My Taste Is Better Than Yours » boys

If you can’t beat them, join them

gremlin — Sun, 30 May 2010 12:37:18 +0000

So I kind of love the World Cup, partly because it’s guaranteed to make a nation of men cry baby tears when England inevitably fail to reach the semi-finals despite the News of the World crowing on about the fact that they’re definitely going to win this time and they have to return to the glory days of 1966 because otherwise rainbows will die.

But I also love it because, and I’m going to have to make a shameful confession here, although I possess that chronic illness known as football obsession (yes, even the stats), I also love football culture. I love WAGs. I love that massive gangle Peter Crouch and his beautiful lady Abbey Clancy and the fact that they have, somewhat remarkably, lasted (TRUE LOVE). I love the wedges and maxi dresses. I love footballers in their civvies and their attempts to express themselves through awful denim last seen in Diesel in 2001. I love their hairbands. I love them when they’re pissed and for reminding me that China White still exists. I love that when Nicky Bendtner got thrown out of Boujis he covered up his face BUT DIDN’T PULL HIS TROUSERS UP. I love Jose Mourinho because he is a total silver fox even though he is really short.

Yes, Jose, short. But you’re still a silver fox.

Definitely not short are the Danish team, who I also love because aside from the amusement provided by no-pants Nicky B, Daniel Agger is one hot piece. Unfortunately a recently married hot piece, but that needn’t affect my appreciation for his freckles, numerous (crap) tattoos and commitment to base layers. Okay I just googled ‘Daniel Agger freckles’ (don’t judge, okay?) and made a face at my computer a bit like Jose’s in the picture above because there is slash fan fiction involving him and Torres. (Sample sentence: ‘Fernando wouldn’t even admit it to himself, but when he saw the almost shy smile on Dan’s usually so tough face, the butterflies in his stomach started swirling like they were on crack.’) I’m a little bit wowed by the imagery of crackhead butterflies, but I think even for a freckle fanatic like me this is a step in thousand league boots too far.

Right, I’m off to drink some prosecco, do my nails and re-read the entire archive of Kickette, and then I’m going to input all the Denmark games into my BlackBerry calendar and take a moment to wonder at the miracle of Xabi Alonso’s mere existence (and his ginger beard). And if I still haven’t convinced you to embrace the sport in all its ample-thighed glory, maybe this picture of Crouchy wearing a penguin costume will.

Vintage unf

gremlin — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 22:53:46 +0000

Courtesy of Jean-Pierre Leaud, his cigarettes and his shifty-eyed beaky-nosed visage.

Never indulge any curiosity you might have about what he looks like now. Believe me, it’s better this way. Much, much better.

Well hello there

gremlin — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 03:35:29 +0000

I see your cheeky bow tie, Paul.

I am a moth to the follicular flame

gremlin — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 22:19:43 +0000

I have been attempting a lyrical paean to Andrew Garfield’s hair for months now, but I’m afraid that my verse is not as lustrous as his healthy strands, and without achieving true mimesis I don’t feel that I can do justice to such an abundant barnet. I can’t quite explain why it makes me come over all Keatsian; I think its thickness must be mesmerising. I am someone who instantly assesses a boy’s hairline for probability of future baldness, and this is the hairline of a boy who will never go bald. Ergo, it is a thing of wonder.

The hair gives a particularly powerful performance in Red Riding. 1974 was obviously a good time for hair with presence.

Here he is looking super cute boy (yes that’s a widely-used compound adjective) at the premiere of some movie I’ll probably never see, unless it involves a ten minute continuous shot of his hair being ruffled by invisible fingers.

He’s also a genuinely exciting and rather brilliant young actor but you should already know that. You may not know that he was Tom the neighbour in Sugar Rush, though, because you may not be a walking imdb specialising in British actors. Fortunately for you, I am.

Hey FNL – You, I adore

gremlin — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 21:23:29 +0000

Friday Night Lights is unbelievably earnest, the team have group prayers before games, Coach Taylor (using the power of his hair/sunglasses) gives cheesy locker room pep talks and they all chant ‘Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose’ at some point every game to motivate themselves to victory. Matt Saracen (oh number 7 you’re the prince of awkward cute!) SINGS HIS SENILE GRANDMOTHER TO SLEEP.

But I will (uncharacteristically) never mock any of these things, because FNL is so fuck awesome and slow-clap epic that I cannot quite put my love of it into words. Just know that in walking past a place called ‘Bigguns ribs’ in my lunch break, I thought that it said ‘Riggins Ribs’ and that some genius had named a restaurant after my favourite Texan teen alcoholic Tim Riggins.

Yes, Tim, a rib shack. Named after you.

I am so excited for season 4 my facial expression looks a bit like the guy on the far right at the back.

Then and now

Silver — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 23:56:15 +0000

Then

And now…

Look, basically I can’t find a suitable picture on google. Stupid google. So close your eyes for a second or two and just remember what everyone looked like last time you got yourself down to a British beach. Fat, pale and far too naked. Right? Right? Yep ok.

SO I absolutely adore the British Library. I spent much time there as a student especially whilst writing my dissertation (truthfully I spent most of my time there looking for cute boys. I figured it would be a good place to find a boyfriend, since if they were there they were already smart. No luck, sadly.) (Oh I do miss being a student.)

The image above (of Hastings beach, fyi) will be one of more than 250 rarely seen photographs to be exhibited at the British Library’s first major photographic exhibition EVER. Points of View: Capturing the 19th Century in Photographs will run from 30 October to 7 March 2010. I’m quite excited.

Bring on the cute, smart boys.

move over chuck bass

Silver — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 23:15:47 +0000

PC has stolen my heart

I’m so sorry CB! Take solace in the knowledge that once you were loved.

Some girls

gremlin — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 13:34:03 +0000

DC Comics you are staring into my SOUL.

But look! Sneaky lady tricks to snare the well-manicured 40-year-old of my dreams (check out the print detailing on his collar and cuffs). Or maybe not.

‘The Revealing Secrets of Girls’ Romances’: apparently, girls have always been a bit mental and boys have always worn rolled up jeans and plimsolls.

cute boys cute boys cute boys, um, cute. boys.

gremlin — Sat, 18 Jul 2009 15:48:15 +0000

That’s what my thoughts sound like. Or should that be thought?

Cute boys are probably my longest-running interest, apart from books. Sometimes I like to combine the two by going to the bookshop on Charing Cross Road where the cute boy works, or by reading about cute boys. Just now I pretended to read an article on Ibsen but that just got me thinking about drama school boys, and then before I knew it I was looking at Cute Boys Make Me Nervous. It reassures me to know that there is someone whose cute boy habit is worse than mine, and I get my fix at the same time.

It’s a slippery slope from there to Cute and Cuter. I’m not really into kittens and rainbows and stuff, but I am into hipster boys with puppies.

That’s PJ Ransone, my ultimate cute boy. He makes me want to scratch his name and a heart on my pencil tin. I’ve already spent an hour looking at this and this and this and then starting again. I’m boymatized. I can’t stop. I actually just sighed in contentment. Can you OD on cute?