Haimster Wheel

Ah, the Internet. Thanks to this miraculous invention, people have the ability to absorb an incalculable array of information at a moment's notice, some of which is truly newsworthy, some not so much; as to where you'd place pornography amongst the pantheon of worthwhile information, I leave that to your discretion, but nevertheless, most anything is available for one's consumption. Having said that, I'm going to presume that I'm a tad late to the Corey Haim is dead parade, yet tardiness serves a purpose all its own and delayed reactions are actions regardless.

In all likelihood, you already know about the Haimster's departure, and I won't attempt to divulge anything new about him other than my own Haimories, which aren't exclusively my own, strictly speaking, but it's what I have to offer. Sorta.

As a punk kid, I enjoyed many of Haim's films (whether they be his films is another discussion for another day) excessively, though not entirely of my own, sui generis volition, which is to say that, well, other forces had been at work throughout my youth, namely my brother and sister.

Brother? Sister? Yes, I have one of each, though that alone shouldn't be what surprises you, Diabolical Reader; what probably shocks longtime readers (all two of you) the most is that I'm mentioning my siblings period (and their sheer existence is something the almighty Internet may not have told you until now). There are a great many topics I purposely avoid (family, K-blogging, defecation, etc.) not because of adverse emotions but, rather, I'm unable to take considerable interest in them. That may come across as more than a bit harsh, yet it's both true and not what it seems. It's true in the sense that they're disinteresting as blog topics, as well as in the sense that the aforementioned subjects rarely enter my daily contemplations, though it also need be stated that I merely prefer to write about the lackadaisical pursuits of one maladjusted manchild. You know what I mean.*

As I was saying, I have siblings, both of whom are my elders; we had one television to share between the three of us, and they thrilled to the oft-comedic exploits of Corey Haim. I was, at most, a victim of Haimania by proxy. Fuck, that's a lie: I've seen License to Drive and Lost Boys** more than a (baker's) dozen times apiece, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Wait, it's not a full-blown lie: my sister had a raging schoolgirl crush upon Corey Haim (alongside her then-undying devotion to the New Kids on the Block, Paul Reiser, Michael Biehn, and the entire cast of Diff'rent Strokes) while my geriatric brother had a major hard-on for vampire films and Jami Gertz***, so you do the math, though the truth behind my adoration of Corey Haim films lies somewhere between the two, perhaps, nestled within the celluloid folds of Watchers and Lucas. If nothing else, blame the family, or Generation X, or the filmmakers who fed said generation.

Better yet, blame no one, especially Corey Haim. He was a kid -and later, a man- who just happened to be lucky enough to be a part of a few movies those between the ages of thirty and forty (forty-five, perhaps) viewed with pleasure, and that's something most of us will never do, let alone attempt; if nothing else, rest assured that somewhere in the world, my pregnant(!) sister is waving a cigarette lighter with a tear in her left eye, while my brother contemplates his own mortality yet again. As for me, I'll smoke a cigarette, pop in a copy of License to Drive, and dream (a little dream) of attaining a Korean driver's license. 

* Steven Seagal!

** Death by stereo.

*** Bonus shout-out to Buff Saxophone Guy