Pretty in Pink - the story continues

I am a sentimental fool. There is really no other way to explain why, when preparing for a night of babysitting, I bypassed the Foreign Language and Art House sections of my local Video Focus and headed determinedly for Classics. There, inexplicably amongst Casablanca and Citizen Kane, was the 'classic' 1986 film, Pretty in Pink. I first watched this film when I was about 10 years old. I recall praying to Santa Claus (don't ask), that one day I would grow up to be exactly like Andie (Molly Ringwald) from Pretty in Pink. Twenty four years on, I think Andie would benefit from a punch in her pouty face.

Let me try to explain my strong reaction by outlining the plot of this 'classic' tale of teenage love from the wrong side of the tracks. Andie (Ringwald) is poor. She doesn't like being poor so she pouts a lot. She makes her own clothes out of tapestries and tablecloths. She has a penchant for pearl necklaces (double entendre alert)! Andie's best friend Duckie loves her. Duckie is sweet, funny and impeccably dressed.

'I'm poor.' 'I love new wave'.

Andie doesn't love Duckie because she loves Blane (Andrew McCarthy). Blane is rich which is why he wasn't stoned to death in the schoolyard for having the most ridiculous name ever. Blane thinks Andie 'has something' so takes a punt and asks her to prom.

'You'll be wearing that necklace to prom right?'

Because Blane is rich, his parents and friends are judgmental. Steff (James Spader) judges the most.

 'I'm rich and I throw parties.'

Because of his judgmental friends, Blane isn't sure he still wants to take Andie to the prom. When Andie hears of this she proceeds to lose her shit in the school corridor and explodes spectacularly into a cloud of pink bile. Despite this, she isn't going to 'let them beat her', and decides to go to prom anyway. She decides to dress as a box of strawberry fruitloops.

 'I made this myself. Can you tell?'

Even though Duckie's heart has been crushed between Andie's cold, pale fingers, he goes to prom alone, in the hope that Andie will be there. Duckie tells Andie that she looks amazing. He is clearly a man blinded by love because, in actuality, Andie is dressed as a box of sugary cereal. This is because Duckie is awesome and Andie is a bitch. This is further proven when Andie spots Blane at prom, leaves Duckie alone and ruined, and heads to the car park with Blane to play 'hunt for the toy in the cereal box.' That is the official ending. But, this is what I like to think happens next;

Duckie forms a New Wave band with the divine Iona who used to work at Trax with Andie. 

'Pearl necklaces are so, like, yesterday.'

They pen a hit song called 'Molly makes me want to puke pink'. They get the guy who made the film clip to Ah-Ha's 'Take on Me' and make a billion bucks. Duckie impregnates a Brazilian supermodel and Iona just continues being awesome.

Andie and Blane move to California where they get mixed up in a cult. Blane has many wives. Andie struggles to find meaning in her life until the cult leader recognises her amazing ability to take ugly curtains and make them into ugly clothes. He bestows her the highest honor by asking her to make the shrouds which will cover the cult members' bodies after the ritual, mass suicide. She makes them pink, then everybody drinks poisonous pink kool-aid in an effort to forget this movie ever existed. 

The end.

Write a letter forgiving an old enemy

Dear Woodridge State High School (WSHS),

Next year will mark the 20 year anniversary of our break-up. Twenty years! Considering we were only together for five years (grades 8-12, 1988-1993), it’s about time I forgave you. I think it’s important however to give you reasons as to why, for a long time, I considered you an enemy.

Firstly, I resented that substandard student attendance, a low socio economic catchment area, poor academic record and brutality on the sporting field branded us as ‘rough’ and ‘povo’*. I resented your complicity in offering up teenage pregnancy as a viable career option. I resented your proclivity for hiring teachers with dubious experience and even more dubious morals. Yes, it was true that Mr Ewell married a student and that the hot sports teacher was dealing ecstasy to the year 12 boys. I hated that calling someone a ‘poof’ was a-okay – nay, encouraged by you. I hated that you didn’t put a stop to the merciless bullying of that strange boy who wore perfectly ironed shorts and did ballroom dancing. I hated that I dyed my hair blonde and teased my fringe up into a fan shape for you. I also wore brown brogues with men’s knee high socks (scrunched down to mid calf) to try and please you. I hated that the absence of any career counselling left me with no ambitions greater than marrying Eddie Vedder from Pearl Jam.  I hated that none of the basketball boys wanted to go out with me. I hated that anybody who had money or anybody displaying any form of talent was immediately shot down as being ‘up themselves’ or ‘stuck up’. I hate that this attitude has followed me through adulthood.

But, as this is supposed to be a letter of forgiveness, it’s important to remember the many things that I actually liked about our time together, Woodridge State High School. Firstly, I’ve you to thank for introducing me to the boy who would be my first ‘real’ boyfriend. We went on to spend over four years together – much of that time exploring the world (or at least the miserable bedsits of London).

‘Cultural diversity’ was not something to shout loud and proud about in the '80s and early '90s – but that’s what you offered – many years before it was fashionable to have brown-skinned friends. Sure, I didn’t see my first orthodox Jew until I was 22, but, sharing a class with beefy Tongans, impossible to understand (and impossibly cool) Maoris, and tough aboriginal kids gave me exposure to lives beyond my own white bread, comfortable home life. It also forced me to stand up for myself and recognise an injustice when I see it.

But, just one more thing before this gets too gushy...why do the kids of the year 2000s get to wear slightly tasteful uniforms? Perhaps you thought that pairing a yellow polo shirt with teenage acne helped keep the teenage pregnancy rate down?

Eagerly awaiting the 20 year reunion,

Kristen

*Popular slang in 1989 for ‘poverty’

 Thank you internet for not housing one photo of me from my school years. So, whilst this isn't my class, I wish it was.

Resolve this

It's not that I hate new year's resolutions, it's just that I hate my new year's resolutions. In early January (for at least the last three years) my list of resolutions has typically looked like this;

1) Enter adulthood and get a mortgage

2) Lose 5kg

3) When you're drunk, stop drinking

By December however, the outcomes typically look like this;

1) My money has been spent on 53 black dresses that all look remarkably similar - perhaps I can fashion those into a one bedroom inner-city dwelling?

2) I ate chips and dip for dinner for an entire month. It must be my metabolism which is letting me down.

3) I think I was drunk when I agreed to number three.

So, when I discovered '500 ways for a new beginning' a project run by the Next Wave Festival, I felt compelled to ditch the resolutions of old (and the inevitable December self-loathing), and start 2012 anew. From this list I vow to do the following;

1)   Take one photo per day that explains your mood. 

2)   Create an online dating profile. 

3)   Throw away all your old underpants, and only wear new ones for a week. 

4)   Write someone who lives far away a long letter, or send them a short postcard. 

5)   Spend a month only spending money on absolute necessities. 

6)   Babysit someone else's child and read them your favourite childhood story. Try and remember why you loved it. 

7)   Wear a bra that fits. 

8)   Write a letter forgiving an old enemy. 

And you dear reader (yes, I know there's only the one of you), will get to follow the fruits of my labour throughout this very blog. In addition to fulfilling the above resolutions, I will aim to entertain with stories from this (often strange) Melbourne life. So I encourage you to become a member of my blog to better follow the feeds and keep me encouraged. Besides, you can only contribute abusive commentary once you sign up...