Got Spurs?

Reading blogs and online diaries is such a lovely way to pass the time while at work. OK, don’t get your undies in a bundle thinking I’m a slug of a government employee. I am your civil servant and earn every dime of my paycheck. But I’m digressing into a frenzy of defensive thinking, which should have been taken care of years ago with all that therapy meant to reshape my psyche. (Note to self: call Shrink regarding possible malpractice – could get you some free sessions.)

Back to the blogs and diaries. When I find a new one I like, I go into the archives and read each and every post. Kind of obsessive, but I like to get to know my computer friends. The most recent one in which I’ve been indulging is most amusing and entertaining. However, twice in her blog (so far as I've read to date) she gives negative comments regarding the “Beef. It’s what’s for dinner,” commercial. The writer is a vegetarian, so I suppose I can cut her some slack for not liking the whole concept of eating beef for dinner. But she also thinks the commercial sounds too “authoritarian.” I want to tell her, “Oh honey! You don’t know what you’re saying!”

The beef commercial voice-over guy is none other than that sexy cowboy, Sam Elliott. Anyone who knows me well knows that the one, single thing that gets my binder winding is a voice. It doesn’t have to be a particular voice, but as some women say, “great biceps,” or “what a cute butt he has,” I’ll be listening instead of looking. Of course in all my years of dating I have never been with a guy who has a voice that makes me melt, as they are very few and far between. This is why I need to have things like the beef commercial in my life. It isn’t authoritarian at all, it’s just downright seductive.

Besides having a voice to die for, Sam Elliott also has a look and demeanor that I simply cannot resist. I especially like his cowboy persona with the big moustache, worn boots, and long duster. Yow. Which reminds me of a real-life tale.

Boyfriend and I took an Alaskan tour a couple of years ago. I know, tours are something old people do, but we decided we’d rather take the tour than plan the entire trip ourselves. Call us lazy. One day, as the fourteen of us (a very small Alaskan tour group, thank God) were traveling along the winding roads between the mountains our guides decided we needed to stop for an ice cream break. (They love their ice cream in Alaska.) As we’re pulling into this isolated little trading post kind of place, I pointed out the bus window and shrieked, “It’s Sam Elliott!” There, leaning against a fence was a cowboy with a rumpled hat, cowboy boots, and grey moustache. Sam Elliott indeed. While the others in our group went into the store for ice cream, I dragged Boyfriend and the camera over to Sam, who, of course, wasn’t really Sam at all. His name was Gary, and the closer we got to him I found he stood about 5’7” to Sam Elliott’s 6’2” frame. He also didn’t have Sam’s voice. But he seemed really tickled that I was utterly enthralled with him, so Boyfriend took a picture of us together.

That’s my brush-with-Sam-Elliott story. Except it’s really my brush-with-Gary story. My point is to simply state that I love Sam Elliott, I love his voice even more, and I obviously have unresolved cowboy fantasies that I really must speak to Boyfriend about.

And tonight, it’s beef for dinner.