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TGIF Shows You Completely Forgot About

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TGIF Shows You Completely Forgot About

 

For much of television history, Friday night has been looked at as a night for largely disposable programming. Most people go out, and if they do stay in they’re probably watching a movie rather than TV shows. In fact, it’s often seen as the kiss of death when a show is moved to Friday from another night, a place to put a failing show as it gasps its dying breaths.

One of the biggest exceptions to this began in the late ’80s, when some executives at ABC had the idea to design a programming block for Friday nights specifically aimed at families. Attached to the branding of “TGIF“– in this case, an acronym for “Thank Goodness Its Funny!“– it was a lineup of light sitcoms that generally revolved around a family, with a big focus on younger characters and their interactions with their parents or other authority figures.

TGIF launched and/or included a number of shows that continued to be watched and beloved to this day– some so much so that they’ve returned in reboot form– such as Full HouseMr. BelvedereFamily Matters, Perfect StrangersStep By StepHangin’ with Mr. CooperSabrina the Teenage Witch, and Boy Meets World. But among the nearly 30 shows that passed underneath the TGIF umbrella in its original 1989-2000 run, there are some that people haven’t kept up much nostalgia for (and probably won’t be joining the others on Hulu anytime soon).

Here are 15 TGIF Shows You Completely Forgot About.

15.  Clueless

Clueless 2 15 TGIF Shows You Completely Forgot About

The 1996-1999 Clueless TV series is based on the 1995 movie Clueless, which was based on the 1815 Jane Austen novel Emma. Confused? As if!

Getting back a surprising amount of the movie’s cast– the biggest absentee is Alicia Silverstone, though Rachel Blanchard’s Cher is a pretty solid substitution– the Clueless series even managed to get cameos from Paul Rudd, Brittany Murphy, and Breckin Meyer.

The show itself is no better or worse than you’d expect it to be, but its quality did take a bit of a hit in the transition from ABC to UPN– Clueless movie writer and director Amy Heckerling was involved in the first season but didn’t stay on board through the network jump for the second and third seasons.

That said, the people who do remember this show more likely remember it as a UPN show or during its time on afternoon syndication rather than being aware that its debut season was on ABC as part of TGIF.

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Weed Shall Overcome

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Weed Shall Overcome

The HBO version of High Maintenance began with a minor adjustment. In the premiere, we met The Guy, a mellow, nameless New Yorker who bikes around the city delivering weed, as he consulted with his old-school barber. “I’m thinking just a little off the top,” he said. “Nothing too drastic.”

The exchange served as a subtle message to fans of the original Web series: Yes, High Maintenance creators Katja Blichfeld and Ben Sinclair (a husband-and-wife team until they split on election night 2016) had brought their short-form Vimeo sensation to premium cable. But, aside from the expanded, half-hour format, the show would remain essentially the same. Blichfeld and Sinclair, who also stars as The Guy, kept that promise. The first season offered a familiar collage of cannabis enthusiasts, from a social-media-addicted extrovert to an agoraphobic man who makes art with LaCroix cans, all portrayed with remarkable empathy.

The Guy is back in the barber’s chair in the opening scene of Season 2, but this time something drastic does happen. He requests “the usual” but from a new hairdresser, while a dance party rages in a back room and a man digs through a catering tray of spaghetti, and what he gets is his signature beard shorn off. This is, of course, a nightmare. Even so, when The Guy and his girlfriend, Beth (Yael Stone), wake up and check their phones, they find that the real world has suddenly become as surreal as the dream. “Oh shit. Something bad happened,” says Beth. Then she loads up her bong.

Welcome to New York in the Trump era, where a DJ spins house music while the things that make the locals who they are keep getting torn from them. No other TV series captures daily life in the city like High Maintenance, which profiles so many of its residents, and from so many different communities, without judgment. It survived the move to HBO intact, only to be diverted from “the usual” by the chaos that took hold after its first season ended in October of 2016.

The script for the season premiere, “Globo,” elegantly avoids identifying the cataclysmic event whose aftermath dominates the episode. There are clues that it is set on the day after the election: Over mussels, a man tells his companion she’s lucky to have a British passport. At the bar where Beth works, one blowhard opines that at least comedy is going to be great for the next few years. There are also moments in the first episode when it seems like New Yorkers are responding to a terrorist attack. But it doesn’t matter whether Blichfeld and Sinclair, who wrote and directed “Globo,” are referencing the election or some fictional catastrophe or both. The confusion only highlights the sheer number of awful surprises we’ve woken up to since High Maintenance last aired. An episode that connects the show’s typical intimate character studies with glimpses of depressing birthday parties, silent subway rides, and strangers treating one another delicately becomes a panorama of collective mourning. I was not in New York on 9/11, but I’d been living there for 11 years by November 9, 2016, the day after 81 percent of New York City residents voted against Trump, and it looked and sounded just like “Globo.”

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What Happens When Women Fight Back

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What Happens When Women Fight Back

But who cares if he’s fat? I’ve gained 10 pounds during this presidency. Are we fat-shaming now? What matters here? Of course, it’s the likelihood that Trump is lying, and possibly making others lie for him. Is his doctor prevaricating? Or maintaining plausible deniability by not knowing certain facts by not personally measuring Trump’s height or weight or body mass index? The real problem isn’t the president’s weight, or even his health. It is his constant gaslighting, which threatens the health of our democracy.

In the same week as the girther controversy, we’ve debated whether in a meeting with members of Congress Trump called African nations “shitholes,” “shithouses,” or calmly declared “I want a merit-based immigration policy.” The last possibility, floated by some conservatives, is a flat-out lie. Homeland Security director Kirstjen Nielsen played dumb about the president’s comments, only admitting to “rough language” on “both sides”—harking back to another awful Trump moment, when he claimed the violent march of Nazis and white supremacists in Charlottesville, in which a white nationalist murdered a counter-protester with his car, was caused by “both sides.” Nielsen was reduced to telling Congress that she didn’t know for certain that Norway, the country the president praised, was predominantly white. The gaslighting is terrible; so is the way he then makes others complicit in his gaslighting.

Asked to name the worst abuse in a year of Trumpism, Obama ethics czar Norm Eisen said this, which I cosign:

To me the biggest is his incessant lying. After all, you can’t have ethics without honesty, and just 16 percent of what Trump says is true or mostly true. His worst lies are those about that pillar of our democracy: opposition and dissent. Whether it is his false attacks on the press, law enforcement, the intelligence community, or Democrats, the president is using distortion and misrepresentation to squeeze the space for disagreement. The normal brakes of honesty and decency do not stop him. It is nothing less than an assault on truth itself—and the attack in that value underlies so much else that is wrong with this administration.

Yet the very same week we obsessed over the truth of his words and his weight, we witnessed, and perhaps inadequately acknowledged, the impact of Trump’s presidency on real policies and actual people. We saw a father, Jorge Garcia, stripped from his tearful family and deported to Mexico after having lived in this country for 30 years since coming here without documents at age 9. We saw a majority of the National Parks Service advisory board resign over Trump’s ignoring their input and shrinking the parks. We learned that 60 percent of the State Department’s top-ranking diplomats have left in Trump’s first year. Kentucky became the first state to impose work requirements on Medicaid recipients. NBC’s Suzy Khimm revealed that the EPA has quietly overhauled and weakened the process it uses to greenlight new chemicals, whether used in cleaning products, manufacturing, or children’s toys.

The Supreme Court, with its conservative 5-4 majority (thanks to Trump’s appointment of conservative Neil Gorsuch after Senate majority leader Mitch McConnell stole the seat from Obama nominee Merrick Garland), overturned a lower-court decision finding North Carolina’s ugly gerrymandering plan both racist and illegal. The list—true “American carnage,” in Trump’s dystopian inaugural words—goes on as I write. It may be intellectually impossible to take in everything awful he’s done; it’s certainly psychologically debilitating.

And yet: After a supremely talented woman was robbed of the presidency by one of the worst men in the world, women nevertheless rose up to save that world. (You’re welcome.) The power of the Women’s March endured, keeping me from sinking under the wave of lies and awful deeds. Feminist Democratic political candidates have stepped up like never before: The roster of women contacting Emily’s List, the powerful PAC for pro-choice Democratic women, to ask advice about running for office is up to 26,000 and counting; the number was under 1,000 the year before Trump. And when women ran in 2017, they tended to win. Emily’s List endorsed 65 Democratic women in an electoral off-year, and 42 of them won—13 of them in Virginia alone. Of the 35 successful first-time candidates supported by the fledgling Run for Something, a majority were women.

The Virginia story was easily the highlight of a dismal year. It helped the Democrats surge back from a 66-34 deficit to a 51-49 near-tie. The victors included the state’s first Latina delegate, its two first Asian women, its first out lesbian, first AFSCME member, first public defender—plus a breakout national star in Danica Roem, the first transwoman to serve in any state legislature. At the county fair in rural Stafford in August, I watched that public defender, Jennifer Carroll Foy (who happens to be African American), reach out for the vote of a stunned white man in a Confederate flag T-shirt. I doubt she got his support, but she won running away November 7.

Even before the Virginia story emerged, I got a glimpse of the powerful feminist electoral backlash to Trump’s victory while covering the special Congressional election in the Atlanta suburbs, where women powered the near-upset candidacy of newcomer Jon Ossoff back in April. In Newt Gingrich’s former district, Liberal Moms of Roswell and Cobb connected women at preschool meetings and soccer games to Democratic party activism. It was pretty breathtaking. Then came the more radical women-led Pave It Blue. They were joined by a women-powered local Indivisible chapter, which consciously sought to bridge the district’s racial divides, heal the remaining scars of the Clinton-Sanders primary battle, and also to include a few good men.

Indivisible leader Essence Johnson, who is black, said she was inspired by her local Women’s March, where Representative John Lewis spoke. But she was anguished, too. “I drove home through black neighborhoods and poor neighborhoods and saw so many people in poverty, I knew so many women were in shelters. We had white women in Range Rovers driving up to do voter outreach at bodegas. It wasn’t going to work.” She became Indivisible’s unpaid director of outreach.

When Ossoff lost, the women behind him were disappointed, but not discouraged. The leaders of the local Indivisible chapter have united behind the Georgia gubernatorial candidacy of Stacey Abrams, running to be the state’s first black governor (she happens to be running against a white woman, Stacey Evans, for the Democratic nomination). When I checked back in with Essence Johnson this Friday, she was busy: heading to file her paperwork to run for a state Senate seat. These Georgia women are fired up for 2018, and there are women like them all over the country.

Time’s Charlotte Alter has more detail, much of it from the Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University: At least 79 women are exploring runs for governor in 2018, which could double the historic record set in 1994. The number of Democratic women expected to challenge House incumbents has jumped from 41 in 2016 to almost 130 this year. They’re hugely outpacing Republican women: four times as many for the House, twice as many in the Senate. Of course there are divisions of race, class, and ideology among those women. We see it in that divisive Georgia governor’s race, which the black candidate, Abrams, is expected but not certain to win. But women candidates, and women voters, and especially black women voters, remain the best hope to make 2018 a referendum on the cruel mistake made in 2016.

Then came the stunning power of #MeToo. Again, there’s that paradox: the defeat of a talented woman by a self-confessed pussy grabber came as a gut punch, but it inspired a backlash against sexual harassment and abuse that prim Andrew Sullivan claims has “morphed into a more generalized revolution against the patriarchy.” As if that’s a bad thing.

This phase of the movement was precipitated by reporting by Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey in The New York Times and Ronan Farrow in The New Yorker—along with the bravery of female sources like Asia Argento, Mira Sorvino, Ashley Judd, and Annabella Sciorra. But it is also a continuation of the outpouring of rage and grief that followed Trump’s sickening admission, on that infamous Access Hollywood tape, that as “a star” he could do anything he wanted to women, even “grab ‘em by the pussy.” For almost a month I watched as other women came forward, not just Trump accusers, but women who’d endured their own secret sexual assault, and began to tell the truth. The country seemed not to care. It went ahead and elected an accused serial sexual assaulter anyway. Suffering women went silent—for a while.

Then came the post-Weinstein reckoning, which felt like a mudslide, carrying away seemingly genuine predators like Weinstein and Matt Lauer, but also Senator Al Franken, while leaving Trump virtually untouched. For a while, the movement felt revelatory and bracing. Weinstein’s story, especially, got us thinking about all the actresses whose careers stalled (to me, Sciorra is the biggest tragedy), or never got off the ground. Remarkably, once we saw the number of male journalists accused of sexual harassment or abuse—not just Lauer but MSNBC’s Mark Halperin, CBS’s Charlie Rose, The New Republic’s Leon Wieseltier, The New York Times’ Glenn Thrush—we could see they had something else in common: All had participated, some for two decades, in creating and peddling the narrative of Hillary Clinton as a singularly flawed, devious, possibly corrupt woman. Most recently we learned that MSNBC’s Chris Matthews, a former colleague of mine, joked about needing “a Bill Cosby pill” before interviewing the first woman to become a major-party nominee in early 2016. (To be fair, the context left it slightly unclear whether the pill was for him or for Clinton, and Matthews has apologized.)

For women in journalism, the list revealed something else: how much we’ve endured getting into this business, and how many talented women have been driven away by predators. (Although surely no group of journalists, as a bloc, suffered anything comparable to the abuse of a generation of talented American gymnasts at the hand of US Olympics team doctor Larry Nasser, a comparatively under-covered story). For me, the pinnacle of the #MeToo moment came when 700,000 female farmworkers wrote a letter of support for the Hollywood women—and men—coming forward with tales of harassment, while reminding them that working-class women have plenty of #MeToo stories themselves, rarely acknowledged. Some 300 Hollywood women responded with a full-page ad in The New York Times announcing Time’s Up, a solidarity campaign with working-class women that included a $13 million legal fund for women with sexual-harassment complaints.

Of course, the long-expected backlash arrived. For months my feminist friends and I nervously wondered: Where is it? Is this it? Or this? Was the backlash evident in the scapegoating of New York Senator Kristen Gillibrand for her role in pressuring Franken to resign, after seven women came forward with varying tales of, at minimum, sexually inappropriate behavior? Thirty senators asked Franken to resign, including minority leader Chuck Schumer; why single out Gillibrand? (The story that Gillibrand was the group’s “leader” has been widely misreported.) The mini-backlash around Franken’s resignation, which I first opposed and then reluctantly thought necessary, has been among the toughest moments for me, I confess.

There were easily dismissed backlash pieces like Daphne Merkin’s mostly sad New York Times column, asking if #MeToo represented a Victorian witch hunt that was “stripping sex of eros”? (No, it isn’t). In Slate, writer Allison Benedikt wondered whether #MeToo would have prevented her (presumably happy) marriage to a man she started dating when he was her boss who looked down her pants. (Again, no; women remain free to marry whomever they want, even if that story was a little creepy to me.)

But as #MeToo became more fiery and personal and political, the backlash found its opening, when what began as a revolt against the election of a predatory pig as president devolved into a debate about comedian Aziz Ansari’s bad dating behavior. (It may have been more than that, but the terrible Babe.net story that broke the news didn’t make the case.) New York magazine’s Rebecca Traister (disclosure: a close friend) wrote over two years ago about why bad sex for women actually is a political issue—it represents the ongoing denial of women’s rights to be active agents in their own sexual pleasure and power. In many ways, the whole debate has reminded me of the groundbreaking power of the 1970s feminist classic Our Bodies, Ourselves (I know that dates me), which I remember describing a world of sexual pleasure nobody had ever told me about—and which made clear that women are entitled to it.

The Ansari story helped open the door to Andrew Sullivan’s unhelpful observations, among others. But it also launched a debate among feminists and #MeToo supporters that quickly became generational. Even gentle skeptics of the case against Ansari have been derided (inaccurately) as “Second Wave feminists.” But the women’s movement has always had ideological divides that were generational—Betty Friedan vs. Gloria Steinem is the most obvious example, though they are both, technically, Second Wave. The movement has nonetheless survived—and will continue to.

Let’s just make sure not to waste our growing but still finite and maybe insufficient political capital—or this epochal political moment—on fiercely fighting about details like this. In that spirit I wave my white flag (racial pun inadvertent but maybe useful): I have concerns about the Ansari story, but I’m not certain enough of them to fight about it. If someone wants to call me a “Second Wave feminist”—which I’m roughly 25 years too young for—I’m not going to fight about that either. If we talk in waves, I’m probably Third Wave, or maybe Second and a Half, and the millennial women who are most likely to denounce Ansari (some of them well and wisely) might be called Fourth Wave. Let’s just call them New Wave. I am happy to pass the baton to them. As I told a New Wave friend of mine recently: You all are fiercer than we were. Maybe stronger. And maybe right about this. But remember: We raised you. (At least, I raised one, and I now defer to her on just about everything.)

In this moment, intra-feminist debates about race and class and sexual behavior may feel unhelpful and distracting, but most of them are crucial. Nevertheless, I’m going to try to stay out of as many as I can. I’m just going to grab my pink hat and march on Saturday. The fact is, the only wave I care about right now is the 2018 tsunami that can and must sweep GOP Trump enablers—and that includes the vast majority of Republican elected officials—out of office. Women remain the best hope to do that, if we keep marching forward, and stay out of our own way.

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THE CROWN Season 2 Trailer (2017) Netflix

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THE CROWN Season 2 Trailer (2017) Netflix

The gripping, decades-spanning inside story of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and the Prime Ministers who shaped Britain’s post-war destiny.

The Crown tells the inside story of two of the most famous addresses in the world – Buckingham Palace and 10 Downing Street – and the intrigues, love lives and machinations behind the great events that shaped the second half of the 20th century. Two houses, two courts, one Crown.

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