Like most other things about me, my crushes aren't ordinary.

Which-- lucky for me-- pays off in spades.

Because, you see, people tend to remember your quirky crushes. And then when someone they know is going to see a festival film that happens to star your quirky crush and it is rumored that the some of the "stars" from that film may be at that particular festival screening, that person tells that someone all about your quirky crush on said star. And then the next thing you know, that someone is at the screening and upon running into your quirky crush, that someone tells your quirky crush that you think he is "the sexiest man on earth." And that's when your quirky crush says, "Oh rrreeeaaalllyyy? Tell her thank you."

And that's how you-- if you're me and you have a penchant for quirky crushes on the type of star who is honestly flattered to be told that someone thinks he is the sexiest man on earth-- wind up with the following autograph.

And that's when you-- if you're me and you're lucky enough to know a person who would tell someone with access to your quirky crush all about said quirky crush-- are very thankful to have a public domain on which to thank said person and said someone.

So, thank you, Deb and BJ-- you both completely rock!

But that can't be it, can it? I can't leave you hanging, jaw open, lost-- but unsurprisingly so-- inside a cloud of confusion, can I? There has to be more of an explanation, right? I just have to tell you exactly why I find Steve Buscemi to be the sexiest man on earth, don't I?

Well-- I'm not sure I can.

There are some tangibles that I can name. Something to do with the attraction to a classic clown with a dark soul. Those eye teeth play into it-- fang-like and evil. It's a Mr. Pink attitude wrapped inside of Seymour's loneliness coupled with Aldolpho Rollo's romantic visions. And those eyes-- those eyes that cup an immeasurable weight of disillusionment in their bottom lids.

I once read an interview with Steve in which he told the story about reading the Fargo script for the first time and later discussing it with Joel and Ethan Coen. He asked the Coen's what kind of prosthetics they wanted to use for his character-- perhaps he should don an odd hair cut, a funny mustache. The Coen's glanced at one another in confusion and asked what he was talking about. Steve replied plainly, "You refer to my character throughout the script as a 'funny-looking' guy. I'm just wondering how you plan to achieve that." The Coen's shared a whimsical look and turned back to Steve. "Well, Steve, we plan to achieve that by casting you in the role."

I think in the interview, Steve ended his story with a shrug.

With that shrug, I was crushed. Quirkily crushed by a gesture filled with confidence and humor and a calm self-awareness that grounded him to a place on this earth so steadfast and secure.

I wrote a piece on whirlygirl just over three years ago called "german philosophers" in which I tried to describe my tendency for developing a physical attraction to an ethereal presence-- recounting how a simple idea, or word, or characteristic can spark a previously unimaginable attraction to the least imaginable person. But I forgot to mention the shrug.

Sometimes a shrug says it all.