Toby.

I will back my words up in a future post in an attempt to convince anyone else that Richard Schiff is a sexy motherfucker, but only when sporting facial hair. I KNOW I can make that final argument; it’s the earlier one that has previously earned me more than one cocked head of confusion (make your own damn dirty joke here, I’m too busy thinking of tobypr0n). And for the record, his RL wife teaches other ladies how to pole dance. Seriously. Sheila Kelley (nerdalert) is the one responsible for teaching Lisa Edelstein her Cuddy pole moves as seen at the end of Season 4 of House (/nerdalert), and is thus a personal hero of mine. THAT WAS SOME HOT SHIT RIGHT THERE. Daaaamn….but the point is…um…the point is gone, and Schiff must have some righteous moves of his own to bag that dame and I just want to see them, what…

What I mean by new old classics is the sense of….well, we have these classics, yeah? These fine specimens of manness and maleitude with HAIR and lines on their faces (for the most part anyway). And we pore over bites and bytes of a lot of the same poses or photoshoots (and yes, thank you Eff for linking all the dripping wet rpattz nomitude because fucking HELL that’s a pretty young hairy mannishboy), but it’s rare to come across (heh) a new pic that wasn’t shot, cropped and printed earlier that day. Damn you, age of immediate gratification!

To wit, I offer two pieces of evidence, from my and Effbit’s primary whipping men (oh, but for one night in bangkok).  First up, I’ve seen this pic a couple of times in the past but never had the thought to actually grab it for keepsies until Effbit rolled up the other day and was all, I WANT RICKMAN ON A BEACH NOW.  Then I was all, damn girl, calm.  Once I’d found the pic again, I remembered why she was in a state.

Christ on crutches, what’s a girl to do with THAT!?  I’d heard all English were deathly allergic to sunlight, or were just pissed at the outdoors because the sun has no appreciation for dry humor and isn’t that a kick in the head.  I’ve no idea of his age in this one but those bangs look as if they were dealt with by mummy not 4 hours earlier.  Early to mid 20s?  Jesus God, WANT.

All drooling aside (yeah right), the pic for my own interest is decided less graphic (and perhaps you’ll appreciate the typographical irony of that statement in a minute).  From the bowels of some bloke’s camera in 1981, I give you a registration board showing two lists of names of rowers.  Peep the Cambridge spare.

Sexy handwriting does something to my brain that is a glorious thing, although it can be quite surprising when it pops up at inopportune moments.  Like reading a map written and drawn by a babysittee’s father.  Bad to swerve violently while lusting after lower zone 4′s.

For anyone not in the know about Mr Laurie’s rowing career (and for me because I will look at manleg at the drop of a sock), please enjoy the following.  While brief, it’s still an eye-popping look at a 74.5″/194# 20-year-old piece with thighs to crack walnuts (and yes i’m holding those walnuts in my teeth).