7.20.2007

just clicking channels and came to Dirty Dancing on Showtime. i was just in time to catch Baby and Lisa pensively getting ready for the climactic dinner-dance or whatever and then head off to Squintillion Dollar Bittersweet Movie Glory. oh my. o Pop, played by the soulful hound-faced Jerry Orbach, learns inadvertently that it wasn't P. Swayze's baby his dance partner Penny was carrying, and that Baby can dance, and that no one should put her in a corner unless they want lightweight greasy punks to shake their moneymakers all up in yo club. i would love to see a loop video of 'Johnny Castle's facial expressions during the final dance number. and number and number. this is followed by the audience-participation segment of the proceedings. about here is where i burst into tears. women and fags. you can just count on us to greet and moan come a dance, a montage, or musical number in a given film. especially makeovers. w00t.
so presumably everyone at Kellerman's will be healed of the fifties and run off into the forest to flit like the roving fairies in A Midsummer Night's Dream, only in September. and about to be Hippies and Vietnam War Protesters or abortionists or boss or dead or just horrifically tiresome. or whatever.
it suddenly seemed so sweet and wholesome. maybe for every generation there's that one big event that, like all the other devastating, grand or mundane events in our private lives, reminds us that life really is so fragile, retards (at least at this scale.) i would have thought that the AIDS epidemic was a good one, so to speak, except that I was too young to be much worried about it at the time. then there was September 11th, and, i suppose, the wars, which in retrospect just seems like this was biding its time, as if it was always meant to happen. much as i love the outre apocalypse scenarios, a terrorist attack really did seem the most likely to actually occur, particularly after the initial World Trade Center bombing.
anyway, seeing that lovefest at the end of DD triggered a mourning nostalgia for nostalgia.
shallow tasteless fluff. aahhhmmmm. like a warm bath of tears.

2 comentarios:

Doctor Me dijo...

Wow, you blogged! This made my day.

Plato dijo...

Love is a grave mental disease.