American Beauty

I just finished watching "American Beauty" with Ana. What a film. I feel like I'm going to cry now. Every night is as close as I'll ever get to praying. I may not believe in God, but I believe in some sort of guardian angel. Every night I pray for my angel to purify me. I have lead and other toxic heavy metals in my soul. I almost started crying. When Annette Bening hugs his suits. Her grief. Human grief. The first time I watched that movie I could not sleep. I tossed and turned the entire night. It bit. It stung. That movie was OUR lives - when there was still an OUR. What's most interesting though is how OLD that movie is and how much it has aged. I mean that in a good way. It's not only a culmination of, but it is a RECORD of the Clinton years. But what's really shocking to notice is that just ten years ago people were so much more ALIVE. Yes, even just back then people were still ALIVE. At least back then people knew there was something wrong. At the very least the words "ennui" or "malaise" were still in the dictionary. People were still human back then. Not now. Not anymore. The teenage drug dealer in that movie used a BEEPER. Not a CELLPHONE.

But what a haunting movie. I think of our proto-McMansion and our central air conditioning. I think of the sterility of the McMansions. I think of how we FELT RIGHT. A hot girl would have to live in a big McMansion with a glimmering pool in the backyard. The month of May in New Jersey - nothing like it. Too bad this May had to be so cold and rainy.

At the end of the movie I want to hug and love everyone I know and love because I think of how we all have to die all day and then I'm just emotionally overwhelmed. I'm not an emotional writer. At least most of the time. Not to sound cliche, but sometimes it does hurt too much to feel. But I want to feel. I don't want the people I love to die. We were all young once and now even I'm getting old - and somehow I never thought I would get old.

I'll hide behind the tongue in cheek again. What will I think about after some closeted homosexual blows my brains out?

I'll think of family happy hours with high balls, cheap Pennsylvania beer, and White House subs, the smell of the hot peppers and the white wrapping paper.

I'll think of a perfect morning on Brigantine Beach and how long it took to walk out to the jetty.

I'll think of watching "Ghostbusters" at my cousin's house and playing Barbies. 

I'll think of the first time Eric Hartz taught me the "F" word.

I'll think of how much I thought of death when I was 12  years old.

I'll think of all the wonderful moments I had with myself when I was 12 years old.

I'll think of the first time I had an orgasm. It was on my parents bed. I was grinding my hips on the bed while watching Spice.

I'll think of the Monster Truck Spectacular and what it was like hiding out in that air-conditioned trailer - and dreaming of a perfect girl - as rednecks swarmed the tee-shirt stand.

I'll think of when I used to be an usher at the Roundabout and how exciting and new our very first show ever - "The Man Who Came to Dinner" was.

I'll think of all the laughs I've had. I'll think of the friends who matter. I'll think of every moment when I felt just all right.

I'll even think of the times post-Prozac when I could not really feel as much, but I still felt. I could still appreciate the sterility of the central air-conditioning.

I'll think of that time - just about ten years ago, when I was just about to start my real life - when I sat up all night tossing and turning because I had just watched "American Beauty" in the movie theater.