Rochelle Wiseman and Marvin Humes are Expecting: Why Do I Care?

I don’t subscribe to The Saturday’s gospel. I have never heard a JLS song in my life. Neither Rochelle Wiseman nor Marvin Humes is on my day to day (Canadian) radar.

Why then, am I so freakin’ thirsty when it comes to information about their recent nuptials and upcoming baby? Why do I find myself YouTubing videos of the two of them together and following Rochelle on Twitter, eagerly awaiting more TwitPics of her and her new domesticated life? Why does the photo below make me twitch with jealousy? Why is this the post I’ve decided to make after a year of absence from this blog? Why, in short, do I care?

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Rochelle is only a year older than me. Maybe it’s because my current life more-so resembles Hannah’s from the HBO series Girls that that of a rich, beautiful U.K. popstar who’s just married another rich, beautiful U.K. popstar.  Maybe it’s because pictures like these serve as yet another reminder that although I’m in university, I’m still single, unemployed, and living at home with my parents.

Alas, when all’s said and done (i.e. when I’ve managed to quit moaning long enough to finish this post), I wish “Marvelle” (not my name for them, I promise) a lifetime of happiness together. Even though they’re not, like, on my radar, like, at all…

I’m the blues in your left thigh… trying to become the funk in your right

I was curled up in bed the other night watching the latest episode of VH1’s Single Ladies when Stacey Dash’s character, Val, made reference to a film called Love Jones, touting it as the obviously superior choice of movie entertainment over Blades of Glory for her night in with her man. A quick curiosity-fuelled search on Google led me to a slew of positive reviews for the 1997 film, including one that called it a “cult classic” for African Americans. Between that grandiose statement and Roger Ebert’s review calling the film “smarter” than your average romantic flick, is it a wonder that I sat down to watch Love Jones already cynical? Something so hyped was sure to disappoint, no?

Au contraire, Love Jones is indeed all that and quite frankly, more. Why? Well, there are many reasons, but like with any successful film built on the premise of a romantic relationship, the bulk of the credit has to go to the film’s two leads (after all, a good script can only go so far).  In this case, actors Larenz Tate and Nia Long manage to bring this particular love story to life with an authenticity rarely seen onscreen. Tate plays Darius Lovehall, a smooth-talking, poetry-spouting, jazz-listening type of dude who says things like “When people that have been together for a long time say the romance is gone, what they’re really saying is that they’ve exhausted the possibility,” all while fixing you with a deep stare and taking a seductive drag off his cigarette. Long, on the other hand, plays Nina Mosley, an aspiring photographer who’s just gotten out of a long-term relationship with Darnell from Girlfriends (a.k.a. Khalil Kain) and is in the process of moving out of their previously shared apartment.

When these two creative minds meet one night at a poetry slam, Darius steps up to the mic and, by all accounts, lays his swag on thick as he recites a poem “he’d like to call… ‘A Blues For Nina'” to Long’s character across the smoke-filled room. Therein lies the title of this post. Video below.

Unfortunately, Darius’ little stunt fails to impress Nina in the way he’d hoped. It’s all that overt “sex talk” that’s got her rolling her eyes. Sex is great and all, she says, but… what about love? And that’s the underlying question throughout Love Jones as Darius and Nina illustrate for us (against a backdrop of smooth jazz stylings) how two twenty-somethings navigate their way from just “kickin’ it” to being “the one” the other’s been searching for. Theirs is a love story so artistically and emotionally rich, you’ll find yourself appreciating the nuanced performances given by Tate and Long more and more with each viewing.All necessary evidence lies in Nina and Darius’ first date.  Video below.  See the awkward distance they keep as they walk together down the street? The goofy smiles and childlike flirtation that bounce between them as they discuss Sanchez and Mozart? How about the total cuteness that ensues when the two get their “bump and grind” on at the Wild Hare?  The chemistry absolutely radiates off these two — so much so that Nina’s decision to “go out like that on the first date” seems reasonable if not inevitable considering the circumstance (i.e. him being Darius Lovehall/Larenz Tate and all).  Get it, girl.

Titanic, what? The Notebook, who?

The Chosen One

Okay. Here I go.

So I nearly fell out of my chair when I heard the news about Victoria Beckham being pregnant with Baby #4 (a.k.a. “Heir to Posh Spice’s Wardrobe” or “The Chosen One” given — of course  — that Baby #4’s a bambina and not another bambino).  So excited was I that I immediately ran down the hall to my cousin’s room and proudly informed her — to her disdain — that  I was going to be an aunt (in much the same way that I’m Willow Smith’s older sister and no, you can’t tell me I’m not). 

You see, assuming Baby #4 comes correct (i.e. with two X chromosomes), she will essentially be my Shiloh Jolie Pitt: the baby of all babies with the birth of all births.  I’ve secretly been anticipating this announcement since ’04 when Posh and Becks first landed on my Canadian radar (three years before they landed on the rest of North America’s, mind you).  It’s no secret the Beckhams have been coveting a baby girl for Victoria to pass her Birkins down to, and at 36, this might be her last chance. Questions about whether they invested in gender selection methods to ensure they get a girl this time are already being asked but let’s be honest…if you were them –already blessed with three healthy boys and had the financial means and resources necessary– wouldn’t you?  Well, you might not admit it but I would.

Again, assuming this kid knows what’s good for it and is, indeed, a girl, she’ll likely be SPOILED in ways even Suri Cruise and her Burberry nappies couldn’t imagine.  I can already picture David bent over The Chosen One’s custom designed Marc Jacobs bassinet, coochicoo-ing away while placing a diamond encrusted rattle in her tiny hand — not unlike Rhett Butler in that scene from Gone With the Wind when Bonnie Blue is born and Rhett won’t shut up about how he’s going to buy her a pony or something.  Yeah, like that.  But even more lavish.

And then there’s the thing about the name.  When you’re part of the Beckham clan, an ordinary name is simply out of the question.  Years ago when Victoria was pregnant with Romeo but reported (by the British tabloids) to be having a baby girl, it began to circulate that the Beckhams highly favoured the name “Paris” for their unborn daughter (apparently they loved the city and felt the name would complement the one they’d already given their first child, Brooklyn).  True or untrue, a lot of time has passed since then and as we all know, the name “Paris” has been tainted to the point where it likely won’t be reusable for another fifteen years.  So what’s left?  I say go North and name the kid London – it’s patriotic, fierce and (dare I say it?) “posh” enough.

Five bucks says her first word’s “Gucci”.