Mike: Maybe just once more.
There's a moment in the film Living Out Loud, after Holly Hunter takes a tab of Ecstasy from Queen Latifah, where Holly Hunter ends up in girl bar called The Confessional and dances to Brownstone’s If You Love Me.
It is my favorite moment in a movie, ever.
Every time it comes on, I applaud and cover my wide grin with my hands like Miss Celie in The Color Purple. Except I'm not a black woman in an abusive marriage who learns strength and self-respect by making Oprah Winfrey pants. And I have both of my eyebrows.
Everything about the scene is perfect, from Holly Hunter's blonde hair to her banging little black cocktail dress to the moment she walks -- no, struts -- on to the dance floor. The club is filled with hot New York lesbians and wannabians and straight gals pretending it's still senior year at Bryn Mawr and that this experimentation won't affect their final grade. They're like, "Lesbianism? Makes me hotter." Anyway: Holly Hunter. Hopped up on the X (a drug I've done twice, loved both times, but hated the morning-after business with the whole wanting to die), she makes her way through the crowd of pet-happy ladies and then Brownstone hits its mid-point bridge, all "Oh I, oh I, I wanna touch-ya baby" and there's Holly Hunter, leading a group of women in the best choreographed non-sequitur instantaneous dance scene ever.
(Even as I'm typing this -- and PS: I've totally got the Brownstone on auto-repeat -- I keep having to quell the urge to applaud all over again.)
There's sexy-walking and then power-posing and then Holly Hunter does this hair-toss and I can't stop squeeing and I want nothing more at that moment than to be a blonde sexy lesbian dancing in tandem with Holly Hunter, with her ripped calves and black hose. I mean, there's no gender dysphoria on my part; it's just that everyone seems so at ease with who they are and where they are and how they are and they have a going-out wardrobe and they're dancing with Holly Hunter and it's all just right, you know?
"I love the scene, too," Zach said last night after watching it. Twice. "But I don't know that I love it in the same way you do. Any idea what's going on there?" And I tried to explain it to him the way I've tried to explain it here, and I still don't know that I've really explained it so that the truth of the whole scene is evident. I just know that scene is true and good the way I know that Zach is true and good; the way I know my own name; the way I believe the sun will rise tomorrow the way it rose today; the way I know that she was Barbarella: and she was right.
Maybe it's one of those self-evident things; and if you get it, good. If you don't -- maybe you need a black cocktail dress, blonde hair, and a choreographed lesbian bar dance sequence. And please invite me when you go.