I know. I know. If you need to take a minute, take a break, take a deep breath, go right ahead. He is stunning. It's his hair. It's his neck. It's his hands. It's the guitar on his knee. It's that damn crooked eyebrow. All of that's enough to take a girl down.
Or at least this girl. I spent an awful lot of time over that post-grad school year in Buffalo listening to songs like this one or this one and cooking up clever little montages in my head--places, scenes, or situations where I might just happen to run into Ryan Miller and and be so cool, so charming that he'd ask me to have drink with him. It wasn't a terrible way to spend the year.
And now that I'm in Maine, I suffer through Ryan Miller withdrawals because there's absolutely no reason that his face would show up on the television screen or in the newspaper around here.
Of course, that doesn't mean my life is completely Miller-less. Thankfully, I've got a small army of people back in Buffalo who are looking out for my best interest, which is why this week I got several frantic e-mails titled things like RYAN MILLER STUFF! and YOU WILL LOVE ME FOR THIS! and R.M. GREATNESS!
Earlier this week, the Buffalo News had released this little gem of a video that went along with this article. Needless to say, I got both of those things, and I got them quick. The video was in my e-mail several times over, and the next day when I braved the cold to get my mail, I found a letter from Steph--and inside was a carefully creased copy of the article, which is going to be pasted to my office wall, next to the last Ryan Miller expose the News ran. In her note, Steph mentioned that even her mother was getting in on the act. When she sees anything having to do with Ryan Miller, she'll say, "Ooooh, Ryan Miller! Better send it to Jess!"
My love for the him is legendary.
My love for him sometimes whips me into a frenzy. I mean, come on. He plays the guitar! He's a perfectionist! He takes photos! He's charitable! He's sly and witty! He's anal! He's concerned about his couch cushions! I bet no one would ever have to tell him to rinse his toothpaste down the sink at night. I bet he appreciates a good meatloaf. If that doesn't sound like a man who should be with me, I don't know what does.
The other day I read on his blog that he loves Ryan Adams (oh--thinking about him singing the chorus of this is enough to make my temperature spike). I also read he's looking for new singers and songs to liven up his play list. And I can't tell you how many minutes I spent wondering how, how, how I could e-mail him--not anything about loving him, of course--that would make me crazy--but about Josh Ritter and Cory Branan and Brendan Benson and how I think he would like some of their songs and how, if he let me, I'd show him all the best ones and he could learn them and maybe--just maybe--play them for me some day when I'm back in Buffalo.
God. If only.