Rhymes with "why don't you love me?"

I knew it! Way back last summer, when I first started watching Californication, I drafted a post in which I got all soggy over Mr. Duchovny. I meant to discuss the show, and not so much the actor... but I got carried away and never posted it. However, in re-reading it today, I'm totally amused that my feelings for the man haven't shifted one iota-- except to get bigger and doubtlessly more nauseating to all who aren't me.

And so, because I'm deep into Duchovny lust at the moment, I think it's only right that I publish my old draft now. Enjoy!


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He has the mind of the haute pornographer. He makes grammar jokes.* He's probably perfect. "Perfect" in that he's really a mess of accidentally happy imperfections.

I've been watching Season 1 of Californication.


His nose is all fleshy. His eyes are too squinty. He does a lot of pantsless acting, thus showing off his comically knobby knees. He's starting to get a little middle-aged dough about the gut. His voice cracks from the cigarettes. And he perpetually sports haircuts that are just about 10 years too young to be "age-appropriate."

But there is not one part of this man's corpus that I would not put in my mouth.

I don't put much stock in celebrity crushes-- it's pretty hard to deem actual depth of sexual attraction when you never get within pheromonal range of these people. Nonetheless, I will occasional 'fess up to tingly feelings being aroused by the mere visage of certain actorly types. Among them have been Zack Braff with his soulful pratfalls, James McEvoy with his smirking Scottish pastiness, Hal Sparks horny, impish smart-assedness... and I'm sure there have been others.

But none of them are David Duchovny.

I searched high and low looking for just the right image to accompany this post. It strikes me that he's not actually all that photogenic. As is often true, the magic is to be found in the man in motion. His lackadaisical gesture. His loose-kneed strut. The way his hands look when he's reaching for something female to pull into him. All that's lost in the still shots-- you lose the shrewdness of his gaze and the amused despair in his demeanor. In fact, he often just looks older and a little pudding-faced in still shots.

And frankly, I think he gives his stylist too much free rein. Here he is, sporting a head-to-toe dolphin-gray silk ensemble, like Angelina in Esquire. Please compare:



I think she's pulling it off better than he is. And I found others in which he was wearing leather pants and trying to look like Bono. Or giggling undecorously while shading the important parts with nothing but a teacup.






I know I'm not the only one who thinks he's molten sex, but why gild this lily? He's at his best in a pair of boutique-washed Rock and Republic jeans, little black t-shirt and 2 days worth of beard scruff. With that hair all falling in his eyes.

Tada!
This one pretty much steals my words. I think this picture might singlehandedly bring irony back into vogue.

* Please note that when this was written, he hadn't yet gone into sex-addiction rehab. Were I writing this today, I would add the sentence "He claims to be afflicted with the dubious malady of sex addiction." to that paragraph.