I’ve got a crush on Sam Neill.
I know he’s been dead a couple of weeks, but everything I’ve read about him since, and the films I saw over the weekend at the mini celebratory film festival they did for him here in Wellington, has made me fall in love with him, belatedly.
Even at 78 he was super cute, with his cheeky smile, but it was his humour and charm that makes him so appealing, not to mention his love of nature and his green politics. Even the revelation that his real first name was Nigel hasn’t dampened my ardour.
It’s been years since I’ve had a crush on someone, although always unrequited and/or impossible since I’ve been married. Actually you could argue that the fantasy of the yearning is an important part of the magic. Of course it’s also laced with guilt, which is why I’m keeping it to myself. I’m sorry you’re dead, Sam, but you’re making me feel very alive today.
….
I revealed the above to a colleague today, who said she thought it was creepy to have a crush on a deceased person. As I explained, though, my chances of getting off with him are statistically identical to at least four decimal places whether he’s alive or dead, so it doesn’t really matter, surely?