Today's Evil Beet Gossip

I Think We Need to Love Jon Hamm Right Now

A photo of Jon Hamm

I know, I know, I’m extremely tardy to the Jon Hamm party. I realize that, and if you don’t think that upsets me, then you’re dead wrong. I still haven’t watched a single episode of Mad Men, but I will soon (maybe), and I did see him in Bridesmaids, of course, where his performance shouldn’t be overlooked. I’ve also seen him work some magic in a handful of interviews, and that’s where my call for love comes from today. Can you dig it?

From Playboy:

On outdoor sex: In the era of TMZ, I don’t think outdoor sex is a particularly good idea. It’s one of those things that sound way better than they actually are. There’s something not sexy about all the twigs and bugs and sand. You end up with stuff in places you don’t want it. It always looks better in the well-lit Skinemax version.

On his Mad Men character: A three-martini lunch is fun in theory. And it’s fun to look cool while you’re staring out of windows, drinking scotch and smoking. But the reality is, if you have a three-martini lunch, you don’t get much done in the afternoon. And if you stare out the window and smoke too much, you get f*cking lung cancer.

On Twitter and the like: It’s hard to escape the fact that we live in a world where everybody is clamoring for attention and people think their life doesn’t matter if they’re not on TV or the paparazzi aren’t following them. They don’t feel validated unless there’s a lens on them or they’re tweeting so more people can hear what they have to say, which all contributes to a vast echo chamber that serves basically to turn everything into noise. Eventually your life is lived in sound bites and reality shows and 140 characters, becoming smaller and smaller without any nuance or deeper reflective quality. I try to get away from that and listen more than I talk, except of course in this situation.

On sad movies: I cried at Marley & Me. Not just teared up a little but full-on cried. That was a f*cking nightmare. Dead-dog stories always get me. And dead-mom stories—Terms of Endearment, stuff like that. If a parent dies in a movie, I’m a f*cking wreck.

On his mother dying when he was 10: When you’re 10 you’re kind of cognizant of how the world works, but it’s through the filter of a child. There’s definitely no sense of the permanence of death or the meaning of not being able to see someone or talk to someone again, especially someone as important as your mother.

On playing Winnie the Pooh in a first grade play: It was more bumbling. It wasn’t that nuanced. My mom made the costume out of a Butterick pattern, and I had a pillow taped to my belly. I tumbled around and tried not to knock the set over. A VHS tape of this play does exist, by the way. The teacher assigned everything, and I think I was picked to be the main guy because I was the only one who wasn’t terrified of standing in front of an audience and looking like a moron. Everybody else just wanted to be trees.

On the worst job he’s ever had: I did set dressing on some soft-core porn films. That was hands down the worst. I was working on the crew from seven to seven, and it was horribly depressing.

On his friend, Zach Galifianakis: Zach is monumentally famous now, and he’s still the same guy I’ve always known. I look at him and say, “This thing happened to you.” And he just smiles back at me and says, “The same fcking thing happened to you.” I don’t see it because I’m looking outward rather than in. But it is true, and it’s funny.

On the sex scene in Bridesmaids: It’s like running in the rain. There’s a certain point when you go, “F*ck it, I’m already wet. I’m not going to get any less wet, so I might as well just enjoy how this feels.” I mean, sure, there’s an awkwardness about being in a weird flesh-colored thong, bouncing on top of an actress. And I am not a small human being. I weigh at least 200 pounds and I’m six-foot-two. And Wiig is a twig; she’s a skinny little thing. I told her, “Just punch me in the side if I’m hurting you.” It’s weird and uncomfortable at first, but then all the awkwardness melts away and you think, All right, we’re doing this, so let’s have fun with it. You know what I mean? You’re in that moment and it’s happening and it’s not going to get any better, so you might as well enjoy it.

Charming. As. Hell.

3 CommentsLeave a comment

  • He’s from my hometown and I’ve never met anyone with bad things to say about him. Love love love him.

  • There’s never a time NOT to love this guy. He’s handsome, down to earth, smart, and funny as hell. If there was a case for genetic cloning, it’s this guy.