Tag: Victoria Nordlund

Jennie Garth claims she’s an Elder Millennial & I am totally taken aback by Victoria Nordlund

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Jennie Garth claims she’s an Elder Millennial & I am totally taken aback

because 90210 is so iconically Gen X
because my kids are Millennials & do not know that Jennie Garth exists

because I videotaped 90210 in 1991 & 2 & 3
because I wanted to be Kelly Taylor and always Choose Me

because I totally had Jennie Garth & Jennifer Aniston haircuts
because Jennifer is the most Gen X name ever

because aren’t Nirvana & Heathers & Buffy so much cooler
than The Backstreet Boys & Gossip Girl & Superbad?

because Garth was 36 & played a guidance counselor in the 2008 reboot
Because I aged out of the remake & my kids were way too young

because Geriatric Millennials were born in 1981 & MTV was launched
in 1981 & I bet Jennie remembers watching Video Killed the Radio Star too

because there’s only Boomers and the Silents left ahead of Jennie & me
because we are already the forgotten ones

because Luke Perry & Shannen Doherty are no longer here to call her out

because I had to Google that the Greatest Generation came before Silent
because Jennie & I can remember a time before anyone had the power to Google anything

because when I searched Jennie Garth today, I discovered she was born in 1972,
got a hip replacement in 2020, started HRT for menopause the same year as me

because the reel after Jennie’s of a 38-year-old influencer facing her mid-life
crisis head-on with a deep plane facelift in Turkey made my eyes roll

because, whatever

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Victoria Nordlund’s poetry collections Wine-Dark Sea and Binge Watching Winter on Mute are published by Main Street Rag. She is a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize Nominee, whose work has appeared in PANK Magazine, Rust+Moth, Chestnut Review, trampset, and elsewhere. Visit her at VictoriaNordlund.com

Two Poems by Victoria Nordlund

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Wh_ _l of Fortun_
Back in ‘81, you viewed Wheel
devoutly with Grandma
in her in-law suite
attached to your living
room, on a couch that smelled
like cabbage.
The remote clicked
when she changed
the channel.
Back when Vanna
was 24 & still turned
the letter tiles. Back when Pat
was 35 & you thought everyone
was ancient.
You lost interest
somewhere in your 20’s,
but Mom and Dad continued
tuning in at top volume,
solving puzzles
for two decades more in their condo.
& Pat & Vanna were forever
smiling widely at 7:00 pm
& you swore they’d never get old.
& Mom never turned
the Game Show Network off after
she moved to her assisted
facility & started sleeping
in her gray La-Z-Boy recliner.
Pat Sajak taped his last
episode on Friday.
You’re also retiring soon,
comforted Vanna’s staying
for a bit longer. You still call
your remote a clicker.
*
Questions while weeding through wedding albums at Brimfield Antique Flea Market
Why would you want to put strangers on your coffee table?
Did my parents have a wedding album?
When was the last time I watched my wedding tape?
Owned a working VCR?
How have I been married for thirty-four years?
What are the last names of my bridesmaids?
My great-grandparents first names?
Will anyone sell the stacks of black and whites in my basement after I go?
How come these albums all smell the same?
Why did Grandma Kitty marry my Grandpa Walter twice?
Why don’t we talk about Grandpa’s other family?
What is my Dad’s sister’s name?
Does she know my Dad passed?
Did she?
Does anyone notice I am crying?
How many other husbands did Grandma Sandra have? 3? 4?
What happened to them?
Did Mom attend those weddings?
Why have I never seen those photos?
Maybe they are somewhere here in this pile—
*
Victoria Nordlund’s poetry collections Wine-Dark Sea and Binge Watching Winter on Mute are published by Main Street Rag. She is a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize Nominee, whose work has appeared in PANK Magazine, Rust+Moth, Chestnut Review, trampset, and elsewhere. Visit her at VictoriaNordlund.com

The Virgin Tour 1985 by Victoria Nordlund

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The Virgin Tour 1985

After listening to 96.5 FM for twelve hours straight,
I won second row seats to Madonna at the New Haven Coliseum.
I still remember the station’s number, (247-9696)
and the yellow princess phone with the cord that stretched
to a white four poster bed with a pink ruffled duvet
covered with Care Bears and Cabbage Patch Kids.
Still remember the ecstasy of hearing the DJ say my name.

I was a junior in high school. No guy had ever
thought to hold my hand, or call me beautiful,
or call me. No boy bothered with the quiet girl
with the half-shaved bob, blue tail, black jelly bracelets,
oversized Benetton sweaters, and combat boots.
I remember wishing someone would pass a folded love
note through the slits of my locker door.

I asked a guy named Jason to go with me.
I remember wishing I didn’t have to call,
to plan my own first date.
And I wondered if he was just saying yes to Madonna.
I don’t remember his face or his last name,
or why my mother trusted him to drive, or what kind of car he drove,
or if we held hands, or any conversation we had that night– or ever–

It was June 3, 1985 and I have this pristine memory:
She was three feet in front of me with her bleached-blonde bed hair,
gold star earrings, lace gloves, white bustier, layers of crucifixes and tulle
all cinched with a boy toy belt—
Writhing on the stage, asking us to marry her,
not caring if we said yes.

*

Victoria Nordlund’s poetry collection Wine-Dark Sea was published by Main Street Rag in 2020. She is a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize Nominee, whose work has appeared in PANK Magazine, Rust+Moth, Chestnut Review, Pidgeonholes, and elsewhere. Visit her at VictoriaNordlund.com