In Defense of Cal Hockley…

When looking back at the epic love story told by James Cameron’s masterpiece, Titanic, it becomes almost immediately clear who will be the hero of his tale.

The underdog.

The loveable scamp.

Jack Dawson.

I’m king of golden wavy locks and smirking!

We all swooned along with Rose as he wooed her with his wily charms. 

Ladies…we’ve all dated Jack Dawson. Let’s take a trip down memory lane, shall we? Don’t you remember the guy who would wink at your over his drum set when he played with that band that occasionally got to be the opener’s opener at that place that charges a $10 cover but sells PBR pounders for $1.50? Or the guy who slept in a sleeping bag on an old mattress on the floor but that’s only because all of his money goes towards canvases and oil pastels and he told you that you were “his muse.”

Riddle me this ladies….are any of you still dating that guy?

If you are, bless your heart. You’re surely a better person than I. But to other, more sane people reading this blog who eventually got tired of paying for dinners and making up excuses for him wearing the same t-shirt for 3 days in a row….did you realize he was your very own Jack Dawson? Oh yes. Jack Dawson is a very easy character to romanticize. He’s cute. He’s clever. He’s Aladdin in suspenders. (That’s a discussion for another blog entry) He’ll whisk you away from the real world where you have to “pay bills” and “shower” to a place where you can bask in your love for one another all day long.

Do you know why you can spend all day basking in your love?

Because you have no money to do anything else. Jack Dawson is a one broke-ass biotch with no drive, no sense of reality, and no chance of actually landing a girl like Rose for long. I’d love to know how long they would have stayed together had she not ditched his ass in the icy Atlantic. (We all know there was enough room for both of you on that driftwood, Rose. Methinks as your body started to go into hypothermic shock you started to get a clear vision of what life with Jack off the boat would actually look like.)

Or don’t.

Which brings me to my point:

What was so bad about Cal Hockley?

*smolder smolder smolder*

Sure. There were times when Cal may have been a bit domineering. He may have overstepped boundaries and made some decisions that Rose didn’t agree with. But you know what…dude is hot and rich and so he can do what he damn well pleases. You see that guy up there?  He can tell me what to do any day of the week. Buy me furs and elegant hats and the freakin’ heart of the ocean and it is GAME ON. All he wanted to do was insure that he and his family would always have the finer things in life. Is that so wrong?

Some might say he never let Rose make any decisions. Exhibit A:

Um….pardon me, but have you ever heard of a little thing called CHIVALRY? It’s pretty obvious Rose wasn’t dying to order her own food, and to be honest I’d love it if my boyfriend cut my meat for me. Who wouldn’t want their meal in perfect bite-size pieces? If someone bought my way on to the titanic, the ship of dreams, I'd eat whatever he wants me to eat. Even if it’s something as gross as rare lamb. Bleck.

I think this is a classic case of gold digging gone wrong. Rose was an amateur in the Super Bowl of gold digging and she couldn’t handle the pressure.

So Cal Hockley, if you’re out there….I’ll sneak you on to a lifeboat any day of the week and I won’t ever spit in your face. Call me.