08 February, 2005

Judge Not...

...Are you gonna take me home tonight/ Ah down beside that red firelight/ Are you gonna let it all hang out....

The snow on the ground kisses her toes as she minces along in strappy high heeled sandals. Her Capri-length jeans are flared mid-calf, and strategically bleached to ...highlight? ...emphasize? ...accentuate? I’m not sure what. Black spandex covers the roll bulging above her waistband, and the leotard/bodysuit/tee-shirt/sausage casing is topped by a hot pink breast-hugging shrug wrap.

I expect an overly made up face, overly processed hair to top this 250 pound testament to poor taste. I am surprised. The hair is flat, and frankly mousey. The face is unexpertly retouched with blue eyeshadow and pink lip gloss. It’s not more than fourteen years old, this face.

As she walks away, strong guitar thrums in my mind’s ear. "...you make the rockin’ world go round..." According to Morgan Spurlock, roughly half the budget for SuperSize Me went to securing rights to that song for the opening credits.

"My mother would have killed me for leaving the house dressed like that," an excessively verbal acquaintance of mine exclaims, describing her horror of MallRatz, the kids who hang out in what she obviously considers 'her' territory. She disapproves of tattooes and piercings and hairdos, of naval-exposing halters and thong-exposing hiphuggers. "She would have just killed me, I tell you!"

Well...we were looking at Olivia Newton-John, not Brittany Spears.

"That is so true. You make a good point."

I lie. I never looked at Olivia Newton-John.

It was Joan Jett all the way.

(Fat Bottomed Girls; Queen)

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