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September 12, 2005

In Which I Discover the Perils of Fiction

From Megan, September's Guest Literary Chick!

It’s just so embarrassing when you get caught crushing on fictional characters.

When I used to live alone, I would pop bucketfuls of popcorn and lie about on my couch, clutching tissues and weeping, variously, over Colin Firth, David Boreanaz, John Cusack, Josh Hartnett (why yes, he IS young), Jared Leto (circa My So-Called Life), Sleepless in Seattle—the movie which makes Tom Hanks hot, and I could go on and on and on here, but I’ll spare you and anyway, you probably have the DVDs.

And that’s just the visual crushing.

Because the truth about the insane amount of books I choose to live with (a friend once said the only place he’d ever seen more books was in a bookstore) is that I have a lot of literary love to go around. Here in my office, for example, are a few loves of my imaginary life: Jamie from the Diana Gabaldon books. Mr. Darcy, obviously, in both the original and Helen Fielding versions. Numerous Linda Howard heroes. All the Shannon McKenna super-alpha males. Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley. F’lar, rider of bronze Mnementh, whom I have adored since I was about eleven. Pretty much any Nora Roberts hero, because they’re all so sardonic. Sweet, sweet Morelli. Heathcliff. Nick from Jennifer Crusie’s Crazy for You. Again, I could go on here.

Now, however, that I have combined possessions and pets with another, these little crushes are witnessed. And, unfortunately, commented upon.

Yesterday, for example, there we were, innocently watching our first season DVDs of House.

Which, can I just interject, is my current favorite show. So well-written, emotional, and fascinating. It makes me want to race off to medical school so that I, too, can become a snarky diagnostic genius. (This coming from a person who barely made it through biology in high school and was forced to take Rocks for Jocks in my junior year to both save my GPA and fulfill my science requirement—only the power of fantasy could ever make me so much as consider medical school.) I can’t actually say enough about what a great show House is or how awesome I find the characterization. I wish I wrote it. Great, great stuff, and stars Omar Epps—who I’ve adored since he was in The Program, the best football movie of all time. Not to mention Robert Sean Leonard, who I was once in a play with, a million years ago, before he was in Dead Poet’s Society. (I should clarify that I was a member of a large, anonymous chorus while he was the star.)

And, you know, completely as an after-thought here, Hugh Laurie happens to be really hot.

Not just hot. There are a million hot guys. (Here in LA, there are even more than that, and all of them are happy to preen should you look at them.) Hugh Laurie as Dr. House is so much more than hot: he’s brilliant, sarcastic, funny, incisive, seemingly cold while occasionally kind, and I could really go on here, but I’m already in trouble.

There was this scene where Dr. House, who normally wears a sport coat, happens to be doing Important Medical Things in a t-shirt. Hello, arms! I thought.

And, apparently, said.

Oops.

“I heard you,” J. told me. “You’re busted. And believe me, there will be consequences.”

Be careful with your fiction, people. It can bite you in the behind.

Posted by at 6:30 AM | Comments (6)

Comments

Posted by: Lani at September 12, 2005 8:39 AM

Posted by: Alesia Holliday at September 12, 2005 9:26 AM

Posted by: Michelle C at September 12, 2005 1:40 PM

Posted by: goodapple at September 12, 2005 5:49 PM

Posted by: elizabeth at September 14, 2005 11:44 AM

Posted by: Caty Tota at July 6, 2006 1:34 PM