Nnekay.com

Sitting on the train, I watched a mother barely touch her utterly beautiful child. Unisex due to the long curls and rugged jeans, this two yearish child beamed at me from behind a pacifier. I couldn’t help but beam back at this tiny scramble of a being. A minute ago, dad had the beautiful child on his hip- as mom sadly looked on. Hands crossed at her waist, she was dejected. Her face hung lax, almost as if the weight of her burden pulled at her cheeks as literal pounds. Her hands held the stress, tightly wound together in a knuckled knot at the pit of her lap. As a couple, their moves were careful constructions of many years spent together… yet it was slow, tired, and sad. A melancholy water ballet as they passed the beautiful child or BC (for short) from dad’s hip to mom’s. The BC did not land on mom’s hip, but rather was placed on the neighboring seat. A dark feeling crept through me.

Is this married life?

God, I hope not- I thought turning away from the squirming BC, who seemed continuously joyful as it clutched the thigh of the woeful mother. Neither parent looked at each other as we sailed through stop after stop.

I don’t know this family’s particular story. They could be blissfully tired from a rough day of sight-seeing or on the verge of a nuclear family meltdown. I don’t know, none of my business- but being a child of divorce- I’m not one to assume longevity. I recognize that marriage doesn’t necessarily translate into forever, yet it’s still a minor defeat when you realize happily ever after isn’t a simple procedure.

Today I would like to analyze a segment from this film review. Just to give a little bit of history:

1. I haven’t seen the movie nor do I really want to see it.

2. Yes, Just Wright looks like smucky hollywood crapola, but Queen Latifah is a refreshing lead mostly because she’s black, not praying mantis thin, and tends to be suspected as a lesbian in her private none of our business life.

3. Obviously, I know she’s “unconventional” in Hollywood LaLa Puffland- but isn’t it kinda awesome to break tradition some times?

Mick LaSalle doesn’t think so…

“Actually, ‘Just Wright’ misses an interesting opportunity. Let’s just say it: Latifah is heavier than just about any other woman who has ever appeared as the lead in a conventional romantic comedy. The movie could have addressed that and made that into a virtue. There are men who especially appreciate overweight ladies, and probably some of those men are professional athletes. Instead, the movie ignores the issue to the point of discomfort. For example, twice Latifah appears in unbecoming, form-fitting gowns, and everyone reacts as if spellbound by her attractiveness.

A movie about a heavy lady who hits the romantic jackpot would have been a welcome statement. But “Just Wright” occupies a weird zone, in which it seems to be embracing Latifah’s weight and denying it, asking for credit while turning a blind eye. Too bad. With a little more courage and little more honesty throughout, this could have been a memorable romantic comedy.”

You mad yet?

For your entertainment, I will now translate:

“Dear readers Queen Latifah is fat. OMG in a Rom-Com, that’s gross and weird. I don’t think fat ladies are hot, but some dudes do, like black guys– er athletes… I got super awkward when she wore those dresses that showed off her big boobs. Uck put them away! Since being fat is like totally gross and stuff… almost like a handicap- why didn’t they call attention to it?!?!?!? I mean a hot guy going after a fat girl- WTF?!”

The thing that gets me so heated is his language. He acts as if he’s spewing the gospel of truth- when really it is thinly veiled insults flying from his judgmental mouth:

He states that “some men” do find curvier women attractive, then in the next sentence talks about how “unbecoming” she is in tight dresses- this speaks as a direct contradiction…. almost like there is something wrong with men who think curves are attractive… and that a womanly shape should be shielded from the public in loose fitting muu-muu type frocks.

“A heavy lady who hits the romantic jackpot” Holy crap are you fucking kidding me?!?! Basically implying that a chance at an attractive man for a shapely woman is like winning the lotto… Mick— really?! You look like this:

Stones and glass houses come to mind…

Mick. La. Salle. You act as if the whole curvy girl gets the guy hasn’t been done before. Aren’t you an “expert” regarding movies?! Or do you avoid movies unless they feature women who are only between the baby sizes of 0-2.

My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Real Women Have Curves, Hairspray… are just a few of these movies which makes a point of saying “Hey look at this homely ass girl… but guess what she’s not really… she’s actually pretty awesome, and she’s going to get the guy. Hooray!”

Yet, there is a problem with that tactic- being slightly more curvaceous than the average movie wench- makes you … huh? what? Yea… it makes you NORMAL. By adding the issue of weight to the plot- it seems as if being overweight is a freakish attribute, almost as if Queen Latifah was sporting a pig nose deformity a la the Christina Ricci fantasy movie Penelope. You don’t see a bunch of pig nose ladies walking around, but shapely curvy bodies? All. The. Time.

So let’s stop making a big deal out of weight. True, I’m all about getting healthy- but can we please stop these misogynist views of the female form from being published on a national platform?!

Carefully, you’ve ironed and organized your best clothes. You know, the ones that make you feel confident and attractive. You’ve allow plenty of time to slowly get ready, dancing shamelessly in your room to your favorite music. Before starting the ignition to your car, you check one last time in the rear view mirror, haplessly sighing… “well… this is as good as it’s going to get.” Your hands slips on the steering wheel from excessive sweat, you grip harder, and this for some reason, this heightens the twittery bubbles inside your chest. Parking the car, you burst out to the street with nervous energy… walking headstrong to your engagement.

It happens in a flash, and now you are alone again.

In your car, you are exhausted, drained, a deflated being- but is that a glimmer of excitement…? Does it boil over into shear giddiness? When you get home, kick off your shoes, and collapse on the bed are you a heaping mess of emotions?

The high propels you through a few days, jutting you forward though daily mundane activities. Unconsciously, you begin to check your phone more frequently.

Was that a missed call? No.

With each moment, your pulse slows… your bubbles pop… a dark sense of dread creeps through your conscious, and hovers lightly on the nape of your neck until… the phone rings.

Tell me… did you get the second date or did you get the job?

During a 15 minute break, I sat, ate some cookies, and watched a mallard duck slowly waddle in my direction. Sometimes he would stare off across the sunny field of grass, looking completely stoic and alone. Other times he would fluff up, shiver, and waggle his dignified tail feathers, as if frustrated with the current state of avian creatures. Often I would find him sneaking glances in my direction, to which I couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of me.

Then it dawned on me… He’s a duck.

His brain is probably the size of a peanut butter cracker, so not much is going on in there.

I’m deeply glad that I have my human brain capacity- but every once in a while, a little peaceful empty headed-ness sounds like a wonderful thing.