97. The Lost Boys (1987)

Directed by Joel Schumacher
Written by Janice Fischer and James Jeremias
Starring Jason Patric, Corey Haim, and Kiefer Sutherland
*rewatch?*

Maybe I never actually saw this movie before last night. Maybe I only watched that concert scene during the first act endless times because my roommate K in West Chester had a thing for the saxophone guy. His fascination with the shirtless musician was neither sexual nor aspirational; sometimes the eye is just drawn to oiled muscles and rhythmic thrusts in the firelight. I almost felt sick as David and his undead posse terrorized the boardwalk, reminded so viscerally of that entitled way cis dudes have of just occupying space. X and I got “ladies”-ed a few times walking around South Street before the movie, and still I worried the world thinks of me the way I think of 1980s teen vampire bullies. It only dawned on me recently that the more frequently I post on social media, the worse I’m feeling; a new profile pic generally means that my dysphoria’s flaring up (or that I like how my bangs are growing out). Today I learned in a cataloging Facebook group how to cite myself as a source if I ever get the chance to update my own name authority record: “670__$a Conversation with individual.” Which means talking to myself gives me some kind of clout? Thankfully the Library of Congress only has my old Yahoo email address — which was just my full name — publicly available, and not withinlove@aol.com, the best and only way to reach me on the World Wide Web ca. 1995–1999. With that username, I think teenage Sasha (he/him) — much like 35-year-old Sasha (they/them) — wanted the world to know that there was good in him beneath all that sadness — even if he didn’t always believe that was true. Ugh, I’m in a mood. Time for some 1:00am ice cream.