I am smitten
I’m the real thing (I’m the real thing)
We all invent ourselves
And you know me

We’ve all had them.  I’ve nurtured them as far back as I can remember. Celebrity crushes. Granted, I was an odd kid.  I flew that freak flag early.  I liked Marvin Hamlisch and Art Garfunkel.  Then I graduated to Donny Osmond, Michael Jackson, and Tony DeFranco. And more than a couple of those kids from Zoom.  Actually, I wanted to move to Boston, Mass (02134!) to audition.  My parents put the kibosh on that mighty quick. (Me: “They have telephones in Boston too, ya know!” My dad worked for Bell Telephone.)   But I really got walloped when I discovered the first “love of my life” – Robbie Benson.  There was no other boy so sensitive, so sweet, so kind, so beautiful.  And that voice.  I have to admit, I have watched Beauty and The Beast more times than I care to admit, as a grown woman, no doubt.  He’s still spectacular, by the way.  Currently at Indiana University’s film department.  My brother-in-law, the soon to be famous screenwriter knows him.  When I found out that little nugget of info, I’m afraid I behaved like a junior varsity cheerleader for a couple of seconds, in the presence of my in-laws no less.   As an adolescent, I was totally smitten with Robbie  and dealing with feelings I’d never experienced before.  I didn’t know what to do with them.  It was a little scary.  And there was no way I was ready to experience those emotions with a real boy.  So, I did what worked for me. Thumb tacked photos from Tiger Beat  & Teen Beat magazines to my bedroom wall.  Pretended to be getting ready to go on dates. Kissed my hand and hugged my pillow.  Obsessed over Ice Castles.

And I must admit, I also had a poster of Barry Manilow on my teenage bedroom wall, so I still let a bit of that freak flag flying, and it let me know I wasn’t ready for a full commitment.  But hey, at least I had a “type”.  I’ve always had a thing for nice Jewish boys. Unfortunately they were in short supply in southwestern Kentucky.

I can still remember the first grown man I ever found attractive (besides Marvin and Art).  That would be Richard Dreyfuss in The Goodbye Girl.  I was 13.  He was 30-ish. There was something about that energetic, rakish, intelligent charm of his. What a smart-ass. And that guitar. It was also when I discovered my deep and abiding love for Neil Simon.

My daughter has celebrity crushes now, too. There are pictures of a boy band on her bedroom wall.  And there’s one actor in particular she’s quite taken with.  He’s quite a bit older.  She’s 14 – he’s 27.  (She would KILL me if she knew I was writing about this.) We were talking about our crushes at dinner the other night –  and she asked “What would you do if I dated someone older?”  “How much older?” ” 27.” Dad immediately mentioned jail, as I chimed in, casually, of course,  about castration.  When we found out it was Evan Peters she’s crushing on, that lightened the mood a bit. By the time she’s legal, he will have had time to get through his first marriage/divorce and be ready for a younger woman.  Good to go.  I have no problem with that.  Except she finishes college.  That’s non-negotiable.

I’m aware that I’m probably not the best role model,  fostering these infatuations,  since I have quite a storied and illustrious history of that type of behavior myself. I used to have a big thing for John Corbett when he was on Northern Exposure (but who didn’t, right?).  And Johnny Depp – I thought he was my ideal man.  I was even willing to forgive him for the whole Kate Moss debacle.  Then he took a partner, had kids, seemed to settle down.  About the same time I did.  How nice for us both.

After I married,  had a child and became a stay-at-home mom,  my sources for crush material were pretty limited. I didn’t have time for many movies, t.v. or new music, so I mined the sources that I had.  Anthony, the blue one from The Wiggles – say what you will, but the man is hot.  Steve from Blues Clues – there was just something about him. You just could tell there was a little freak under that green rugby shirt.   But one horrifying day, while the kid was watching Dora The Explorer,  I heard myself say “That Diego is going to be a hottie when he grows up”.  I said that shit out loud! Even I knew that was so wrong on SO many levels.  Measures had to be taken for the good of the entire household. So we limited t.v. time for the kid.  I started watching more appropriate, adult-oriented programing –  Six Feet Under and Carnivale.  And LOST.   I did like Billy and Brother Justin on those shows, however, but not to crush-level.  I was merely obsessed with LOST.  Not the boys, the entire show.

All the while, I still carried little torches for both John and Johnny.  My boyfriends.  Until I found out John had taken up with an older woman (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and Johnny had left his partner, Vanessa, and was cavorting with some 27 year old chippy.  It was then and there I took out my big black Sharpie and crossed them off my “list”.  When you date someone young enough to be your child,  you are a cliche’.  Johnny had become a cliche’.  And despite it all, I do have standards, you know.

The unfortunate John/Johnny curb-kicking incidents actually turned out for the best.  Now I have time to devote to my latest fiance –Paul Rudd.  I think  he is the perfect male specimen. I want some recognition when People Magazine names him  2015’s Sexiest Man Alive. and he gets catapulted to international super-stardom when Ant-Man is released. I also want to go on public record that I’ve called dibs.  I called those long ago, btw.   Just in case.  One never knows when dibs will come in handy.  When I see those beautiful head shots and publicity stills I want to launch into a stream of expletives, for some reason.  Call it some rare form of estrogen-induced Tourette Syndrome. I don’t know.  It’s totally involuntary, I promise.

Lately, I have been going onto the sci-fi/Marvel fan-boy boards and setting them straight about Ant Man (in theatres summer 2015).  Some of them have already judged and condemned the film.  You wouldn’t believe the level of exposition on the subject. These people know so much about this comic book universe, honestly some of the posts look like so many doctoral dissertations.  Truly amazing, I have to say.  So, I’ve made it my mission to share with them my expertise in film and entertainment marketing.  How Disney may have finally realized they need to target various demographics for this film –  not just comic fans but the mom crowd, the ladies in Paul’s actual age range.  We are going to see that movie.  Those fan boys can sit home and quibble online about how it differs from the comic, the canon, how the suit is wrong, how his antennae are askew, whatever it is they go on about.  Because it’s what they love to do.  However, they’ll see the movie too.  They won’t be able to help themselves.

But moms – and 40-ish women – we will see this movie.  We will go in droves, on girls’ night out,  having dinner and cocktails first, to lust after this beautiful man. We will pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it’s money we have and stimulation we lack.  We will sit in the dark, with our smuggled cocktails and low-fat popcorn, on a perfect summer evening.  And it will be as if we’ve dipped ourselves in magic waters.  We, who don’t really give a shit about plot, or canon, or FX  –  any of that other superfluous noise – will be in those multiplex seats.  The one constant through all the years, Disney, has been fantasy. It reminds us of all that once was hot, and that could be again. Women will come, Disney.  We will most definitely come.

But really, all Disney needed to do was release this photo.   Done.  Sold.  Here’s my money.  And don’t forget.  Dibs.

I’ve been smitten with Paul since his Kirby days on Sisters in the ’90s.  A filmmaker who moves to Minnesota to run a video store – my God, a man after my own film school attending/video store managing heart! He was like the male ME!  I honestly thought were trying to kill me!  Later I found out he had lived in the same suburb of Kansas City during the same time I lived there. Was at the same university.  WHAT?   Why oh why, didn’t I follow my heart and major in theatre, like I’ve always wanted to do? And why oh WHY did I have a stupid boyfriend in college?  Paul likes to dance, I like to dance. Plus he’s so goofy/funny and a talented, versatile actor. He manages to be funny without being mean. Trust me, that’s more difficult than it appears.   And he such a nice person. He’s been with his wife for 14+ years and they have two kids. What a great guy.  No wonder I want to kiss and date him.  If I had a notebook, I would for sure write his name all over it.  True fact, he’s the only one left on my “list” right now.  Should that astronomically unlikely opportunity present itself, there are going to have to be serious negotiations involving spouses, waivers, codicils, and the like.  Or it might be time to unveil my idea for my new religion. One that includes “brother husbands”.   Think about it….

While we grown-ups know this is all in good fun, I want to make sure my teen daughter realizes the difference between a healthy fantasy life and dipping one’s toe into the dark pool of obsession. (Did you know there’s an actual identified mental illness for celebrity obsession? It’s called Celebrity Worship Syndrome. <Shut up. I’m seeking professional help.> )  Or acting out the fantasy with real boys, God forbid.  I’m sure as hell not ready for that.  And neither is she. And neither are those young men in One Direction or Evan Peters.  Right, guys?

Real-life relationships are difficult to navigate, especially as a teen.  I believe it can be healthy and good practice for “the real thing” to have a celebrity crush.  Just as long as there’s no isolation, disconnect with reality,  avoidance of real relationships,  stalking, OCD-related behavior or just plain weirdness involved.

Believe me, I know the warning signs. I’ve been close to the edge.  Just ask Diego.

 

Crush With Eyeliner by REM  Video by Spike Jonze