There's a million things to be...

A lot of times when the old man is out of town, I find myself watching movies that I really don't need to watch. I think I already posted about Gary Oldman, and that's self explanatory, of course.
I start to think back on some of my very first old men...the ones I met through film and music.
Like most other teens, I did have realistic crushes (let's not forget the septic assistant); however, most of my infectious hormonal ravings belonged to boys of the big screen. I realize that I share this obsession with almost every other fourteen year old, but I would like to point out that I firmly believed that I would eventually meet and marry these men. Now there's your red flag for borderline personality disorder.

When I try to remember my first old man, the one and only Val Kilmer comes to mind. I was absolutely convinced that I could telepathically create a divorce between he and Joann. Eventually they did split up, but by then I had moved on to my next old man. If you ask Rachel, she'll be quick to tell about the many times I raped posters of Val as Batman and sniffed the underarms of Jim Morrison on my Doors t-shirt. We found the corner the most accessible point for placing posters in order to get the highest effect of make-out sessions. After we slobbered and drooled over most any and all paper products with Val's likeness (and Brad Pitt's in Rachel's case) we would talk into the night, comparing our fantasies with each other's idol. If we could rewrite the Top Gun script today, I can only hope that we (as Americans) would choose Goose over Maverick to survive the ejector seat accident.

I think after most of my Kilmer chemistry fizzled out, my attention turned to the pale faced introvert in Edward Scissorhands and my life long love affair began with Johnny Depp. It was easier with Johnny...no wife. Plus his hip girlfriend was my first and foremost favorite actress (of my short little life) so I had no problems with his love interest, hell I love her too!
Then my attention turned toward the head banger's ball, and an adolescent infatuation with Sebastian Bach began. And on my fifteenth birthday, my heart fell and broke into a million tiny pieces for my one and only old man...Mr. James Hetfield. My heart still belongs to this man and I do realize that I must share the wealth with Francesca. She seems a nice girl, there's no room for hate--she and I have a lot in common. We both love James.
So until I found the prince of darkness I now know as my current old man, I rambled through many a men. Most had the chiseled jaw lines...save James and his severe acne scars which helped him score even higher on my internal hotness report. Most had dark eyes, most were aggressive...save Johnny, the sensitive, artistic type--but could quite possibly hold his own if need be. Most were masculine, manly men--is this a word?
Who cares. I love all of my old mans!

time cast its spell on you but you won't forget me...