I found an old Matthew Sweet CD under my bed last week along with a bottle of CKone and it's made me downright nostalgic. This time of year, as the weather gets warmer and the days grow longer, has me longing for the simple pleasures of high school!
Picture it: shaggy hair tucked behind my ear, converse shoes and perfectly weathered jeans. The first blooms of springtime making it entirely impossible to concentrate on class. I'd take my sketchbook and charcoal pencils to the graveyard to rub out a quick still-life. Could it be that I was simply enacting my favorite scenes from Stephen King's unfairly-maligned Sleepwalkers (1992)? Let's see...
After two years in the public eye, Shelly the waitress had enough of Twin Peaks. With all that cherry pie and the incessant rantings and lamps being thrown from Lara Flynn Boyle's trailer, it was no wonder that she fled to rural Indiana as fast as the Greyhound could take her! She got herself a nice job at the local movie house, cleaning up and making popcorn for the locals. She moved in with Ferris Bueller's parents. She was wearing lots of flats. Things were going great. Unfortunately, Shelly's shitty taste in men didn't change with her zip code.
Charlie Brady is the new boy in town. He is attractive. He has a cherry 1977 Trans-Am. Charlie is very close to his mother. Ostensibly, Charlie is a catch. It seems everyone in town wants a piece of him. On his very first day of class, his creepy english teacher follows him home and tries to cop a feel! Can you imagine? I can. Suddenly, we can see the cracks in Charlie's porcelain veneer. Charlie hates gay people. He hates gay people so much that he proceeds to tear his english teacher to bits in the forest with his bare hands! How rude.
A lot of years have passed since high school and I ‘ve learned a thing or two. I have my skin care regime down pat. I know which colors and sizes compliment my figure. And I know that you shouldn't go on a first date to the cemetery unless you've known the boy for at least a month prior. I can also attest that Sleepwalkers is just as good as it was eighteen years ago. No other movie offers the Borg Queen acting opposite a sofa in a town run by crime-solving cats. I was once at a party with Mick Garris. Without flinching, I told him how much I adore this movie. He responded with equal sincerity, "There's no accounting for taste."