Thanks For The Memories, John

For all the memorable quotes and scenes in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," one of my favorite parts of the movie is the wordless montage at the Art Institute of Chicago. The main trio takes in the paintings, holds hands with a group of kids on a field trip, and sweethearts Ferris and Sloane share a tender kiss. It's just a sweet and magical moment, the kind that director John Hughes executed so well in the 1980s. I remember seeing that movie and thinking it must have been made by someone who knew that, underneath the snark and assholery, teenagers were human beings. (OK, I was 16, so I was mostly thinking, "Matthew Broderick is so cute!" But you know what I mean.)

Hughes' teen-themed movies could be uneven, and not all of them aged as well as "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." But he almost always gave you The Moment, the one that made up for Judd Nelson's scenery chewing or the wrongness of Long Duk Dong. I am also grateful for his hand in making a star out of Molly Ringwald, who helped broaden the teen cinema standard of pretty. She was not a typical Breck girl, and some of us really appreciated that.

One of these days when my kids are older, we'll "Pretty in Pink" together, and they'll laugh at the clothes, roll their eyes at some of the plot points and wonder why Andie is so hung up on Blane (Because he's played by Andrew McCarthy! Hello?). But I also bet that, deep down, they'll kind of dig it.

R.I.P., John Hughes

I can't even form a coherent blog post right now. The Summer of Gen X-Related Death continues.

What A Week

I don't care how politically incorrect it was; "Charlie's Angels" was the show for girls of a certain age in the 1970s. Show me the woman who didn't want to be Farrah, Jaclyn or Kate back in the day, and I'll show you someone who grew up on a commune.

I had the "Charlie's Angels" dolls, but as far as I'm concerned, my collection was never totally legit. Why? Because my mom couldn't find Farrah. Instead, I had to settle for the plastic likeness of her second season replacement, Cheryl Ladd. No disrespect to Ms. Ladd, but it wasn't the same. "Charlie's Angels" without Farrah was like Van Halen without David Lee Roth. (And considering that "The Six Million Dollar Man" was also one of my favorite shows, I was heavily invested in that whole Lee Majors/Farrah Fawcett-Majors thing.)

My friend V. and I were talking about how we tried to re-create the Farrah flip with a curling iron and rollers, which is difficult for a black girl with unprocessed hair. The results were unintentionally funny, but such was the extent of Farrah's Breck girl appeal.

Gen X has had a pretty awful week in the icon loss department. Like my friend B. said, it makes you want to go find Madonna and give her a hug, just in case.

Goodbye, Michael

The morning after Princess Diana died, my husband woke me from a deep sleep and thrust the newspaper in my hands. It didn't seem quite real, and I remember thinking that only the deaths of Madonna or Michael Jackson would have been more shocking.

It's an understatement to say that Michael Jackson was a complicated figure - a crazy talented human being who belongs on pop culture's Mount Rushmore. I can't imagine what popular music would sound like without him. As his story became increasingly bizarre and tawdry, I wanted to believe that the handsome icon of my youth was separate from the facially unrecognizable tabloid fixture of the last 15-plus years. Genius and darkness often go together, but the disconnect between what I hoped and what I suspected was pretty extreme in this case.

As I wrote last year, seeing other artists attempt to pay tribute to M.J. - something we'll be seeing plenty of in the days ahead - has always been a little sad. It will be even moreso now.

I'm going to go listen to "Off The Wall," easily one of the best R&B albums ever made. I never get tired of listening to it.