Category Archives: Raw Hot-Body Smut

New York: Playground for Beautiful Women

The girls. They are everywhere on this island. I can see one, right now, from where I sit on a shop bench at the corner of Mulberry and Bleeker. It is evening, and across the street the sun is setting a red brick and wrought iron apartment building on fire. She has black hair, bob cut like Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction, one black boot on the Bleeker subway station railing, the other in the street, her slim body zig-zagged into an impossibly tantalizing shape. Like a crazy straw for drinking sex.

They run all varieties and I’m an equal-opportunity gazer; Punk, preppy, Betty Boop, cyclist, hipster, Wall St. pin stripe suit, yoga instructor, ballet dancer, disillusioned Midwesterner, and, of course, waif-like model. There are lots of would be Cover Girls floating around, with one cubic centimeter of stiletto touching the sidewalk. They used to drive me first to euphoria, then grinding frustration.

These days, I’m training myself to have an aesthetic-sexual experience instead of the other way around. Still, when I get hit with 4 or 5 in quick succession, even my Buddha’s Third Eye dilates and I want to scamper after them and drool on their high heels like a god damn dog. I flatter myself that I’m not creepy about it. My strategy is: be direct with your gaze, don’t shun eye contact, and let your eyes say, by way of an apology, “I’m looking at you because you’re gorgeous.” Chances are, they already know.

David Cross said it best: In New York, “You are constantly faced with this very urgent, quick decision you have to make about every 20 minutes. You have to decide immediately… ‘Oh my god. do I look at the most beautiful woman in the world or the craziest guy in the world? Look at her, she’s fucking beautiful, but look at him! He’s wearing orange footy pajamas and he’s got tin foil on his head and he’s playing a Casio, but look at her she’s amazing – ‘”

I opt for the girl every time.

Junot Diaz, Fucking Rockstar

I saw Junot Diaz, the author of the wonderful short story collection Drown, read last Thursday at the Union Sq. Barnes & Nobles. It wasn’t so much a reading as a rock show, with the crowd hooting and clapping furiously whenever he told a joke or read a dynamite passage.

Diaz in person is like Diaz the narrator: a seamless movement between tough, wry, and saavy, and thoughtful, precise, and even a little melancholy.

That said, his badassery as a writer, speaker, and all-around rockstar of the literary world is inexpressable. I command you, my loyal followers, to go see him at the upcoming New Yorker Festival.

Some choice quips:

(On learning a new word) “Ponerology – it’s the study of evil in theology. Kind of like Bonerology, but with a ‘P'”

(On the Presidential candidates) “The candidates aren’t selling you a platform so much as a blind spot. And we like blind spots in this country” 

(On shamelessly stealing techniques from other writers) “Your busted talent will make it indistinguishable from the real thing.” 

(And finally) “Oh, you cold-stabbed your teacher? Fuck them.”

His new book is The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. Buy it. If you don’t like it, Scribblerist, Inc. will refund 100 percent of the purchase price.

Seriously, just buy it.