Ironic Jukebox

For posterity’s sake, I’m going to discuss my mother’s unnatural obsession with Queen Latifah, and then let the matter lie, so that the phrase “My mother loves Queen Latifah more than she loves me,” will never again escape from my lips because I am now settled in knowing it’s true, that she does love Queen Latifah more than me, and though it doesn’t make sense and it doesn’t seem normal, that’s how life is sometimes. And if Queen Latifah shows up at Thanksgiving, I’m just going to have to deal with it and pass her the turkey.

When did this begin? How did this happen? My initial guess would be that it was “Chicago”-era Queen that my mother first fell for, but it might even stretch before that to “Living Single” Queen, or maybe “Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” Queen. But one thing’s for sure: my mom loves that brassy attitude! She is fascinated by the lack of cellulite on her arms, which are big, and how does she do that? And her skin! And her smile! And that voice!

Then, as if the heavens were conspiring to make my mother the greatest Queen Latifah fan the world has ever known, she makes a movie with Steve Martin. Could life get any better?! My mother posited that it could not! Though her good-for-nothing, tasteless children rolled their eyes during commercial previews and flatly refused to watch it, my mother watched it. Then “Taxi,” co-starring Jimmy Fallon. She’s a taxi driver! The baddest!! Bad as in good and all that charisma and sauciness and still NO CELLULITE on her arms! And the Cover Girl franchise! Ease, breeze, and beauty personified! And the Pizza Hut commercials–consumerism at its best! Perhaps if you eat Pizza Hut you too will never have arm cellulite? Because Queen would not endorse an unhealthy, unwholesome, or unsaucy product.

Then, The Ultimate– last year my mother attended a Queen Latifah concert at the Count Basie Theatre. Queen sang hits from The Dana Owens Album. For the uninitiated, Dana Owens is Queen’s real name (I am sometimes quizzed on my knowledge of this fact at random moments during family functions, and thus will never forget it). My parents sat fifth row center and my mother was spellbound throughout. Our post-concert phone conversation went something like this:

Me: Did she rap?

Mom: No, just standards. I really think she’s the Ella of our time.

Me: I hope she doesn’t die of a cocaine overdose.

Mom: ELLA! Queen will never die of a cocaine overdose! You’re thinking of Billie Holiday.

Me: Oh. Yeah.

Mom: At one point in the concert she took a break to put on lip gloss, and I yelled out “Cover Girl!” and she posed!!!!!

Me: Oh my god.

Mom: Yes, she posed! Because I yelled “Cover Girl!” And she heard me!

Me:——-

Mom: I tried to get a t-shirt, because you know, this is MY THING.

Me:——————————–

Mom: But they didn’t have any concert t-shirts. They were all Queen Latifah as a Cover Girl.

Me: I’ll get you one for Christmas.

Mom: She lives in Colts Neck. She could come for Christmas!!!!

Me:———–

(The End)

I’m exhausted. Now you see what I deal with.

Comments (2)