'[He's] gone and [he's] never coming back. I loved [him], too, you know...'

I have been watching a lot of John Hughes movies in the last few days. (Which is really no different than most days.) But with his sudden passing, it's a now a bittersweet experience when Jake Ryan appears, leaning on his red Porsche outside the church to Samantha's surprise or when John Bender announces that he's 'thinking about trying out for a scholarship' or when we realize that 'Blaine's a major appliance, not a name' and Duckie dances to Otis Redding, oh, when Duckie dances... or when we witness the precise moment that 'neomaxiezoondweebie' enters the English vernacular or when "Woman's Work" plays in the waiting room while a nervous to-be dad waits or when Mr. Mom shouts to Vern that he "was never in aisle nine'. I'll stop there. Needless to say, I'm sad that such a talented writer and director is gone. But so grateful for the huge chunk of my youth, vocabulary, and humor that is directly tied to his work.

Thanks, Ramona, for keeping my priorities in check. ("You better put up a memorial about John Hughes on your site... he's just as important as MJ...")