Because sometimes you need an utterly irreverent post in the midst of an utterly irreverent blog.
I walked Henry today, scrolling aimlessly through my iPod until I found a familiar name. I looked at it for a heartbeat longer than usual until hitting the stationary circle in the middle of the scrolling circle which signals 'Select' before signaling 'Play' (I do so love iStuff). And while 'Only the Young' flooded my too-loud earbuds, while I strolled in the fresh air and bright sun, while I sang to my silly little dog- happy as can be on his bright green leash even though I must have embarrassed him by dancing in the street-, I thought 'I would leave my husband (if I had one) for Brandon Flowers.'
And so here we go… In absolutely no order:
Brandon Flowers.
His voice is clear and radiant and young, youthful. He sings with his heart literally in his throat, erupting from his voice box. His lyrics are simultaneously charming and just a little weary and worn. Every Killers' album takes on a different personality and with that Flowers becomes his own, unique character while maintaining himself as, well, himself.
Not to mention… yeah… he's cute as a button. I mean that in the least possibly patronizing manner. He really is a physically beautiful man; dark hair, dark eyes, the skin of someone who has learned to protect himself.
I wouldn't mind him protecting me.
Matt Damon.
Forget about it. I'm done for.
Matt Damon who acts and then acts for actors. Matt Damon who is urging first world people, who love our long, languorous showers and cool, filtered drinks, to remember the third world people- who would be happy for clean water.
Matt Damon who has the biggest, brightest smile.
Matt Damon who likes 'dem apples.'
Matt Damon who played Jason Bourne.
For the love of all things holy, if this was a ranked list… Matt Damon. I don't think he needs many more words.
Sam Beam.
Once upon a Facebook post, I mentioned that if Sam Beam ever came to my doorstep and asked me to pack a bag, I'd do it. I would pack my bag in a flash 37 seconds, and be out the door (I would then pack Henry's crate in something like 37 minutes, making sure that I had treats and toys galore. And his yellow blanket- AKA, his girlfriend).
I stand by that post.
Sam Beam spirits words into lyrics into music. If you don't believe me, check out any of Iron and Wine's albums. Any of them.
Justin Vernon.
The voice behind Bon Iver has frequented my Obsessions Lists. He has crooned his way into my head, rewiring what had been short-circuited. Holocene healed me. The almost too-high pitch of his voice, the sadness, madness, never gladness of his songs is like magic. It soothes this thing in me that runs wild and often runs wicked.
Vernon is the kind of guy, the kind of artist, who would rather be making music in shady clubs for true followers than having teeny-tweens angling for a signature on their training bras. I know that all of the people on my leaving-list know heartbreak and heartache.. but Vernon knows them both intimately. He knows them. He sings them. He exposes them.
There are other men who flit onto and off-of my radar. But these guys stand the test of time. I would easily be the Bacall to their Bogies; the Hepburn to their Tracy.
But until that happens, Dearhearts, here's to the doorbell.
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