One Blah Day Does Not a Bad Week Make
It is buggy on the porch tonight. And still. It is damp from the rain. The drink and cigar are not working as I had hoped. It is an out of sorts night—coming on the heels of a shitty day.
[Completely unrelated] On Friday, a co-worker looked absolutely stricken when she learned I have a subscription to Playboy.
“And I suppose you read it for the articles,” she said through a forced smile.
“The first thing I do,” I told her honestly, “is check to see who the interview is with. Then I look to see who wrote this month’s fiction. Then I read the Advisor.”
Fact is, Playboy is one of the top three magazines in the country. Esquire and the New Yorker being the other two. The writing is exemplary. Don’t get me wrong, I love tits as much as the next guy—okay, probably a little more. But airbrushed is not my style; nor is it my preference. And while I certainly enjoy the photos, they are literally the last thing I look at. I shake my head at the notion that Playboy is somehow pornographic or in any way demeaning to women. I’ve had discussions with friends who take the opposite view. We agree to disagree. And still we are friends. It’s nice to know that people can still do that once in a while.
It is buggy on the porch. And still. I mix another drink. I light another cigar. My funk is heavy tonight. I need sleep. But it won’t come for a long while. My mind races. There is no finish in sight. I try thinking about baseball. Boxing. Fishing. Nothing works. I hear a train in the distance. Its whistle, usually a source of hope and adventure, offers neither. I am filled with dread and anxiety. I need a vacation from myself. Sometimes a man just thinks too much.
Thunderstorms are in the forecast.
At least there is that. And Playboy.
[Completely unrelated] On Friday, a co-worker looked absolutely stricken when she learned I have a subscription to Playboy.
“And I suppose you read it for the articles,” she said through a forced smile.
“The first thing I do,” I told her honestly, “is check to see who the interview is with. Then I look to see who wrote this month’s fiction. Then I read the Advisor.”
Fact is, Playboy is one of the top three magazines in the country. Esquire and the New Yorker being the other two. The writing is exemplary. Don’t get me wrong, I love tits as much as the next guy—okay, probably a little more. But airbrushed is not my style; nor is it my preference. And while I certainly enjoy the photos, they are literally the last thing I look at. I shake my head at the notion that Playboy is somehow pornographic or in any way demeaning to women. I’ve had discussions with friends who take the opposite view. We agree to disagree. And still we are friends. It’s nice to know that people can still do that once in a while.
It is buggy on the porch. And still. I mix another drink. I light another cigar. My funk is heavy tonight. I need sleep. But it won’t come for a long while. My mind races. There is no finish in sight. I try thinking about baseball. Boxing. Fishing. Nothing works. I hear a train in the distance. Its whistle, usually a source of hope and adventure, offers neither. I am filled with dread and anxiety. I need a vacation from myself. Sometimes a man just thinks too much.
Thunderstorms are in the forecast.
At least there is that. And Playboy.
posted by Ryan at 12:00 AM
6 Comments:
Funny, years ago Playboy was considered hardcore pornography. By todays standards I don't think it would barely get a second glance on MTV. Standards have changed so much.
Women who complain about Playboy are usually the ones who aren't getting attention for their looks anymore :-)
Man, I remember getting busted in the fourth grade for looking at Playgirl at lunchtime with my friends. Which was a little insulting because mostly we were just grossed out.
Yeah, Sam. There is something inherently beautiful about the female form--while a naked man just makes you want to giggle.
Just ain't the same.
My sister-in-law had part of her Bachelorette party at a male strip club. I was disgusted. Mirrors covered the walls and it seemed like they were dancing for themselves more than for the women considering how many times they were gawking in the mirrors. I would have much rather have gone to a regular strip club. Women definitely put on a much better show.
This is a great ppost thanks
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