The Hills is about young people. It's about early twentysomethings melting around Los Angeles, sipping clear cocktails and smushing into each other over and over again, like listless boats in a marina. So it's always seriously jarring when someone over the age of 30 pops up, like Heidi's sad, forever lost mother. Or, briefly, bromancer Brody's gin-soaked old lady. And, most unsettlingly, Spencer and Spencerina's grandmoms, who teetered past the screen like an old person at a movie theater last night. It was sad and weird and I'll get to it in a moment. First, though, let's dispatch with the other gloopy matter.
Lauren vs. Audrina! In this corner we have a hollow blonde cipher with nothing to do. In the other corner we have an escaped Gummi Bear who rides moonbeams to work every morning. And does anyone really care? Does anyone care if Justin Bobby slithered his greasy way into Lauren's unmentionables? Does anyone care if he didn't? Does anyone care if Audrina cares? Does anyone care if Audrina says she doesn't care anymore and Lauren says "whatever, I don't care" and then they make out for forty five minutes? No! No one has ever cared about this or ever will. So it's a good thing we got a heaping half an episode about it, in which Lauren said the word "trust" 486 times and Audrina gave birth to a shadow baby and hid it in her closet and then drank some Gummi Bear juice and bounced around for a while.
In the end they met at a hotel bar for some reason and made their guttural moans and hootings at each other and then threw some chicken bones on the floor and bled a goat and smeared it around and Audrina did a Botono dance and they decided that they should be sorta friends again. You know, for the kids. The kids who watch them on TV. Who give them money, indirectly. Music swelled, Audrina looked confused, Lauren disappeared into the inky night, and high above them the Man in the Moon danced his chuckling dance and, again, no one cared.
Now to the real story. Spencer. Heidi. Spencerina. They drove over a river and tramped through some woods because to grandmother's house they were going. She was an 84-year-old lady who Spencer and Spencerina tossed around as a pawn in their silly, despicable "who's better???" game of idiocy. It's stupid because neither of them are better. They're both piles of shit. Anyway, apparently there was something where like Spencerina wasn't a good granddaughter and Spencer was nicer to grams and it was awkward so Spencerina decided to arrange a solo date with the old bag in the hopes that she'd come out on top at the rose ceremony.
So they walked, against the backdrop of the glistening, endless Pacific Ocean, and they chatted and said stuff. Watch the clip above. And I got to thinking, while watching it:
This woman is 84-years-old. So she was probably born in 1924. She was 5 when the markets crashed hugely. She watched as Europe was overtaken by an army of darkness, as millions of people were killed, she watched that war end and the boys come home and booms begin. She saw the suburban 50's crystallize the American Dream into something far too fragile to ever hope to touch. She saw the Cold War terror, the first beating bits of revolution fomenting in the eyes of kids. She watched sit-ins and hosings and great, thundering speeches and witnessed Change, real change, the kind of change rarely seen since. She saw two terrifying jungle wars, a generation in full rise up and demand something different. The entire idea of Who We Are and Why We Are began to blur and change and certain old institutions disappeared forever. And people were scared and people were happy but most of all people felt different. And around her this new spirit bled and muddled into something about drugs and aimless rebellion. Around her that malaise hardened into the darkening, cynical, cocaine-bliss 70's. Which bumped up against the blockish 80's, the suits the money the drugs AIDS Reagan the fall of the economy the fall of the wall Desert Storm. Meanwhile her grandkids had come tumbling along at some point and Clinton came (and came) and a new fattiness spread across the country until that became too much for some people and buildings fell in Oklahoma and then buildings fell in New York and there we went, hurtling headlong back into the desert, our eyes fixed on black, oily windmills. And all of this, all of these years and all of this living and noise and light and hope and fear and change and stubborness and sadness and grit and boredom and brief transcendent moments of life when one fully knows, for a few fleeting seconds, that one is capital A Alive... Well, all of it jumbled together, quiet and loud at the same time, and... And it all amounted to this.
Some dumpy old woman forced to talk to her piece of shit granddaughter on a bench for the fucking Hills.
I give up.