When I was 10, I began what can best be described as a mental illness focused entirely on New Kids on the Block. In 7th grade, I "sprained" my ankle, found some old crutches in a closet and went to school in my uniform, one shoe and my injured appendage covered in a NKOTB bedroom slipper in the shape of a puffy, neon high-top. I cried when Donnie got arrested for setting that hotel on fire. And I kept two diaries: 1 about my regular life and 1 as my life relates to NKOTB with the plan of showing the latter to Joe McIntyre on our wedding night/my 18th birthday.
Anyway, I've always kept a little flame burning for the teen heartthrob. As I get dramatically older and older, it's becoming more and more creepy. But as my beloved Brock and I sipped milkshakes in my parents' TV room at 3am and watched Hairspray, we both sheepishly agreed.
Zac Efron has a quality.
I'm not proud of this. I've kept my slight, casual, passing curiosity about this 21 year old in the closet, only confessing to Brock as we clasped hands and giggled as only 30 year olds can do.
Watch Hairspray and you'll agree. He's fuckin' precious. Even my mother, who was forced to view the movie on an airplane, leaned across the aisle and announced, "That Zac Efron is just wonderful! Is he related to Nora Ephron?"
I have to come out of my pedophile closet however, if for no other reason than to explain why you might see me in a baseball hat and sunglasses, sneaking into 17 Again, shushing 12 year old girls in the theater and sighing, "adorable..." every few minutes.
I know Brock's in...