Why Tom Hiddleston Can’t Love an Old Lady; And Other Musings of a Gen Xer

I spent a good bit of last weekend in the Emergency Veterinary hospital.  My one-year old rescue dog, Loki (of course he is named after the god of mischief!) had developed a nasty GI problem; most likely due to the fact he eats anything he can fit into his mouth! For all the animal lovers reading this I will assuage your fears. Loki seems to be doing fine. At least he is back to his old ways of trying to scarf acorns, the wart on his elderly beagle brother’s eye and the remains of the day shall we say, from other dogs. I suppose dogs (especially puppies) could be considered the most massive population of Pica sufferers on earth.

During the long hours spent in the waiting room with the Cooking Channel for company, the first car of this moderately tragic train of thought was formed.  One of the vet techs asked if I was into Norse mythology because of my puppy’s name. My answer would have made Dr. White, my former university Myth and Symbol professor proud. The truth, however, is not so scholarly.  I should have confessed that I was more into Tom Hiddleston. I don’t believe I need to mention who he is!

The longer I sat in the waiting room the more I wondered why I was embarrassed to admit my admiration for Mr. Hidsdleston. At first glance the answer seems obvious. Tom Hiddleston is a beautiful man. He’s intelligent, talented and possesses a great sense of humor; a gorgeous nerd who wears the hell out of any item of clothing; especially suits!  As human beings go, Tom Hiddleston is damn fine! He is moreover eternally young.

Sure, I’d wager some of his friends and family may playfully tease Hiddleston that he is knocking on the door of; The Big 4 0. Meanwhile my own Big 4 0 and 4 5 for that matter have come and gone. As to how far gone, I invoke my Fifth Amendment right. That is if the U.S. Constitution is even functioning at this point in time.

I will own up to the fact that I reveled in the halcyon days of the 90s when coffee houses, temp jobs, Blockbuster video stores and driving a car from the 1970s; Indigo Girls blasting from the RetroSound speakers were the norm for emancipated girls like me.  My glory days consisted of reading the (free) City Paper, taking the train to hang out on South Street, Philadelphia. Stores named: Zipper Head, Condomnation, Dante’s Inferno, The Theatre of the Living Art, (TLA) and JC Dobbs were holy meccas of Otherness. Most of these once pulsing with life spaces are now considered historical. But, back then we were the Bohemians. My hair was pink, my nose was pierced, and I lived in a house with two fellow students.  There were never fewer than ten people in our home at any given time. It wasn’t unusual for folks to just come knocking on a window at 2am.

I worked at a small health food store. All the employees were musicians, visual artists, writers and social activists. We even had a self-proclaimed witch who was not one to be messed with! We could and often did, borrow against our upcoming paychecks to buy food; each day we received a complementary macrobiotic lunch, whether we deemed it edible or not!

I realized that in those days, my younger, wilder years, all of my celebrity crushes were older: Patrick Stewart, Gregg Allman, Jim Croce and Kurt Vonnegut. Hell, even my real life crushes were older; like the tall, dark, mercurial dude in charge of the album section of the Book Trader.


I did fancy a few contemporaries. Kurt Cobain comes to mind. I bet there isn’t a Gen Xer who didn’t love Kurt.  While I’m at it, Prince is absolutely eternal as well!

This past summer my older sister and her husband attended an Elton John Farewell concert. She was expecting to smell the unique and intoxicating scent of marijuana floating through the air hanging onto each musical note. Instead, my sister found the audience to be a significantly BENGAY crowd.

But, I digress; what does this account of my 20something days have to do with Tom Hiddleston? I recall something my godmother once said. A person’s 20s are for being wild, taking risks, believing you are a mature adult with all the answers; in reality, you don’t have a fucking clue! A person’s 30s are for settling down, finding a career or alternate path that consists of more realistic goals. Maybe you even settle down with a partner and/or become a parent. The 40s are the crossroads. It’s a decade of glancing in the rear view of that 1970s car wondering what the hell kind of garbled noise is coming from the radio. It’s the time for looking forward to an unknown road with true wisdom.

Tom Hiddleston is a lovely enigma. He is an old soul possessing a genuine understanding of himself, others and how people relate to one another in an uncertain world.  Additionally, Hiddleston has a youthful love of life, an innocent, but unaffected optimism.  Despite what his critics may remark, Hiddleston dances with abandon, laughs easily and often, engages with his fans and loves his dog, Bobby.

I look at Tom Hiddleston and I see my misspent youth. I wish I would have been gifted with the rare combination of insight and joy in my 20s and 30s. I wish I had the self-discipline, defiance to those who unjustly criticize, and dedication to craft as Hiddleston obviously does. The French have a saying; Apres la pluie le beau temps.  Loosely translated means although today may suck, bluer skies and better days are ahead.

These days I grumble about facing more gray skies (and hairs!) than blue. This month marks one year since my dad passed. I ask myself, what can I hope for now? And the eternal question; is it hot in here, or is it just me?

As I conclude this article Loki, the dog of mischief lays contentedly on his favorite blanket with his snoring beagle brother, Misha, (for Baryshnikov, of course!)

Life is good. This old lady’s sentiments to and for Tom Hiddleston are best expressed by Alanis Morissette in her 1995 tune; One Hand in My Pocket.

What it all comes down to
Is that everything’s gonna be fine, fine, fine
‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is giving a high five


Photo Credits:

Gregg Allman by; Herb Kossove

Kurt Cobain by; Tracy Marander

Tom Hiddleston by; Jenny Anderson for Betrayal Broadway

Loki & Misha by: Yours Truly

Prince by; Steve Parkes












Scroll to top