the impact of john hughes

the passing of john hughes yesterday naturally had gen xers everywhere reminiscing the pain of adolescence, as was the theme of some of his most adored movies. and it reminded me of one incident in particular that as i see now was an early lesson that would later inform the WHALES philosophy. it involved the movie 'some kind of wonderful,' about a lesbian who falls in love with a boy with craniodiaphyseal dysplasia who pursues a tramp who hits on her visiting son from the future: it's exemplary of hughes' unconventional take on young love. hughes is also known for his gift for rhapsodic language, e.g., when the lesbo says 'all i care about is me, my drums and you!' (eat your heart out, jane austen.) it is this quote that brings to mind my childhood best friend, whom i was inseparable from and constantly emulated, because she said this to me, only she said 'me, my cat and my sister!' which was devastating. hence the great lesson, readers: don't expect life to imitate a classic romance.

poopie hands

my first love said that communication was the most important thing in a relationship. i thought about this 'most important thing' and that surely love, respect, honesty and the ilk (this was pre-WHALES days) were more essential. but, during the long time since, i've learned that this precocious boy was spot-on, for without communication there can be no building of all that other stuff. and even the most ardent animal attraction can be snuffed out in an instant if further connection is not made and maintained. communication is no easy thing--it requires work, sometimes a great amount of it, and if you don't put forth the effort you may rue it. i have many stories of this sort of regret, and it's with a heavy heart that i share this one.

years ago, while abroad, i fell madly, instantly in love with a feral australian. i'd spent the night in his hut after drunken revelry (full moon?). the following morning i called to him from the toilet for tissue. he replied that he didn't use toilet paper. this was not especially shocking, and i did without. but upon further inspection i discovered his bathroom was utterly bare: no shampoo, no soap, no towel--nada. i told him i had a headache, that i required coffee, and fled. i spent the remainder of my time on the tiny island rejecting his advances, leaving him bewildered and hurt. i felt awful, being that we shared such a beautiful beginning, of passionate, animated conversation, giggle fits and make-out sessions in the sand. and i could have said--i should have said: 'i adore you, i really do--stop touching me--but i can't get past the fact that you have poopie hands.' and, simple, just like that: problem solved, romance resumed. but even when he'd tell funny stories, eliciting guffaws, or bring me cocktails, or when i'd see him dancing all crazy-like about the bonfire, i couldn't do it. i just couldn't see having that convo.