This love letter is in honour of George Stroumboulopoulos’ recent 40th birthday. I am sorry it is so late, but the truth is his milestone birthday has made me feel old and I have been in denial.
(May I call you Strombo? When answering, please note that I will call you Strombo regardless. Ok? Cool.)
After Zack Morris and Tuxedo Mask you were my first television crush. I have fond memories of watching you VJ on Much Music, the volume on mute so I could play Spice Girls in the background while pretending that watching your show somehow made me more “punk”. Sometimes I would bribe my siblings by offering to do their chores so I could take the remote, granting myself an hour of your time.
You were my only Canadian Celebrity Crush (at least until I realized Ryan Gosling was Canadian. I sure do love Ryan Gosling).
These days I content myself by watching highlights of “The Hour” (I’ve yet to watch an entire episode, and wasn’t even aware that it’s no longer called “The Hour” until I did a Google search of you before posting this) and subscribing to your feed on Facebook. (Not to actually read it, but to see your dreamy eyes pop on my home page with startling frequency. For such a busy man you sure spend a lot of time online. Are you paid per post?)
Unlike my previous love letters I do not have a list of qualities I love about you (though there are many), and I will not be listing the reasons we belong together. You see, I never entertained dreams of us marrying. Not because of the age gap or the knowledge that I never had a chance in hell of actually meeting you, but because Sarah Stroumboulopoulos sounds ridiculous.
(If any of your family members are named Sarah I apologize. Both for the insensitivity of my remark and because they are named Sarah Stroumboulopoulos.)
With love, affection and a hefty dose of nostalgia,
PS. I too love the Montreal Canadiens and their crumbling empire. Though, that’s mostly because I look good in Red.