Mancandy Monday: Sam Rockwell

Yes, Sam Rockwell falls into the "some weirdo" category. But he deserves his own Mancandy Monday, I feel. Because I first loved him in the awful Charlie's Angels movie, which I came out of all those years ago saying: who was that guy?

I still remember that feeling of who was that guy. I wish he was more than who was that guy, now, but he's still the quirky indie kid who never does what you expect him to. He plays psychotic funny and funny psychotic and then BAM! Is suddenly in a sci-fi movie.

I wish he was in more sci-fi. His two best movies, Galaxy Quest and Moon, are sci-fi. I think he's just too weird and quirky to be contained in serious dramas. He needs otherworldly, he needs to advise people to make rudimentary lathes, he needs to be scared and desperate and running away from xenomorphs, maybe.

While looking like this:



Or this:



What? Don't look at me like that. Just trust me: with Sam Rockwell, the bigger the moustache and the wilder the hair, the more aliens he's saved you from and the better the crazy sex is going to be.

Or at least, that's the way it always is, in my head.

On Demand

You want to know why Justine Elyot is great? Because she wrote Advanced Corsetry, The Number, Office Sex and The Interview, all awesome stories that feature in Black Lace anthologies. She is a fresh and exciting new voice in erotica, and I find it amazing that I can say that without feeling like I'm delivering an insincere soundbite. Not only are her stories really well written, interesting and layered, they're also horny.

So you'll forgive me for getting excited because her own collection of short stories, On Demand, comes out in December. Or at least, I hope it does. Currently, Amazon seems to be dickering about with the date, which displeases me greatly.

I want On Demand now, dammit. Heh. No pun intended.

But anyway, support my sister in Black Lace and pre-order her fabulous book here: http://http://www.amazon.co.uk/Demand-Justine-Elyot/dp/0352345438/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

Mancandy Monday: Some Weirdo

If you regularly read this blog - as I know you do, Bertha - you'll be aware that I like weird men. Men that only a select number of women like. Though I know the number of those women is growing.

Because women, I feel, sometimes find it easier to like weird men. As opposed to men, who even when they're weird often prefer babelicious women.

Though there's nothing wrong with that. I can understand why some weird men would like to be surrounded by hot babes. Sometimes I would like to be surrounded by Alexander Skarsgards.

Though the fact that I like Alexander Skarsgard because he is Swedish seems a bit odd, I have to say. Even the handsome men I like, I usually like because there's something weird about them. I prefer George Clooney when he's fat. Billy Zane when he's balding and also kind of fat. I would rather Sam Rockwell have a slight gut and that straggly moustache he sometimes wears, so that he looks like he just fell out of a trailer park somewhere at three o'clock in the morning, with no pants on.

I always like it when my dudes are playing some weirdo.

Of course the epitome of weird-cool at the moment is probably Jemaine Clement:

But maybe he's so weird that I can no longer like him. He's gone all the way around the scale and back into normal again. It would be too generic to surround myself with a gaggle of hims. Maybe if I surrounded myself with Rhys Darbys, who plays the even weirder band manager of Flight of the Conchords:

That would be weird enough?

I'm not sure. But here is another picture of Jemaine looking even weirder than he did in that other pic, to help me make up my mind:

I can definitely see him burning my heroine's name into a lawn somewhere, but leaving the last letter off because he didn't have enough gasoline: Popp.

Yeah, I can see that. I wish I could shake this feeling of helpless nothingness in order to write it. But then, it's even weirder than the other stuff I've written, so what's the use? You do me no favours, weird men. No favours at all.

Mancandy Mon- Tuesday: True Blood

I couldn't decide who to have for this belated Mancandy Monday. Mainly because the show True Blood is so full of pretty it should be outlawed.

But in particular I appreciate Sam Merlotte:

Who occasionally turns into this:

Bestiality: It's not just for weirdoes anymore.
.

And then there's this gigantic hunk of Swede:

He's also a hunk of cucumber, carrot and aubergine. Especially aubergine. Plus he has this amazing accent, the kind of accent that Stellan Skarsgard usually melts me with. On his son it's even better, because it's like this essence of Stellan in the body of a 6"5 young buck. It's this ancient cold...otherness, like he lived in the forests of dark European countries that had different names 1000 years ago.

I sure hope they do the whole "Eric has no memory" storyline on True Blood. Oh, what I could do with distilled-Stellan-1000-years-old Eric Northman, if he had no memory.