How Bad American Beer Is Thing

The problem with the type of smart, literate person who blogs or reads blogs is this: the crushing, soul-sucking uniformity. Every single one of you counts himself a fan of David Sedaris and David Foster Wallace; you all read that Dave Eggers book and loved it but then later recoiled in horror when you found out what an a-hole that guy is (I suspected it all along -- for God's sake, look at his hair); you all witnessed the contest of wills between two guys named Pedro and Puck; you listen to the same bands (though if you're really smart you think the Shins are a quartet of punk-ass bitches); and you all dress the same. (Think about maybe getting a cardigan sweater.) The blessing, however, is I can launch directly into a discussion about the penultimate scene in Kicking and Screaming and not have to worry about leaving any of you behind.

I always thought Grover came back to the airport and got on a flight for Prague the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. But the point is, I thought he eventually went to Prague to be reunited with Jane. At the ticket counter, after he's told the flight to Prague is all booked up, Grover suffers a mini-meltdown and tells Ross's ex-wife's girlfriend, "I can imagine Jane and some Prague-ian idiot dancing the night away." He's spent an entire semester in a self-imposed stasis, avoiding the future by cocooning himself with old friends and old habits, while obviating his grief over Jane's leaving through forties and faceless coeds. And then suddenly at the airport, a moment of clarity: he essentially admits to himself he's sleepwalked through the previous five months. He discloses, "Nothing I eat has any taste. It has been such a strange time." What follows is a rambling speech that indicates he's ready to wake up (and I know it's gay that I'm actually quoting the entire thing, but, one, it's good writing, and two, eat a dick):

This is so frustrating because I'm terrible at conflict; I hate it. And if I'd imagined this problem while falling asleep one night I don't think I would have spoken up to you. Even in my fantasy life I would have just accepted it. It's who I am. But today I have to go, I have to. And when I tell people about this in the future, I know that, you know, it'll be the time that I went. I know that when I review this whole episode in my head I'm not going to know what I did or why I did -- maybe done something with the real Grover. But it'll make a good story of my young adult life. The time I chose to go to Prague. I'll look back on it; I won't believe that I actually went, you know, I went away. So let me go, I have to, I need ... just put me on the plane. Let me go.

It's one of my favorite scenes in the film, which is ridiculous because apparently I'd understood it incorrectly. I had thought, Here's Grover, finally speaking his mind. Even more important, he's made up his mind about taking action. He's joining the other guys who've made the decision to leave the Cougars behind and move on with their lives: Max has found himself a girlfriend (who's completely wrong for him, but you suspect it's going to work because she's all fucking spirited, plus look how strangely contented he looks at the airport when they're saying goodbye to Otis) and applied for a position in the philosophy department; meanwhile, Otis, who is a jackanapes, is finally going to grad school in Milwaukee, and he's already decided he's not coming back during spring break. Which leaves Grover, determined to start a life with Jane, and a little thing like not flying to Prague right then because he doesn't have his passport -- it's no matter. He'll go, eventually. At least that's what I thought until our friend Sarah Brown convinced me otherwise. I'm not lying when I say it's the only time in the past dozen or so years that I can remember actually conceding an argument. It sounded weird to hear me say "You're right. You've changed my mind." The thing is -- and I'm seriously not trying to detract from Sarah's accomplishment -- I should have known it all along. I could go on about how the very first scene in the movie lets us know that Jane and Grover's relationship is more dead than alive -- their exchange is little more than condemnations and accusing stares -- and that there's nothing in Prague for Grover but Jane (see previous point), but even more than that, it makes the film better if Grover doesn't go. That's the whole point of those flashbacks chronicling how Jane and Grover first met -- it's a rebuke against the pat, storybook ending, by showcasing the sweetness that once was and can never be recaptured.

I was actually going to tie this whole thing together with a story about how I just recently broke up with my girlfriend but then decided to get back together with her against my own better judgment, but that would be an incredibly tidy little ending to this post, and I like my endings unhappy.