The Steven Carrington Institute for the Treatment and Study of Ffffff…. Not Going to Type That

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We at the boozetube are going back in Heather Locklear time to the virgin (to our eyes) series Dynasty. What a difference a decade (and a half) makes. The show seems so olde tyme, with its orchestral wilde weste theme sound and concern with oil politics.

This series if of particular interest to me, since it premiered in the year of my birth, 1981.

First impressions: Where is Amanda Woodward? I would follow her to the ends of the earth (except maybe to TJ Hooker) so I’m jonesing for my fix of cunning, timeless blonde ambition and beauty. Fortunately for me, there’s Fallon.

Sidebar: What is up with these names? Krystle? Fallon? I guess it really was the eighties, and these people are total nouveau riches. Krystle isn’t even rich at all, but by marriage.

ANYWAY. Back to Fallon. Fallon has, and I’m not lying, gorgeous hair. Everyone else is teased to the rafters in the 80s style we would come to embrace, but Fallon has total 1970s poet hair. It’s brunette, just below her shoulders and curls at the end. SO PRETTY. It is exactly how I imagine my hair when I picture myself accepting my grammyoscarpulitzerpresidentialnomination. She’s also vicious, spiteful and SMART. In episode two she schools politician Jeff (who looks SO MUCH like Quentin the Carver from Nip/Tuck that I thought it was the same actor, at first) about oil politics, and while it’s a little republican for my taste, she is clearly the person who knows the most about the business, far more than her brother Steven.

Steven, as we learn in the first episode, is a practitioner of the love that dare not speak its name. (Don’t worry Steven, only ca20 years to LOGO!) His father does not understand and thinks it’s all about his son’s anger toward his father, saying, hilariously: “Steven, I’m about as freudian as you could hope for [people hope for that?] in a capitalist exploiter of the working classes. When I’m not busy grinding the faces of the poor I even read a little. I understand about sublimation, I understand how you could try to hide sexual dysfunction behind hostility toward a father. I am even prepared to say that I could find a little homosexual experimentation acceptable. Just as long as you didn’t bring it home with you. Don’t you see son? I’m offering you a chance to straighten yourself out!”

Steven protests that he probably can’t, and moreover doesn’t want to “straighten himself out.”

Elder Carrington: “Of course, I forgot, the APA has decided it’s no longer a disease. That’s too bad, I could have endowed an foundation. The Steven Carrington Institute for the Treatment and Study of Faggotry!”

Perhaps you haven’t actually read enough, I might suggest.

That said, he has a total cheesecake shot of his son on his desk. The lad is climbing a tree, ass perkily pointed at the camera while looking coquettishly over his shoulder. Seriously? No clue?

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