“If you would know a man, observe how he treats a cat.”
(Robert A. Heinlein. The Door Into Summer. New York: Doubleday & Co, 1957.)
James Dean being all handsome and fly with a couple kitty cats, and scope those specs no less! Heat.
A very big guy for pretty much only this type of pussy, Dean’s cat’s name was Marcus. It was a present from Elizabeth Taylor.
Finally, a pen and ink drawing which was auctioned two years ago by his museum on good ol’ eBay. Dean drew it for Geraldine Page, his co-star in a Broadway play. I don’t really want to know what those two are doing, but you have to admit it’s a pretty damned good drawing, as bestiality sketches go.
It’s been forever since we had a Hot Man Bein’ Hot of the Day. Shame on me! Some lady fan service. Depending on your viewpoint.
Stand By Me (Rob Reiner, 1986; adapted from the Stephen King novella “The Body”). This is the first of what I hope will be a series of Corey Feldman entries. He’s totally an O.G. hottie. Did You Know?
Okay, so before you castigate me as a freak and a pedophile, let me explain.
Understand that I’m coming at the “hot” aspect with the eyes of the little ’80’s girl who saw him in this and Gremlins, Goonies, Lost Boys*, et al and conceived a giant, throbbing, lifelong crush on Corey Feldman. My feelings when I see him with wet hair and his dorky glasses are timeless because of this. I am not generally turned on by pictures of 15-year-old boys.
Yes, he was 15. He was just playing a 12-year-old. Moderately better, yes? So please all around don’t look too askance at this entry. Appreciate with me that Terry Duchamp is all kinds of pimp in this movie! A total Unlikely G. That’s hot at any age, in the general-heat way, not the get-it-on heat way.
Totally pimp!, but I’m still feeling hinky. Gonna end this one early. Look for more Corey Feldman, hopefully with greater legality of age, in the near future.
*Don’t even act like I’m not in The Lost Boys because I totally am. I’m on the carousel in the boardwalk footage. Never Forget.
From the album In My Life, compiled by Sir George Martin, 1998, this is a shockingly good cover of the Beatles’ cryptic classic by a dude who holds a special place in my heart.
Jim Carrey — I Am the Walrus (Lennon/McCartney, 1967).
I do not care one whit about the Ace Ventura movies or Dumb and Dumber: I’ve never even seen them. That’s deliberately due to the fact that I really, really like everything else about Jim Carrey. I just think he’s an excellent, sensitive, even somewhat tragic human being. A real person.
Not long ago, someone started that old, “If you could have dinner with one person, living or dead–” question, and I immediately blurted out, “Jim Carrey!” Then I felt bad for not saying Jesus.
I guess I just want to see if I’m right about him. He seems like such a levelly cool guy.
Listen for Jim on both vox and keyboard in this cover.
I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly.
I’m crying.
Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.
Corporation tee-shirt, stupid bloody Tuesday.
Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob.
Girls Like A Boy Who Plays Music.
Mister City Policeman sitting
Pretty little policemen in a row.
See how they fly like Lucy in the Sky, see how they run.
I’m crying, I’m crying.
I’m crying, I’m crying.
Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dog’s eye.
Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess,
Boy, you been a naughty girl you let your knickers down.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob.
Sitting in an English garden waiting for the sun.
If the sun don’t come, you get a tan
From standing in the English rain.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob.
Expert textpert choking smokers,
Don’t you think the joker laughs at you?
See how they smile like pigs in a sty,
See how they snied.
I’m crying.
Semolina pilchard, climbing up the Eiffel Tower.
Elementary penguin singing Hari Krishna.
Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allan Poe.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob.
Goo goo g’joob g’goo goo g’joob g’goo…
And finally —
— because it’s extremely true. (I do not number among the nameless hordes of diehard Titanic haters, I simply disagree with many of the characters’ choices.)
If he is only in it for the pussy … it’s working. I am not deterred by today’s Hot Man’s facelessness nor non-existence. I can break down exactly why this sketch of a gentleman melts my cold, cold heart.
a) Girls Like A Boy Who Plays Music.
b) Dressed like Han Solo.
c) Dressed like Han Solo (counts at least twice).
d) Looks like he could not borrow my jeans.
Emo boys, I have given you warnings in the past, but I’m still seeing these skinny jeans and “jeggings” hanging off your narrow heinies all around the town. Let me phrase it to you less delicately than in the past.
PSA:
If you look like you could literally get in my pants, you are not getting in my pants.
/End PSA. Now please refer to the handsome faceless internet drawing of what a real man looks like, and eat some spaghetti, Slappy.
edit: The lyrics are from “Awake My Soul” by Mumford and Sons. Here is what I assume to be the inspiration for the drawing:
Nothing to complain about, but is it weird that I like the drawing better? It isn’t anything so explicable and logically psychological like that the facelessness implies more tantalizing possibility: I genuinely just prefer the drawing to the dude. Could be the camera angle making him look shorter and thinner. Don’t worry, guy, you are still okay. Maybe give the other one a Twinkie, though.
This post originally appeared on September 27, 2009 at 6:55 pm.
It’s like bringing a gun to a knifefight.
“The way we present ourselves is a veneer, and beneath that, there are a lot more unpleasant things.” –Viggo Mortensen.
In addition to being an excellent actor, Viggo Mortensen is also a published poet, jazz musician who has released three CDs to favorable reviews, and a gifted painter whose provocative full-wall murals appear in A Perfect Murder, the 1998 adapatation of Hitchcock’s Dial “M” For Murder. Furthermore, your wife, girlfriend, mother, or sister would all leave you for him without a backward glance. Did you know?
According to the wiki, Viggo Mortensen has property near the seat of the teeny little county in the northwestern tip of the United States from which both sides of my family hail, but I have never seen him there even effing once. Total folklore. What gives, man? Next time you are in Bumfuck, Idaho, call a bitch.
“We all experience many freakish and unexpected events—you have to be open to suffering a little. The philosopher Schopenhauer talked about how out of the randomness, there is an apparent intention in the fate of an individual that can be glimpsed later on. When you are an old guy, you can look back, and maybe this rambling life has some through-line. Others can see it better sometimes. But when you glimpse it yourself, you see it more clearly than anyone.” –Viggo Mortensen
Y’all please excuse Viggo Mortensen while he blows ya mind.
Been a while since we’ve had a Hot Man Bein’ Hot of the Day around here and I thought I’d look to remedy that right about now.
Like fellow rebel-imaged hottie James Dean*, Marlon Brando was a complex cat who looked damned fine deviating from the norm.
Credit.**
“Acting is the least mysterious of all crafts. Whenever we want something from somebody or when we want to hide something or pretend, we’re acting. Most people do it all day long.”
(Interview in the New York Times. July 2, 2004.)
Girls like a boy who plays music.
This picture ain’t just whistlin’ dixie. Marlon Brando holds several patents for drumhead tensioning. That links to one, but the patent office issued others between December 2002 and November 2004.
Marlon Brando: Pussy Magnet.
Girls like a boy who reads.
“With women, I’ve got a long bamboo pole with a leather loop on the end. I slip the loop around their necks so they can’t get away or come too close. Like catching snakes.”
Mr. Brando’s legally wedded snakes:
Anna Kashfi (1957–1959)
Movita Castaneda (1960–1962)
Tarita Teriipia (1962–1972)
“He gave us our freedom. … When Marlon dies, everybody moves up one.”
(Jack Nicholson, on Brando’s import in the history of actors.)
Mr. Brando passed away on July 1, 2004 at the UCLA Medical Center in Los Angeles, California of respiratory failure from pulminary fibrosis, brought on by numerous causes. R.I.P.
I promise to revisit Marlon Brando another Hot Man Bein’ Hot etc day because I’ve got loads more pictures.
*On October 1, my Complete James Dean DVD box set arrives, along with an Audrey set. Anticipaaation. **All pictures via fuckyeahmarlonbrando on the tumblr, a beautiful must for Brando fans.
Drop Dead Fred (Ate De Jong, 1991), featuring madcap redhead Rik Mayall, who makes it all better and doesn’t condescend to mollycoddle while he does it. I would be okay with him cutting my hair in my sleep, or wiping snot affectionately down my cheek.
I could use him, I think, right now … could definitely use him. Walking down memory lane watching this movie was like being repeatedly hit in the stomach with a club carved of ice. (Is that possible? Someone get back to me if it is.) Awesome. Check it out.
Elizabeth’s world has been turned upside down. Her marriage appears to be over following her discovery that he has cheated on her; but she simply can’t stop loving him. In her misery, her imaginary childhood friend Fred reappears, having been previously locked away from her.
Elizabeth stays with her mother; quite cold to Elizabeth, she intends to put Elizabeth back with Charles, but, in the meantime, makes her into a younger double of herself. Elizabeth works to get Charles back into her life, even turning up at a party (with Fred) that Charles is at. Despite part of Elizabeth being overjoyed at seeing Fred again and remembering their fun care-free times together, all he ever seems to do for Elizabeth is cause trouble.
Elizabeth returns to Charles and starts taking medication* to rid herself of Fred. It is only when taking the last pill that she realizes Charles hasn’t changed at all and that Fred is really the only person she can trust. Unfortunately, the only way she can truly [confront her mother and husband] and rid herself of her fears is to lose Fred for good by realizing she doesn’t need him any longer. (the imdb)
I’m a loner! I’m a crazy, wide-eyed loner on a doomed space mission to Venus to battle the three-headed mega-beast! But on the way back, I caught Cornflakes Disease.
Fred: Why don’t we harpoon Charles straight through the head, drag him back to the apartment, and hit him with a hammer until he agrees to come back?
Elizabeth: “Harpoon him through the head?” That won’t work, Fred.
Fred: Why not? How many times have you tried it?
Fred: I can’t believe we left the party so soon. And there was so much wine left to spit around the place!
Elizabeth: I got upset.
Fred: “I got upset.” God, you’re so stupid. You never leave a party until the very, very end.
Elizabeth: Oh, really?
Fred: Yeah, really!
Elizabeth: What about Cinderella? Remember what happened with her?
Fred: No, I don’t remember what happened “with her.” I deliberately forgot all about her. Uck. She made me puke. I remember the ugly stepsisters, though — they were great!
Young Elizabeth: Did they live happily ever after?
Polly: Of course, Elizabeth.
Young Elizabeth: How do you know?
Polly: Because, she was a good little girl. If she would have been naughty, then the Prince would’ve run away.
Young Elizabeth: What a pile of shit.
Wow [points up]. Cobwebs.
Snotface, look — ink! Let’s write something on the carpet. I know, how about “Mother sucks“?!
I don’t love you because love is for girls and girls are disgusting.
*On the subject of the medication, the best single-panel webcomic I have ever seen. Natalie Dee‘s take on Drop Dead Fred: (click to make it larger)
F’reals, Natalie Dee. You nailed it. To say nothing of the high risk of tardive dyskinesia with Haloperidol, making it a very unwise choice of antipsychotics to prescribe to someone under, say, 30. Total bullshit. (Why am I having déjà vu; I feel like I was just rambling about this to someone recently — Jonohs? Panda? Miss D …? ) Anyway, to wrap up, an in-costume off-set picture by the crafts table:
Like all ladies, I am a sucker for stubble. Unlike most ladies, I brake for suspenders and striped pants, as well.
Awesome! Final picture of perfection via the rocketman. Thanks, buddy — this picture, the hair, and Mayall’s hapless expression kind of made my day.
(All screencaps via Samantha, aka timed, on the lj. Huge thanks for the fun and beautiful pictures. The ice stomach club is nothing to do with your great screencaps. Thank you!)
Originally posted with a few less pictures on September 29, 2009 at 4:58 pm.
A confession: I ♥ Irish boys. I don't care if they are actually, legitimately from Ireland in their own generation or of some murky Irish extraction and descent — it's like I have a natural magnetic draw to them.
“My Mom, she’s from Ireland, coached tennis in Nigeria when she was a Missionary and turned me on to it when I was young.
La la la, “from Ireland,” la la la, “missionary,” la la la, “turned on.” That’s what I heard. Heyo!
The Tao of Steve (Jenniphr Goodman, 2000). Please note Guinness harp tattoo.
The first role in which I ever saw Donal Logue (that I knew of at the time) was as sexy genius mathematician Gunter Janek in the film Sneakers (Phil Alden Robinson, 1992), who is first shown giving a lecture but later ends up banging a hot slavic blonde chick on a desk in grainy but glorious black and white. Wowee! I, too, flip for geeks, and did from the earliest age, so I hella dug that scene (I’m kind of a voyeur from way back; try to think of it as a charmingly quaint quality rather than a creepy one) and I am not ashamed to admit that it stuck with me for years. Here he is as Gunter Janek rocking a number theory lecture on codebreaking:
“Once a film is made and it exists, someone somewhere is going to watch it and that is kind of the magic of it all.”
Yes, I’d call that desk sex scene some undeniable Hollywood magic from that there ol’ Dream Factory. Thank you to everyone involved in bringing that to life, you have my gratitude forever, all of you! Truly.
At the Los Angeles premiere of DreamWorks’ Monsters vs. Aliens, 2009.
Next, Donal turned up for me in “Squeeze,” the first Eugene Tooms episode of the X-Files. You know, the liver-eating dude with the yellow eyes and the bendy-flexi skeleton? Semi-immortal (time will tell) and came back later in the series? Donal Logue played Agent Tom Colter, Scully’s colleague who calls her in on the Tooms case to begin with, and looks mighty hot doin’ it.
Agent Tom Colton: Okay, if he wants to come and do you a favor, great. But make sure he knows this is my case. Dana, if I can break a case like this one, I’ll be getting my bump up the ladder. And you, maybe you won’t have to be Mrs. Spooky any more.
(“Squeeze.” The X-Files, Season One, Episode 3. Original air date September 24, 1993.)
He’s done a string of wonderful movie parts and television appearances, so many that I think I just may have to continue this another day! I will leave you with the following shots to titillate you.
This is the first time I’ve ever been jealous of the company Kelly Ripa keeps…
“I’m not a comic book guy. I’m pretty fascinated with the subculture though and I do think that the world of comic books is such a natural transition into film.”
You’d think I’d be sorry to hear that he is not a guy who is much of a one for comics, but I could not care less. Donal, I forgive you. You go ahead and star in any movie you like, comic-based or not. I am helpless to resist buying a ticket. Eskimo kisses!
During the 2006 Austin Film Festival, catching up on some King of the Hill.
Rebecca: You actually like that guy?
Enid: I don’t know, I kind of like him. He’s the exact opposite of everything I really hate. In a way, he’s such a clueless dork, he’s almost kind of cool.
Rebecca: That guy is many things, but he’s definitely not cool.
Enid: I think only stupid people have good relationships.
Seymour: That’s the spirit.
Enid: God, look at this poster! I can’t believe this room! You’re the luckiest guy in the world! I’d kill to have stuff like this!
Seymour: Please… go ahead and kill me. This stuff doesn’t make you happy, believe me.
Enid: Oh, come on! What are you talking about?
Seymour: You think it’s healthy to obsessively collect things? You can’t connect with other people so you fill your life with stuff. I’m just like all the rest of these pathetic collector losers.
Enid: No, you’re not! You’re a cool guy, Seymour.
Seymour: What are we, in slow motion here?! What are ya, hypnotized? Have some more kids, why don’t you? For Christ’s sake, would you move!?
Enid: Jesus, Seymour!
Seymour: It’s simple for everybody else — give ’em a Big Mac and a pair of Nikes and they’re happy! I just can’t relate to 99.9% of humanity.
Enid: Yeah, well, I can’t relate to humanity either, but I don’t think it’s totally hopeless.
Seymour: But it’s not totally hopeless for you… I’ve had it. I don’t even have the energy to try anymore. You should make sure you do the exact opposite of everything I do so you don’t end up like me.
Enid: How come all that time I was trying to get you a date you never asked me out?
Seymour: You’re a beautiful girl, I couldn’t imagine you’d have any interest in me except as an amusingly cranky eccentric curiosity.
Seymour: Well, I have to admit that things are really starting to look up for me since my life turned to shit.
All the screencaps for Ghost World Half-Day will come from a combination of sources: heartstopper, augustusgloop, and vodiak on the LJ; Movie Screenshots on the blogger; various imdb caps and old, unsourced still shots. Also I might scan some pictures from the graphic novel since I am right now looking at the spine of it in a pile of books on my desk.
The awesome underground comic genius and supafly beanpole hottie R. Crumb poses in the ’70’s with a wall liberated by some of his creations. You might understand the artistic admiration yet still be asking “Realistically, you picked R. Crumb as a ‘Hot’ Man Bein’ Hot of the Day? Up against former category-entrants like Viggo Mortensen, James Dean, and Sean Bean, doesn’t that seem like a stretch?” Okay — NO.
For one thing, I mainly do not discriminate against body type in either direction (except for manorexics in girls’ skinny jeans: you may go take sepia pictures of yourself with knives at your wrists and then write in your livejournal about how mean ol’ E made fun of you). Because for the second and more important thing, hotness does come from within. It is a complex mix of partly physical characteristics that ring your bell but more resonantly it is a response to personality, charisma, mental agility, and weird energy, and yes it can be partially deduced from a photograph, interview, quote, or film clip. (Hence celebrity crushes are sane — ish.)
With wife Aline Kominsky, who actually postdates his character Honeybunch Kominski and is an awesome comix artist in her own right.
That mix: does it mesh with your unique mix? Are you drawn to it? Do you fall in to genre-based-romance and like the class clown, the bad boy, or the quiet type? Do you not care about any of that if the guy smells like a certain brand of shampoo or has a particular timbre to his speaking voice?
It’s not physical so much as something in the eyes, the face, the click, the smell, the deeds and words that make up what a person really is on a plane beneath the physical. That’s why judging hotness results in different outcomes for everyone. And for me personally, R. Crumb’s type of crazy is blazing hot.
Almost bought Crumb’s Book of Genesis in Arcata with Katohs this April, but I changed my mind at the last minute, instead opting to blow all my liquid assets on plates of cheese, to which I am basically allergic, and overpriced vintage records even though both my record players are in Portland — please excuse me while I blow ya mind with my mad rad cash-management skills.
It is 100% a possibly true fact that I am a genius with money, and I encourage you all to attend my smash-hit traveling financial and motivational seminar, “Just Kidding, I’m Broke — Will You Buy Me Potato Skins? No? Split A Cheese Plate, then?” when I come soon to a town near you!
Girls like a boy who reads … his own comics.
Final Thought: Eat spaghetti. Don’t you want to be like Sophia Loren and R. Crumb? What are you waiting for? A sweet rack and emotional relaxation are just a pot of boiling water and a jar of tomato sauce away. Through away that ass-nasty rice cake or low-carb yogurt and welcome back to loving life! You’re welcome.
Seems like you always see these iconic stills of the handsome and talented James Dean where he is very posed (to great effect, I’m not knocking that aspect), but the truth is he was one of those really energetic guys that can’t sit still. He always had to be moving around, even on set when he wasn’t the one before the cameras.
In fact, he got into photography and took dozens of pictures of his famous friends and coworkers while filming and even at parties — I think it was his way of turning the attention off himself because there is no way he could have stood the scrutiny otherwise. It was sort of a prop, but also a demonstration of his neverending interest in the world around him.
Above, camera-shenanigans with Sammy Davis, Jr. on the red carpet; Below, holding the camera and posing his sham girlfriend, Italian actress Pier Angeli. Pier married Vic Damone before her agreed-upon time was up of having to pretend to date the closeted Dean. Dean didn’t mind but the studios did. They had tried to get Natalie Wood first and she said no. She only did so after a short period of gristing the rumor mill to quiet the gossip columnists on the subject of Dean’s sexuality, but I have noted she mysteriously stopped going along with it, maybe getting to like him too well as a friend to participate in lies? dunno — not that she was above that cause she went on studio-sponsored dates with lots of dudes, e.g. Tab Hunter, to legitimize their “swinging-but-not-swinging-like-that-cause-we-are-manly-guys-as-is-evidenced-by-this-date-with-Ms.-Woods!” bachelor status; I have never heard exactly why she turned down their suggestion of long-terming it for fakes with James Dean. Anyway, so they found their Italian Natalie lookalike (I love Pier in her own right but I do not like that she supported that kind of repressive chicanery), but she didn’t end up going for it in the long run either, like I said, marrying Damone. This is a long caption and I feel like I should quit now. Sorry. I’m on Day-Quil. I think it’s strong stuff. (It’s been a long time since I used real drugs.)
So here are some pictures where I hope that sort of frantic, kinetic energy translates, even if the social situation constrained his mobility to crazy facial expressions.
I’m a serious minded and intense little devil – terribly gauche and so tense that I don’t see how people can stay in the same room as me. I know I couldn’t tolerate myself. — James Dean
With Natalie on the set of Rebel Without a Cause, 1955.
They say you can’t get it on with a girl in a Porsche. That’s bullshit. If you don’t believe me, ask Natalie. (qtd in Against Death and Time, by Brock Yates.)
In a way, their halfhearted effort at the appearance of being in a relationship served Natalie just as well, because she was actually sleeping with director Nick Ray, who was 44 at the time, and it would have been a big scandal.
Trust and belief are two prime considerations. You must not allow yourself to be opinionated. You must say, “Wait. Let me see.” And above all, you must be honest with yourself.
Instead, Natalie and Elizabeth Taylor became two of his closest friends, and in the final analysis, that’s so much nicer and longer-lasting than sex partners.
Since I’m only 24 years old, guess I have as good an insight into this rising generation as any other young man my age. And I’ve discovered that most young men do not stand like ramrods or talk like Demosthenes. Therefore, when I do play a youth, such as in Warner Bros.’ Rebel Without A Cause, I try to imitate life.
Dig the sarcastically dutiful effort to mention the production company. Such the tongue-in-cheek fox.
Dancing in a straw hat with a cigarette in his mouth: via angelinaadoptme.
I’m playing the damn bongos and the world can go to hell.
Girls like a boy who reads!
False advertising?
No, I am not a homosexual. But, I’m also not going to go through life with one hand tied behind my back.
I think the prime reason for living in this world is discovery.
Giving the thumbs up, about to take off in his ’55 Porsche Spyder 550, which he nicknamed “Little Bastard.” It was the car he was driving when he died.
There is no way to be truly great in this world. We are all impaled on the crook of conditioning. A fish that is in the water has no choice that he is. Genius would have it that we swim in sand. We are fish and we drown.
Jon Lovitz reminds me too much of my father, but I would totally tumble for every single one of the other cast members of the movie ¡Three Amigos! (1986), directed by John Landis.
A great sense of humor is super key for me in a man. It suggests a spirit of fun and spontaneity. If a man can make me laugh, I am ten thousand percent more attracted to him than if he was some societally-standard, good-looking but overly serious twat. Someone who really throws back their head and laughs, who can forget themself in the heat of a conversation and really be lost in enjoyment — that is a great quality in a human being. It puts me at ease and fosters a sense of camarederie.
I used to date this guy when I lived in Southern California that I think thought it was his mission in life to correct me. He would listen to me tell a joke or deliberately exaggerate as part of a humorous bit, then patiently explain to me at length how what I said could never be true, or how I was overstating it. Well, of course it (it being whatever my premise had been) could not really be so, or could never be so to that great of a degree. That’s why it was funny to say it. I will never understand what he saw in me, if he so obviously took issue with what I consider to be my most overriding feature, my general inability to take life seriously for more than ten minutes in a row, but eventually I broke up with him and managed to make it stick (the first couple times were false starts — I have a will made more of feathers than of iron). We just were not compatible. Shock ending, right?
Anyway, if you have lived a full life up until today but somehow missed this movie, don’t panic: you can still buy it on DVD (not Blu-Ray yet), rent it, or even watch clips from it over on the hulu! It features Steve Martin, Chevy Chase, and Martin Short as silent film stars who end up being mistaken for real gunslingers and get involved in a real dispute south of the border between the Mexican village of Santa Poco and a dangerous crime boss named El Guapo. Phil Hartman and Jon Lovitz play the greedy studio bosses back in Hollywood.
Lucky Day: In a way, each of us has an El Guapo to face. For some, shyness might be their El Guapo. For others, a lack of education might be their El Guapo. For us, El Guapo is a big, dangerous man who wants to kill us. But as sure as my name is Lucky Day, the people of Santa Poco can conquer their own personal El Guapo, who also happens to be *the actual* El Guapo!
Dusty Bottoms: Do you have anything here besides Mexican food?
Rosita: I was thinking later, you could kiss me on the veranda.
Dusty Bottoms: Lips would be fine.
Bartender: We don’t have beer. Just tequila.
Ned Nederlander: What’s tequila?
Bartender: Uh, it’s like beer.
Ned Nederlander: Oooh, tell us we will die like dogs!
El Guapo: You .. you will die like dogs.
Mr. Flugelman: Do you know what “nada” means?
Dusty Bottoms: Isn’t that a light chicken gravy?
Dusty Bottoms: Well I’d like to continue to work for free, Mr. Flugleman!
Lucky Day, Ned Nederlander: [singing] My little Buttercup has the sweetest smile/ Dear little Buttercup, won’t you stay a while?/ We’ll settle down together in a cottage built for two/ Oh, Dear little Buttercup, I love you!
Lucky Day: [motioning for people to join in singing] C’mon, everybody!
Lucky Day, Ned Nederlander: My little Buttercup has the sweetest…
[points to man]
Patron: Es-smile!
It has been way too long since we saw a hot man bein’ hot of the day around here. Vincent Cassel, take it away!
Brilliant oddball Vincent Cassel is married to a personal heroine, Monica Bellucci — ten years in August. Impressive! He is a director, actor, writer and musician. Generally he plays maniacs and bad guys (I love crazy).
He has said of his being typecast in tough guy parts, “It’s all right. I like playing baddies.” The first role in which I ever saw him was as Gilles de Rais in Luc Besson’s 1999 film The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc, which for my Catholic, action-movie-loving, Milla-Jovovich-adoring money is one of the best freakin’ movies evah.
Some fun Vincent and Monica facts from the imdb:
Both have been the Master of Ceremonies at the Cannes film festival: Vincent in 2006, Monica in 2003.
For professional reasons, Vincent lives mostly in Paris while Monica Bellucci lives mostly in London. Despite this, they have appeared in the following films together: Sheitan (2006), Agents secrets (2004), Irréversible (2002), Le pacte des loups (2001), Méditerranées (1999), Le plaisir (et ses petits tracas) (1998), Compromis (1998), Dobermann (1997), Come mi vuoi (1997) and L’appartement (1996).
Some of Vincent’s english-language credits from which you might recognize him include Elizabeth, Ocean’s Twelve, Ocean’s Thirteen, Eastern Promises, and the forthcoming Darren Aronofsky picture Black Swan, which will also star Natalie Portman, Mila Kunis, Winona Ryder, and Barbara Hershey (freaking awesome).
A musician among his other many talents, Vincent performed the song “Step Da Step Krugom” in Eastern Promises. He also appeared as the voice of Monsieur Hood and sang the gay, snappy little Merry Men number in Shrek — you know, the scene in the wood where Princess Fiona kicks their asses all Matrix style.
Final shot featuring bonus heat from one Mister Viggo Mortensen (of course) from the set of Eastern Promises:
What’s better than posts about Sean Bean or Viggo Mortensen? A post about Sean Bean and Viggo Mortensen. Oh, my god, like, do you feel a little set up now? Don’t worry, I have not mismanaged your expectations: I, too, forgot until earlier today when I was unpacking a bunch of my stuff (twitch) that they were both in Lord of the Rings. I do not know how I forgot, but I did, and believe me, I apologize and vow to rectify that error. Sorry, I’ve got a lot on my mind. Either way? SCORE!
And, finally, reunited and it feels so good, first just sitting around getting high in front of blue walls or else casually tickling one another, and then at the Empire Awards, 2009, in some kind of folkloric greeting area (you know these types of things are just to make money, right? they are largely meaningless).
The person from whose site I am linking this picture without permission (I am a dick and I’m in a hurry!) claims that in this shot, what had happened was Viggo Mortensen stuck his hand up the back of Sean Bean’s shirt and tickled him. I don’t totally see evidence of that, but I’m not dismissing it out of hand. I’m okay with that being true. So we’ll see.
A confession: I ❤ Irish boys. I don't care if they are actually, legitimately from Ireland in their own generation or of some murky Irish extraction and descent — it's like I have a natural magnetic draw to them.
“My Mom, she’s from Ireland, coached tennis in Nigeria when she was a Missionary and turned me on to it when I was young.”
La la la, “from Ireland” la la la “turned on.” That’s what I heard. Heyo!
The first role in which I ever saw Donal Logue (that I knew of at the time) was as sexy genius mathematician Gunter Janek in the film Sneakers, who is first shown giving a lecture but later ends up banging a hot slavic blonde chick on a desk in grainy but glorious black and white. Wowee! I, too, flip for geeks, and did from the earliest age, so I hella dug that scene (I’m kind of a voyeur from way back; try to think of it as a charmingly quaint quality rather than a creepy one) and I am not ashamed to admit that it stuck with me for years. Here he is as Gunter Janek rocking a number theory lecture on codebreaking:
“Once a film is made and it exists, someone somewhere is going to watch it and that is kind of the magic of it all.”
Yes, I’d call that desk sex scene some undeniable Hollywood magic from that there ol’ Dream Factory. Thank you to everyone involved in bringing that to life, you have my gratitude forever, all of you! Truly.
Next, Donal turned up for me in “Squeeze,” the first Eugene Tooms episode of the X-Files, you know, with the liver-eating dude with the yellow eyes and the bendy-flexi skeleton? He played Agent Tom Colter, Scully’s colleague who calls her in on the case to begin with, and looks mighty hot doin’ it.
Agent Tom Colton: Okay, if he wants to come and do you a favor, great. But make sure he knows this is my case. Dana, if I can break a case like this one, I’ll be getting my bump up the ladder. And you, maybe you won’t have to be Mrs. Spooky any more. — The X-Files, “Squeeze,” 1993.
He’s done a string of wonderful movie parts and television appearances, so many that I think I just may have to continue this another day! I will leave you with the following shots to titillate you.
This is the first time I’ve ever been jealous of the company Kelly Ripa keeps…
“I’m not a comic book guy. I’m pretty fascinated with the subculture though and I do think that the world of comic books is such a natural transition into film.”
You’d think I’d be sorry to hear that he is not a guy who is much of a one for comics, but I could not care less. Donal, I forgive you. You go ahead and star in any movie you like, comic-based or not. I am helpless to resist buying a ticket. Eskimo kisses!
Ladies and gentlemen, the handsome and talented Mr. Paul Rudd!
“It’s insane but it’s a great insane.” –Paul Rudd
“I was more interested in acting than just doing stand-up comedy. And then my interests in stand-up started getting really weird. I was into a very anti-comedian thing, a very, kind of, Andy Kaufman performance-art type thing, and I thought, “Well, if I were ever to do comedy, it would so not work, because it wouldn’t be funny.” [Laughs.] I think there are guys like Zack Galifianakis, I just think he’s like the best out there, so good. There are so many really good comedians, and I would never be as good as they are. It’s not my calling. What’s funny is, all the comics want to be musicians. Like Tom Waits or Elvis Costello. Same with actors. A lot of people say, “What’s the worst part about being an actor?” And the worst part is that you’re not a musician.” –Paul Rudd
“There’s a very specific thing you can do to get in magazines. I’m much happier to just show up and do the job. I haven’t taken the active approach to making myself a star. I haven’t been in a blockbuster.” –Paul Rudd
“The way we present ourselves is a veneer, and beneath that, there are a lot more unpleasant things.” –Viggo Mortensen.
In addition to being an excellent actor, Viggo Mortensen is also a published poet, jazz musician who has released three CDs to favorable reviews, and a gifted painter whose provocative full-wall murals appear in A Perfect Murder, the 1998 adapatation of Hitchcock’s Dial “M” For Murder. Furthermore, your wife, girlfriend, mother, or sister would all leave you for him without a backward glance. Did you know?
According to the wiki, Viggo Mortensen has property near the seat of the teeny little county in the northwestern tip of the United States from which both sides of my family hail, but I have never seen him there even effing once. Total folklore. What gives, man? Next time you are in Bumfuck, Idaho, call a bitch.
“We all experience many freakish and unexpected events—you have to be open to suffering a little. The philosopher Schopenhauer talked about how out of the randomness, there is an apparent intention in the fate of an individual that can be glimpsed later on. When you are an old guy, you can look back, and maybe this rambling life has some through-line. Others can see it better sometimes. But when you glimpse it yourself, you see it more clearly than anyone.” –Viggo Mortensen
Y’all please excuse Viggo Mortensen while he blows ya mind.
Sean Bean as traitorous villain Alec Trevelyan, aka 006, aka Janus, with Pierce Brosnan as James “007” Bond in 1995’s BAFTA nominated GoldenEye.
One more? Okay!
And, as a final thought, there is nothing like the whitehot, wild and wonderful sexy magic you feel when you hook it up with someone as batshit insane in the sack as yourself, am I right? Touching shit right here, I mean it. I think they are a sweet couple.
James Dean being all handsome and fly with a couple kitty cats, and scope those specs no less! Heat.
“Only the gentle are ever really strong.” –James Dean
His cat’s name was Marcus. It was a present from Elizabeth Taylor.
Finally, a pen and ink drawing which was auctioned two years ago by his museum on good ol’ eBay. Dean drew it for Geraldine Page, his co-star in a Broadway play. I don’t really want to know what those two are doing, but you have to admit it’s a pretty damned good drawing, as bestiality sketches go.
The Thought Experiment 