Lovesick Blog-a-Thon: Damn You John Hughes

Growing up, I loved John Hughes movies. Still do. But they screwed me up, man.

The beautiful Prom Queen doesn't wake up in the arms of the geek she's never paid attention to and immediately fall in love. There are no settings pretty enough, no parents willing enough, no tables strong enough, no clothing flame-retardant enough for me to celebrate my 16th birthday or my 36th which is actually today. But Sixteen Candles made me believe it could happen.

I cannot make a Kelly LeBrock hottie from my computer that shows me some love, makes me overcome all my short-comings, makes me popular and then hands me off to another hottie more my age. But Weird Science made me hope it could happen.

But the truth is, it doesn't. Life rarely provides you with a nice little bow in which to wrap things up. Things are much more complicated than that. But that's why we go to the movies. To see the perfect ending. To forget our troubles for at least an hour and a half. And while I'm jaded and skeptical about movies, I do so much love the perfect ending.The long shot of Sam kissing Jake over the cake. Of Ferris kissing Sloane in front of a piece of art in The Chicago Art Institute. It is far-fetched sure, but it is what I want to believe could happen. So simple, so peaceful, so perfect.

But that's movies. And this is life. And in life I have no Hollywood perfect moments. But I do have perfect moments. I have the seconds in-between my children hitting one another or yelling for us to get a glass of juice where I can kiss the small of my wife's neck and smell the baby-powder she wears and then remember that exact smell the first time I kissed her in her apartment and how wonderful that was and still is and how lucky I am to have found my partner in life. One that I love and makes me feel so loved. Granted, we were not silhouetted against a perfectly lit piece of artwork, but it was perfect.

I also have two children that when they don't make me crazy because they're not listening, or pinching too much, or not pooping when they should, amaze me with something they say or something they do and for that moment everything is perfect and I love my children so much it scares me because if I lost them I could not live. Granted, there was no perfect soundtrack playing underneath us, but the moment was still perfect.

It's taken some years and a few ramblings such as this, but I have gotten over my John Hughes complex and accepted life as it really is. Time made up of perfect moments poorly lit and slightly botched by mediocre dialogue by a less than photogenic man who must be the nephew of the director because why the hell else would he be cast in this. But perfect moments, nonetheless.

You can find the Lovesick Blog-a-Thon at 100 films.