Be sure to catch the PREVIEW to CELEBRITIES IN DISGRACE, plus coverage in THE BOSTON HERALD, an Inside Track story: ‘Ice-ing on the Cake’. And check out Libby’s Record of the Month post on Scott Pilgram…
Libby Cudmore‘s recent works include essays in The MacGuffin and the Yalobusha Review, as well as stories in upcoming issues of Connotation Press and Crime Factory. She just finished graduate school and is almost finished with The Shield and has no idea what to do with her life in the absence of Walton Goggins.
Pretty Boys Need Not Apply By Libby Cudmore
Anyone who has spent more than five minutes with me knows that I am obsessed with The Shield. Anyone who spends more than six minutes with me also knows that I’m obsessed with Sheild star Walton Goggins, who plays cowboy-cop Shane Vendrell.
Walton Goggins is not what you’d call a pretty boy. He’s more Steve Bucemi than Robert Pattinson, with a receding hairline, woodchuck teeth and small, femmy eyes. And Shane Vendrell is not what you’d call a good cop. Bad cop is still a little too nice a descriptor. Vendrell routinely takes bribes, sells drugs confiscated in gang busts, bangs girls who may or may not be eighteen and are defiantly not his wife and, on occasion, murders people.
But those eyes! That grin! Those legs and that ass inside those perfectly fitted boot-cut blue jeans! Hick he may be, Goggins can wear a pair of pants like nobody’s business.
I’ve always been fonder of odd-looking men than those found on the pages of Teen Beat. Jonathan Taylor-Thomas and Devon Sawa made me want to gag, but I preferred the ultra-geeky Jeff Goldblum in Independence Day and Jurassic Park. Benicio del Toro took my breath away as Jackie Boy in Sin City, and my friend Beth took away my right to declare guys hot. Brian O’Halloran was so normal looking in Clerks that I liked to imagine I had a chance to score if our paths ever crossed. I think Mickey Rourke is sexier now, with the scars of hard living worn so openly on his ravaged face, then he was in 9 ½ Weeks. And I maintain my position that Tom Waits, best known for a singing voice that sounds like it’s coming from six feet under and a face that bears witness to that crawl from the grave, shows off his surprisingly tight and toned ass when he’s frisked by the cops in Down By Law.
This is the exact opposite of my real life. The first thing I noticed about my boyfriend Ian was how much he looked like Ewan McGregor. And although I’ve liked many leading men that society has deemed handsome—Harrison Ford, Richard Gere, Matthew Modine, Robert Downey Jr. and Johnny Depp—the ones that have stuck with me long after the credits have rolled are those with the most unique faces. I cannot clearly picture what Justin Beiber or Shia LeBouf looks like, but I know every line on Clive Owen’s sneering mug.
(Although I don’t really even think I should count Justin Beiber in this argument, because I’m pretty sure he’s a 20-something woman)
Modern pretty boys are all interchangeable. They’re the same in Hollywood as they were in high school. They don’t need much of a personality or any real talent to get by, all they have to do is sparkle and all the girls faint. But I’m that last girl standing, the one who doesn’t give a rat’s patootie about perfect teeth and, ugh, a bad blond dye-job.
A pretty boy is just that—pretty. But pretty would rather pluck his eyebrows than throw your panties across the room and ravage you. Guys like Walton Goggins exude sex because there’s a rawness to them, a power that comes from not having delicate features to hide behind. Clive Owen looks brutal, like he’d totally kick the ass of any guy who looked at you sideways. Benicio del Toro looks savage, like he’d turn into a werewolf and eat any guy who looked at you sideways. Adrian Brody looks like he’d know all the best readings in all the coolest underground bars where people still smoke even though you’re not supposed to and boo poets whenever they try to get on stage. And Walton Goggins probably knows some really great soul-food joint where you can lick BBQ sauce off your fingers in a really seductive manner and where you absolutely have to try the pecan pie, darlin’, because it will blow your tastebuds clean off your tongue.
Meanwhile, you just know that Taylor Lautner would stop every ten seconds to check out his pecs in store windows and get you kicked out of a restaurant when he refuses to put his shirt back on.
Ladies, you can keep your Brody Jenners and your Robert Pattinsons. Give me your four-eyed, your buck-toothed, your slightly balding.