Tonight I ate some buttery-soft O-Toro and watched Young Sherlock Holmes. I've said before that Nicholas Rowe, in this part, was one of my first crushes. I'm not sure exactly what did it for me--his precocious manner...his studly brain...his tall, lanky build...or that sensitive side of him we just catch a glimpse of here and there. I mused over all of this as I popped in the DVD, and knew I was in for a little nostalgic trip.

But MY GOD I didn't realize how attracted I'd still feel to him.


I am so disgusting! I mean, look at this kid...he's like 17 years old! He's jailbait! And I still get butterflies in my tummy when he professes his devotion to his little girlfriend before she dies in his arms.
It worries me a bit. Fortunately, I'm not partial to the young fellows (not for long, at any rate). And I feel better because the real Nick Rowe (it's just Nick now, not Nicholas, ok?) is also a grown-up. This is a character. I'm not a pedophile if I'm enamored of an underage character, right? Does it mean something that "Boy Toy," who I dated last summer, bears a striking resemblance to Rowe? These are the burning questions.

All-boy prep schools. My goodness, now I understand that obsession with the Catholic Schoolgirl Skirt. Pardon me while I try to hunt down the Lawrenceville Stories...you know, for use in aversion therapy.