My Review of "Young Adult" or Why I Needed This Movie Right Now

I was joking on Twitter with my buddy Nick that Young Adult should be titled Jessica's Movie.  Anyone who knows me at all, whether IRL or not, knows that I love YA and I love quirky, awkward movies.  My want to see this movie was a no brainer.

Needless to say, I loved this movie in all its uncomfortable, awkward, realistic and unrealistic glory.  What I didn't realize was that it would leave me feeling elated and depressed, a brilliant mix of sad/happy in the best way.  As I walked across the parking lot immediately post-movie, I was overwhelmed with the urge to simultaneously laugh and cry, both hysterically.  

Here's the part where I try to explain myself...

Mavis Gray, the "heroine" of the film, is a YA (ghost) writer for a series that has seen more popularity in its past than it's seeing now.  In fact, her series is being cancelled, and she's currently working on the last story.  She lives in Minneapolis in a high-rise apartment with her Pekingese, she drinks Diet Coke and all other alcoholics beverages fairly heavily, she hates her life just as much as she loves it, and, after receiving a birth announcement email, she becomes obsessed with winning back her high school boyfriend, even though he's happily married with a brand new baby girl.  Mavis sees all of these facts as non-important, as things he can overcome, because she knows deep in his heart that he's just as unhappy as she is and that all will be fixed when they are together.  So she returns to her small Minnesota hometown to win Buddy back, fully believing that she will be successful in a matter of days.

Clearly, Mavis is mentally unstable.

That's the beauty of Mavis, though.  Her instability is so far out there, but it's so relatable as well.  I'm not saying that I want to win back anyone from my past (because, uh, do you see who I married?  SO the man for me!!) but that yearning to recapture a time when you felt invincible certainly sounds appealing.  Throughout the course of the film, she is absolutely out of control, vindictive, brash, bawdy, inappropriate, and totally unlike anyone I actually know in real life... but I feel like I know what she's going through.

Becoming an adult is painfully hard and extremely awkward, especially becoming an adult outside of the town in which you grew up, especially when you grew up in what's considered a "small town."  While my hometown is technically Richmond (not a "small town" by any stretch of the imagination), I grew up in a small district that operated just as a small town operates.  Because of this, whenever I return to this part of Richmond, I have a tendency to return to the Jessica of those days of yore.  This is partially of my own volition due to years of feeling that this is the Jessica that people expect, but also... I feel I have to be the Jessica they expect.

Recently, I have been thinking about my personal Arrested Development very often, wondering why I do this, wondering why people treat me this way, wondering why I allow people to treat me this way.  I think that everyone obviously grows and changes and adapts as time goes by, and this growth and change and adaptation should be acknowledged and allowed rather than looked at with confusion.  I should be allowed to be my true self, no matter what version of Jessica you've met along the way.  And I shouldn't be chastised for being myself.  Frankly, if you don't like what I say or how I act or who I am... then why are you friends with me?

...Am I still talking about the movie?  Sort of.  Let's get back on track, shall we?  Great.

Charlize Theron is just incredible in this, giving life and layers to a character that could so easily be one-sided and awful.  You're not supposed to like her, but you do just as much as you don't.  And Patton Oswalt?  Oh. Wow.  Perfection.  I really want him to win all the awards for this.  ALL of them.  The script is pitch-perfect, as I expect from Diablo Cody, and it all fits together just as it should.  It doesn't end all wrapped in a little bow, but that's exactly how it should be.  I cannot think of another way to say it, but I loved it.  I really, really needed this movie in my life right at this very moment.  Not only because the girl at the ticket counter ACTUALLY CARDED ME to make sure I was over 17. Seriously, that happened.

In short, I predictably and unpredictably adored Young Adult.

Why Lee Greenwood and I will never be friends.

The following story is quite silly, but I wanted to share after my recent FB status.  This disclaimer is here to let you all know that my feelings for Lee Greenwood's "masterpiece" entitled "God Bless the USA" aside, I do love my country, and I do love my freedom.

That being said...

I hate the Lee Greenwood "masterpiece" entitled "God Bless the USA."  Whenever I hear it, my skin crawls.  Granted, there is nothing particularly wrong with the song.  In fact, it says some lovely things about this land of ours.  It's also experiencing a rise in popularity as of late, though I can't imagine why...  No, my hatred of this song is all related to one experience, dating back to the first grade.  And it's all because of my stinking dance teacher.  (And also my mom.)

For those that don't know, I took dance lessons as a child, from the time I was about 4 until the sixth grade.  I started with ballet, but by the end, I was taking ballet, tap, jazz, and en pointe, and I was considered one of the top students.  (I often wonder what happened to the graceful girl I used to be, usually when I'm tripping over my own two feet or bumping into walls.)  I loved dance class as a kid, and I always wanted my best friends to be in the class with me.  One year, I was successful enough to get my pal Jenny to join my class.  For our tap number that year, our costumes consisted of weird baggy shirts emblazoned with the American flag, blue bottoms (that I swear were like blue underpants), white tights, and jaunty sailor caps with red, white, and blue stars.  For the life of me, I can't remember what song we tapped to, but I'm guessing it was American.  And hopefully nautical.

That same year, our elementary school was putting on a talent show (as elementary schools do), and the entire first grade was scheduled to perform "GBtUSA."  It was very basic by 1980's elementary school standards, with the students singing along to a tape of the song, and the most difficult choreography being us holding our arms up in the air while we belted out the last, epic note (actually, it probably looked a lot like this).  We'd practiced, it went fine, I got to stand next to my friends on the risers, no biggie.

The night of the performance, my mom had this brilliant idea.  "You know what would be so cute?" She said.  "You and Jenny should wear your dance shirts with the flags on them!  Oh, how precious you two will be!  Call Jenny and tell her!"  I knew this was cheesy, even at the ripe old age of 6, but Mom said call Jenny, so I called Jenny.  Jenny's mom agreed with the cuteness, and she said she'd wear hers too.  Fates officially sealed.

I showed up, waiting backstage with the rest of my classmates to kick off the big Talent Show, and every single solitary adult that walked past me had to comment on my shirt.  Oh, how cute!  What a great idea!  So patriotic!  Everyone will just love it!  I probably did permanent damage with the amount of eye-rolling I did that night.

Then... Jenny walked in.  Wearing the same shirt.

Our music teacher went totally postal.

She could not believe we had these amazing shirts on, almost like we planned it.  She called everyone together and pointed out how cute we were in our matching shirts.  We were instructed on how wide to hold our arms to make sure THE ENTIRE CROWD could see our amazing great shirts.  They would eat it right up, and we would be the stars of the show.

To sum up, Jenny and I were mortified.  We did not want to be the patriotic stars of the show.  We wanted to stand together and sing our song and be done with this forever.  However, like the good kids we were, we kept our mouths shut and did as we were asked.  As we walked out on stage, the crowd was all abuzz with the talk of how adoooorable we were in our little matching shirts.  People asked if my mom made them for us, or if we got them just for this performance.  We sang the freaking song, and we raised our freaking arms, and the freaking flashes went off in the crowd, and our parents all freaking cried, and everyone came up to comment about how freaking cute we were, and it was freaking ridiculous.

Then, for the next 20+ years of my life, every time anyone heard the song or said any of the lyrics or mentioned God, Bless, and USA in the same sentence, my mom said, "Oh, remember how cute you and Jenny were in your little shirts?  Wasn't that so great?" And the memory would come rushing back like it was yesterday.  And my brain would ache just thinking about it.

Why am I complaining about this seemingly vanilla story?  I mean, it's not like I had to do an interpretive dance or wear a costume where I LOOKED like a flag or something of that nature.  And it's obvious that I was used to being in front of crowds as a child because I was IN DANCE RECITALS at least once a year.  But... I know it's silly, but at the time, it was just so embarrassing.  And then hearing about it OVER and OVER and OVER.  Ugh.

So, Beyonce, next time you wanna sing this song, please pick something else.  Like "God Bless America."  That song, while basically having the same title, is totally different.  And beautiful.  And far more challenging as a singer.  In fact, sing the NATIONAL ANTHEM.  Do that next time.

On a final note, I cannot WAIT until my future kid takes dance class.  I hope she/he loves it when they do their patriotic number.  Jaunty sailor cap and all.

You wanna see mine and Jenny's matching shirts?

That's me on the left with the random red triangle, and Jenny's in the row in front of me near the middle bottom.  The guy next to her (whose name is Mitch and I can't believe I remember that)?  He's trying to keep the trend alive.

Now... close up on how much I LOVED DOING THIS:

The hatred is literally spewing from my eyes.  in red-eye form.

Though... how cute are those tights?