"When You Grow Up Your Heart Dies"

We interrupt this column about television to talk about old John Hughes movies on television.




And when I met my future husband, we bonded over this: One or the other would have an actual question that needed answering and that person would say something like, "I need to ask you something," and the other would immediately respond with, "Yes, you're a total fag." That's how people fall in love with each other, with dumb shit like that. Molly Ringwald was part of our romance. And if Sixteen Candles was on TV and one of us happened to flip past it, we'd both stop what we were doing and watch whatever remained.

So that's the bulk of my John Hughes experience: watching those movies over and over on TV, learning the fake-swears looped into the dialogue as well as I knew the real ones that should have been there, remembering that even though I was growing older I was forbidden from allowing any part of me that mattered to die. I mean, not counting the parts that made me a stupid teenager. And everybody over 21 knows that those monsters don't die either. They just shrink down and go to live inside the back of your brain to haunt you for the rest of your life.

Now I want to see Ferris Bueller again because I've just made myself sad. Except I think I might just get choked up if I do. Kind of defeats the purpose.

Tags: film