Roberta X has, if not specifically fond, certainly specific memories of One of the Most Interesting Men in the World:
A ruggedly handsome, supremely self-confident man who’d done fascinating, challenging things and kept right on doing them as he years rolled by. He owned the garage where my MGB got the difficult work done; he’d show up sometimes with a book, an antique range (or something), an unusual car, a stack of photos from vacations in exotic places with fascinating people. He spoke several languages. A terribly interesting man and he was kind of sweet on me. Oh, my blushes!
Which doesn’t sound too different from the character played by Jonathan Goldsmith in those Dos Equis ads:
“He’s a man that has had life experience, and has been there, and done that, and beyond… If you’re not interested, you will not be interesting. If you don’t experience life, you won’t be a participant — you’ll just be a voyeur; you’ll watch it go by like a parade you’re not involved in.”
I briefly tried pitching myself as the Least Interesting Man in the World, until someone helpfully pointed out that being the Least Interesting was itself a distinction, and therefore, well, Interesting. Things wound up in an infinite loop shortly thereafter. Perhaps I should try to send bricks to sleep by hypnosis.