to be a tough, edgy bad girl, spouting off B-movie crime drama clichés, stupid smirk plastered on her overly-made-up face? Yeah, thought so... Die, Kendall, die. 

I can’t believe what they’re doing to Liza. But, it’s rewarding to see her fight her way out, putting the smack down on JR as a mere amateur in the game of villainy, citing her long history as the original true blue bad girl. Too bad JR won that round with threats to make it look like she and drug dealer Seth were in cahoots. 

I absolutely loved Reggie on fire with Derek in the August 6th episode, referencing his dead mother and her harrowing experience with addiction, thanks to the street thug Seth. It’s hard to believe that angelic-looking white boy was capable of so much misery, blood, sweat and tears. I could feel Derek, as well as myself, literally levitate from the power of Michael B. Jordan’s (Reggie) performance. He’s truly coming into his own and turning into his own man, with a strong twist of Jesse Hubbard (no coinky-dink that Darnell Williams is the show’s acting coach, who’s helped developed this fine, young talent). Reggie, Brooke and Tad made Jamie’s sacrifice – to willingly be thrown into a maximum security prison to ferret out the truth from Seth – that much more believable. It almost felt like a movie-of-the-week. 

Die, JR, die. 

I tried finishing the August 9th episode of AMC, the last five minutes where Erica has a heart-to-Hart (har har) talk with Kendall about her obsession with Ryan but I was forced to change the channel (actually, turn it off, but we compromised), because my toddler son kept screaming, “Storm!” and shutting off the TV. He’s in his anti-storm phase and couldn’t deal with the background sound of even pretend-TV. Too bad the storm wasn’t in the background all last week during Kendall’s smirk-fest. 

I never really liked Bianca and never bought her saintly image. But she really is such a cold fish to her mother. The scenarios with Binks are always the same: Ply one fallen angel with dementia, have said fallen angel prostrate before Saint Bianca, repeating “You are so kind, and so generous, and so perfect,” then, in response to such unworthy praise (the only way to get this girl off her high horse), let the Saint smile beatifically with one eye roll, then pronounce lectures, advisements and counsel upon the stray sinner. If you didn’t know their history, as mother and daughter, you’d swear Bianca was turning her nose up at a rival for Lena’s affections. Of course, stupid, drunken nobody Erica, her own mother, would know nothing of Bianca’s pain and suffering and stoic rise above such petty considerations as keeping up with rape survivors’ group therapy. And how patient Bianca has been with her wayward sister Kendall, of course she would tire of such devotion and raise her hands up to her second home of heaven, giving up on ever attempting to ply such a fallen angel with her saintly influence. 

Die, Bianca, die. (But after you’re reunited with your presumed-dead baby Miranda.)




If any of you need any more proof that ABC Daytime will not commit to veteran soap stars in its obsession for the youth demographic, look no further than the recent announcement of Ilene Kristen’s (Roxy) removal from contract status. In a kiss-of-death official comment, a show rep stated that she will remain on the show in a recurring capacity and absolutely has not been let go. I don’t know too many OLTL fans who hate Roxy, but far far too many who adore her portrayer from way back during her Ryan’s Hope period as the despicable, premiere femme fatale, Delia. This is a seasoned actress who knows how to work the material, the scene and the on-screen partner (no matter how inexperienced or mediocre) to the show’s best advantage. Her motto has and will always be, a good actor can rise above anything to make it work. For almost three years, she’s done just that, transforming a vicious monster of a mother into a complicated, redeemable human being with a horrible handle on the English language and a natural gift for comedy with drama. 

As critics, columnists and fans have previously noted, her Roxy has been wasted on a show that seems more consumed with giving Nu-Jess and slut-Jen lots of second chances, varying angles of Nat’s cleavage and the next hot young supercouple, instead of what the soap was always about, families from different social and racial backgrounds tackling the issues of today, not just about love matches. 

Roxy should’ve been given the spotlight with Max and worked her way down. She should’ve been in on the grieving and recovery process in Viki’s heart ailment, Kelly’s mental collapse, Dorian’s schemes to steal millions from one source or another and a regular fixture in every other major storyline. A lotta should’ves, but the end result still remains: We just lost one of the greatest thespians in the business, a classy lady who could’ve taught these untested newcomers what it truly means to be an actor, instead of a star; what it truly means to embody a fictional character, rather than play to the camera; what it truly means to let the other actor look better, because it helps the show overall... 

After I read what they did to Genie Francis (ex-Laura, GH), practically forcing this legend out with their nasty, immature behavior, this latest move against Kristen does not surprise me. 

A little FYI for ABC Daytime president Brian Frons, currently playing to the soap press on Francis’s recent USA Today feature (where the actress described a bit of the hassles she went through as Laura): Stop passing the buck, own up on behalf of your daytime network and FIRE the butt-monkeys who caused Francis so much pain, suffering and humiliation... Oh yeah, and give Kristen a contract, with a major story of her own. 

Evangeline must be one fantastic lawyer. Usually, lawyers specialize in a specific type of law, probate, divorce, criminal, etc. Yet, here’s a lawyer in Llanview who takes on cases involving all manner of law, from protecting a witness’s surviving girlfriend in a mob-related murder and a business rival tampering with finances, to a young, wacky woman fighting to keep custody of her child. Only in soaps. 

I don’t like Evangeline much with John, because her sudden attraction and flirtation with him comes from a duplicitous, disingenuous place. When she acknowledges what a hoochie she was to R.J., that screwing another man in the spur of the moment is wrong, selfish and faithless, then maybe I’ll reconsider. Until then, she just looks like a desperate, small-talking, empty-headed fool, trying to come up with smart quips and mysterious omens to keep up with smart, mysterious, dark John (which Natalie can do without even jabbering about drinks and cases). I only like Evangeline around Nora, maybe she should have an affair with her. 

The more I see Hudson with Roxy, the more I like this new, preppy Llanview student. Less stick, more flavor. In the August 2nd episode, his eye-rolling, quip-throwing reactions to Roxy’s mangling of the English language and confusion as to the age of the young woman’s bones buried 50 years ago (I’ll explain later) did more to flesh out his rubber-stamped character type than all the NAACP protestations in the world. 

However, nothing will move me toward empathy for Kelly, not as long as Heather Tom continues to perform her sour dance. Kelly’s supposed to show vulnerability, fear, abject loneliness when faced with her crazy locked-up mother Melinda, who confuses Ace for Paul (see? I told you the kid was Paul’s with AMC’s Babe). Instead, she just growled and snarled the same at her mom as she had with Kevin, Todd, Blair, the marshals. I should’ve felt as sorry as David, Dorian and even Kevin looked when the marshals took Ace away from Kelly, Kelly screaming and blubbering, “Please don’t take my son!,” me being a mom too. Yet, Tom has done more damage to any possible future empathic turns that all I felt in the end result was numb. 

Jessica bores me. But an arrogant, condescending, snotty Jessica who thinks Natalie is a screw-up that no boy would love unless he loved her millions too, is better than boring, smiling, pretty fashionable Jessica, the pink wonder Barbie. Still, not as annoying as suddenly-angry young woman Natalie. 

Besides, when did all this family loyalty and taking sides happen, when me, Michael Malone, Josh Griffith and Frank Valenti were out having lunch? ... Right around the time somebody higher up decided it would be faboo to have Jennifer reveal her childhood sleepwalking habit. Next week, Riley is really a woman in disguise and Jen is a closet psychic (ooh, one for two!). 

David is the kind of guy you want at any cocktail party, fancy or casual. He quips with his entire body, accenting the wisecracks with facial ticks and almost child-like arm waving... much-needed comic relief in the heavy-duty dinner scenes, August 3, with oily Sonia and slick Tico, boring Jessica (close your mouth!) and subdued Antonio. 

Nobody does goofy, cornball, dimestore dream sequences like OLTL, and Antonio’s (August 4) fell in line with the typical Let’s put on a neighborhood show for our parents and we’re only in third grade! low-rent stuff, with the tarot cards spinning in the distance, a pair of ‘em spinning in place of his eyeballs, ROTFLOL! I weep for this genre. 

Also in that episode, John went down to Rodi’s (why do I want to say Roxy’s?) for two beers and an odd, chummy chat with Natalie, where they really didn’t start any conversation or probe any deeper than one-liners until, almost touching mind-meld territory, they mutually fell in line over at the pool table. I won’t be startin’ anythin’ with those two, I know better. Tomorrow, John will be jamming his tongue down Evangeline’s nether regions, and Natalie will flash her hooters at Paul. 

Newsflash, Jess: R.J. is Jamie’s grandfather, he can also impromptu-babysit when you go off on a tear for Antonio’s whereabouts. What a dumb blonde. 

R.J. Sonia. Uh huh. Don’t forget Blair. 

I. Really. Hate. Kelly. As. Heather. Tom. Exaggerates. Her. The snotty, dismissive manner she had with one of the nicest yet not boring good girls in town, Adriana, who only secretly wanted more info on motherhood in case she really was pregnant with River’s kid... The apology Kelly farted out of her twisted mouth didn’t fool me either. It’s just her usual cover, to avoid detection as a complete amoral, self-centered psychopath. 

I think I know the Santi secret. Manuel’s not dead. Neither is Isabella. Isabella is really Angelina, and she also had another son, Antonio. Furthermore, Tico is trying to take over the Santi mob business, has been all along. 


This is how soap-obsessed I’ve become. I’m at a beach-park, enjoying the sunset when two teenaged girls approach, smiling, then asking if they could pray for me about anything, my choice. One of ‘em looks a lot like Adriana from OLTL, one of my favorite good-girl characters (a rarity), so I figure, why not, put on my Christian from Northshore act and get deep for their benefit. I mention more energy, meaning of life, the usual first-time mom drivel, and they do their pious work for God. When they’re done, their other church-going buddies collect them, beaming proudly as if they’ve achieved a major conversion for the ministry, and I feel 50 percent satisfaction in helping them out even if, deep down, I still can’t feel a thing outside my comfort zone. Maybe if the next batch of Bible-thumpers looked like David and Kevin... 

Shut up, Eddie! Kevin does sooo not look like a “pretty boy!”



Second scene of the August 2nd episode, just as Tracy begins to sound deliciously nasty, in walks Emily, spouting platitudes about leaving herself out of the running (since, she’s such a lock) of “Most Virtuous Quartermaine.” This is a stupid nod to reality-TV anyway, a mere mention to supposedly fool the non-soap-watching youth demographic into tuning in (yes, Frons thinks you’re a collective bunch of dingbats). There are more holes in this plot cliché than one of Sonny’s bodyguards, as many other fans (and a one Tracy Q) have pointed out in the past week, from the legality of such a clause, Emily’s not even a Q by blood but Dillon and Brook Lynn have been left out of this game entirely, to the fact that A.J. already bolted with all of the Quartermaine fortune, and Tracy shouldn’t even care about the money if she already took over ELQ and could whip out a checkbook to bribe Heather with. 

How about the lame excuse tossed out in the August 2 episode, maybe Justus said it, that Lila only had this clause inserted into her will to encourage her surviving brood to make nice. What’s the point of forcing them to pretend to be nice just for a bunch of loot, when it’s only gonna be for a short time and most of ‘em, except Emily, are gonna fail anyway? 

The biggest flaw, of course, is that the Q’s widely – with the blessed exception of Tracy – presume Emily will win as “Most Virtuous,” when Emily – in my book – would’ve been eliminated before this stupid competition even began. She makes Monica look... oh never mind. 

But if it’s a chance to catch any of the veteran Qs, beggars and all that, on my TV screen, so be it. The competition is already moot, since every single Quartermaine in the room, save for Ned, blew it in their reaction to the last part of Lila’s will, introducing the hare-brained idea in the first place. 

Never mind dude looks like a lady, an under-aged “girl” isn’t supposed to be lounging casually against the bar of a nightclub. In Washington state, that’s against the law. Brook Lynn mumbles and snarls too much, the girl probably grinds her teeth at night, she needs to take herself a chill pill. Trent and Lucas served absolutely no purpose other than a Greek choir to accentuate those wacky teens, especially wacky cross-dressing Dillon. But the clumsy act for $100? John Ritter would be proud, Scott. 

The August 3rd episode pretty much settled the question of character- or plot-driven. Every other scene was riddled with plot holes, logic lapses and stupid excuses to dramatize a pairing, a joining of unlikely forces or suck the life out of a good thing. 

If Emily needed Lucky to stall Ric until she tattled on Jason, all Lucky had to do was avoid meeting Ric for 15 minutes. But the second she got finished ordering love-sick puppy Lucky around on behalf of her gangster brother, he was in the door to Ric and Alexis, feigning ignorance. 

Who left the radio blaring on the table outside Kelly’s and how long are we gonna have to listen to Sam Rappaport report the news whenever a mob-related crime spree happens? Wasn’t it just convenient that Lois just happened to be walking by with Lorenzo, just as Jill Farren Phelps’ good friend Sam rattled off that Jax had been felled by a gunshot wound but refused to divulge the shooter... not so that Lois could rush over to check on her good friend Jax, but so that Lois could further fight her attraction to Lorenzo, as doubt over his involvement in the shooting grows. 

Someone explain to me how neurotic, self-involved harpie Georgie could jump to the conclusion that Dillon, dressed as Astrid, was a sexist pig who assumed women asked for sexual harassment simply by donning revealing outfits, when all Dillon said was he did not like being treated as a sex object? How does his own discomfort at playing the clown for everybody else’s benefit and laff-riot threaten Georgie’s feminist (yeah riiight) sensibilities? How is any of Dillon’s humiliation as a man remotely related to Georgie and her schizophrenic hang-ups about her self as a woman?? How does his innocent comment borne of frustration have anything to do with her? 

Carly, please shut your pie hole. It’s astounding that a woman with such a checkered history and such a penchant for lying herself (not to mention conniving and manipulating and bullying and threatening, pushing and shoving, grabbing and punching, screwing around with two different men in the same afternoon without showering, and...) could so easily, guilelessly jump on her high horse about Jason committing his one heinous act of falsehood for his boss Sonny’s benefit, and so that Sonny and Carly’s son Michael wouldn’t continue suffering for the dysfunctional foul-ups of his parents. What’s worse, is that she could not cut Jason the slack he always afforded her. Sure, Jason never lied before (cough, cough), never to her, and that hurts, but she has to know that if it came down to lying for Sonny and telling Carly the truth, he’ll pick Sonny every time. Also, don’t you hate it when people completely blow you off just because you exhibited one human flaw, forgetting an entire lifetime’s worth of sacrifice, nobility and devotion so they can carry their martyrdom act like a circus show, and not just a mere human flaw but with only the best intention? Yeah, I’m not just referring to Jason and Carly here. Cuts a little close to home for me. 

It’s not enough that Carly decides to punish her children and ruin her life by returning to her abusive, sexist pig of a criminal husband, but she has to drag Courtney into that mess by declaring it okay for her bestest buddy to reunite with Jason now. Can’t have Carly suffering alone, she has to bring back the ole gang. (But then Courtney learned nothing from her previous series of altercations with mobster big bro, Sonny, when she, too, urged Carly back with him. Dumb bimbos.) 

Edward and Heather are fooling themselves, as is typical of the sleazy excuse for an affair. She tells him she’s sorry that Tracy caught them in a digital picture when Heather was just giving him an innocent, grateful, friendly kiss of appreciation. But then, Heather pushes the issue by referring to the kiss as something more, something to be missed. If it’s so innocent, what is she doing by bringing it up with that coy look and going on about missing it? And why’s Edward reaching out for her so eagerly? Hasn’t it only been a few weeks since he buried his cold wife’s body six feet under? 

Watching Jed Allan, as Edward, watching the fantasy embodiment of his character and Lila as young lovers, dancing around, tears in his eyes, remembering perhaps his youthful courtship of his own real-life wife, who passed away several years ago... felt palpably, uncomfortably, painfully real. I had to turn away, out of respect for the man’s privacy. This is the heart and soul of the story, not Heather used as a murdering plot device. 

Again, ABC Daytime president Brian Frons made himself look an utter fool while talking to the press (ABC Soaps in Depth) about the upcoming debut of a recast Steven/Stephen Lars, talkin’ ‘bout the head writers finding a need to restore the hospital in General Hospital to the forefront with the addition of Dr. Lars... When it’s obvious the only reason they brought him back is to showcase Tamara Braun’s (Carly) own little Emmy reel in the search for her father, which will inevitably revert back to being all about Sonny, the wronged martyr (y’see, her father and Dr. Lars are out to get Sonny)... and having very little, if anything, to do with the hospital. 

I’m tellin’ ya, if they’re not careful, those IOC, they’re gonna push their plot-driven, manufactured mini-dramas too far and every single character worth his/her originality, promise and ability will have been driven into the obnoxious, irritating, cancellation bin. 

True story. August 4, 1:07 a.m., I slip into bed with my husband Eddie, click on replay’s recording of that day’s GH, smile at Dillon as Astrid fending off Lucas’ advances, choke on Lucas’ reference to his “sister” Carly’s club (the last time that arm-grabbing street thug mentioned her brother in any meaningful family way was when she was portrayed by Sarah Brown), and as I’m about to feast my eyes on windswept wonder Mary about to talk to surly, pre-drunken-stage Nikolas, both their eyes turn to ... Emily, Oscar, the Grouch eyebrows in perpetual furrow, about to pinch the largest loaf this side of the Pacific. Click, back to real time, I hand the remote to Eddie, “Your turn, ESPN, I don’t care. I cannot deal with Emily this late in the evening, early in the morning, whatever.” 

Next day, I force myself to watch the entire episode, including the laughable one-sided drunken barroom brawl, leaving Lucky rubbing his face, repeating “You know what?” twice, in a row!, and Nikolas knocking Emily’s drink in her face. 

It wasn’t as bad as the Sonny, Carly rerun, Sonny mumbling, Carly whining to mask the actress’s lack of tear-jerk, the juvenile freak-out ‘cause she thought Jason wuv-ed Sam more (uh, that would be Sonny, not Sam). 

Or, Georgie maturing into her budding sadism, siccing Lucas onto an unsuspecting Dillon (dressed as Astrid), having her cousin hit on the dude looks like a lady to prove a point nobody else thought needed proving but that neurotic nutbar. I hear GQ breaks up but good after one too many tiffs next week. Good riddance, Georgie!  

Granted, I usually sleepwalk through GH shows, but still, I must’ve been in a coma during Courtney and Jax’s conversation at Kelly’s (August 6), because for the life of me, I don’t understand how she could get from protesting his intent to report the crimes against him on Faith ... to knowing where Lorenzo’s set-up at Pier 51 (54? 57?) would be. Unless Jax let her know, but then how would he know? Did Lorenzo put out a bulletin via Sam Rappaport, the TV and radio news reporter? Someone told me Carly informed Courtney about the Pier, but how did she know? I must’ve just blanked out in the middle of their repetitious Sonny & Jason-obsessed dialogue. Dangerous to do, since I might miss a crucial element to a forgettable plot. 

Also, Sam left no doubt who is the dumbest bimbo in that town when she confessed to purposefully setting fire to her mother and her mother’s house, without any regard for the perjury consequences to her precious Sonny. Carly tried to talk some sense into her, but Sam actually believed she covered with the lame reasoning of leaving doubt in the death-row inmate’s hands ...Gee, maybe this guy just volunteers his guilt on every murder charge East of the Rockies for fun. ... What am I doing, putting Carly and “sense” together in one sentence and acting like it’s horrible if Sam caused Sonny perjury charges! 

Doesn’t matter anyway. In the shortest plot wrap-up in the history of soaps, Ric had Sam arrested for the second time, Sonny had Ric drop the charges after convincing Danny to tell the truth about the accidental fire: all of one episode. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had Elizabeth as a nurse for five minutes, before changing her mind and walking the streets, just like her heroine Bobbie used to. 

There’s something very perverted, twisted and wrong about giving me such a juicy morsel, such a kind, considerate, affable specimen of manhood like Lorenzo, but with such lethal double-talking criminal baggage. Oh, he’s not smuggling any thing illegal on his yacht, just a fugitive he intended to kill with an explosion, while setting up Jason and Sonny for murder. But really, he’s an educated Renaissance man at heart, just listen to his niece Sage. 

In the continuing saga of my ever-increasing dementia (I kid, I kid)... I give you Nick Stable, er, I mean Nick Stabile (maybe Steven/Stephen Lars recast). After flubbing his last name, believing 100 percent in the flub, Google-ing it to find nothing, assuming him a mere model-turned-newcomer and writing as much in another column I write for SoapZone, sending it to my publisher boss Jeff, reading the latest copy of Soap Opera Digest the following morning, seeing Stabile, instead of Stable in the casting news section, revising the column (for the third time) and sending it again to Jeff with profuse apologies, I now must, before I die, meet this Nick Stabile. And cut back on the coffee. 

In closing, and in anticipation of some readers complaining that I reference my home away from home——too much (well, I did start out on the ‘Net there, then-PCO), here’s the best critique of why GH sucks and has been sucking for the past two, three years... from’s GH board and by long-time poster there, Barkussaab, in her all-encompassing-astute assessment titled, “Pardon Me While I Embrace The Hate <RANT RANT RANT>”. Brava! 

... Hmmm, maybe it’s the soaps I need to cut back on.