So in a way some this has led up to a bit of a midlife crisis with a heavy dose of self-awareness. The year following my 29th spin kicked like a mule. I thought I was losing my mind, in the grip of some crisis or some sort of insect wriggling around in my skull. I believed some of my friends when they told me the stars were doing it to me. The reality is I was doing it to myself.
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So in a way some this has led up to a bit of a midlife crisis with a heavy dose of self-awareness. The year following my 29th spin kicked like a mule. I thought I was losing my mind, in the grip of some crisis or some sort of insect wriggling around in my skull.
I believed some of my friends when they told me the stars were doing it to me. The reality is I was doing it to myself. Or if you were luckier you could spend a few hours rubbing cotton mouthed tongues together with some young lady you had met recently while tugging on your useless, cocaine-savaged penis.
Those nights started to really create some cause for concern in the part of my brain that retained a semblance of rationality. I suppose it would depend on who you were asking of course, but from my 40 year old perch, I did some pretty rad things. First and foremost, I attended Northern Michigan. Which is in my opinion the best school in the state if you have an affinity for the outdoors. While in the Upper Peninsula, I gained a lifelong love for mountain biking, hiking, climbing, cross country skiing, and all things you can do on a lakeshore.
It also taught me to love winter. Love is a strong word when you currently find yourself in Detroit. I spent summers working as a dock porter on Mackinac Island. No matter what you do to yourself the night before, you get up, suck it up, and go to work. You may not be loving it, but cowboying up and sweating out a night of clowning will always leave you a stronger person. The jewel of the straights also instilled me a sense of fierce hustle.
Working on the docks, competing with other porters helped me gain an appreciation for talking to people and being confident about what you can offer them. After graduating college in Granada, Spain, I traveled for a few months even crossing Northern Spain on foot completing a religious pilgrimage. But I will be candid in the fact that I did it for adventure and a challenge. The religious component was secondary, but nonetheless omnipresent. It is something I would like to do again, perhaps in the next few years, to take a look into who I was and who I am now.
Here is a pause in the narrative. I worked hard to afford myself some wild times. Nothing was given to me besides birth and the blessing to grow up with good parents, good schools, and a curiosity for the world. Trite, but you get out what you put in, cub scout. My first night on the new island, I brought along a few friends from the Detroit area. The inaugural night ended with a house filled with fire extinguisher dust and a pile of splintered furniture. On the tail end of traveling in Europe, I found myself with a plane ticket home from Rome and roughly dollars in my checking account.
I said goodbye to an amazing girl from Denmark in a hotel in Croatia and took the train toward flights home. Out of necessity and youth I took a job for a sleazy marketing company that sent me to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida to sell the nonsense they were pedaling. We also made the wise decision to stay, no matter the cost. After all, it was January in Michigan. It was key to my development as a fiscally responsible jerk ass. Then, like so many of us somewhere in your early to mid-twenties, you fall in love.
We traveled for months in Central America and yet again, pulled together a litany of off-the-wall stories, lots of time hiking, exploring, and messing around on beaches. Unsure of what to do, but stalwart in the feeling we had hit the end of the road in Florida, we decided to head to Steamboat Springs, Colorado.
It was a place that my parents had taken me earlier in life and somewhere that would haunt my bones. That corner of Northwest Colorado became my ultimate love. She also served as a place to learn a bit more about heartbreak, adversity, and basic human kindness. A few weeks into my first season, I cleverly shattered two vertebrae in my lower back and hairline fractured another in my neck. Thanks be to youth and fitness, I was able to pathetically ski down.
Once I got to the hospital, I was flight-for-life flown to Denver. In another stroke of luck following the injury, a shrewd neurosurgeon decided to skip the invasive surgery and made the conclusion that at my age and fitness level I would be able to fully recover sans knife. Knucks, Doc. Gratefully, I was skiing as hard as ever within a year of the injury.
I proceeded to spend another six sick years in Steamboat and have spent numerous workations there over the years. The damage to my spine has been something I have had to wrestle with, but getting to 40 helped me learn to take a more serious glance into longevity, not just adrenaline. Eventually though, I sharpened my life skills in Colorado as the crushing weight of reality schooled my ass. After a few trips around the sun, I decided it was time to head back to Michigan. Yet again, I learned a few harsh lessons following the landing in Detroit.
It was back to the races. In a fit of hubris, I came home in the heat of the recession. I believed that with a bit of luck and charm, all would fall into line. Within a few days, I was working for a preposterously low wage in a sports equipment factory. It had all the requisite trappings of a labor camp: a few minute breaks, the minute lunch, and a totally windowless environment.
After a particularly absurd stretch of working from early until past dark, not seeing the sun for a few months, I called it quits. That essentially launched me into my thirties, which was equally as silly, but more tame. I also started dating the girl who would become my wife. I would learn a menagerie of lessons from that societal roller coaster. In countless ways, she is the reason I am alive and words in this account hardly do it justice.
Thank you, babe. I accidentally learned many of the nuisances that come from that work environment, which I think for anyone is very important. This was also a period where I learned to identify my niche in the world, become accepting of it, and started to harness it. I was finding my identity. Yes, there are bills, there could be kids, but really there is nothing in this opportunity-filled playground keeping you tethered to something you absolutely hate.
I also feel for the people who lifelessly haul themselves into rush hour, only to crawl back into the conga line to get home. But remember, the people who do what they love everyday, worked hard, and got real uncomfortable to get there. At 40, I learned that you have to do things that have some modicum of meaning. Then determine to what extent, and do it. Personally, I found that I love fundraising for nonprofits and connecting people who also like to help making the surrounding community a less difficult place to live.
No matter what, I have found I need to be working with people in a positive facing environment. It sounds simple. Or at the very least, try.
The small crisis came as I approached I started asking myself if I could simply do what I was doing until I croaked. Whether that be my heart exploding, some rare disease, or some by-product of my penchant for placing myself in dangerous spots.
The long story short is that a few years shy of my 40th, I found myself embroiled in an affair, thinking that I needed such tremendous change. I was thinking I should walk out on my entire life.
The result was almost tossing away an amazing person for some basket-case who said the right things at the right times. I learned a ton about myself in the process. Most importantly, I learned the role we all take in our own problems. As I write this there is some kook with the date we first hung out tattooed across her chest, collarbone to fucking collarbone.
Stop being such a Johnny Badass. We are the architects of our own disaster most of the time, and with some guidance you can realize you are drawing up the blueprints for your own misery. I look much younger. I feel about 27 and I have to learn how to contain all that without tipping over the apple cart. The point is, at 40 you can in fact be yourself and let the lessons of the previous 20 years serve you in a way that is productive.
I heard somewhere that 40 is the ceiling of youth and the floor of adulthood. For example, our parents start dying around now. But to be honest, they may not be around another ten years. Another example, people in and around my circle of friends are beginning to show signs of age and suffering the consequences of some poor choices, myself included, no doubt. Without a heavy dose of yoga each week, I would be in bad place.
Clearly, I am no health nut, but I have kept myself strong, and been focused on a good diet. That shit pays off. I was blessed to live in a Colorado ski town for a host of reasons, but my biggest take away has been longevity.
I have friends there that are 50, 60, and or 70 years old and I am hard-pressed to beat them at any activity and in some cases, just to keep up. They taught me that we can do all that aggressive stuff outside, there just has to be some tweaks.
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Teen movies have always been profoundly fucked up. Even more fucked up? Watch how Betty ends up falling for the creeper in question because of his sexual prowess. Tell me that shit would fly today and please…tell me that shit with a straight face. Teen movies are historically fucked for a number of different reasons, some of them cool, others not so much.
For example, those of us who grew up in the 80s hold a special place in our heart for the angsty, verbose detention dramedy The Breakfast Club. None of it is worth a wet fart in a diaper compared to the extremity of the following titles, each of which have been carefully curated to form what could be an all-night movie marathon of misanthropy, molestation, moodiness and murder. How can you make a list of totally fucked up movies without including a film titled Totally Fucked Up? Strand Releasing added the asterisks for advertising purposes after acquiring the flick in the earlys, but producer-editor-writer-director Gregg Araki The Living End always intended it to be called Totally Fucked Up.
This Godardian indie tells the story of an insular group of gay LA teens in a series of vignettes that reveal how funny, normal, alienated and, ultimately, doomed most of them are.
These girls are actually young and naive enough to believe that this is a viable means of insemination. Totally Fucked Up earns its moniker thanks to the no-holds-barred approach taken by Araki and his inexperienced cast. After witnessing mutual masturbation, a gay bashing, an AIDS scare and a painful breakup, the film ends in the emotionally stunned aftermath of a suicide, one that fans of The Sopranos will recognize at once.
The characters in The Doom Generation compensate for this apparent fact by eating shitty food from convenience stores, rhapsodizing about emo rock bands and engaging in some unique sexual acts. How fucked up is this flick? When our innocent young lovers lose their virginity to each other in a motel bathroom, their new pseudo-companion stands in the doorway, jerking off before eating his own climax.
Think Araki maxed out the teen extremity quotient with The Doom Generation? His friends and acquaintances are equally fucked. Mel Rachel True is a promiscuous bisexual who keeps her cantankerous girlfriend Kathleen Robertson around in much the same way Paris Hilton used to keep her little shit dog around, like an accessory that reminds Dark that he will always have to share her with someone else.
In , Araki reunited with James Duval for the batshit conspiracy-crazed teen sex romp Kaboom. Neither of these movies touched on the anarchic spirit of the Teen Angst Trilogy. As anyone who saw Suburbia could probably guess, this one was not pretty.
After their high school graduation, Bo Sheen and Roy Maxwell Caulfield take a road trip to Los Angeles where they end up on a murder spree after Roy strangles one of their dates to death. The Boys Next Door retains its shock factor today because it speaks to one of our greatest fears—the notion that evil can look like that friendly bagboy who offers to carry your groceries to your car.
That the characters are teenagers only makes the action that unfolds that much more egregious. The flick opens on a bunch of underage twinks dancing in their underwear in a gay bar, much to the delight of lecherous middle-aged men. Bobby then forces Marty to strip on stage. Shortly thereafter, he makes fun of Marty, insisting that Marty liked doing it.
Later on, we discover that Bobby has coerced Marty into performing lewd sex acts on himself on videotapes which Bobby then sells to clients. None of that matters, of course, since Marty and his girlfriend ultimately end up conspiring with a group of friends and a dubious hitman Leo Fitzpatrick to kill Bobby.
The murder is one of the most realistic ones in cinematic history. It is agonizingly protracted and lacks the quick, bloodless quality favored by most mainstream films. Before directing the funny but forgettable Jerky Boys movie for Miramax, James Melkovian got his start with this largely forgettable direct-to-video stoner comedy.
Budgetary flaws aside, what makes this movie notable is its total disregard for morals or decency. When they find out about two chicks that have been promised to an ex-con upon his release from prison they are literally referred to as property, i.
Before he made the Teen Angst Trilogy, the aforementioned Gregg Araki blew the film festival circuit away with his gay lovers on the lam flick The Living End. Truly a fucked up teen movie that reflects the climate in which it was created. Principal, but this Roger Corman-produced pastiche is pretty fucking fucked, fuckers. Where Lemon Popsicle can be viewed as a sophomoric and even playfully infantile take on the innocence of teen love and lust, The Last American Virgin subverts the teen sex comedy by showing the stark contrast between idealized love and the reality surrounding such infatuation.
This is not the Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, this is just plain grotty and kind of sad for all parties concerned. Unlike a visit to a whorehouse, there is no happy ending here. Genre fans might know the name Trent Haaga from the gloriously fucked up Netflix movie Cheap Thrills or his recent adaptation of 68 Kill, but before he became a director Haaga wrote this masterful cumming-of-age horror-drama about two high school friends who discover a living dead girl in an abandoned mental hospital.
Old mental hospitals are always high on that list. In the pic, timid outcast Rickie Shiloh Fernandez and his rapscallion pal JT genre mainstay Noah Segan find a woman tied to a table in the bowels of an asylum.
Rickie books it out of there in terror, but JT sticks around to sexually abuse the presumably reanimated corpse chick. The story revolves around a small group of friends who are driven into a state of paranoia after an accidental death occurs among them.
The last fifteen minutes are guaranteed to leave mouths slack and chests heaving as it presents a display of horror that is brutally abrupt, almost comically awkward and painfully real. Silent Motorist Media was created by author Justin A. Burnett to promote collaborative examinations of weird and dark music and literature. Silent Motorist Media offers free promotional services to small press and independent authors.
View all posts by Silent Motorist Media. Thanks for the ping. Great list! Teen movies sure can be fucked up. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed. Think again. The Stoned Age Before directing the funny but forgettable Jerky Boys movie for Miramax, James Melkovian got his start with this largely forgettable direct-to-video stoner comedy. Oh, yeah. And Frankie Avalon. Because the 70s, right? Deadgirl Genre fans might know the name Trent Haaga from the gloriously fucked up Netflix movie Cheap Thrills or his recent adaptation of 68 Kill, but before he became a director Haaga wrote this masterful cumming-of-age horror-drama about two high school friends who discover a living dead girl in an abandoned mental hospital.
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