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There aren’t that many people I envy in the world. Yeah, I’d like to drink rare wines from the comfort of my yacht that’s docked up at Clooney’s place on Lake Como, but that’s so far out of the realm of possibility that I can’t even fathom it being a possibility. Jealousy only applies to things that you consider to be attainable. Things that you can smell, taste, and feel when you close your eyes. Things within reach.
In my life, I can only aspire to attain the label of “cool.” As a generic white guy who can barely run a 5K because he has cankles, the deck is stacked against me. I know this. But what I can do is draw inspiration from things around me that I do consider to be in the realm of things that are, in fact, cool. The first quarter of The Talented Mr. Ripley. Pretty much every romantic comedy from the mid-to-late 90s. People who are good at paddle tennis.
And yes, Jeff Goldblum.
I would be doing you and I both a disservice if I didn’t openly admit that, yes, I am a stereotype. So much so that Thought Catalog’s Katie Mather has already encompassed pretty much the entire basis of what I’m about to explain to you. Her column is titled Help! I’m The Last White Guy On Earth Who Doesn’t Have A Podcast. But because I’m already a stereotype of a stereotype, of course, I have a podcast already. The truth isn’t in her title but in the content itself.
Fifth paragraph. Sixth and seventh sentences.
I’ll definitely do a whole episode on Gwyneth Paltrow. Two episodes on Jeff Goldblum.
It’s pretty much widely known that I’d disown my entire family and everyone I’ve ever met to be a part of Gwyneth Paltrow’s inner circle. She oozes the pretentious luxury that makes everyone hate her – besides me, who loves her. Jeff Goldblum, on the other hand, was the sleeper in this stanza. The accurate wildcard that made me step back from my wireless Apple keyboard and mouth to myself, “Fuck. I’m the worst.”
I’m not a fan of hyperbole, but Jeff Goldblum might be the coolest person on the face of the earth. I do not exaggerate when I say that I Google Image Search him once a week, often with a filter that only includes photos from the last seven days so I can see exactly what he’s up to. The kids label individuals who exhibit this sort of behavior as “stans,” whatever that means. I (likely) exhibit said behavior.
But in a way that a teenage girl would justify dating a senior who’s clearly just using her to hookup before he moves off to college, just look at him.
I don’t use the word “literally” often because it’s so often misused, but he’s literally perfect.
And it doesn’t even completely make sense. Off the top of my head, I struggle to come up with movies he’s in that don’t include Jurassic Park, The Big Chill, The Life Aquatic, or Igby Goes Down. He’s not the in-your-face red-carpet-gracing a-lister you see on E! talking about how blessed he is to even get nominated. No, he’s more than that. An understated icon. A dapper sartorial delight. Or, the ultimate compliment, just a man about town.
The way he says “dinosaurs” in Jurassic Park? I could never ooze coolness like that. I speak nasally and fear everyone thinks I have a lisp. His fashion risks when he’s just out getting groceries? I put those type of outfits on in my bedroom only to look at myself in the mirror and think, “Wow, you truly look like a monumental butthead.” The lanky swagger he brings to the big screen every time a camera’s graced with his presence? It’s gasp-worthy.
I know, I know, I’m becoming more and more of a generic white guy stereotype with every keystroke. I get that. I may even seal the deal by using the podcast studio in my house to actually record two episodes of a Jeff Goldblum podcast once I knock out my Frasier podcast which I’ll be calling one of the following names: Sherry Situation, Niles Ahead, Midnight in Maris, Grammer Time, or In Crane Sight.
I can’t escape the man I’ve become, but when I look at Jeff Goldblum paparazzi photos, I’m not sure I want to. He owns pretty much every situation he’s in, big or small.
The only issue? He clearly doesn’t have cankles, which is sadly only the beginning of where he and I differ. .
Image via YouTube