Who Will Be the Sexiest Men of 2009? (And How Obama Will Save Foreign Policy)

As we gear up for a new year, I thought it was only appropriate to think about which devastatingly handsome men will be gracing magazine covers (and starring in closeted teenaged boys' fantasies) in 2009. After much deliberation and debate among friends, I have narrowed it down to my top four:

4. Mario Spinetti. This singer-songwriter-producer's eclectic sound (what he calls "avant-pop") and killer voice are definitely enough to make him a star. But his good looks won't hurt either (imagine Milo Ventimiglia as a sensitive musician). Though you may not have heard of Spinetti (yet), he has been busy the past few years, releasing his debut EP and building a loyal fan-base, both in New York City and on-line (as well as having his song "Delirious" featured on an episode of So You Think You Can Dance). He's currently at work on a full-length album, which could very well be his ticket to stardom. The only bad news? He's engaged to dancer Lauren Adams.

3. Alfie Allen. Any fan of sister Lily Allen's music might recognize this name from the searing "Alfie," in which she sings (and complains) about her little brother, who stays in his room getting high all day and refuses to get a job. Well, apparently little Alfie mustered up some ambition: he's currently starring--and baring it all--in the London production of Equus (a roled made famous by none other than Daniel Radcliffe). Equus has been a huge show and I suspect this is the beginning of a long and lucrative career for Allen. Not having seen the London production, I can't comment on his acting abilities, but let me tell you: I saw pictures and he puts Daniel Radcliffe to shame.

2. Robert Pattinson. Great bone structure, piercing eyes, and a box-office hit that has sent ever pre-teen girl in America into a twitter? Check. This British model-turned-actor certainly isn't coming out of nowhere--he played Cedric Diggory in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and of course, recently starred as tormented vampire Edward Cullen in the inexplicably successful Twilight. But as a result of his newfound super-fame, I predict we'll be seeing a lot more of Pattinson in 2009. Look for him as artist Salvador Dali in Little Ashes, a drama following the (gasp!) gay love affair of Dali and poet Federico Garcia Lorca, slated for release this spring. It's sure to be the next Brokeback Mountain.

1. Barack Obama. Thank God Hilary didn't win the nomination, that's all I have to say. For the first time since JFK, the United States will have a sex icon in the White House--probably the sexiest president in history. In 2009, aside from becoming the leader of the free world, I expect Obama will also become the country's communal crush--and the world's. Which is exactly how he's going to save foreign policy. My logic: Attractive people are popular. Popular people are pandered to and feared. And as a country in an increasingly unstable world, being pandered to and feared is a good position to be in. Not that I can't think of even more appealing positions involving Barack Obama...

everytime we say goodbye, I die a little...

It's my last night with oldest friend Rose--tomorrow she heads back to Galway, Ireland where she now lives. We've spent the last three weeks re-living our high school days (smoking in cars, losing lighters, laughing about nothing). I can honestly say she's the best friend I've ever had: she's seen me through more bad haircuts and bad break-ups than I can say. I'm sitting on her bed typing this now, while she folds laundry and packs, a sad song playing in the background. I hate goodbyes, especially with someone you really love. But hopefully (cross your fingers now) I will get a great job when I'm back in the city, save up some money, and go to visit her after classes end.

Halloween, Polish/Polish, And My Friend Celia

I. (A Preface) One of the guys who lives on my floor dressed up as the current stock market for Halloween. He wore a sandwich sign that said "Shit is Coming" on the front and "the Dow" on the back, with an arrow pointed (subtly) to his ass. 

Halloween in Manhattan was literally one the scariest things I've ever experienced.  My friends and I, after having smoked to our faces, walked down 14 St. towards 6th Ave to see the parade. What we found was a grid-locked, body to body, mass of human beings pushing and shoving their way through stampede-style in every direction.  It was worst right on the corner of 6th, where my friends and I, mostly very short, found ourselves being crushed by people all around us, and then thrown from one side to another by people trying to escape and go back.  I had an elbow poking into me from every angle imaginably (and some unimaginable ones, too), and I found myself only able to hold Sinead's hand and pretend, very hard, to be somewhere else.

Once we had safely made it back home (an hour later), most of the gang was too burnt-out and traumatized to forge on further into the night.  Sinead and I, the die-hard night owls, went out in search of our next chemical buzz and a Halloween to remember.  We found ourselves first at a party Dorm X, where I spent an hour and a half or so trying to figure out the seemingly-straight man who seemed to be hitting on me, and wanting very badly to see him naked. (It's been a while). Outside, smoking on a stoop, we witnessed three men chasing another down the street, throwing punches and whipping him with extra-long glowsticks.  The guy being beat up was yelling something about calling the police when the others decided to bounce.  I never know what to do in those situations.  Being a basically decent human being, I always feel like I should do something, but rarely do.  I am 5'6'' and have no muscle tone to speak of.  An intervention on my part would probably have ended up with both me and the victim getting our asses kicked.  And that's a lose-lose situation.

Then Sinead and I the people we had met at the party migrated to Dorm Y, only to realize that no one actually had a friend there or knew where we were going.  After an honest effort to find something to do there, Sinead, a couple others and I split and started walking back up home. As we passed the park, we saw a cop car pull up next two guys (presumably smoking a joint) and patting them down and cuffing them.  Damn.

The streets were just as crazy as earlier on the way home, and I found myself feeling that shit was, indeed, coming.

II.  Someone explain this to me:  Whenever I read the word polish, I think it's Polish, as in, from Poland.  I've only recently noticed this--somehow, polish keeps popping up in everything I read, and I always go--they mean pollish, as in, to shine something.  But I know that's not how you spell polish, that's not even how I spell it, so I really don't understand this little short- circuit in my brain.

III. And that's for daaamn sure! (the title of my blog) is one of my favorite catch-phrases.  I don't know how it started or why, but one day I just started saying it.  When I do, the angry Black woman I was in another life comes over me, my voice changes and my whole body rocks. 

It's funny to watch (I'm told), fitting, and makes sense.

But Celia (my dear little Asian friend and Sinead's roommate) trying to say and that's for damn, sure! like me is one of the single funniest things I've ever heard.  She sounds exactly like one of the little orphans in Annie trying to cop a 'tude.  It's so adorable it may be even better than my version.  I want to record the two of us and post them for comparison.

And That's For Daaamn Sure! Vol. 1

This is the beginning, I guess.  I hate beginnings the way a lot of people hate endings, but they're both sort of unavoidable, so we just have to do the best we can.

I was just with my friend Sinead on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette in the rain, and we had one of those wonderful moments, where you feel that in-another-lifetime-we-knew-each-other connection and it was beautiful.  She's just met this great guy, and even though I am not-so-secretly secretly jealous, mostly I am just happy for her--that unselfish happiness you can only feel for a person you really care about.

I'm in her room, now, listening to Rachael Yamagata's version of "I Wish You Love," which plays at the end of the movie Prime and is just one of the most heartbreaking songs I've ever heard:

My breaking heart and I agree

that you and I could never be,

so with my best--my very best--

I set you free...

That's the way I wish I could feel when my relationships with men inevitably go awry.  Less angry and bitter, more settled and seasoned and able to understand the reason for it all.  And somewhere deep down, I know I do.  Somewhere.

So I guess this is the end of the beginning.  It's messy and not particularly relevant to anything I know, but I am like that, too--who am I to judge?