First Thing's First: Hi, there you are, and here I am, subjecting myself to worthless situation comedies for a few glittering, fleeting moments of those boys. Remember that one on Nickelodeon? Where the girl rubbed her face on the phone? Aw yeah. We do remember, don't we. Sit back and relax while, shock and horror, Hanson Does (More!) Stupid Stuff on TV.

On Sabrina:

• So wait. Why is it that if a witch puts a spell on another witch, the witch which has had the spell put upon her can't cast another spell to get herself out of the original spell? Like, say you were a witch, right? And you were turned into a pig by another witch. If you're such a snappy powerful witch, wouldn't you be able to wiggle your nose (snout) to get yourself out of your swine form? You'd think that would be possible, right? Apparently it's not.
• Why is Ted from Hey Dude here?
• Why is Punky Brewster here?
• Why is Hanson here?
• Why is Jeannie here? Did they originally want Elizabeth Montgomery, and then when they did some research and found out she was dead, they settled for Barbara? (Elizabeth, by the bicycle, was a class act who probably would have said no, bless her.)
• Best line delivery in the show, no irony intended: "You're dead to me, Sabrina."
• Speaking of irony: You know, when that boy thinks he's going to be cool because he's having dinner with Isaac Hanson…
• Who writes this show? Has Britney Spears been exploiting the Melissa Joan friendship by sitting in to ghost write episodes? Has Cookie Monster?
• How distinctly Bostonian! Just like The Practice! It's the accents that seal it.
• This show is almost as good as Buddy Farrow. Don't lie. You know it is.
• And while we're on the subject, why do I not have any episodes of Hey Dude on tape?

On Taylor Hanson:

• How pretty!
• Wow!
• Yay!
• Gosh, you are so pretty!
• It would have been better if he was naked, though. Or at least if leaning against a brick wall with a good three inches of his skivies showing.

On Zac Hanson:

• I know he was there somewhere…
• Can we take a moment to ponder how grateful we all are that Zac decided to contribute to these highly valuable proceedings only by "playing" his drums and staring shyly at the floor? Go ahead. We'll wait. Ah. Feels good.
• We love you, Zac. Rock on.

On Punky Brewster's Ex-boyfriend:

• My Dearest Isaac, If I met you in a dark alley looking that way, I would push you against the dirty façade of one of the buildings, beat you on the head with my pocketbook, and run screaming all the way home. Then, from the comfort and safety of my living room, I would call the police and insist that they arrest you, bring you up on one charge of Looking Excruciatingly Dumb in Public and throw you in jail for at least twelve minutes, whereupon you would be released to the custody of your brothers, who will make fun of you relentlessly until you SHAVE, CHILD. SHAVE.
• Gotta hand it to the boy. He's a distinctly less terrible "actor" than Taylor.
• No, I'm not saying he's good…
• OK, so the was pretty good. A tad shy and self-conscious, maybe. But sweet in a typically low-key Isaacish way.
• Do you think gawky little Ike Hanson circa 1990, age 10, had secret fantasies of being Punky Brewster's boyfriend? I bet this was a big moment for him. (I think Taylor probably just had secret fantasies of being Punky Brewster.)

On the Song:

• And finally, after five years, good gently and quietly triumphs over evil. Someone, something, (probably Zac) took Steven Lironi and tied him up in a corner. The fuzz, the scuzz, the wall o' sound, the ten-foot-think layers of guitars and tambourines and keyboards and shouting and scratching and stuff is gone. Gone gone gone, like Nsync says. (To celebrate, I banged on my living room walls in a tortured way.)
• Dude! It's like… a Francesca Lia Block novel set to a Hansony tune. Bloody brilliant! Score one for the teenies! And dramatic lyrics about Sunset Strip and betrayal and the glittery, yet ultimately superficial nature of the west coast to boot.
• It's bright. It dances. Taylor sounds better than ever.
• Wow, those Hanson boys sure do know a lot of dumb, clueless girls, huh? Me too, boys. Me too.

Wait. Tell me Why We're Doing This Again: Damned if I know?