Marc Farful: April 2015

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Monday, April 20, 2015

Monday, April 6, 2015

"Handsome Magazine"

A List of the Top Ten Heartbreakers!

What a struggle to pick just ten! Had to add five honorable mentions -- and we still agonized!

1. Marlon Brando

The original. The originator. What more can be said?

2. James Dean

Like Brando's younger brother, another trailblazer. The essence of cool.

3. Paul Newman

Timeless. A river of talent and good looks.

4. Johnny Depp

A pioneer in bringing weirdness to the handsome table. His daring is equaled only by his hotness.

5. Brad Pitt

More than meets the eye. The unlikely chameleon we love to be surprised by.

6. John Rafferty

Classic, yet unconventional. A series of contradictions, but no one is so "it," right now.

7. Elvis Presley

The King, baby! The King!

8. Denzel Washington

One of the ultimate all-time leading men. Would chuckle at his inclusion . . . and that's why we love him so much.

9. George Clooney

On-screen gold. Check! And knows how to handle himself: Probably the finest party guest, as well as host.

10. Richard Gere

Master of understatement. The consummate gentleman. Guy's got it in his bones. 'Nuff said.

Honorable mention: Sean Connery; Christian Bale; Matthew McConaughey (Have you read his life-changing story about buying the wrong car? Well. you should: It's brilliant!); Tom Cruise; Bradley Cooper.

"Rare Form"

An Exclusive Interview with John Rafferty

by William Blake Henderson

Most internationally-handsome men party, get drunk, and trash hotel rooms. However, the one I'm meeting today once actually helped fix one up. "I was staying at this fancy place in Rome, and I was bored, so I just got in on the crew. Assumed the role." This is the first thing John Rafferty tells me, after he apologizes for being over forty minutes late to our interview. "There's this arcade here. Totally brand-new, I think. I lost track of time."

According to Rafferty, who's red-hot these days, this is the third time he's ever been late in his life -- and I believe him, because he is noticeably distraught, almost inconsolable, really, as he sits down next to me with a Dairy Queen pretzel and soda. Per his request, we are conducting this interview on a bench outside a San Berdinas, CA strip mall; he's trying to overcome a debilitating disorder he describes as "mall sickness." He claims it afflicts millions, with thousands of cases going undiagnosed every year.

"What is 'mall sickness'? I have to ask." "It's when mall's make you physically ill. I'm trying to build up an immunity to it, like antibodies." "Were you already late when you stopped at Dairy Queen." "Yes. I should have picked you up something -- maybe a Blizzard. It would have been a gamble, but good manners all the same. I forgot my manners. I forgot the time. That's mall sickness. The disorientation. I'm in rare form, the worst kind."

He is sweating, perspiring in a strange way. Again, I believe him.

"Getting back to the hotel story, was it heavy-lifting? How entrenched were you?" "No, just, like, some painting. I helped carry a ladder. Most of the real work -- furniture, lighting -- was days away." "You're an odd bird." "I surf my own wave, Bill. It's the only one that breaks."

This is undeniable. As the new face of all that is good-looking, Rafferty defies all stereotypes, all categorization. He's a relic -- an oddity -- of this present metrosexual age. He's the manly man, but he's complicated, truly sensitive, a stranger in our land. There's a pain, a confusion, in his blue eyes. Baffling charisma, a hint of mischief. All of it entirely hypnotic.

"There were rumors you that you really let yourself go in '08." He's lost for a moment, like he's looking for the clock in the room and realizing there isn't one. It's probably in another room. Yet we're outside. Maybe he could inquire of the waiter, the barkeep, his face seems to say, then contorts. Remembers that he doesn't drink. "It started in 2006, but then I had to pull the reigns in a bit." He pauses, takes a sip of his soda. "What is that?" "It's Coke, actually Pepsi." A stalemate. "But by '08, I gave up. It was a war of attrition, William. And I lost." He pauses, his mind fleeing elsewhere, then returning: "I tried to do ugly the best that I could. It felt right."

A harsh breeze whips by, the sounds of the arcade in the distance.

From somewhere untold: "I heard this story about a guy whose car caught on fire," Rafferty announces with authority, although he's out on a limb and all too aware. "All of his clothes in the trunk. Burnt-up. But instead of buying new ones, he wore the burned ones. He walked around smelling like a burnt car. That inspired me for a really long time . . . It still does . . . sometimes."

I want to ask him about the lumberjack period, where he thinks handsomeness is going, but I've asked enough and, as for the latter, neither of us know. Only that we don't know. And it is that kind of wisdom which has brought us here, to our closing.

"I owe you a Blizzard. I mean that." And he does.

How Handsome Is Too Handsome?

by Frederick Patten

Is there even such a thing?

Well, if Dr. Elizabeth Chang is correct, there just might be a line in the lovely looks sand that no man should ever cross. "Vanity," Dr. Chang states, "at a certain level, is an addiction." She continues to explain this nonsensical theory, and one cannot help notice everything about her is completely made-up -- her name (come on, how stock?); her seven-foot (guesstimate) athletic stature; and the reality that she appears to wear old people sunglasses (the wraparounds, man) constantly.

"Dr., isn't this like asking 'Can a person be too intelligent'? I mean, it all seems preposterous." "Perhaps I've misrepresented myself," she says, irritated. She repositions herself in her chair. "I'm merely positing the thought that a man's obsession with his handsomeness could be potentially detrimental." Interjecting basic logic: "Yes, Elizabeth, but wouldn't a man's perfect features rescue him from such a predicament?"

Dr. Chang is hopelessly perplexed. Is she hungry? Experiencing a low blood sugar? "No," she assures me. "She is not." "I think you're missing the point." "I'm not sure you have a point," I say. "Are you sure you're not just really hungry? One time, I skipped lunch and thought I was being followed by the secret police for an hour."

Dr. Chang may have just rolled her eyes; the old lady wraparounds make it it impossible to tell.

"I believe that's paranoid schizophrenia you're referring to." "No, I was famished, Doc. I had a plate of grilled chicken and asparagus, glass of milk, and then felt totally fine."

“Are you troubled?” Dr. Chang inquires. “I have demons you can’t even imagine.” “I can see that,” she says. “No, it’s a David Fincher quote. I just thought it was gnarly and funny in a ridiculous, over-the-top sort of way. “Oh,” she replies, disappointed. “Johnny, has his own demons” -- that’s another good one from Point Break.

Dr. Chang decided to leave so she could eat. She did not return. After eating, she came to her senses and was probably embarrassed by her bizarre hypothesis. We don't judge you, Dr. Chang, and look forward to hearing sane thoughts from you, now that your body has the proper nutrition it needs. Godspeed.

Links: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qN9q3oQf5T8