I was about to write something brilliant. No, really, sheer genius: The Iliad, War and Peace, Ulysses — drivel. This was going to be transcendent. Epic. Revelatory. The heavens were going to weep. But then, well, then I looked at the new October issue of GQ featuring Olivia Wilde.
Right now, even if I had the mental capacity to write more than hummina-hummina-hummina it wouldn’t matter because all of your brains have turned into a quivering gelatinous mush. Go ahead, just try to form a complete sentence. I dare you.
Couldn’t do it, could you? Or perhaps you’ve just woken with the letters “S” and “J” permanently tattooed onto your forehead from where your head hit the keyboard. Hold on, don’t pass out again — oh, shoot, too late.
Wait, did I mention there’s a video of the photoshoot? Yep, it’s just two and a half minutes of Olivia cavorting in a bikini on the beach. You’re welcome, lesbiankind.
Those of you who were able to retain consciousness might notice that there’s an article that goes along with the photoshoot. Which I’m sure is why everyone will buy this issue — the articles.
In it Olivia talks about her status as a strangle-a-mountain-ox-worthy sex symbol:
I’m definitely at this point now where things are shifting, they’re changing very fast. The only role I really don’t understand is this recent sort of “sexiest-vixen” thing. It doesn’t feel like me, doesn’t feel natural.
Well then she’s the only one who thinks the title doesn’t fit. Actually, Olivia is a “self-confessed hippie” who loves living in Southern California’s low-key town of Venice and grew up with two well-known Washington, D.C. investigative journalists as parents.
Academy Award-winner Julie Christie is a family friend and Christopher Hitchens a former babysitter. She was even once shooed away and told to go to bed by Mick Jagger as a little girl. Bet he wouldn’t shoo her away now.
The article — yes, I read the whole thing; be impressed by my ability to focus in the face of extreme distraction — is actually a pretty interesting and makes Olivia sound grounded, down to earth and much more than just a pretty face (and everything else).
She also doesn’t seem to like the bi-curious hottie stereotyping some have done of her recent roles, both on The O.C. and House, saying: “I sort of resent people pigeonholing Thirteen as the sexy gay doctor.” OK, fair enough. She is a sexy gay doctor with Huntington’s Disease who works for a brilliant jerk and is dating a coworker. If that’s a pigeonhole, it’s a very, very specialized one.
Well, suffice it to say these shots of Olivia make me that much more, um, titillated about the House season premiere Monday on Fox. So, there you have it. The world has forever been robbed of my sure-to-be masterful treaties on the meaning of life because Olivia Wilde showed up in a bikini. I am totally OK with that.