About a year ago, I was asked to be a talking head on a new History Channel show entitled “How Sex Changed the World.” Though seemingly disparate, sex and history are my two favorite topics and project that managed to intertwine them both was simply too scrumptious an opportunity to turn down.
I showed up at a studio on 5th Avenue, drank a “Box o’ Joe” to myself and rambled on about Rasputin’s cock; British secret agents trained in the art of love-making during the Cold War; LBJ’s habit of getting his knob out at the slightest provocation, — he called it “Jumbo” ; the amount of Asians alive today who owe their existence to the prodigious jizz-shedding of Ghengis Khan and his buddies and so on and so forth. Apparently pleased with my rambling, the show’s producers flew me out to LA to talk about the sex lives of historical figures some more.
And now, on 4/20 of all days, How Sex Changed the World will see the light of day. Whether anyone besides me and my homeskillets will be watching remains to be seen.
Here’s a link to the trailer.
It’s not going to be on the History Channel itself as that station is clogged up with American Pickers, Pawn Stars, Swamp People etc. Y’know, “history”. It’s going to be on H2. I’m going to date myself here but I see H2 as the Vh1 to the History Channel’s MTV. Like most cable shows, HSCTW is going to be on almost daily for the foreseeable future but the exciting premiere is this Saturday night. Check your local listings!
This is going to sound like I’m shilling. Maybe it is but fuck it; I’ve found an item worth shilling about. Mantry is a food of the month club. For dudes.
That’s right; artesanal, small-batch foodstuffs sourced from all 50 States and assembled with the discerning gentleman in mind.
I share a workspace in Soho with the Mantry dudes — all three Canucks; two of them fellow Vancouverites — and they kindly sent me a box.
I got it in the mail yesterday and I have to tell you that it’s pretty fucking cool. First there’s the box; a manly wooden crate that you have to pry open. (I used a very manly rusty knife but you don’t have to.) Then there’s the contents. Manly contents. This month’s offering from Mantry.com featured products from the state of Georgia; “ice cream” grits, pork jerky, a burlap sack of pecans, a slab ‘o’ honeycomb, olive oil and some super hot BBQ sauce. The accompanying literature actually tells you about each of the producers and how you might use some of these ingredients in concert with one another.
Each month’s six-item box is themed differently. Last month’s was called “Retox” and featured foods with a boozy influence. The previous month was entitled “Hecho En America” and was filled with Mexican food items from US-based producers.
It costs $75 per month to ship anywhere in the US (a little more in Canada) and if you’re having difficulty finding a unique gift for a man in your life; something he’ll actually, y’know, use and/or like, you could do a lot worse than signing up here.
Since the beginning of 2013, I’ve been going to the gym more or less daily, putting in a 1.25-1.75 hour shift each morning. I do 35 minutes of cardio followed by either upper body exercises or lower body exercises with an 8-minute ab routine. In mid-March I noticed that I was starting to get a bit bored with my routine. Rather than take my foot of the gas — as is my wont — I remembered a conversation I’d had with my friend Doug a few months back. Doug told me about a website called Fitocracy: a fitness-based social networking site in which you accrue points by striving to be fitter. Hit a certain number of points and you get to “level up”.
Well, 10 days in and I’m almost at level 11, whatever that means. Ostensibly, point-scoring is a device to keep people motivated and pushing themselves in the gym. The reality however, is that Fitocracy is a place for men and women to show off their newly sculpted pecs, defined 6-packs, and globular glutes. I just got “props” on my progress from a comely lady. Her profile picture is a shot from behind, she’s wearing a thong. That thong showcases a bottom that resembles two perfectly rounded scoops of vanilla ice cream. As silly as it is, the thought of those perfect orbs and their hard-bodied owner will get me to the Y tomorrow, no matter how inclement the weather. I guess what I’m saying is, I’m all in.
I have a sneaking suspicion that, after admiring one another virtually, the next step is for Fitocrats to start rubbing their taut, toned parts against one another. It stands to reason that if you’re putting time and effort into looking good naked, you’ll want to spend more of your time in that state. In any event, this whole world, a world in which being fit and looking good is a game with points, levels and presumably narcissistic frottage, warrants further investigation…
in 2001 I was plucked, almost at random, from nerve.com‘s intern corps and forced to write an immersive sex column by a coven of unscrupulous editors.
“But I haven’t got any experience!” I said.
“In what?” they replied .”Sex or writing?”
“Either!” I said.
Well, they were unmoved by my greenness.
Each month for the next three years I would, somewhat reluctantly, venture deep into New York’s uncharted nether-regions. Once I’d stopped crying and shaking, I would report on what I’d seen, heard, felt, tasted and — for better or worse — smelled. The editor for an overwhelming majority of my nerve.com missions was Michael Martin. Michael is now the editor-in-chief of Time Out New York and it was at his behest that I got back to my roots and attended New York City’s newest swingers club last Friday night.
You can read about it here.
Spoiler: the evening bore little resemblance to the picture below.
I’m writing a book with and about an extremely interesting and impressive dude. The dude in question believes in the power of goal setting. Trust me: it’s certainly working for him and those who’ve worked for him.
His version of goal-setting involves envisioning what you want your future to look like in three different areas, 1, 5 and 10 years out, then putting that vision into writing. You then put that set of written goals in a place where you can read it — or at least *see* it — on a daily basis. My goals are the background of my computer desktop and now here; on my blog. (below)
The idea is that by looking at these goals everyday and modifying them over time, you’re programming your subconscious into making those goals manifest. You begin looking at every daily decision you make, through the prism of those stated goals. For instance: one of my goals is to lower my body fat percentage by a certain date. The next time someone hands me a tub of Chunky Monkey, I’ll be thinking of my decision to scarf the lot within a new framework.
The idea is that your goals are a) written in the first person and present tense and b) a bit of a reach and have an expected failure rate of around 50%. “If you’re hitting 100% of your goals” he tells me. “You’re not really striving hard enough.”
Though I’ve never really written down, habitually read and modified them before, I have to say that I’ve achieved most of my vague-ish life goals sooner or later. It’s made me wonder about what might happen if I go the extra step and make my goals more concrete, more time-sensitive and semi-public.
So I’m giving it a go and encouraging you to give it a go too. It’s actually a really fun and revealing exercise in and of itself.
BTW: My friend Siege set a goal to celebrate his birthday with eight beautiful, naked women in his bed. On March 2nd 2013, this happened. (sort of NSFW)
Behold the power of the mind; especially if that mind happens to be sharp and filthy.
If I told you
what my friend and lascivious mentor Clayon “Siege” Cubitt gave himself for his birthday this weekend, you’d never believe me.
It’s better to show than tell.
(He’s the ass in the middle)
In this image you can see the Adriatic Coast and the Italian Peninsula to the
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right of the play button.