Rereading My Childhood – A Year With the BSC #28: Welcome Back, Jessi!

A Year With the BSC is an informal series wherein I explore the 1990’s CD-ROM video game The Baby-sitters Club Friendship Kit. The game is more of a personal organizer; it features with a calendar, an address book, a stationary kit, a flyer maker, and a personality profile. I’m focusing on the more interesting aspect of the game: the personalized letters and the journal entries. The full list of entries can be found at

Looks like Jessi has returned from her suspicious absence. And she’s not talking about what happened. Instead, she changed the subject.


Not to be confused with the Red Shoe Diaries, the soft-core porn starring David Duchovny.

Man, people trying to create good art has ruined the models watching melodramatic basketball industry.


First of all, Logan’s brother is named “Hunter Bruno?”

Second, Abby just allowed her charge to outright lie after his gluttony. It’s implied that they weren’t supposed to eat the cake because then they wouldn’t have had to lie to Logan. What the hell, Abby?

Third, the only people who wonder what they would do if they were invisible are creepy dudes who want to peep on women in the shower, insecure people who think others talk about them all day, and Russian agents trying to destroy America. Our president fills all three of these!


That’s cool. Make the black girl perform for everyone else under the guise of celebrating Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and then don’t let her talk about the experience herself. Also, she gets one line about the performance. And Logan gets his own line about “flashing slides” and Claudia gets her own line about the lighting.

I love how the rest of them just clapped and clapped. Like maniacs. During everything. Even when no one else was clapping. Even when the ushers asked them to stop. Even while security dragged them out of the theater. Even as they stood by their cars, no one willing to stop clapping to open the door. Even while the psychiatrist evaluated them. Even while the hospital orderlies showed them their rooms. Even while . . .


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