When I answered the phone she chirped into my ear, “To show our appreciation to you as a valued customer, we’d like to give you two years of HBO at no cost to you.”
I would have laughed if I hadn’t remembered all that luscious programming I was missing. An eyebrow shot up. “Really?” I said. “How much do I have to pay?”
“There’s no cost to you, Ma’am.” The brightness in her voice gained a slight edge.
I sighed. “How much are the added fees?” She had already identified herself as a representative of the company I’d sparred with months before when I lowered my fees as much as possible while keeping my ability to maintain this blog (my lifeline.) The vagaries of their fee structures made my head swim. I’d given up HBO.
She repeated that there were no costs to me, all I had to do was agree. We went a few more rounds this way until I said, “You mean it won’t cost me anything?”
She sighed. “There’s no cost to you, Ma’am. You … just … have … to … say … yes.”
Figuring I could throw an effective fit to rectify this, if the next bill came out higher (I’m very good at that), I said okay. It didn’t, though it does say the HBO is for one year. I’ll complain about that next July, if I have to.
This prelude explains why I’ve been lucky enough to experience “Game of Thrones.” My inability to watch this, and “Real Time with Bill Maher,” had been a persistent annoyance that occasionally brought tears to my eyes.
I haven’t read George R. R. Martin‘s “A Song Of Fire and Ice” series of books, but I’ve fallen hard for the televised version of this medieval fantasy. The production values, the scripts, the plot, the performances — have all conspired to keep me coming back. The eye candy, I mean actors, have given me many well sculpted, artfully lit images to recycle, as needed, while I go about the mundane chores of my days.
There was my familiar favorite, Sean Bean, then the delightfully versatile Peter Dinklage with piercing eyes and glorious haircut — dyed blond. The many great looking young men of varying physiques (including one singular combination of muscle, hair, glistening skin and kohl rimmed eyes who had me rewinding the On Demand to catch the minutes of dialogue I’d missed after he swaggered onscreen) explain more of my reasons for falling in love with this series. But, I was surprised by the one who held my interest the most. I was pulled in by his presence in any scene. My appreciation for Sean Bean was not enough to keep him relevant during any moment he shared the screen with King Robert — Mark Addy.
When Addy spoke, the deep music of his voice combined with his aura and created a longing in me. I wanted to leap into the wellspring of his male essence, and be cradled there. It hasn’t mattered to me that his character was often unpleasant. He had lost the love of his life, for goodness sake. Not every man can be as kind through life’s tortures, as Sean Bean’s Lord Eddard, who won my heart, though not completely, with the twinkle in his eye as he allowed his young daughter (who dreams of being a knight, not a lady) to have her sword, and lessons in its use from the best expert in the field. I may have cringed at some of the heartless things King Robert did, but Mark Addy made me understand them. Against my will, I forgave.
I know my feelings should all be because of his brilliant mind, his great gift for acting, but I know it isn’t just that. I’ve been circling him for years, since I first saw him in “The Full Monty.” Earlier this summer, I’d caught myself watching him in reruns of “Still Standing” — that sitcom he did with Jamie Gertz. Why would I watch that? Mark Addy’s male magnetism has kept me on a long leash until now. With one performance, he has taken in the slack and yanked me close.
If he has a wife, I hope she doesn’t mind, and can simply ignore this pouring of my heart onto the page. She should be able to let it go. She knows what she has. And who am I? If they have children, I hope they are the average sort, unimpressed like most offspring who would never think to do a search on their dear, but ‘geezery and infinitely embarrassing’ dad. I’ll banish the thought that they will ever come across my blog and cry “Ewwwww!” (Though it is a nice little blog and anyone should definitely feel free to visit and enjoy!)
Mr. Addy, it’s with heavy resignation that I compose this ode. You may never read these words, but you are
my crush my most recent crush, and the thought of you causes my head to roll and my eyes to narrow until I feel your sharp, riveting stare pierce my heart’s collected layers of fruitless defense — down into my bare, waiting soul…