When somebody told me there is a New York magazine sex and love issue, I knew what I had to do.
Instead of just reading the online version I thought I’d pick up an actual paper issue and expense the $4. Then I remembered that as a blog done by two people; we do not have an expense account. We have no account. So, I figure I’m going to run this long and get my $4 worth.
If you are a big fan of New York Magazine I don’t know why you’re on this particular blog. Good luck finding whatever you were looking for when you accidentally clickthroughed to this. If I had to guess, I’d send you here or here.
I also understand that Emily already covered this (quite funnily BTW) over at Gawker. But she’s a chick. Plus, I plan to be (as) sincere (as possible). (Re: this: Emily, If you really “just noticed that [your] vagina has shriveled up and fallen out of [your] body” then your boyfriend must be gay. I’ve seen you. If you’re hard up it’s your own fault.
As for the lateness: I didn’t even know this issue was out. So give me a break. Go to your nerve profile, keep refreshing your “who’s viewed me” list and shut up for a few minutes.
New York’s Love and Sex issue consists of eight sections and covers 30-odd pages. It starts on Page 29.
This was a bad idea because this article is already pissing me off. Ok, I only have two things to say about this article. Hey Katie, know why your husband is leaving you? Just read that opening paragraph again.
“In times of trouble, some people turn to cigarettes and other people turn to drink and I read books I have read a million times before. And so in the harrowing time after I separated from my husband, I reread The Age of Innocence.”
Also, on Page 34 that doesn’t look like a dog-eared copy of Wuthering Heights sitting on your boudoir. You know what it looks like? That’s right, a tumbler of Smirnoff.
Maybe she meant she “reads” this book.
Part two is the Sex Diaries which I had harsher thoughts about when I was halfway through than when I was done.
What I really want to know about New Yorker’s sex diaries is if the almost-too-rediculous-that-it-had-to-be-calculated journal entry by the 31-year-old Greenpoint ad exec, “Think about having sex with writer of this article” actually ended up getting him in author Arianne Cohen’s pants. Inquiring minds need to know.
This is Ms. Cohen. Let’s all take a moment to update our own imaginary sex diaries by undressing her with our eyes.
Muck like my opinion on virgins in New York, I cannot be bothered with this.
A bunch of people who obviously have no shame admit to us the specifics of why they, by their own admittance, are so good in bed.
Dear Lizze (26): See you on Nerve in four years. Make sure you don’t check Play because if you’re not going down it’s misleading. Also, good luck in your single 30s chasing down all those guys who begged to make you happy despite your unwillingness to do the same.
Re: Drew (27): Fuck. That probably totally works doesn’t it? *sigh*. Your meta, moderate-self-criticism-as-hiding-larger-douchebaggery is perfect; but your tie has skulls on it.
And, best for last: Remember that scene in A Time To Kill where at the finale Matty Mcaugnehey (no I’m not looking up the spelling) tells the story about the girl and then says, “Now imagine she was white.” Well, that’s how I felt when I read Willie’s (26) admittance, except it was “now imagine he’s gay.”
Mind of the married man
This article is fine I guess. I’m not married (thus, this site) so I really don’t care. NYMag says it put bags over these guys’ heads. If that’s true, the article about married men’s sex lives that I really want to read is the one about the hundreds of women who think, but can’t be positive, that one of these guys is their husband.
Hell, it doesn’t even matter if the photos are of the actual interviewees. It’s enough that the wives reading it think they are. I mean, the wives have to know all about this right? I can just see a wife’s thought process: “That.. body… looks like Jeff’s. Noooooo. Could it… It really seems like his build..” Christ. And if the guys know the wives are reading it, then there’s no fucking snowball’s chance in fiery hell that they are being honest. This article is bankrupt.
And that’s it. The rest of the pieces in this collection are where hard-ons go to die, so…
Last Random thoughts: 1) The Vibrel ad on Page 67 is fuuuuuuucked up. It’s some kind of female lube medication but their ad copy is “Is it us, or did your husband just get better in bed?” Please send me an email (thedatehole at yahoo.com) and explain what this means. Does this mean NYMag is sleeping with your husband? WTF?
2) I wonder if the Carrie Bradshaw-style clichéd and punny paragraph openings is intentional. If so, it’s either half-brilliant or half-baked. I cannot decide.
If I missed anything leave it in the comments.