Don't You Forget About Me

What the hell? It feels like every week we're saying goodbye to another icon. With Michael and Farrah's passing many of us saw our childhood go; now with the death of John Hughes is making our tweens, teens and 20's feel way too far away. Is the universe trying to tell us something? That the past is past and we should move on? Or is it just greedy - and is this what they mean by "all the good ones get taken"?
      No one who came of age in the 80's didn't find soul comfort in the angst and absurdity suffered by just about everyone in John Hughes' films. He captured it - our fashion, romanticism, self-protective-but-unwilling cynicism, kind of like a combination of Camus and Capra: yes, life is absurd, yes, it will show you Jake Ryan and give you Farmer Ted, but if you've got friends, car keys and Oingo Boingo, everything will probably be okay.
       So for giving the world James Spader,  for Annie Potts stapling records to the ceiling, for some of the greatest movie dads ever (Clark Griswold, Mr. Mom, Harry Dean Stanton and Paul Dooley), for the Donger, for Dana Hill dreaming of becoming Mr. Creosote in European Vacation and for letting us know that sometimes we all want Jake Ryan but end up giving our panties to a geek - and for being a perfect mirror - thanks to John Hughes. This was the 80's:

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