“Who asks an adult man how he feels?
Do you ask a retard what he thinks?”
– from Phat Phree’s Look At My Striped Shirt!
Today, I watched Becoming Jane with Eszter. Yes, I sucked up my masculinity and went up to the theater cashier and whimpered “One for Becoming Jane… please.” And Eszter, beside me, giggled. In her mind, she believed I was watching the movie out of politeness for her long-longing desire to watch it. Yes, respectfully, I was being a gentleman.
But, I can watch anything…
Of course, afterwards, she asked,”So, did you like it?” I, of possessing the psychology of a male, found the movie light temperament and subtle – and it’s only because I did not feel I experienced a dramatic impact from the movie. All in all, though, I still believed the movie was entertaining, and not boring. I most enjoyed it at a general level as a film about a writer and her thirst for words and books to yearn a meaningful life. (Yes, most of you will say that is not an original plot, but most of us live this unoriginal storyline. Look in the mirror, look in the mirror!)
So, I simply responded to Eszter,”Yes, I liked it in a quiet sort of way.”
I guess, after so much talk, for about the past two years, of my enthusiasm with movies about cannibalism and obscure, campy horror flicks, my reputation has not waned that I am a violent, male film viewer. And that I can not possibly be a senstitive, cultured man. You are wrong, I can watch anything as my manly venture into BJ had proven (I hope). Although, my 110% heterosexualism will not admit that I have a “feminine” side. (Irony of my ways?)
Awhile back, I had bought Lauren Weisberger’s The Devil Wears Prada book for SinCin as a gift. This was before the movie came out. Which by that point, many of my fellow female friends have asked if I possessed the book. My insecurity as a male had hit me with confusion as to why they would ask me before any of their own fellow female friends. I’ve only snuck a peek at the first chapter, and had watched the movie on DVD. Tortured with letting go of my ego, it was emotionally painful admiting that I had knowledge of the book and movie. But, SinCin had defended me as being “worldly”, and I was saved from worry that I had possessed a genetic defect.
Having mentioned the two movies, you’d now think I’d have an obsession with Anne Hathaway. No, despite being a worldly, cultured man, I have not watched Princess Diaries, or Ella Enchanted. I am a fan of her movies as an adult star (not that kind of “adult”! Stop stroking yourself.) BigMike did make me indulge in watching the awful “Havoc” (White folks trying to act hard? Come on, that’s as bad as Asians dancing to hip-hop) so that we could watch Miss Hathaway expose her big breastesses (for the illiterate man: titties. Now you can stroke yourself!). Which brings up the subject of another movie that Hathaway’s boobies had appeared: Brokeback Mountain. Yes – my ego go away – I have watched the movie twice. (Hey, if I can watch movies where people are getting their limbs blown off, I can watch movies with guys fucking – and it won’t affect me mentally in any hard way. Ha… ha… ha… I made a sexual funny inference.) And both times, to put things in context, was within the presence of a female.
I’m gonna stop writing now… I’m feeling a little sickly and unmanly… I’ll gonna go hit the gym, talk in a deep voice, and scratch my nuts…