Weekly Wire
Tucson Weekly Say Never

Before the summer blockbusters begin, let's get a few things straight.

By Stacey Richter

MAY 4, 1998:  YOU WILL NEVER outrun an explosion in your own car. You will never debate whether you should pick up a live hand grenade. You will never be clocked on the head by a very heavy object, then go in to work. You will never be mistaken for a gangster, a tycoon, or an heiress, and hijinks will not follow.

You will not find a body in the trunk of your car. You won't jump a gap in a bridge or road in a car, motorcycle, bus or golf cart--at least, not successfully. You will never fight crime while dressed to the nines. You will not be run out of town by an angry mob. You will never be at the right place at the right time, then at the wrong place at the wrong time, then at the last minute, find yourself at the right place at the right time, once again.

You will not be vindicated, accused or exonerated while all the townsfolk bear witness.

Your high-school buddies will not perish at the hands of zombies. Your high-school buddies will not be cubed by an ax murderess. You will not be corralled by an army of mutant robots, rodents or insects, and then miraculously fight your way free. You shall not live forever among the bloodsucking ranks of the undead.

You will not be weeping, in a highly emotional state, with no snot dripping from your nose.

You will not have a butler. You will never redecorate a house, church or business in a day. You will never flounce about in a different outfit every five minutes, each more cunning than the last. You will not go to sleep in full make-up. And if you do, you will not wake up with your lipstick and eyeliner beautifully in place.

A room will not fall silent when you enter. You will never be the only person in a given place with a little stripe of light across your eyes. When you greet a person you love, from whom you have been separated for a very long time, music will not swell, unless you've taken care to bring an orchestra/boom box/mariachi band with you.

You, and your companions, will not suddenly break into a song which illustrates your plight. Nor will you find that you all fortuitously know the same dance, and have decided to dance it together. You will not be escorted through a strange land by a race of wee humans. You will never enjoy the company of a talking animal.

You won't be approached by leprous beggars. You will not succumb to the Black Death. You will never find yourself living in the 16th century, with freshly shampooed hair, clear skin, and dazzling teeth. You will not live in France, surrounded by Frenchmen who converse only in lightly accented English. You will not travel to outer space, nor will you find an adorable space alien hiding in your garage.

The woman you lust for will not harbor a monster within her body. Your new boyfriend will not turn out, upon closer inspection, to be an angel from heaven. You will not be the only girl at the party wearing a sexy dress. You will not commit the act of love in under three minutes, with your body lit to best advantage, clutching the bedsheets silently to indicate your rapture. You will not awaken blissfully to a tray of coffee and rolls.

You will not get the last word when you most deserve it. Things will never cut or fade out when they become uninteresting. You will not find an uncanny sense of justice rules all your doings. All of the details of your life, and your companion's lives, will not fortuitously converge at the last moment to save you/exonerate you/help foil the bad man who is chasing you.

The bad person whose death you crave will not conveniently perish in an accident you have not devised. There will not be a last moment, aside from your own death. Your life will not have a soundtrack, nor will it have closing credits. There will be no sequel.


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