Besides the fact that I'm a week late, there's really no reason that I should be saying dick about the life and work of John Hughes.  I say this not because I'm biased against him or I need to disclose some sort of precondition that makes me ethically ineligible to pass judgment in this particular situation.  I say this because I'm a rare case: I'm probably one of a small handful of pop culture obsessed near-thirty year olds who has a very minor relationship with his work; either I was too young or too sheltered in my youth, but his work never meant a great deal to me.  Sure, I've seen the Breakfast Club and I've seen Ferris Bueller, but I haven't seen Pretty in Pink in its entirety and have seen maybe 60% of Sixteen Candles total after about twelve attempted viewings, on VHS and cable.  It might be sacrilege, but I kind of hate his films, or at least they mean nothing to me.  But that doesn't mean that they aren't totally representative of their era; in fact, my dispassion for them might validate how iconic they truly are.