The times they are a-changin’…

I originally wanted to title this post: “The times they are a-changin’: the very drastic evolution of my celebrity crushes over the last 20-ish months” but it was a little long for Twitter, which has a very strict “No more than 140 characters” policy and which is where I intend to plug this post if I ever manage to finish it.

 

I’m really worried, you guys.

I have a celebrity crush.

But the scary part of it, is *whom* I have a celebrity crush on…

You better sit down for this…

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I have a celebrity crush on Al Gore.

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I shit you not. AL. FUCKING. GORE.

Man. The times they are a-really fucked up.

 

Clearly, this can only mean one thing: I have officially entered the geriatric age. What else could it be? Me, finding a 60-something years old dude in a suit sexy? Puhlease. Get ready for my next blog post: “Arthritis: why it sucks”.

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Thinking about it, I should have seen this coming. The first signs snuck up last year, when all of a sudden, I started to think that Jon Stewart was the hottest thing on TV. The year before that, I thought David Cook was. I mean, from American Idol’s David Cook to the Daily Show’s Jon Stewart, that’s quite a stretch in 12 months.

 

You have to understand where I’m coming from: I’ve dated rockers most of my life. Most had long hair, some had tattoos, a couple rode a motorcycle, a few had done time and at least half played the guitar (guitarists are drawn to me, for some reason, whereas other instrumentalists, not so much.) But they all had two things in common: ripped jeans and headbanging. Better the enemy you know, right?

 

Of course, I did have that one celebrity crush on George Clooney, but that’s normal: everyone has a crush on George Clooney, men as much as women. Men want to be him and women want to be with him. Or on him. Or under. You get my gist. But he’s GEORGE CLOONEY, the epitome of über-cool! Personally, I think that if you don’t have a crush on George Clooney, you’re at the very least, weird, not to say borderline crazy.

 

But that’s enough about George. Back to my speedy progression from eternal youth to premature senility. Seriously, what the fuck happened here? Less than two years ago, I was on this here blog, lusting after David Cook; and now, I’m confessing that I have a thing for Al Gore? What. The. Bloody. Hell? Something is seriously wrong with this picture.

I don’t do suits. I’ve never done suits (funerals don’t count). What I do do, though, is intelligence and humour, but throughout my life, I’ve had the good fortune of crossing paths with a number of rockers who actually had a functioning brain, a funny bone (not meant in a dirty sense, you bunch of pervs) and a vocabulary extending beyond “Yeah!” so I really had zero reason to cross into suit territory. I could have just developed a crush for George Stromboulopoulos, and all would have been fine and dandy.

But no. I thought it’d be more fun to fuck with my own mind and crush on Jon Stewart instead.

 

Not that there’s anything wrong with Jon Stewart, mind you. AT ALL. Au contraire. Jon Stewart is AWESOME, and I love-love-love him, and I don’t mean that in the Christian sense either.

But he does wear suits. And he has grey hair. And he’s not in a band. Not even an air-band. Jon Stewart is a guy who jokes about shit I used to hate with a passion when I was younger (like politics) and he does it in a suit. Not exactly the David Cook type. Not exactly the kind of guy I was accustomed to label “sexpot”.

 

But as unnerving as I thought it was to find myself trying to imagine Jon Stewart naked during the Daily Show (remember, we’re talking about a short 40-something man with graying hair, who’s NOT in a rock band and who’s wearing a fucking SUIT, for Christ’s sake!), I managed to fool myself into believing that this dramatic shift in my taste in men was only a mere matter of “evolution”, “personal growth”, “new-found inner-depth”, “recently acquired ability to see the beauty beyond the suit” and other similar New-Agey bullshit.

In retrospect, evolution, my ass. New-Agey BS, my butt. I believe it’s called “maturity” and we all know that “maturity” is just a politically correct way to say “You’re fucking ANCIENT, but I’m trying to put a positive spin on it.”

“Maturity” means falling asleep fantasizing about Slash and waking up the following morning in the middle of a sex dream involving Stephen Harper. (Note: I’ve never had a sex dream about Stephen Harper, nor do I wanna have one. God, please, no.)

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Anyway, what happened was, couple of weeks ago, I watched the newest episode of SNL (hosted by Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who did a very good job, by the way) and Al gore happened to do a couple of cameos. I’ve always liked Al Gore; being a friend of the Earth myself, I respect the fact that he gave up politics to focus on what I really think rocks his boat: the environment, a cause that I myself believe in. And I also knew he was a funny guy. But other than agreeing with him politically and enjoying his appearances on my favourite talk-shows, I never gave a shit about Al Gore.

 

At least until a few days ago, when I stumbled upon an article about his cameo on SNL’s Weekend Update , which was freakin’ hilarious. To my surprise, I found the video on YouTube, and knowing how anal NBC is about having clips of its precious SNL floating around on teh internets, I thought I’d better download it before it got removed.

While rewatching it to make sure it the download was OK, my rapidly degenerating brain made a few seemingly innocuous observations, such as: “Haha! He is really funny! LOVE his deadpan delivery! And he’s not a bad-looking guy either!… A sense of humour is SO sexy! Brains + sense of humour = hot!”

Then it hit me like a brick: “OMG. I think I may have used the words “Al Gore” and “sexy” in the same sentence. No-no-no-no-no. Al Gore is old. And he wears a suit. Smart and funny or not, old men in suits: not sexy nor hot. When applied to 60 and over, brains + sense of humour = brains + sense of humour, no more, no less. And certainly, not “hot” or “sexy”.”

 

What then followed was basically sheer panic. Years and years spent coveting scruffy young rockers had abruptly come to an end. From now on, I’d be stuck shopping for boyfriends at the local nursing home. Oh, the horror.

I don’t go for older dudes. I date either younger or too young, although I may have occasionally checked out the odd guy in my age-range, but I must have been going through a rough patch when I did. In fact, twice in my life, I’ve dated dudes who were 10+ years older than me, and both times, I considered therapy. But I did learn one thing: wisdom comes with age? Is Bullshit. Capital ‘B’ intentional.

That’s why I usually date younger. No matter how old they are, most men are fucked up, elusive creatures, so might as well go for the ones that come with a flat stomach and firm buttocks. Or at least, that was my reasoning until I suddenly decided that suit-clad tree-huggers in their 60’s were all the shit.

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I guess what I’m trying to say is that it somehow bothers me that I may find a guy in his 60’s attractive. And it bothers me that it bothers me. I thought I was deeper than that.

At this point, the suit isn’t really an issue anymore; after a year of crushing on Jon Stewart, I eventually came to terms with the idea that a guy in a suit can be sexy (even an old fart in his 40’s), providing he’s funny and smart.

But believe me, the transition from ripped jeans to suit wasn’t the smoothest. However, after coming upon these pictures of Jon, it did dawn on me that suits are only, after all, clothes, which can be removed and replaced with way cooler attire, like for instance, ripped jeans. Or not be replaced at all. In which case hot sex would likely ensue. Or just plain sex.

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Oh, my…

Have I just evoked the idea of… ahem… ss… *cough*sex*coughcoughcough* in a post which is (more or less) about Al Gore?

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AAHHHHRRRRGGHHHHH!!!

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Ahem. Excuse me. I… need a quick shower. And a stiff drink. BRB.

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Helllloooo! I’m baaaaack! And druuuunk! Wooooo!

Nah, I’m kidding. I’m not drunk and I never really went anywhere. What I still am though, is deeply disturbed at all this bizarro novelty of suddenly finding myself leering at senior citizens.

Because this is what it’s really all about: the age thing. 60’s are the decade of reduced bus fares. Of half-price cinema tickets. Of retirement. All things that don’t exactly scream: “Sexay!”.

I can’t even kid myself with the fact the word “sex” is contained within the word “sexagenarian”. In my mind, “sexagenarian” is irremediably coupled with “Viagra”. Only Viagra by necessity, instead of for fun.

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I find all this very depressing, you guys.

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What happened to the good old times when I was shallow and judged guys solely based on their looks? No thinking involved? Man, I miss those times… Back then, I had standards! Just look at the stats:

Rights of passage, past and present:

Prior to 2008: Cute, long hair, flat stomach, tight buttocks (all optional if in a band), and of course, ripped jeans and headbanging; VIP access pre-requisites: being in a band; VIP Deluxe pre-requisites: all of the above + being in a band.

2008: Unsure. In between two boats (one of which will turn out to be a sinking one).

Still digging the rock’n’roll garb and band shit, but finding myself mysteriously distracted by short grey-ish-haired man in suit belonging the Bifocal Lenses Age. However, said man makes up for his shortcomings (no pun intended; well, not really) by being smart and funny. And also on TV. VIP Deluxe access would have been guaranteed 100% if only not on TV and not happily married with kids, etc. Oh well, his loss.

2009: Smart and funny.

And that, would seem to be all. Don’t matter if you have to wear Depends to get you through the day. VIP access granted if you make me laugh or think. If you do both, you get to drop a hit of Viagra, and if we’re not both fast asleep by the time it takes effect, we might go Deluxe. Lucky you.

And lucky me. The things I have to look forward to.

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So, yep. From David Cook to Jon Stewart to Al Gore, in less than two years. Someone give me a bridge I can jump off of.

No, it’s not that bad, really. After all, Al Gore is a handsome, intelligent, funny, successful man whom I’ve met on TV. Just like Jon Stewart. He’s only a tad older. A big tad. Old enough that he could have fathered him.

*sigh*

WHERE IS THAT FUCKING BRIDGE I JUST ASKED FOR???

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But seriously, don’t worry about me. I’ll get over it. Although this new “kink” of mine it does open some scary prospects.

Because now, what REALLY scares me, is that at this rate, a year from now, I could well find myself writing a blog post about my new celebrity crush on Hugh Hefner.

Or much, much, worse.

Like Donald Trump.

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AAHHHHRRRRGGHHHHH!!!

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Now, I really need a shower…

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And all of a sudden, I find Al Gore that much and hotter and sexier, and I see absolutely nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.

I might be decrepit and perverted, but I’m not blind and stupid.

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“Well I guess this is growing up” ~ “Dammit”, Blink 182

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