When I was 10 years old I only needed a few things to make me ridiculously happy: very high crunchy bangs, Babysitter's Club books, strawberry fruit roll ups, my brother to not look at me, a large clear bag of gummy 7-11 5 cent candy, Guess jeans pegged at the ankle and the latest issues of Bop, Big Bopper and Teen Beat.
These magazines covers were interchangeable – the "latest news" from all the peach fuzzy teen idols we wanted to spoon with, and a few girls thrown in to pretend that boys would actually touch these neon bombs.
These magazines were 75% posters and 25% slick propaganda and I ate them up like they were made of red and purple Skittles.
They were my escape. Inside those pages were stories that were bubblegum sweet and nobody talked about divorce or homework or thighs that rubbed.
My favourite person to read about was Corey Haim. My second favourite person was Candace Cameron.
She was (to me) the star of Full House.
She had achingly long hair that was perfectly crimped. She had a round face like me and a body type like me, so if we ever met we could totally go eat Baskin Robbins together and not have to suck in our stomachs.
I loved her. I wanted to be her. I sat through every episode of Full House and laughed and almost choked on candy and then I grew up and lost weight and gained weight and lost weight again and still eat candy even though it makes my heart beat like a rabbit in heat and had a kid and stopped watching shows with laugh tracks and then I got the news.
Full House was back.
It's called Fuller House and Candace Cameron Bure is back with an extra name because she's old like me and married and a Mom too (in real life and on the show) and so I excitedly sat Stella down to watch it on Friday and… you know that cringe face emoji? That was my face, frozen, for 10 minutes. I just couldn't.
I can't poop completely on something so earnestly made. It didn't make me mad. It mostly made me sad to realize something that used to be for me wasn't for me anymore. Isn't that just the truest definition of getting old? Ugh.
Here's what I watched and loved on Netflix this month. Candace Cameron Bure wasn't in any of these but I think I'm ok with that.
Even though I'm married, I do love me some acidic TV about single people screwing up and stumbling around, doing a terrible job navigating love and friendship and sobriety. I get to turn it off and feel so much better about myself.
Tangerine (Trailer NSFW)
Remember when indie movies were the best? Like in the early 2000s? You would track them down in video stores where there would *maybe* be one copy, and watch it after your parents went to bed, and you weren't sure if they were good or just really different or important?
Tangerine was shot on iPhones and has characters and locations and moments that I've never seen in a movie before. It looks and it sounds like a fever dream, loud and bright and frantic and overwhelming, and there are moments so profoundly sad and dirty that I had to put down my snack and try to not cry. I can't say it was great and I can’t say you definitely need to see it, but if you want a wholly original movie experience, then you need to add this to your list right now.
As a member of Netflix Canada's #streamteam I will be giving you the straight goods on what I'm watching each month in exchange for a yearly membership. It's a match made in heaven, really.