I don't watch them often ... certainly not enough to justify the expense of buying them all, if you ask my husband. I purchase every movie my husband and I go to the theater to see, even if I don't really care for them. I keep them all together on the shelf and I put a special mark on them. Someday, I think it will be cool for our grandkids to be able to know which movies their grandparents went on dates to see.

My husband thinks that's lame, but I keep doing it.

Anyway, every now and again I go through a phase where I watch a lot of movies. I'm kind of going through one now ... I've spent a few hours watching movies the past several Sundays.

The ones I'm watching are films from my childhood and teenage years. I've recently viewed "St. Elmo's Fire," "Pretty in Pink," "The Breakfast Club," "Sixteen Candles," "Weird Science," "Animal House" and "Steel Magnolias." In the very near future, I plan on watching "When Harry Met Sally ...," "Places in the Heart," "License to Drive," "Footloose," "Dream a Little Dream," "Better Off Dead" and maybe some others I consider my own personal classics.

Now, I know none of these selections scream with mythological significance. I realize that Molly Ringwald or the Coreys (Feldman and Haim, best friends who were in a several 1980s movies together, for those of you who aren't hip to Generation X lingo) never generated Oscar buzz.

I know "Beverly Hills Cop" was not in a league with movies like "Citizen Kane" (a flick that is supposedly the best film ever but that I have fallen asleep trying to watch several times).

But as I watched those movies, I remembered why I loved them so much.

Since the Brat Pack era, I've never fallen so in love with movie characters. I adored John Bender (Judd Nelson's character in "The Breakfast Club"), Farmer Ted (Anthony Michael Hall's character in "Sixteen Candles") and Billy Hixx (Rob Lowe's character in "St. Elmo's Fire").

I love the dialogue. Seriously, who can resist the catch phrases from 1980s movies? Remember "I want my two dollars?" ""What's happening, hot stuff?" "Does Barry Manilow know you raid his wardrobe?"

A quarter century after I saw them for the first time (is that possible?), I still get goosebumps watching Molly Ringwald and Andrew McCarthy's final scene in "Pretty in Pink." I still cry when Shelby dies in "Steel Magnolias."

I still crack up during the fraternity initiation scene in "Animal House" where the pledges, following instruction from Hoover, say "I, state your name" in unison, and I still always hope Goose makes it through the flat spin mishap in "Top Gun" (of course, he never does).

Maybe they're not artistic masterpieces, but these movies just plain make me feel good. I've had "Shama Lama Ding Dong" by Otis Day & the Knights in my head ever since I watched "Animal House," but that's OK.

I guess the thing I love the most about these movies is that they transport me back to a simpler time. I remember being emotionally invested. I remember where I was and who I was with when I watched them for the first time (some of them on laser disc!).

It's been a while since I was as attached to a character in a movie as I was to Clark Griswold in "National Lampoon's Vacation."

Sure, I own some more recent titles ... "Marley & Me," "Juno," "Walk the Line." All fine movies, but I can't recite the lines as I watch them.

They just don make movies like they used to.