Fast Times, Slow Media

Very often I find myself wringing my hands and trying to figure out what’s wrong with this country. This week marked another failure of popular American culture when we collectively decided to disregard the 30^th anniversary of a true cinematic masterpiece: Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

On August 13^th, 1982 Fast Times entered theaters and changed things. The movie’s impact may have been subtler than other groundbreaking films, but make no mistake, it made its mark on the industry. For one, this hilariously honest depiction of the highs (pun intended) and lows of modern teenage life basically created the teen movie genre. Name all the teen movies you remember that were released pre-Fast Times. Now think of all the ones that came out afterwards. Without this seminal film there is no Sixteen Candles, there is no Breakfast Club, there is no Ferris Bueller’s Day Off… in essence there is no John Hughes. And how could we have had the ‘80s without John Hughes?

“Hey, I know that dude.” Happy 30th, Spicoli.

Fast Times was the beginning of Cameron Crowe’s film career as well as the big break for several prominent actors. Sean Penn, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Forest Whitaker, Nicolas Cage, Anthony Edwards, Judge Reinhold, and Eric Stoltz all roamed Ridgemont’s hallways and went on to have lengthy careers. Many of these thespians won Academy Awards, and Phoebe Cates got to marry an Oscar winner.

Part of the reason Fast Times holds up so well, despite being so incredibly rooted in ’80s pop culture, is because it takes teenagers seriously and deals with universal American experiences that are as real today as they were in 1982. The movie tackles frank subject matter most filmmakers don’t have the balls to put in today’s teen movies. Sex, masturbation, abortion, blow job lessons…

The only way you’re allowed to address teenage sexuality in contemporary cinema is if one of your teens is a vampire who’s too physically powerful to actually have sex with his mortal girlfriend. And the fornication that takes place in Ridgemont isn’t mature or sexy or romanticized. It’s awkward and ugly and awful. In other words, it’s just like actual teen sex. Every viewing of this opus reminds us of our own sexual awakenings and how horribly un-erotic sex can be with an “audio consultant” in a baseball dugout.

Yet despite this movie’s endurance and contribution to our popular culture, I haven’t heard bubkis about its anniversary. The closest thing to a tribute I’ve seen was Yahoo’s half-assed “where are they now” piece.  Hey, Yahoo… I know what Sean Penn is up to. He’s pretty good at letting us know. And I just assume Judge Reinhold is desperately trying to get Beverly Hills Cop 4 green lit.

Okay, Vanity Fair did this reunion pic. But that was back in March. Doesn’t count.

Where’s the respect? Where’s the media coverage? Where’s the special edition Blue Ray that’s overrun with cool features and documentaries? Where’s the commemorative coffee table book? Where’s the collectible chess set? Where’s the usual Hollywood shamelessness that milks historic movies for every last dime on its anniversaries?

Maybe I’m alone on this. Maybe I’m the only one who wishes we’d had a reasonably worthwhile tribute this week to Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Well, me and the guy who played Mark Ratner. That guy could really use the paycheck.

Cars + Beaches = Stoopid

If there’s one thing I hate it’s people. Collectively, we’re pretty stupid. I’ve been saying this for years and have millions of pages of recorded history to back me up. People have an uncanny knack for taking perfectly beautiful things and ruining them. We try to make things better, and instead, make them much worse. (See: New Coke, Star Wars prequels, Kenny Rogers’ face, et al.)

Recently, I discovered another magnificent thing that’s been needlessly destroyed by mankind’s stupidity: beaches. After living in Washington State for years, I finally made my way to its glorious coast. You can imagine my alarm and dismay when I finally reached the seaside and discovered automobiles driving around as if it were a city street. Apparently this ridiculousness is legal on many beaches in the Evergreen State. Families are allowed to simply drive up to the water, park the minivan, open the doors, and vomit their picnics and corresponding accoutrements onto the sand.

The most scenic parking lot in the state!

There’s no shortage of reasons for me to hate this newly discovered human failure. For one, cars are always leaking some fluid or another, which means plenty of chemicals making their way into our already polluted oceans. Also, I always thought beaches were a great place for kids to run around and play. But here in WA I’ll have to teach my son to look both ways before he crosses the dune. And maybe I’m old fashioned, but I prefer the sounds of crashing waves over the buzz of than automobile engines.

But above all else I take umbrage with cars on our shores because it represents the epitome of American laziness.

Lazy Man: Hey honey, it’s a beautiful sunny day. Wanna go to the beach?
Lazy Woman: I’d love to. But all that walking outdoors might burn calories and force fresh air into my dormant lungs.
Lazy Man: No problem! We live in Washington. We can drive up and down the beach and witness its scenic splendor from the front seat of our SUV.
Lazy Woman: Good point. Let’s go!

Or…

Lazy Woman: Let’s take the kids to the beach.
Lazy Man: I’d love to. But we’d have to drag all of our stuff a few hundred yards from the parking lot to the waterfront. Who wants to do that?
Lazy Woman: No problem! We live in Washington. We can just drive right up to the shore and roll ourselves onto the sand. We’ll hardly have to move a muscle.
Lazy Man: Good point. Let’s go!

To make matters worse, some of the folks choosing to motor around the beach don’t even know how to do it properly. In my relatively limited time near the ocean, I saw three cars get stuck. After driving ill-equipped vehicles into the sand, they spun their tires and tried in vain to push themselves free. In each case, the owners eventually found larger, beach-appropriate vehicles to tow them out. I imagine locals with large trucks can make a pretty good living on our coast during the summer months.

FYI – Cars don’t get stuck if you leave them in the parking lot.

To be honest, I’m less upset that stupid people are choosing to drive on the beach (after all they’re stupid, I would expect such behavior from them) and more ticked off that state and local authorities allow this silliness to occur. For ten years I lived in Southern California, a region where cars are quite literally everywhere. You want to know where they aren’t? At the beach. You know why? Because it’s the freakin’ beach!

I understand we have a large, diverse country and that different regions have different laws and different ways of doing things. But our nation’s coastal beaches are breathtakingly beautiful and shouldn’t be driven on or used for our parking convenience. We should cherish them and enjoy their magnificence until they’re inevitably developed into luxury resorts and multimillion dollar homes. Is that really too much to ask?