John Cusack, ladies and gents.
I throw myself upon your mercies; it wasn’t until I was scrolling through the archives that I remembered – holy shit! – I had completely forgotten February’s hot old man and here we are, eight days into the month. Somehow I have a feeling that Mr. Cusack could care less, but you know.
And I know everyone loves High Fidelity more than anything else in Cusack’s body of work, but me, myself and I? I’m a Grosse Pointe Blank kind of girl, you know.
