Chris got me the new My So-Called Life boxed set for Christmas, which I guess now replaces my old My So-Called Life boxed set, battles won notwithstanding. Really, sentimentalizing DVDs must be my worst feature. Or at least, the worst of my many "I oversentimentalize ________" bad features. (My nose still sucks more.) Well anyways, I'm glad to go up to v2.0 on this thing. It looks good, the essays in the book actually made me feel like a teenager again, and right now I'm eating pizza and watching the show on "play all," which is apt given how much I've been feeling like a stupid teenager lately anyway. It's a little piece of happy.

The booklet, by the way, opens with exactly what Winnie Holzman was going to do for season 2, which I've spent thirteen years studiously avoiding. (And it doesn't suck.) Oh well. I'll not spoil it, for those still hangin' on. So much fanfic rests on not knowing!

You know, I know it wasn't the sixties or nothin', but I was thinking yesterday while listening to some Nirvana and wearing a lumberjack shirt (OK, not the latter) that I'm fairly content to have been a teenager in the 1990s. We had our fair share of moral borderlands to conquer, and we did all right. The music didn't suck and the clothes weren't thoroughly embarrassing. The movies coulda been better, I guess. But yeah: good decade to call my own.