ROOTING FOR THE UNDERDOG: WOMEN WAX OFF ON THE NORMAL GUYS WHO MAKE 'EM WILD.
|Tracy Weiss, Claire Zulkey, Kathie Fries, Blaise K, Jami Attenberg||
Lyle Lovett and Julia Roberts. Ric Ocasek and Paulina Poriskova. Siegfried and Roy. These are just a few of the romances between a woman who is very attractive and a man who gets eaten by a tiger.
No, no, no, of course not... anyway.
This month the women of The Black Table discuss unconventional hot guys. These men are not hearthrobs. They are not studly. Some of them, for lack of a better word, could possibly be considered, well, kind of creepy looking. But they do have that certain something that gets our ladies all agog. We don't know what it is. Sometimes even they don't know what it is. But these nine guys have it, apparently.
Ask anyone who knows me, I like my men like I like my bacon strips, tall and lean. Most shorties tend to have ego problems and anyway it's way more fun to climb a man in bed than have some little squirt make you feel like you should be breastfeeding him. But there is one shortie -- very shortie -- who has won my heart, and is welcome to nuzzle me anytime: Peter Dinklage.
I first noticed him in 1995's Living in Oblivion giving the death stare
to Steve Buscemi's self-involved director character. Damn, I thought.
The little guy's kind of hot. He disappeared from my radar for a while,
reappearing again as the angry writer in last year's Elf. Sure, he was
a bastard, but he was one of the funniest parts of that movie. (You
But the final dampen to my panties hit when I saw him on Grand Ave in Williamsburg the day before Christmas. He was wearing a ski vest, vintage pants, his hair was ruffled carelessly - I was like: holy shit, Peter Dinklage is a Williamsburg hipster! And I'm not even going to hold it against him!
Since then I've seen him on the L train a few times, and I so want to stop and talk to him but I'm shy, and anyway, what if he doesn't like girls like me? You know -- Jewish.
I have been told that his bowtie is a sure sign of impotence. I have been told that his conservativism is surely not an act. I have been told that I am seriously disturbed and that I should go back to having that weird crushon Dave Grohl. And yet, ever since they got him out from behind the "Crossfire" desk, slapped him into a parka, and plopped him down in Iraq, Ifind myself curiously lusting after CNN's Tucker Carlson. Oh yes, the man who said he'd eat his own shoe if Hilary Clinton's book sold a million copies -- it did, and he did (well, sort of, he ate some shoe-cake; I don't like cake, but I think we could work that out), and so I know he is a man of his word, trustworthy and true. When asked during the New Hampshire primary what he was expecting to see, he replied, "Well, I'm at the Dean Headquarters, so I'm looking for body piercings." Oh, Tucker: I have body piercings, and I wouldn't mind if you looked for them. We could look for them together, Tucker, and it would be both way more fun and waaaay more successful than looking for, say, weapons of mass destruction or some sort of logic to Bush's tax plan. I think I could break you, Tucker. Let's get you out of that bowtie and into something much, much sexier: Me.
TNT is the bane of my existence. It is crack for women who love TV, I can't turn it off. Sometimes, I switch to TBS, but that station is like speed. At best, TBS leaves you with a cracked-out feeling you don'tever want to revisit. Why does anyone in their right mind need to watch Jack Frost with Michael Keaton?! Gag. I, instead cannot stop polluting my consciousness with Asst. D.A. Jack McCoy, and Detective Lennie Briscoe from, Dndh - Dndh!, Law and Order. Yes sirreebob, these two have become hot to me. Pathetic, Kathie, Pathe-tic.
After further thought, Jack McCoy, is really only hot because his name is Jack. So really, Lennie is where it's at girls. You know he loves a strip club, and if all characters co-exist in the magical land of TV, he's shagging Alice from that 80's show, um, Alice. Right. And then Snyder would catch them in the act, but one stern look from Lennie, and Snyder's giving him his after-sex cigarette from his own personal T-shirt sleeve pack
Anyway, Lennie's hot because he's got that six-pack-a-day, sleazy egg-sandwich sex appeal going on. (You know what I'm talking about.) Even though the shoulders are sagged, and the smirk a little overdone, the hairline and eyebrow are pretty sexy. He even sports a tan sometimes. Can you picture Lennie Briscoe getting a spray-on tan? In my Dndh! - Dndh! fantasy world, he's naked, or maybe in a Speedo, smoking and holding a Manhattan in a big rocks glass. After taking the cig out of his mouth, and exhaling, he says to the tan attendant, "Yeah, my second ex-wife threw up too, got any cherries?"
I first saw my ultimate not-hot-hot guy in "Next Stop Wonderland." He was the slightly overweight long-haired arrogant activist breaking up with his girlfriend in search of someone more, well, activistish. Then, in "Boogie Nights" he was the whiny porn star wannabe, Scotty J., pining away for Mark Wahlberg's prosthetic pronger. Next, I found him in "Happiness" as the potbellied pervert Allen. He was crank calling women, picking them at random from the hefty white pages, and jacking off into the phone at the sound of a female voice over the bulbous weight of his oversized belly.
Yes, I'm talking about Philip Seymour Hoffman. Was it the receding hairline? The way his upper lip curled in sheer self-hatred? Was it the way he wiped his splooge off of the wall with a tissue after jacking it? I don't know, but I was smitten. I was lucky enough to see him live in Sam Shepard's extraordinary play "True West" several years ago. Hoffman starred opposite John C. Reilly and with each performance, they switched characters. I saw it on a night that Hoffman played the responsible brother to Reilly's troublemaking sibling. Hoffman was costumed in an unfortunately fitting pair of chinos and a pink button-down short sleeve shirt. As the play went on he became more unkempt. Red frizzy hair out of place, gut protruding from his now untucked Izod. His performance made my eyes blur, it was so hot. The more unraveled he became, so did I.
Philip, if you happen to be reading this, I want you to know that your look totally turns me on. I'm black, Jewish, cute and available, and I've been told I have a great phone voice. I'm in the white pages.
Not a chance in hell -- how hot is that? If you ask me, Dennis Kucinich is the alpha underdog. I love the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles, the way his apple-cheeks and gray-streaked hair say both "Let's play!" and "Who's your Daddy?," the way he supports Roe vs. Wade. And look, he was cute even back when he was electible -- hee hee, check him out all sweet and yummy and brooding in 1978: doesn't he look like he's thinking dirty thoughts, like, "My administration would strengthen environmental laws and increase penalties on polluters" -- ? Back off, Gina Marie Santore!
Just one problem: he's vegan, I can't live without cheese (unless it's near meat). But you know what? I can change him.
Copulation mid-stunt, mid-air, hair swooping, spit slinging, breasts joggling, arms chopping, with only the bliss of orgasm holding he and I together, and holding off our well-armed enemy in black below: that is my sexual fantasy. And none other than Jackie Chan, the best kung fu artist of all time, could help me pull it off. Far more acrobatic than the kama sutra,don't you think? And very exciting for the imminent mortal danger of it all.Sure, I'd have to train with the masters for years, but that would only make my anticipation flower into an overgrown rose bush. And the moment of contact would be like a bee stinging the rose. You get the idea. The very thought gets my face hot, and makes my palms all sweaty. Plus, his shaggy bowl cut makes me want to cry. The way it sweeps across his forehead when he's executing a chop, and then settles back into place with such quiet precision, like a waterfall. It's heart-breaking. I've started taking karate in the hopes of seeing this fantasy through.
This is a great time to be alive if you're an unconventional hot guy.
Conventional hot guys are so out right now. This is the era for the thick glasses, weird hair, ill-fitting pants and strange names. Get one or two of those, possibly an inheritance, and you're set for life.
I am nonplussed by this, however, because I love unconventional hot
I have loved many an unusual looking man, because of two reasons. One:laughter is indeed an aphrodisiac.
But that's not the only way to be an unconventionally hot guy and get
I got over this guy eventually, but the love for the angry young man
Handsome men are always nice to look at. But we look at crap all day long, every day. The smartest women love the oddest men, so if you consider yourself a Ken doll, it's best to get out there and get a black eye or a bad haircut or a chipped tooth.
I close my eyes and think of those psychotic, beedy eyes.
Generally, I lust after the dark and quasi-nerdy brand of celeb:
But there is something about the cue ball head and his maniacal smile that has captured my deranged heart. Hes vain, cold, pretentious, and both incredibly manly and effeminate at the same time. Many feature films make him wear a fancy-pants wig. All the qualities I tend to seek out.
Oh to be Catherine Keener.
Fucking John Malkovitch
I met John while watching Dangerous Liaisons at a young age. The fervor in which he went after Umas virginity, lusted for Michelle, while keeping a sexy Keanu at bay, made me want an off balance psycho to pursue me! When he explains, that he had no plans to break down morals. I WANT her to believe in love and virtue and the sanctity of marriage, and still not be able to stop herself. I want the pleasure of watching her betray everything that is important to her. Evil. Pure fucking, evil, man. Take me.
Ive read that Malkovich was a very temperamental child who called his first grade teacher "a motherfucker" and a "cocksucker" then walked out of the school after losing an Easter egg hunt.
This is a man I can relate too. At a young age, hes shown his problem with authority. A penchant for cursing, hatred for God and his holidays and a competitive spirit.
In high school, he was overweight and forced himself on an all cherry and lemon Jell-O diet until he lost 70 pounds.
This is man with vision. Discipline.
This is a man I could love.
I have this fantasy were hes Cyrus the Virus in Con Air. Malkovitch and I are in that Jailbird plane from the movie and I am strapped in to the cockpit. John goes down on me while I fly the plane.
Whimpy Sargent Larkin (aka Le Cusack) can watch.
The man I want can be described only as "craggy." He of the gentle wit. He of the crisp ennunciation. He of the insinuating winks. Oh, James Cromwell. I love you far more than I should. I'll bet your skin is nice and warm, in spite of the wrinkles. And though I have no idea if you've ever done anything besides act, I like to think your hands are rough, accomplished. And all over me. Your smile is forgiving - you would offer it to me me after I stepped all over your feet learning the tarantella. You know I like those hazelnut crunchy chocolate things. You would tromp the woods for me in early spring, putting lilly of the valley in a bud vase next to my head and watching me fondly as the aroma woke me up. You eat ice cream from my spoon when you don't want a whole bowl for yourself. Sometimes we drink champagne from the bottle. You dance with me after your agent calls with another movie role. Though I'm not famous or important, you introduce me to everyone as "my lover." You ignore your social obligations with movie stars because those people make me nervous. We'd much rather sit on the front porch and hold hands. You will always be September and I will always be May. We will not age. Everyone will envy us. My knowing smile will reveal they are right to be jealous.