This week’s movie, Detroit Rock City, was not for me. Something was clearly lost on me because according to class this week and the nearly five hour podcast, this movie has a lot of fans. I’m just not one of them. I didn’t think it was that funny. I mean it had its moments — I enjoyed how they finally got in to the concert — but all together I just found the plot predictable and at times unnecessary. I honestly could have gone without seeing a pitcher fill all the way up with vomit. I know I already got “scolded” in class for picking apart the continuity and plot holes of the film but they were really hard for me to ignore and I had a hard time relating to the characters. Jam was nice but his story line was insane and the rest of his friends were just kind of dumb, greasy and pretty pervy to Natasha Lyonne. I honestly really don’t want to talk more about this film. I’m really happy for everyone that they got to kiss a girl and see KISS, I just wasn’t a fan of the chaotic way it went down.

What I really want to focus on this week was the reading Classical Hollywood Cults as that was something I really related to. It was decided by my parents that at an early age it was important that I have an appreciation for classic Hollywood films. In other words, a lot of the films that were mentioned in this reading were on constant loop in my house for as long as I can remember. I have fond memories of dancing through puddles as my dad and I sing, “Singing in the Rain” and shocking teachers with “I was Drunk Last Night Dear Mother” from Meet Me in St. Louis.

Reading this article was a total eye-opening “holy sh*t Im in a cult” moment for me and I didn’t realize how deeply embedded I really was until reading this. I just thought everybody grew up like this. Helping family friends unpack and organize their personal museum of Wizard of Oz memorabilia. Taking boyfriends to late night screenings of Casablanca at the local art cinema on Valentine’s day. Making a birthday party of 14 year olds watch Harvey and laughing while everyone else is confused by the gaiety of large a human-sized rabbit. I am even programed to say “an angel got his wings” either in my head or under my breath every time I hear a bell ring. Never mind the family pilgrimage to Seneca Falls that was filled with Jimmy Stewart impressions. I didn’t even truly process how deep my mother is in the yuletide cult until this reading either. According to her it won’t truly feel like Christmas until we watch Charlie Brown and every other animated Christmas movie ever made. I think I am too far gone at this point and I will never be able to leave the Classic Hollywood Cult but hey its a lot better than Scientology.