X-Files

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The One Where We Recap The Movie
So, the action figures haven't stopped making out since The Kiss last week. And while I'm glad they're happy and whatnot, it's starting to make me sick. I asked them to get a room; they ignored me. I turned my Water Pik on them (the hose might hurt them); nothing. I stood in front of their shelf and stared at them and hoped to shame them into, at the very least, putting their little plastic shirts back on. It's like I don't even exist. It's disgusting. Anyway. Remember the summer of 1998? Clinton was President. I was barely out of college, young and stupid and poor, making almost no money and driving around town in the clunkiest clunker that ever rolled off the production line in Motor City -- a car so clunky that people literally pointed and laughed. I hated my job. I loathed my apartment, a cement and balsa-wood atrocity smack in the middle of the 'hood, complete with drug dealers across the street and hookers on the corner. The guy who lived next door to me got arrested twice in three weeks. I passed out in the shower and ended up with a Dylan McKay-esque scar above my right eyebrow. And yet, somehow, life wasn't so bad. The action figures found their way into my life and they weren't macking, like, constantly (or, frankly, at all). My TV watching was imminently satisfying; Dawson's Creek was still a pleasurable guilty pleasure, Buffy was really starting to hit its stride, and The X-Files? The X-Files was so good. The mytharc was seemingly manageable and new plot points still felt like little pieces of a big, fascinating, juicy puzzle that we were all going to figure out one day. And naturally, everyone -- well, everyone I knew -- was totally stoked about the movie. There was the big fat EW cover. ["I think there were actually, like, five EW covers about the movie that summer." -- Wing Chun] We had Kevin and Bean, the morning drive guys on KROQ, Los Angeles's "alternative rock" station, devoting, like, an hour every Monday morning to dissecting the show, and then, come summer, speculating about the movie, like, every single morning as I drove my shitty car to my shitty job, praying that the engine wouldn't fall out before I got there. In other words, people were counting down the days. We had such high hopes, yo. My friends and I went opening night -- and then I went two nights later and had to pretend like I hadn't already seen the movie, because my roommates and I were friends with two different groups of boys, and...you know what? Long story. Anyway. Opening weekend. The theatre -- a big fancy one on the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica -- was packed, literally every seat full. And when the credits started, everyone went totally, completely silent. Are you ready to relive the memories?

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X-Files

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