Monthly Archives: August 2006

Wither Freedom Fries?

Score one for common sense: the House of Representatives cafeteria has quietly changed its menu nomenclature so that you can once again order french fries and french toast. Remember, if you will, the attack of silliness that broke out on the eve of the Iraq War when the hyper-patriots, miffed that the French weren’t tripping all over themselves to march into the meat grinder at our side, retagged the House’s potato wedges and grilled egg-bread with the prefix “freedom.” It was a ridiculous gesture that accomplished little beyond making Americans look offensively petty and stupid — something we really didn’t need considering the beating that our country’s image was taking in the international press anyhow — and it rightfully turned into a late-night punchline. And now it’s rightfully been rectified and consigned to the Memory Hole.

If only the war could be so easily undone as well.

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I Want My MTV!

If going to see John Tucker Must Die with a thirteen-year-old wasn’t enough to make me feel old and out-of-touch, the news that MTV is 25 years old today is.

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Things I Learned from John Tucker

I haven’t been hip to the teen-movie genre since about the time Molly Ringwald started sending out college applications. By “teen movie,” I don’t mean the occasional sex farce like American Pie or nostalgic coming-of-age films that are obviously intended for adult viewers, such as Dazed and Confused or Almost Famous. No, when I say “teen movie,” I’m talking about movies that are targeted squarely at the teenage demographic, which feature young actors that kids like but adults don’t recognize, and which focus, by and large, on topics that only teenagers care about. In other words, movies like those the aforementioned Ms. Ringwald was making during her heyday — and my own teenaged years — back in the 1980s.
The Brat Pack and their patron writer/director John Hughes long ago receded into the pop-cultural rear-view, but I have noticed that films similar to theirs still come out every so often, usually on about a four-year cycle to coincide (or so I believe) with each new crop of high-school freshmen. But I haven’t seen any of those more recent teen flicks myself. I’ve missed entire careers because I’m now too damn old to identify with the idealized romantic shenanigans of people young enough to be my own kids.

How, then, did I come to see the film John Tucker Must Die on Sunday afternoon instead of something more appropriate to my age and interests (like, say, Miami Vice)? Blame The Girlfriend, who hosted her thirteen-year-old niece over the weekend and enlisted my help in showing The Kid a good time.

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