Movie Review: The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Yeah, I know. I’m late to the party. But this was one of the DVDS I thought I’d get around to watching years ago.

During Covid, I had a chance to get a bunch of DVDs for basically free. I insisted on giving the couple who were moving back to France $14 USD to take two big boxes of DVDs. Some of them didn’t work, some of them I weren’t interested in, but there were quite a few that I thought worth saving.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower wasn’t one of them. I tried it tonight, and I just couldn’t get excited about it. Normally, I like underdog movies where the character who is spat upon and mock rises up. But this wasn’t doing it for me.

Charlie is facing his first day as a high school freshman. I’m not sure what his prior story is, but we get glimmers of it, but not enough for me to put it together. There’s something up with his Aunt Helen, and I think it has to do with her molesting him, but I’m not sure. I think she’s dead.

Charlie copes by writing letters (to Aunt Helen?) as he deals with his new hell, er I mean high school. His English teacher doesn’t seem too bad, and they form a bond.

Anyway, Charlie goes to a high school football game and runs into seniors and stepsiblings Patrick and, oh, what is her name? Hold on. Oh！It’s Sam, played by Emma “Hermione” Watson.

IMDB says Charlie was played by Logan Lerman and Patrick was played by Ezra Miller.

Patrick and Sam are seniors, and of course as it always happens in high school, take Charlie under their wings and introduce them to drinking, drugs, and what seems to be 1980s music. Makes sense, since Stephen Chbosky, the writer of the novel the movie is based on, is a GenXer. I’ve noticed that teen movies that have taken place in the 2010s seem to have a LOT of 1980s songs, or influences. I taught a class the novel Hard Wired, and his teenage protagonist had an ear for 1980s music. When I contacted the author for a Zoom call with my class, he confessed to being a GenXer.

People, the music you listened to in your youth and in your 20s until about 33 or so, is the stuff that you will measure all music that comes after it. Everything after whatever you listened to during the time of your youth will be crap. Scientific studies have been done on that. So if I meet a teenager who just happens to like Culture Club and Tears for Fears, I’m gonna bet that he has GenX parents that played nothing else. Just like I wasn’t fond of music of the 1940s and 1950s, my parents were fond of Wham, Journey, or the Pet Shop Boys.

Music influences aside, this movie was rather meh. There’s the whole “I’m gonna kill myself if I don’t get into the college of my choice” trope, the “secretly gay couple” trope, the “the girl I really like is involved with a jerk” trope, and having unsupervised parties in impossbily huge houses trope.

Charlie keeps hinting about being “bad” and we’re left to wonder if it’s his best friend’s suicide that messed him up or his Aunt Helen’s fatal car accident that he thinks he caused. These hints are sprinkled in the movie, and I suppose if you read the book you’d be in the know, but as Cinema Sins says, “the books. do. not. matter.”

Nothing really dramatic happens in this movie. I kept wondering when this movie was supposed to be happening. Was it in 2011, or 1981?

I’ll admit the friendship between Charlie and his older friends is sweet, but is that the way kids act? Did 2011 kids actually make CASSETTE mix tapes? A few years prior to that, my niece and nephew made me a mix CD (of songs THEY liked, not surprisingly). They probably didn’t know what a cassette tape looked like.

So is there a happy ending? Sort of. Nobody commits suicide or dies, so that’s a win.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m too old to appreciate teenage movies made way after I graduated, but I don’t think so. I loved Mean Girls, and really enjoyed Ten Things I Hate about You. But having grown up in the John Hughes era of teenage movies, maybe I’ll be forever scarred. I’ll be that annoying adult who says, “they just don’t make teenage movies like they used to anymore. Same with the music.” TPOBAW just didn’t do it for me. Maybe it’s a bit too idealistic for my tastes. I stuck with it.

But I got rid of it. Hopefully one of the trash picker residents can find something useful to do with it.

I Miss You, Dad

Twenty-six years ago today, my father died.

Nothing prepares you for that, even though I knew it was coming.

I remember being afraid when he died. Even though he couldn’t have possibly fended off an attacker, he had lived in the living room for months. Not having him there was scary.

We went to Applebee’s that afternoon. There was a thunderstorm, and as I heard the thunder, I liked to think it was my Dad, arguing with God, about something.

It took me a very long time to mature as an adult. And as happens when you get older, you understand your parents just a little bit more. Or you think you do.

I miss my Dad. There are questions I would have liked to ask him. It’s strange how there are things you feel like you don’t dare discuss with your parents. I remember breaking into tears, when I found out something about his health that he accepted stoically. There were spots on his liver and lung. They never got biopsied, because they weren’t sure he’d survive the surgery. He opted to do nothing. I remember kneeling by his bed, crying, and saying how sorry I was this was happening to him.

His response: “These things happen, in life.”

I wonder if he was scared. I wonder how he felt when he lost his job and he was in his 50s. I remember him typing his resume on this Spanish-language Underwood. I remember him starting to cry and smashing his fist on the table. I’d never seen him so upset. He eventually got a job, and things went back to normal.

But I wonder how happy he was. It’s not something I spent a lot of time thinking about; chalk it up to self-centeredness and immaturity. Now I wonder. He didn’t seem to have a lot of friends. I remember him confessing he felt there was a “vendetta” against him at work. I wonder how he dealt with the pressure. But when I was around 10, he had a heart attack. He lived, and eventually had a triple-bypass in his 70s.

But like most men of his era, he didn’t really talk about things. I know he probably put up with racism. I wonder how much of that he dealt with that at work, but kept going.

I can’t imagine the pressure. He had a family and a mortgage. I had only myself, and a dog.

Yet as unhappy as I imagine him to be, far away from the culture he grew up in and his first language, he must have been very, very strong. I wonder how much of those naps he took when he got home from work were a way of coping with depression.

He had the occasional beer, but that was it.

We did stuff together, backyard games of catch, the weekend Komets games, the Sunday morning trips to Ohio to buy lottery tickets. The first single lens reflex he ever bought me. Encouraging my interest in photography.

I wish I could have, would have, talked to him more. To say that I think I get it now. I don’t have kids and never will, but by presenting a rock-solid face to the world even though I think he was hiding an unhappiness that never occurred to me until several years ago.

Or maybe I’m imagining it.

I’m sorry Dad. Sorry if I ever let you down, as I’m sure I did. I miss you. I wish I had you and Mom to talk to about the craziness of the world. How you keep going. How you find the answers.

I hope you are happy now. I have a hard time believing in the afterlife, but I hope there is one for you and Mom.

Going to the Dentist in China

I’m in the vicinity, but WHERE?

I went to the dentist today. I hadn’t been in years. I don’t enjoy going to the dentist, but it’s not for the usual reasons. My mouth isn’t very big, so it’s uncomfortable. Secondly, I take really good care of my teeth. Back in the day, dad dropped a few thousand on my braces. Probably around $9,643 in today’s dollars. When I saw the horror story slide show they forced me to watch to emphasize the importance of dental hygiene, they didn’t have to make me watch it twice. I brushed after everything I ate. Dad bought the WaterPik Dr. Eugene Dellinger suggested I use. I was known for having the cleanest teeth among his patients. I took that shit seriously.

It was just another thing to get out of the way this summer. I asked someone for recommendations, and so I went today.

There’s nothing about this that says, “dental services.”

I had an address, but wasn’t expecting the facility to be in a mall. In Guangzhou, the dentist was on a quiet street. This place was in a mall. A sign on the outside told me I was in the right place, but I wasn’t sure where exactly in the mall it was. I went inside. I asked a couple of people.

Hallway to…not the dentist’s.

One guy took me down a long hallway, only for me to exit with no dentist in sight. I went back inside and asked someone who looked like a cop. He walked away, not wanting to deal with someone not fluent in Chinese.

I finally went back to a couple of guys standing inside the door of the main mall entrance. They pointed me upstairs, to a store with a sign that said, “Makeup.”

Ooooooookay. As I got closer, I saw something that said, “AngelAlign” and figured I was in the right place. I went inside and they had my phone number. I went back to a bench and sat down.

Shortly I was ushered into a typical dental office cubicle, with the giant light, and a computer monitor in my face. The table was on the right, the little sink on the left. The chair was unusually comfortable.

The dental technician and I used translation apps to communicate. They said my teeth were in very good shape and she got on with her work.

That’s about it. A cleaning went for 238 Renminbi, or less than $34.

The mall goes by two names: the “Eternal Center” and Times Square.
The view from the chair.

Thanks for the Warning

Someone I haven’t spoken to in years sent me a Facebook message warning me about my house being in the county delinquent tax sale.

I thought it might be a scam, so I didn’t click on the link. Instead I went through an alternative route. Saw the listing for someone with my name, but the address was different.

I thought it was strange, him tipping me off like that. I thanked him for the warning, but I’d paid this spring’s property tax.

And I checked my mail; I never got a letter saying it was up for sale. That’s how they do it. I think you have three tax cycles before they put it up for sale. Taxes are due fall and spring. So you have around a year and a half before they put it in the tax sale. And even so, they send out a letter to warn you. Usually it lists the full amount due, then there’s the amount that keeps it from going in the sale. That amount isn’t too bad. I have had that happen before, and I’ve paid the minimum.

I hope I’m never that poor again.

An Unexamined Life IS Worth Living

I haven’t been posting a lot recently. Things have been going pretty well for me. Which makes me wonder.

I think part of how I cope is that I share, or rather overshare, way too much. Trauma dumping, I think they call it.

But I’m on summer vacation, or holiday as they call it here. I usually make a list of things I want to do. Fun stuff, chores, things like that. If I do something that’s not on the list, I usually write it down anyway.

I’ve been relaxing. Watching lots and lots of YouTube. Having some really good sleep. Reading books I’ve read as a teen.

So things are okay right now.

I organized my closet last night. I also submitted a piece to a publication. I plan to do more of that stuff.

I still keep my daily journal. I may look through some past journal entries and post them online. Not everything, of course. There’s a lot that I would like to say, but won’t. Those are other stories for other times.

I just went out on my balcony a few minutes ago and watched the mountains to the southwest. They were an interesting shade of light gray, and darker gray. I knew that it would be raining very soon, and I was right. It’s raining right now. There’s a typhoon, Noul, and that’s what it probably is. I’m not near Guangdong, or Hong Kong, but they’ve been hit hard. We’re probably getting some of it.

So tonight I’ll probably start supper soon and maybe sort through some stuff in my “junk” room. I’ve always been a bit of a clutterbug, and I’m not sure why. I don’t like this particular aspect of my personality. I suspect part of it is whenever I’ve gotten rid of something, that’s when I find out I need it. There’s always an element of “I might need it” that I can’t seem to get over. Someone made a post somewhere, I’m not sure where I saw it, that said that people who save everything are too poor to replace that thing, which is why they hold on to it.

It makes sense. I still have my mother’s sewing machine, even though the last time she used it was in 1984 to make an outfit for my brother’s wedding. It’s still at home. I’ve made and fixed stuff with it, which is why it’s nice to have something like that around.

2026 FIFA World Cup!

Well, watching the 2026 FIFA World Cup Finals wasn’t on my bingo card for this year, but I did it.

I was sort of half-assedly following who was doing well. But I hadn’t really watched any of the games. The Jumbotron screen on the mall on the corner was showing games, but I wasn’t really invested in any of the teams. I wanted Cape Verde to win. But when Spain made it, I wanted to watch the game.

I wasn’t about to pay for streaming, and I don’t own a television right now. So I found out that despite the hideous time difference (3 p.m. east coast time means 3 a.m. in allllll of China since Beijing calls the shots) I wanted to watch it. And La Mesca, my favorite Mexican food place in Fuzhou, was going to be open. I didn’t even have to reserve a table! There were maybe a maximum of 10 people in the place total, at any given time. And I didn’t want to watch the game alone.  It was nice and intimate, almost like having a private screening room, er, restaurant.

So I showed up and I met some new people. The owner wanted to watch the game, and stopped serving food right around the time I got there. But an acquaintance had ordered some chips and salsa, and said I was welcome to that. I’d brought my own Coke just to be on the safe side, and with a glass of ice, I was set.

I was surprised at how vocal I got. I was swearing and shouting and going “ohhhhhhhhhhhhh” whenever Spain missed a shot. I hardly ever watch football (see, I’m even sounding like a woman of the world) but it looked like Argentina was taking some tips from the NFL and knocking the fuck out of any Spanish player nearest the ball. The obviously biased Eastern European ref (probably paid for by Putin) and Argentina’s body slamming tactics were pissing me off.

I missed the halftime show because it wasn’t broadcast in China. No, we got treated to a very boring, minutes long car commercial. And you know how in the Super Bowl, the commercials are great because the advertising cost so much they have to come up with something memorable? The car commercial was like a boring Ted talk. One of the guys watching dialed up Bohemian Rhapsody first, then turned up YMCA.

And that’s when yours truly got up to give a show. Yes, I danced and sang throughout the whole bloody song. Sadly (or maybe thankfully) no record of it exists anywhere, except in the memories of the unfortunate people who got to see it. But, no one was paying me, so sorry, you aren’t getting Fosse-level choreography and prime vocals.

I was a bit surprised when the first 90 minutes seemed to fly by with no score. I actually enjoyed myself a lot more than I expected to, which was really, really nice. I was glad I ended up at La Mesca. The American who asked if I was going to come and watch didn’t really care who won (but low key, I think he did) and there were a couple of Chinese folks who came in who seemed to be pulling for Argentina, but we gently kidded them. Foki Foki, a nearby place, seemed to be all Chinese pulling for Argentina. For the most part, we were rooting for Spain. And I felt I was the most vocal.

When Spain finally scored (for real, offside my ASS!) I let loose my best Andres Cantor imitation. I’ve watched hockey for years, and sort of know what “offside” means, but I’m lost when it comes to football offside. It WAS entertaining to see Argentina body-check everyone out of their way, then claim innocence. Entertaining in a furious way. I got madder and madder. I saw so much touching, I finally shouted out, “just kiss him already!” or words to that effect. Yet if Argentina fell on their own accord, they went batshit, looking for someone to blame.

And it was funny to see a young Argentina supporter, comically, dramatically gesturing with his hands about the unfairness of it all. I wish I’d taken a picture of him with my smartphone. Listen you little bitch, YOUR team resorts to physical violence because Messi is nearly 40, and it takes 11 to make up a team, not just one. Spain, despite the crappy referee and constant physical mauling, responded with never giving up or giving in to the nonsense.

And after the game was over, I finally saw the punch thrown by Molina, and the shove by Paredes that China didn’t air as it was happening. After the game, there were many hugs. But Argentina wasn’t happy with their hockey game on ice and resorted to (what else) physical violence.

So yeah, I had a really great time. I thanked the owner of La Mesca, and slowly walked up the main road of Three Lanes, Seven Alleys. It was weird to see it at that time of the morning, deserted except for a few walkers and a street sweeper. It reminds me of Zhongshan Road, with the type of shops and restaurants that are there.

Spain’s win made my proud of my heritage, which is Spanish by way of Puerto Rico. Spain’s back to ruling the world again.

Very early in the game. My German neighbor said it wasn’t a good game, but how would I know the difference? I’m American.

The following are some random memes I thought amusing.

Not nearly as good as the kid in the stands I mentioned. I’ll kick myself for not getting that picture.

Captain Underpants? No, Flying Underpants!

My little black dress, some underwear (including the pair that flew) and a pair of jeans.

Here in China, people hang up their washing on their balconies. The Chinese like the smell of laundry being dried outside. It brought me back to summer days when my mom used to wash my sheets and hang them up outside. She thought it was a big deal. I didn’t, but I’m older now.

I’ve found I like the smell of air-dried sheets too. I have no choice—dryers aren’t a thing here. In every single apartment I’ve had, there’s been a washer, but no dryer. That’s fine. I have enough of everything, and I do laundry on a regular enough basis that I never run out of anything.

That being said, I did a load today (7-1-26). I came back from grocery shopping and decided to hang it up before I got back into grading. I saw some fuzzies on my jeans. I wasn’t sure where they’d come from, as they looked like small clumps of polyester fiberfill, the stuff you see in pillows. And then, I just thought, I’d washed some pillows the other day. I must not have seen the remainders.

So I took the jeans and decided to shake them over my balcony. Seven floors down is not a high traffic area, so I don’t feel guilty about shaking the jeans.

But too late, I saw a pair of underwear had stuck to one of the jean legs. Too late, I tried to grab it, but the undies took flight.

I was tired and sweaty from my walk back from the store, but I wanted those panties. So I went downstairs and turned on my phone flashlight.

I really felt icky looking for them. It’s not a high traffic area, so the grass was nice and thick. I tried not to think about what might be lurking beneath all that green—frogs, snakes, rats, cockroaches—but nothing jumped out at me. I looked up at the building and gaged that I was a little to the right of my balcony, so I edged left.

And there they were! I KNEW they had to be there somewhere, unless during flight they detoured onto someone’s balcony, or some random ledge. But luck was with me. And now they are safely hanging from a hanger from my balcony.

Ah, the Internet…

I just hate it when I have an internet connectivity problem that is baffling.

My list of networks came up, all of them within range except my own.

A colleague came over with a spare router. It seemed to work with Bing, but not with any other browser and not with my you know what.

But eventually, both Bing and Chrome started working again with my you know what.

Rhyrmes with Scottie Pippen.

But it’s disturbing when these connectivity problems are strange. I thought of everything I could, but nothing worked. So I guess my old router was bad. But thankfully, the one my colleague brought over is working.

And I remember the days when we DIDN’T have wifi. But now that everything is online, it’s a bit different. Back then we had to go to the bank, the grocery store, the restaurants ourselves.

Now we do it online.

When online works, that is…