14. How soon is now? Chapter 2 continued from Mind Bomb

I was bothered by the persistent anticipation I experienced at Kara's house. However, in some unusual way it was soothingly familiar, commemorating sentiments of romantic appetence affiliated with my youth. That sensation was habitually accompanied by dread. Had the term been conceived in my teens I would have been Emo.

I suppose anxiety was induced by countless romantic miscalculations and blunders that lingered and persisted from youth to adulthood. Not that I was bad at relationships. They just never seemed to work out.

In my early teens I found consolation in neo-romantic era bands such as Depeche Mode, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Cure, The Smiths and Jesus and Mary Chain. Max shared my post-punk romanticism and reserved a fondness for the song, Understanding Jane by The Icicle Works while The Smith's, Please, please, please let me get what I want became my quixotic anthem. Thinking back, I was such a Streisand.

To this day, I still find comfort in 80's films like Say Anything, Some Kind of Wonderful and Pretty in Pink. John Cusack's personification of Lloyd Dobler was efficacious in my maturation as a man. I also remember being pissed off at Molly Ringwald's disregard for Ducky in Pretty in Pink. That cat would have doted on Andie Walsh through eternity. Today, Andie McDonnagh is most likely sporting a shiner administered by her affluent and vapid husband Blane for erroneous dinner setting etiquette. Undoubtedly, during acrimonious disagreements he reminds her that she was poor white trash before he came along. Bastard.

Regardless, there was always something really sweet and amiable about John Hughes films. I adored their modesty, principles and innocence. Ethics and ideals weren't inhibited by vanity and ostentation. Sure, the themes were present but superficiality always lost. Wait a sec, there's that damn Pretty in Pink again but that ending pissed off a lot of people, prompting the conciliatory, Some Kind of Wonderful.

I am aware that Hughe's characters were invariably stereotypical but that was the allure, the princess, the criminal, the jock, the brain and the basket case. I once dressed as John Bender for Halloween. It wasn't much of a stretch really. I had the same manner of resemblance in wardrobe and appearance. Bad-ass.