At the risk of turning this into a “boys are so dreeeeeeamy” blog, I have to share a secret.

Peyton Manning’s appearance on Saturday Night Live kind of made me fall in love with Peyton Manning.

It was a combination of several things. His family of giants. His relaxed delivery. The dancing. The self-mockery. Sigh.

No doubt this will be gone from YouTube within hours, but please watch this fake commercial quickly and tell me if you’re not a little bit in love, too.

If that doesn’t work, check out NBC’s site and look for the United Way clip.

Taking stuff off of YouTube: That’s a whole other rant.

Finally, an episode of SNL that it's impossible to be disappointed by.

Why?  Because Jake Gyllenhaal is hosting.  Even if he decides to just sit at the Weekend Update desk, sip coffee and read the New Yorker, I'm sure I'll be glued to the screen.

Hi Jake. 

Furthermore, the musical guest is The Shins — who you may know from the Garden State soundtrack. Or from every music magazine ever.

Click here to download The Shins' newest song, Phantom Limb from the Sub Pop Web site.  It's okay, but exactly what you'd expect from them. 

Okay, I'm just going to go out and say it:  I'm going to have a really hard time rooting against the newly de-shadowed villain Sylar on Heroes because, well, he's way hot.  Sure, he cuts open the heads of the innocent and, presumably, devours their brains in some fashion to absorb their superpowers.  But I've been on dates with people with bigger personality flaws.  I'm serious.

You might remember Quinto as Tori Spelling's gay pal on the VH1 comedy So NoTORIous. Yes, I did watch it.  And yes, I fucking loved it!  

With Sylar, though, he's wearing less trendy duds, sporting some cool thick frames and becoming the biggest V.I.L.F. in recent memory.  And, for the record, if anyone were to cut open my head and eat my brain, I'd want the culprit to be as pretty as Quinto.

In other Heroes-related news, an actor from two of my favorite movies is going to begin a recurring role on the show.  Christopher Eccleston, who was in 28 Days Later and my all-time favorite Shallow Grave, will play an as-yet-unspecified character.

And in even further Heroes-related news, if you haven't been watching the show, then fire up your TiFaux because the Sci-Fi Channel is doing a marathon at 6 p.m. EST tonight.  They'll be airing the first six episodes.

Have you been watching Top Chef?

It's pretty good — good solid competitive reality entertainment, even though it will always be known to most as Not Project Runway.

Maybe I'll write more about Top Chef later — I'm procrastinating on a hundred different things right now — but they're billing this guy Sam as this season's hunk.  And normally when someone's billed as a hunk it makes me want to hate them immediately.  Do your own amateur psychology on that one.  But when I saw him in action this past episode (the ice cream/TGIFridays battle royale) I had to concede — damn, this guy's hot.

He looks a little cro-magnon-buys-an-H&M-wristband in this picture, but check him out in one of the weekend reruns. 

Looks like it's going to be a long weekend at the Faux, but, to tide you over til Wednesday, here's a picture of Anderson Cooper sexily thinking about some sort of sexy topic.

He's also proof that grown-up hotties can be ugly babies.

I hereby declare Seal, Heidi and the family Klum as the hottest family in the history of everything.

That is all. 

(source) 

Lost has plenty of ready-made heartthrobs.  The sexily stubbled alpha male doctor, the Southern bad boy, the soon-to-die male model.  But Sayid is the often-overlooked island eye candy. In his honor, I have created an acrostic  to the man known to some as "Hot Iraqi Jesus*."

(*credit: Ekrobi — seen here with stolen baby)

S is for your scraggly head of hair.

A is for all the women you love who wind up dead.

Y is for Young (Mighty Joe, that is), the ape movie that helped get you your start.

I is for the Iraqi torture methods you have used to tear apart the fingernails of Sawyer and Henry Gale.

D is for dating the 87-year-old Barbara Hershey in real life.

Sayid. 

I can just picture the scene in MTV’s hq when the second season of Laguna Beach set the effing place on fire. I’ve always loved the laguna, but I thought it was kind of niche programming, appealing to those of us who, say, watched all of the My Super Sweet 16 reunion shows. Twice. (New season premieres tomorrow at 10 pm. Just putting it out there). But lo, the laguna exploded, and it was good. I’m sure the morning the ratings rolled in they commissioned everyone to find The Next Laguna, something to hold us over between the season 2 finale and a time when LC will be able to doe-eye her way through “The Hills” (premiere May 24th) while Kristin starts nailing Jessica Simpson’s leftovers. Kristin, by the way, has the hardest working publicist in town, and made her way into Jane magazine’s “30 Under 30.” Granted, this list also included a female DPW worker in new york, but still. Mazel tov, Kristin.

The question remains– how do you follow up the laguna? Like catching lightning in a jar, no? What could people want to watch more than rich white kids? Skinny pretty people! Dur!

It took me awhile to warm up on 8th and Ocean. The first episode isn’t all that great, it mostly just introduced the “characters” and laid some groundwork. There’s the eponymous owner of the Irene Marie modeling agency, looking as though she had been tanned and weather-sealed by an old west saddle maker. There’s Vinci, the 6 figure arrogant male model who has trouble (a) stringing together an intelligible sentence and (b) getting out of bed before 11 am, despite his somewhat lax schedule of laying by the pool and nailing bitches. We also have Kelly and Sabrina, identical twins who starred in an Acuvue 2 commercial, who have the most intricate and manipulative relationship involving skin care and boob jobs that I’ve ever seen. Then there’s Teddy John, playa extrordinaire, who sets his sights early on Britt, a fresh-faced midwestern girl who was homeschooled (red flag!) before moving to Florida to refuse to do modeling shoots that involve wearing anything less covering than a nun’s habit.

During his pursuit of Britt, Teddy John manages to bag another female model in a hot tub, within 50 yards of where Britt looked on from her model apartment balcony. Clearly, he was able to do this with his talent for the spoken word:

TJ: You’re hot. Do you think I’m hot?

Chick: You’re a hottie. Wait, you hate that word.

TJ: You’re gorgeous. You’re a gorgeous-ie.

Kids, stay in school.

Sadly for Teddy John, Britt spends one of the early episodes in a church basement meeting of Pretty People for Jesus in which she declares the big JC both her “maker” and “husband.” Huh, how does that work, I wonder? Also, how do you find your way to said meetings? Are there some kind of markers leading you to them?

Oh, good. I can only hope that this meeting was taking place right next to Grammar Enthusiasts for Ganesh.

(Full disclosure: I originally posted a version of this Tyler Florence tribute on my other blog. However, it seems appropriate to post here, as it is TV-themed. Yes, I am lazy. Don’t judge me. Don’t you judge me.)

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Dear hunky celebrity chef Tyler Florence,

As I watch your hit Food Network show, Food 911, I’m not sure what I want to pounce on more: you or your Yellow Tail Snapper Baked in a Salt Crust.

Every week you appear on my screen, roasting ducks, sauteing vegetables, and I have to admit that I’m only half interested in what you’re cooking. How am I supposed to concentrate on your frittatas when you’re standing there with your impeccably gelled coiffure, your million-dollar smile and those shoulders, which stretch as far as the horizon.

And my obsession with you Tyler (can I call you Tyler?) is strange, because you are not my really my type at all. You rarely sport a 5 o’clock shadow or any manner of scruff. Additionally, despite being a sensitive caretaker, you are decidedly an alpha-male (I enjoy the betas, myself) — your confidence in the kitchen gives you an air of masculine control. Most noticeably, you are devoid of any real eccentricity, opting for the all-American vibe. You wouldn’t shop at Abercrombie and Fitch (too much frou frou homoerotic fratwear), but I’m pretty sure you signed up for the American Eagle credit card so that you could get 15% off your first purchase of that dark blue fitted sweater (a large) that hangs so nicely off of your frame.

You work out, don’t you Tyler? But you don’t want to make a big thing of it, so you hide it under your stylish duds. You’re so unassuming, the way you hide your powerful arms — the way you reassure and inform that professional idiot you work with on “How To Boil Water.”

Oh, Tyler! I know that you like girls - it’s one of my life’s greatest disappointments. But I can at least watch your show and think about what it would be like to spend cozy weekends in our cabin in western Massachusetts, marinating boneless skinless chicken breasts and playing Scrabble with the lesbians that live next door (that Denise always leaves the triple word scores open!). And if I get home late from work, you’ll leave a plate for me in the fridge with a post-it note on top of the Saran wrap, saying that you hope I had a good day and you’ll see me in the morning.

But I digress.

We may never have a real-life romance, but at least we’ll have our regular dates at 3 p.m. eastern time. Tyler Florence, if I can’t watch you teach smitten Nebraskan housewives how to properly stuff a bell pepper, then is life really worth living?

Farewell,

Dan.