Goondocks

Last week at this time K and I were driving up the Oregon coast en route to a family reunion in eastern Washington. We had breakfast in Astoria, before heading east to Portland for the night. While in Astoria, I got the idea of trying to hunt down the Goonies house.

Now, mind you, I couldn't care less about famous movie locations -- perhaps because they are so dime a dozen here in Los Angeles. And yet, there we were urgently cursing our slow-to-react GPS as we tried to pinpoint the Goonies house. As if something depended on it.

I didn't even like Goonies that much when it came out. K and I saw a revival of it back in February and it still isn't that good.

But I needed to see the house for some bizarre reason. Probably because it returned me to a time when such things did matter. When I wallpapered my bedroom with yellowing newspaper ads of movies from 1984 and 1985. I remember where the Goonies ad was in that room, exactly.

Then there is the matter of me wearing socks and sandals, together. Another sign that I'm not fourteen anymore, not even close.