This means you, Alexander Skarsgård. I don’t watch True Blood any more, having tired of it in the third season or thereabouts. (I currently suffer from serious vampire fatigue.) But having said that, the best thing in True Blood was this jaw-droppingly beautiful, pleasingly Nordic, six-foot-four inches of mouthwatering Man. I may have left the party too soon, for it was reported in the Huffington Post that the Swedish Sweetie did a full-frontal nude scene in the Season Six finale.
Eric Northman was one of the best characters in the Sookie Stackhouse books, too. But in spite of his appeal, I eventually tired of the books as well. After a certain point, I lost patience with the creepy combination of sex and violence.
But let us return to the delightful contemplation of Mr. Skarsgård, who I understand took a ski trip to the South Pole with Prince Harry. He certainly has the genetic background for it. My own Swedish-American Spouse is one of those men who keeps the thermostat at 67 degrees Fahrenheit, and if I complain that it’s too cold, advises me to wear a stocking cap.
“I’m not afraid of growing old, even though I live in L.A.,” Skarsgård, 33, recently told HBO Hungary. “Although I’m not really that old yet.” [He’s now 39.] I don’t think he has much to fear. He strikes me as the type who will age like a Grand Cru Bordeaux. In fact, I think he has yet to peak. In another ten years, he may not have those ripped abs, but he’ll be much more interesting.