By Carl Sampson
I have a complaint.
In an article called “Men on Fire,” a recent edition of the AARP Magazine listed the 21 “hottest guys on the planet.”
The theory was that hot guys need not be twenty-somethings or thirty-somethings. Guys who are fifty- or sixty-something can be hot, too.
Like me.
You’ll have to ignore that laughing in the background. My wife, Patti, fails to see the hotness to which I humbly refer.
Anyway, here’s my complaint. Most of AARP’s so-called “hot” guys are movie stars or musicians. There’s Jon Bon Jovi, Samuel L. Jackson, George Clooney, Colin Firth —the usual suspects from Hollyweird.
Only a few are non-actors. There’s Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who is primarily famous for being a Kennedy, and John Irving, who writes OK, I guess. Jon Huntsman is listed, too. Politicians are “hot?” Oh, my.
I personally know a lot of other “hot” guys over 50. They get up in the morning, get into their cars and go to work at a job they may not necessarily like to earn a paycheck. They pay their bills, buy food and, once in a while, have a little left over for a night out with their “hot” wife.
They love their wives and their kids more than life itself, and they would walk over a dozen of AARP’s “hot guys” for their families.
They married their wives — instead of the Hollyweird standard of shacking up with anyone who looks twice at them — and they are faithful to both their wedding vows and the 10 Commandments.
They are the guys who help make America work. They’re rich and poor, fat and skinny, ugly and handsome. But in their DNA they all have the same devotion to providing for their family.
It irks me that the media spend so much time gawking at the physical and relatively little trying to figure out what makes a man, well, a man.
To be a man you don’t have to be young, or handsome or rich. In fact, to be a man, you need to be something way more. Honest, supportive, helpful — and willing to do the things that lesser people back away from.
That, to me, is the definition of a man who’s “hot.”
A few months ago, Patti and I were at a fund-raising event. As we stood there drinking ice tea an attractive young lady came up to me an asked, “You look familiar. Are you someone famous?”
Without skipping a beat, my wife said, “Yeah, he’s George Clooney — without his make-up.”
I explained that I’m just a regular guy, and my only claim to fame is writing stuff like this column and a couple of crummy books that no one buys. Her curiosity satisfied, she returned to her group of friends to tell them what she had found out.
I have a confession to make, though. For the rest of the night I walked around the room three feet off the ground.
