I love Sherlock Holmes. I'm a huge fan. Graduating from Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys to Baker Street felt like growing up. Sherlock Holmes was a man who possessed a dizzying mind, an almost cruel intellect, and was unabashedly outrageous in his improvisation and resourcefulness in his relentless pursuit of the truth at the core of whatever mystery lit him up. His life as seen through the eyes of the more empathetic Dr. Watson, a good man of morals and ethics and heart even after returning injured from the horrors of war, was one of astonishing adventure and perplexing character. I was as astounded as Dr. Watson was of his new roommate. The stories were elegant and exotic and glorious. I read them over and over (the telltale sign of a really good book)!

Okay, I admit, I missed the deerstalker hat and was thrilled when they wrote it in!

I've seen plays and TV shows, and although a big fan of anything Robert Downey Jr. since Less Than Zero, I didn't really think the steampunk-ish romp that had much to do with Sherlock Holmes outside the characters' names. (Honestly, when I first heard the casting, I thought Jude Law would be Sherlock and Downey as Moriarty. Ah well.) So when I heard about the BBC production, I was skeptical, but boyishly bright-eyed Benedict Cumberbatch does an amazing job with his rail-thin loping walk, his thin musician hands and his resonant voice with a sparkling script that somehow manages to blend the original text and intent with modern day things like blogs, texts and modern science. I was astounded at how well they'd brought the stories fast-forward and at the first episode, I was hooked!

This current Sunday Night obsession (sorry, Once Upon A Time) made me think back on my love of this character and the last two episodes of this second season really hit the reason why: as brilliant and observant and decisive and instinctive as Sherlock Holmes may be, he is deeply flawed in the most obvious ways possible. While the heavier addictions in the stories has been softened to a nicotine habit, the real deficit is Sherlock's inability to connect with people. While he understands what motivates people emotionally as the cause and effect of human psychology behind most crimes, he himself is moved by very little outside the thrill of the chase; malaise is his greatest enemy (aside from one "consultant criminal") and he is almost unable to see people as other than means to an end. It is perhaps the most interesting part of John Watson's character why he stays by Holmes, as if to protect the man from himself despite himself, and the most interesting parts of watching the show as Sherlock railroads Molly or bosses his landlady or finds himself livid at Miss Adler or completely undone by his irrational fear of the Hound. Lately, those flaws have been gaining ground over cold intellect and we're getting to see Sherlock Holmes undone, repentant, and (in his scathing words) "sentimental."

And I *love* it!

I've always loved the tragic hero best, the one that struggles to overcome adversity and, in the face of total loss, sticks to their gins/principles/ethics/honor and fulfills their mission even at the cost of their life. Central to being tragic (or caring about the character at all) is being flawed, deeply flawed, and that those flaws are the root and center of the conflicts that most often are the worst things that we can do to ourselves. The things that make the readers think, "If only they wouldn't *do* that then everything would work out fine!" But then again, they wouldn't (and couldn't) be the characters that they are.) George's curiosity or Winnie the Pooh's all-consuming love of honey is like Katniss' distrust of emotion and Harry Potter's inability to be truthful with Dumbledore, even when asked (but then again, he hasn't had much reason to trust adults in the past). There are reasons for the flaws, some origin point for a lust for shiny objects or a fear of snakes that often spell the character's doom just as effectively as an outside flaw: Who would Elric be without the sword? Who is Frodo without the One Ring?

I wonder if emotions will be this Sherlock's undoing or, as I hope with many the tragic, flawed characters I've come to adore, it will make him stronger than ever to triumph in the end? I'll be tuning in to find out every Sunday at 9pm to find out!

The other day I was in the dentist's chair for some emergency work (don't ask) and while a trip to the dentist isn't what I'd consider a relaxing affair, the thing I found most disturbing as I lay taut in the recliner with tools and tubes and fingers sticking out of my mouth wasn't the high-pitched whine of grinding bone or the sudden spritz of water in my face, but the conversation taking place over my head between the hygienist and the assistant. They were talking about wanting a total face lift and what it felt like the last time one of them had Botox. I looked again. These were both ladies in their thirties, both pretty and fair; one with a happy, round face and funky glasses and the other with delicate features and a chirping voice like a bird. What I really wanted to do was start ranting about body image and self-esteem and manipulative media but since I was otherwise choking, I wished I could do the next best thing and shove a copy of UGLIES into their hands.

It's not for me to say whether or not someone can feel better about themselves by "having something done"--it's not my opinion that matters, it's wholly theirs--but the assumption that there is already something wrong with you and that if you could just have it "fixed" then everything in life would be better is advertising psychology 101 run amok. Scott Westerfeld did an *amazing* job of shining a light on that cultural baseline that lurks inside the hearts of many a girl (and guy), but as we're coming up on our yearly celebration of Moms, I think about how much our bodies and psyches change after spawning small people who look vaguely like our genetic heritage and the pressure to somehow rewind things to the way they were "before" (or "better") can be a subtle sort of...well, not evil, but close.

So in anticipation of Mother's Day, I gave myself the gift of peace of mind, a little proactive defiance, perhaps nipping a little bit of cultural self-hatred in the bud. I showed my own budding little girl this video from Dove's Real Beauty Campaign, which simply shows-not-tells that the ads we see on billboards and magazines and TV aren't something we have to compare ourselves to, because they're often less real than what Mommy writes for a living.

She got it. So I'll give it to you. Go share this with a friend. (Sadly, this video can't be embedded, so please click & pass it on!)