Confession
In yet another embarassing turn in my world of bizarre celebrity crushes (starting with Michael Biehn and progressing through Peter Weller, Alan Rickman and Jake Weber), I have a new celebrity crush that is, perhaps, the most bizarre one yet: Bryan Cranston. Yes, that Bryan Cranston; he of Seinfeld dentistry and browbeaten Hal fame.
Seriously? What is wrong with the reticular activating system in my brain’s cortex that causes me to have crushes on men who — for lack of a better term — are “unconventionally attractive” at best? I’ve never been attracted to the swarthy Brad Pitt type, the suave George Clooney type, or even the non-threatening Matt Damon type.
It’s always the guys who look interesting, both in the literal sense of the word and in that other, vaguely rude sense, the one where you tell a friend who you’re desperately trying to set up with a chick that she “has a great personality” or “makes her own clothes” because you can’t really say anything about her looks without saying something that would come across as “she got beat with the ugly stick, bad.” I like men who haven’t had good looks to rely on throughout their lives and have instead developed strong personalities and deep intellects and undiscovered or unappreciated talents and interests.
With that in mind, I stick by my latest celebrity crush, strange as it may be. And, hey, you’ve got to admit: he looks pretty damn hot here, like a straight Tom Ford:
Aaaaand, I’m out. This is all my work-addled brain could put together after a long weekend and a hard Monday…
About this entry
You’re currently reading “Confession,” an entry on Chelsea Hotel No. 2
- Published:
- 2.11.08 / 8pm
- Category:
- movies
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