Fantastic Soap Operas: Part 1
Don't drop the soap
Soap operas. Good looking actors that can barely act, cheesy writing, and bad plots all wrapped into one for absurdist entertainment. Much like Walker, Texas Ranger, these shows are so bad, that they’re actually good. These national treasures have been around since the 1930s when they first started out on radio. Fast forward to the 1950s when they became televised and set the stage for the modern-day soap opera format. This daytime genre was designed to appeal to homemakers during the lulls of the day when the man was at work and the children were at school. Subplots such as passionate romance, discreet affairs, and over the top plots captivated a nation of desperate housewives and inspired them to have sexual trysts with their neighborhood milk man. The heightened dialogue with glam D-List actors fueled the fantasies and escapism for bored women throughout the Pleasantvilles of American suburbia. Shows such as All My Children, General Hospital, and Guiding light have been running nonstop for several decades.
Arriving back at home after a day of school, you would catch your mom watching an episode of Days of Our Lives. Despite the fact that you were nine years old and a lot of themes being portrayed were for adult women, you still couldn’t look away. With all the good-looking people interacting in ridiculous plotlines, such as when Marla was possessed by the devil, you became emotionally involved. Becoming hypnotized to the low rent televised series, you would eventually learn all the characters names and their place in the series. If Saved by the Bell and Rikki Lake weren’t readily available, you focused your attention towards Days of Our Lives. Watching Victor and company in the fictitious town of Salem you eventually become so enamored that you actually believe this is how the adult world functions. Whenever one of the members of the DiMera Family had an illegitimate child with a Mexican bullfighter or whatever, you took it with a grain of salt. Every time that one of the main characters comes back from the dead in time traveler fashion, the commitment to the plot becomes believable and the drama continues.
I firmly believe the soap opera landscape is long overdue for either a reboot or an entirely new series all together. Since the mid-60s a lot of these series have trickled down during the course of the generations with the same manufactured plotlines. It’s high time there was new blood in the soap opera circuit. For far too long it’s been the same villainous families that intermarry and create chaos that makes for good TV watching. Mexican soap operas such as a telenovela are good in their own regard, but again it’s been the same shit, different season mentality since the 1990s. I Brian Ss, believe that I have what it takes to usher soap operas into a new golden age. Set in the beautiful mountain village of Beaver Creek, Colorado my idea would be called Beaver Creek Discreet. Where love triangles and ski instructor/gigolos hit the slopes by day and engage in sinful vice by night.
There’s a place in Colorado, situated at 8200 feet, a meet and greet amongst the decadent elites, they call it Beaver Creek.
Where spouses cheat and cougars in heat treat their boy toys as sweet treats, they call it Beaver Creek Discreet.
Where CEOs compete like athletes, seeking to beat and defeat their fellow white collars, only in Beaver Creek discreet
Where the slopes are groomed neat, with coked up speed freaks racing down the peaks, always taking place in Beaver Creek Discreet
So, take a seat, get on X and send out a tweet it’s going to be saweet, it’s time for Beaver Creek Discreet.
Beaver Creek Discreet, Beaver Creek Discreet, Beaver Creek Discreet, Beaver Creek Discreet.
And now episode one for the pilot season:
Waltzing into her luxurious ski condo in the Terrace Building, after a spa day with girlfriends, Aurora confronts her much older husband Xavier. “Where have you been all day,” Xavier asks his much younger wife with suspicion. “Out fucking my personal trainer darling, what do you think,” Aurora fires back sarcastically as she lays down her Gorsuch shopping bags on the counter. “I’m tired of the games Aurora,” Xavier says treating his wife with suspicion. “You have a very easy life as a young trophy wife and all you do is defy me! Can you please do me the favor and stop dressing like a whore when you go down to Avon. Keep it up and I’ll cut off your credit cards again.” “Well, what do you expect daddy, I can’t go on a sugar free diet. I won’t. This sugar baby needs her green insulin if you want me to keep being your sidepiece.” “Don’t forget about our prenup Aurora. Keep it up and your high-class trashy ass will be sent packing back to Saudi Aurora where you belong. Don’t forget where you came from. You may have wooed me with your lap dances 4 years ago, but now you’re turning into a bullshit hassle.” “Whatevs darling. I’m well established enough at the Chateau and the Valley, I can find myself another rich man to take care of me. And probably one that doesn’t turn into a limp wimp after several minutes in the sack either.” “You ungrateful bitch,” Xavier says as he lunges at her slapping her across the face. “You bastard,” Aurora cries out slapping Xavier across the cheek returning the favor. Looking her dead in the eye, grabbing her by the shoulders and realizing he still has feelings for her, Xavier passionately kisses his disobedient wife as they embrace once again as lovers. “Oh Xavi, do me right here in the kitchen and then let’s go hit the slopes before the chairs close.” “I will my love, I will.”
Beaver Creek Discreet takes place in the uber-exclusive residence club known as Chateau Beaver Creek. Situated slopeside a couple hundred feet from the Strawberry lift, this fanciest of fancy properties contains 62 units along with 8 chalets. Home of the Michelin starred restaurant Splendido, the Chateau has the fascade of a French Castile on the hill. With permanent residents, secondary homeowners, with the occasional renter, the CBC hosts the economic elites within its luxury living accommodations. The immaculate grounds and world class staff members make every owner at the Chateau Beaver Creek feel special as they go about living their high life in the Colorado high country. Despite its amenities that are of high virtue, the Chateau and the surrounding area is nothing more than a vice camp for the rich and fabulous.
“How’s it going today sweet cheeks,” Andre says greeting the concierge. “Everything good?” “So far, so good,” the young concierge replies. “Are you behaving yourself today?” “You know Andre be taking care of business in the boardroom and the bedroom. We be having a party next Tuesday with crystal and Rolex giveaways if you feel like coming baby. Ain’t no party like an Andre party.” “You know I’ll be there.” Andre Ming is a Blasian midget who made his good fortune in crypto and cashed out before the crash. Occupying the 4th floor penthouse, his onsite entourage consists of strippers, crypto bros, and people leeching off of him. Known as the life of the party, he’s always on property either in the lobby or hosting a hot tub party. With his lineup of sports cars and women twice his size, this half Black, half Asian midget makes Tiger Woods look like a butterfly boy.
Out in the main pool area, in the shadow of the main mountain, Leona Lipshitz soaks it up with her boy toys in the jettisoned water of the hot tub. A year-round resident that’s a middle-aged widow, Mrs. Lipshitz enjoys the finer things in live; good cavier, fine wine, and an unlimited selection of young men of all shades. This alpha cougar hits the slopes by day, engaging in nymphomania by night. “Like I was telling Barry the other day, Truman may have dropped the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but they didn’t have the destructive energy to kill this JAP,” Mrs. Lipshitz says speaking to her lawyer on her mobile device. Hirohito may have surrendered to the allies, but this JAP only surrenders to a much younger man with the skin color of mocha yumminess.” This Jewish American Princess was living her best life but didn’t care much about materialism or status. She strictly focuses her energy on acquiring and devouring man candy. The valley floor communities from Vail to Edwards housed a whole host of gigolos and Mrs. Lipshitz was always a repeat customer. Where the ski towns of Vail and Aspen celebrate flashiness, residents of Beaver Creek preferred to keep their drug and carnal appetites discreet. Up in this uber-exclusive neighborhood, you could do whatever you pleased, as long you kept it private and behind closed doors.
Between scenes and subplots of a classic soap opera, there’s always some sort of go-between footage of characters doing a group pose, aerial coverage of rolling hills, or ponies galloping on the beach. Beaver Creek Discreet aims to have drone footage of the beautiful ski runs, the beautiful homes, along with the beautiful people. Showing gentle images from upslope to mid-mountain, to looking directly across on the other side of the Eagle River Valley, the all-encompassing footage looks peaceful. The local outdoors are nothing but beautifully manicured ski runs amongst the aspen groves but indoors is where the non-stop sexual passion takes place below. This isn’t Deer Valley, this isn’t Snowmass, this is Beaver Creek.
“Were you able to obtain the 2 keys of Bolivian Marching Powder I asked for Ringo,” an owner’s son named Robbie asks nervously on the phone. Pacing around his family’s penthouse in the Lodge Building, Robert is trying to line everything up for tomorrow’s activities. “Good, good,” I’ll Venmo you the money tomorrow. There’s a snowstorm in the forecast tomorrow, let’s ski the powder in the morning and get yakked out in the gondola. Our family plane is parked down valley at the FBO, let’s fly back to Dallas tomorrow afternoon, with those SMU sorority chicks we met at Loaded Joes, and take flight getting high as a motherfucker. Yep, yep, my mom always told me I was OCD, but nowadays I only get down with the BCD,” Robbie says winking at the camera.
Stay tuned for next week, on another episode of Beaver Creek Discreet: “What do you mean my Ferrari can’t handle the snow packed roads. I own a mansion up on Strawberry! I once shook Gerald Ford’s hand you twit!”
Brian Ss