The true hallmark of the non-involved parent is the slight mumble and shrug that serves as permission for a child in the throws of puberty to attend a midnight screening of a movie which has as its main characters: a demented cross-dressing bisexual scientist, a clearly closeted newlywed, a clearly LUG newlywed who is ready for a college reunion, and several artificially created humanoids. Seriously, what could Mama and Pappy have been thinking other than that they would have a nice, quiet house for the evening? I, on the other hand, will always have slightly prurient connotations for certain shades of red and particular Latin American countries.
Despite the glory that was staying out until 3am throwing toast at a movie screen, I have no strong urge to return to the halcyon days of my adolescence. Feeling slightly seedy due to my surroundings and really nervous about the prospect of french kissing a girl are experiences I don’t think I can ever truly recapture, so why try? There is a whole new crop of socially awkward, incredibly desperate young men out there who can surely generate the requisite angst to render “Don’t Dream It – Be It” with verve. My only concern is where will they go now?
Today’s multiplexes are no place for a man in fishnets to bring his bag of rice. If the linebackers cruising the parking lot don’t beat him up, the lighting in the lobby surely will. I can’t imagine that there is an art house in the country that would allow in water guns, what with their Berber carpets and velour seat backs. The run down, two screen, mom and pops just aren’t there to serve the glandular crowd anymore. The Coca-Cola covered floor where I once took a jump to the left is soon to be covered in Brazilian hardwood as a part of a LEED certified makeover into a “multi-use event space.” Try getting the Jello out of that curtain.
I’m not saying that my hometown doesn’t deserve a nice movie theatre that doubles as a banquet hall. I’m not saying that kids can’t mature without seeing Tim Curry seduce Susan Sarandon every week for a year and a half. All I want is a place for the children to go where they can smoke mentholated cigarettes and pretend what they are watching has deeper significance than it actually does. For if a child is not allowed to be preposterous as a child, he will grow up to be a preposterous man.