Writer's Guide
If fantasy relationships counted toward a real-life
tally, I'd be what you'd call, well, a ho-bag. The boys
drift in and out of favor with little notice or reason.
They wax and wane in my heart with the same frequency
that Charlize Theron goes from blonde to brunette and
back. But there's one fantasy love to whom I have, and
always will, remain true. His name is Matthew
McConaughey. And I love him. No, seriously--I love him.

I know, I know--I sound like a raving lunatic. But you
can put the phone down, there's no need for a
restraining order. I know that the Matthew McConaughey I
love is a figment of my imagination. I've haphazardly
slapped him together like a grade school craft project
by pasting little interview snippets and movie trailers
into a sticky Matthew decoupage. I get it. Sadly,
though, acknowledging this hasn't made a dent in my
love. I absolutely, unabashedly adore him. But really,
how could I not? He's a rough and tumble Texan with a
slow drawl and the face of an old fashioned cowboy. His
body is often so heartbreakingly solid that I can
imagine him carrying even the most bloated and
self-conscious girl over a threshold as other men might
carry a sack of green leafy groceries. He seems like the
sort of guy you could have a beer with and laugh for
hours. I told you, I love him.

It all began with Wooderson, the aging stoner in
Dazed &
. Then he dazzled as the lovable dupe Abe
Lincoln in
Boys on the Side. But it was the confluence
of two important events that firmly planted Matthew in
the soft black earthen mound I call a heart--a Vanity
Fair cover, and the film
A Time to Kill. As Jake
Brigance in John Grisham's tale of poverty and racism in
the modern day South, Matthew was achingly beautiful. He
was gritty, and yet smooth. Conscientious, and yet
nearly cheated on his wife. He lived in the sort of
perfect little backwoods house that I can picture myself
spending many happy iced tea drenched years. And, in one
famous scene, he took off his shirt. I was done. Signed,
sealed, delivered -- hooked. Then, I read the Vanity
Fair article. (Oh, boy.) The photos were flawless, and
the interview painted him as so down-to-earth that, for
a while, I was convinced they'd actually unearthed him
like a time capsule from some bygone era. (Surely men
that humble and pure only existed in the days of the
dust bowl?) They hailed him as "the New Paul Newman,"
and I was sure they were right.

With the film
Contact, my Matthew-love blossomed. I
happen to be a total Carl Sagan groupie and passionate
about SETI. (Uh-huh, I'm that geeky.) As Palmer Joss he
was the ideological theological wunderkind I'd always
imagined the book's character to be.

Matthew's roles have since spiraled well into
what-was-he-thinking territory. But not even this has
abated my love. And, though the magazines are calling
others "The New Matthew McConaughey" I have not given
up. He's never done anything stupid in real life. He
saved puppies after Hurricane Katrina, for crying out
loud. He toured the country in an RV to promote a movie.
. .and actually slept in it every night. He loves his
mama and never fakes an accent. He's a good 'ol boy, and
there aren't enough of those in Hollywood, for sure.

What my decoupage Matthew and I have is pure and cannot
be sullied, even by films like
Sahara. Other fantasy
boys may come and go but Matthew is the real (fake)
thing. Our love will continue to JK Livin'.

AN UPDATE:  I am still completely in love with Matthew,
though we are both now married to other people.  I'm
glad I never gave up on him because his roles are
finally coming back around.  He was amazing in
, and I hear Killer Joe features a breakout
performance.                                    -- Emily
A Time To Kill (1996)
Dazed & Confused (1993)
Boys on the Side (1995)
Contact (1997)
Sahara (2005)
Dazed and Confused
Boys On the Side
A Time to Kill
Magic Mike (2012)
2012 © Libby Street & Emily Morris  Web Design By: Emily S. Morris
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