Nerve Insider : Caitlin M.

From the Archives: "Brave New World" by Mike Albo

Nicole Ankowski — Tue, 20 May 2008 21:11:00 GMT

Every once in a while, you stumble upon a piece of writing that makes you feel like maybe your desires are a little more legit than you’d felt before. In his essay “Brave New World,” Mike Albo explores the idea of gender monogamy, a sexual utopia in which he can have a long-term partnership with a man who is free to sleep with women on the side. I think it’s important to explore the limitations of our self-definition; even though it’s tempting to define your desires, is it keeping you from getting what you want? Approaching the topic with candor, wit and mathematical equations, Albo has touched on the kind of relationship I’ve been looking for my entire life. So, I mean, of course I love it.

Okay, fast forward to last week, a year or so later. Friend B calls and tells me how he and his boyfriend (let's call him aB) had some kind of ménage a quatre with Boy X and his friend, yX. Friend B exonerated himself from any guilt for this act by saying he didn't know that Boy X was Boy X until after their little four-way roundelay. That weekend Friend B had a party. I found myself on a rooftop with X, B, C, aB and yX. Jealous, freaked out and insane, I tried to employ the attentions of F, xG, and D(V-x) to retaliate. My life that night became a large calculus equation that I would never be able to solve.

But what do you think?

— Caitlin MacRae

We’re listening To…The Pogues’ “A Rainy Night in Soho”

Nicole Ankowski — Mon, 19 May 2008 19:00:00 GMT

To continue on the theme of rainy day music (and to wallow in the melancholy of my last week as Nerve Intern Caitlin… sigh), here’s one of my favorite songs by The Pogues, “Rainy Night in Soho.” Because, yes, we’re in Soho. Yes, it looks like it might rain any minute. And who doesn’t love some sad romantic Irish punk on a chilly day like this? Anyway. If anyone needs me, I’ll be crying into my whisky underneath the pool table.

— Caitlin MacRae

From the Archives: Sexual Amnesia and “Nocturnal Omissions”

Nicole Ankowski — Fri, 16 May 2008 18:27:00 GMT

Working here at the Nerve offices, I’ve found it’s completely natural to have sex on the brain pretty much always. When you spend your day figuring out the perfect words to parse the graphic, lovely photos from The Daily Siege, or mining the Nerve archives for steamy personal essays from years past, and when you are a sexually frustrated twenty-three year old, yes, you will spend much of your day thinking about boning.

But reading Betty Ross’s essay, Nocturnal Omissions, I felt a resonance different from the kind I get from reading hot fiction about gay sex. Because I don’t explicitly remember most of the sex I’ve had. I tend to chalk it up to having been drunk at the time.

My friends can regale me with detail after detail of their sex lives, but when my turn to spill comes around, I usually can’t muster anything more few brief, qualitative sentences. Ross’ essay explores the idea that sex – despite the amount of time, energy, and money we spend trying to figure it all out down to the littlest detail – may not actually be a memorable thing (also, this new study suggests that it may be true on a biological level):

But in making compelling or attractive points about the loss of sexual memory, they all miss the point: We don't need the bells and whistles of high-art fantasy sequences or Hollywood melodrama to engage in a fantasy about forgetting and sensuality — we live that amnesia every day. All of us remember less about our sex lives than we do about what it feels like to stub a toe or what we had for dinner last night. It is an unspoken truth that no matter how much time we spend obsessing about it, sex — even without the benefit of a Charlie Kaufman screenplay — is an inherently forgettable experience.

— Caitlin MacRae

Read the entire essay here.

From the Archives: The Lengths of My Deception, by Craig Davidson

Nicole Ankowski — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 15:39:00 GMT

Oh, lying – whether you consider it an art form or just a weekend hobby, these little fictions make up a surprisingly large part of interpersonal communication. They’re accepted, they’ll never really have the chance to be questioned. I exist, comfortable in the knowledge that if I stretch. But when it comes to fabrications, you’re bound to be found out. I learned that lesson when I started wearing padded bras. Anatomy is a hard lie to fake – you can finagle your way around it, keep the lights low and the hands strategically placed, but sooner or later, my lack of boobage always came to light – I mean, really, who did I think I was kidding?

Craig Davidson, first man ever to lie about the length of his member, wrote this sly essay for Nerve’s Secrets & Lies Issue about compulsive lying, the importance of honesty, and what happens when you’re less than truthful about your peen.

The evening progressed, as did our drunkenness. We ended up at her place. R. fixed some drinks and we drank them and found ourselves making out on the sofa.

I realized my mistake: I'd told a lie that, if events advanced down their natural line, stood a 100% chance of discovery. It was like telling a podiatrist I had twelve toes before taking my socks off — an expectation I could not possibly fulfill.

Find Your Power Animal!

Nicole Ankowski — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 15:10:00 GMT

Yesterday, Caitlin MacRae, fearless Nerve intern and gal who’s had more threesomes than actual dates, was searching for her power animal. (Aren’t we all?)

Me (3:33:07 PM): dude, what's your power animal?
Her (3:33:23 PM): oh, it's a panda
Her (3:33:50 PM): like me, they're rare, lazy, and enjoy snacking
Her (3:34:04 PM): but despite their slothful nature, cross them and they might eat your face
Me (3:34:12 PM): for real?
Her (3:34:14 PM): also, my sneezes are hilarious

Of course, modern technology has figured out a way to skip shamanic vision quests and soul-searching. Now all you need to find your power animal is an internet connection and a click of the mouse. Don’t be afraid to enter the forest!

I’ll try to get video of Caitlin sneezing. But in the meantime...

New on Nerve, 4.21.08: Behind the Scenes (and the Threeways) in “Triangulation”

Nicole Ankowski — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 20:12:00 GMT

Today in this fabulous new personal essay, author (and fearless Nerve intern) Caitlin MacRae examines why she’s had way more threesomes than dates. Here in the Insider, Caitlin’s given us an inside glimpse of what’s it like to bare all to the world in essay-format (especially when your Dad reads the site!), and includes one threesome offer that didn't quite make it into the final essay. Good reads. I’ll turn it over to Caitlin:

Inside “triangulation,” and the anxieties of Intern Caitlin.
I am notoriously secretive. Some of my family members didn’t know I lived in New York until four months after I’d moved. I keep a blog whose existence I have shared with almost no one, which I guess defeats the purpose. Suffice it to say, my sex life isn’t something I’ve ever shared in great detail.

But sometimes, here in Ye Olde Nerve Offices, we have these “pre-meeting meetings,” which consist of an overly caffeinated crew of surprisingly shy sex writers taking a much needed break in the conference room. It’s like pre-gaming, office style. And in one of those meetings, a certain Nerve employee mentioned an awkward aborted threesome, and like a bolt from the wild blue yonder, it hit me. Threeways! I know those! I’ve been asked into more of them than I’ve ever been asked on dates! That’d be fun, right?

Well.

Some things sound like a great idea at the time. And then the ramifications start to settle in, creepy little anxiety barbs that dig deep into your brain. When our editor, Will Doig, suggested I work this three-way history of mine into an essay, I was super into it. And the more I wrote, the more I realized how incredibly uncomfortable I am closely examining my history, my motivations, my life in general. When I write, I tend to snuggle up in the abstracts; it’s safer there.

So now I get to think about the things I’ve done; people might actually read this little thing. My dad, for example. My dad might end up reading about my threeways. (Hi, dad.)

This slice of my sexual life is now out of my hands like so much pie at a picnic.
Enjoy, y’all.

Here’s a little anecdote that ended up on the cutting room floor…

I am at a bar, and it is a particularly wonderful night, the kind where strangers are putting just the right songs on the jukebox and slow dancing with one another and buying rounds like the world’s ending. A pair of those strangers is a couple, an older man and his inexplicably gorgeous Brazilian wife who cannot be more than a few years older than me. They invite the whole bar over to their house, just down the block, overlooking the sea, and in the spirit of friendship and perfect nights we all accept. At some point in the night, after the leathery-faced men have passed around the weed, and the young women are nursing bottled girly drinks, the man-half of the couple comes up to ask if I’m okay, if I need anything, with his hand on my back. He says, “You know, I think my wife is into women,” the hand on my back now making small circles. Really, I think to myself. Fascinating. “Do you want to stay the night?”

I politely decline.

“You sure?”

I look over at his wife, who is still gorgeous. Then I look at him, and he could be my father.

Yeah, thanks though.

His hand is now resting right above my ass. He asks, again, if I am sure. As though somewhere in the past several seconds I will have decided that the best way to end this night is to be sandwiched between his old skin and her fake tits, while his young son sleeps downstairs. I smile and say, Nah, man, I’m all right, really, take my last few hits from his bong and leave, exhaling smoke as I walk down their fancy staircase and back to my house, where I’ll jack off and go to sleep.

Sometimes it’s just easier that way.

…and here’s the essay.

In Other Blogs, 4.14.08: Cake, Cunnilingus and Heidi Klum

Nicole Ankowski — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 20:59:00 GMT

It’s Cake (or steak, or salad) and Cunnilingus Day over at the Scanner - but whatever you choose to snack on today, make sure you check out all the sexy and crazy going down on this fine Monday. To wit: An Italian porn star does politics; a mostly naked Heidi Klum; the best way to get a one-night stand to make a hasty retreat; and the Marilyn Monroe sex tape you’ll probably never get to see. Also: fingers crossed that somehow this is true and Al Gore will finally be able to save America like he always wanted to.

Over at yon Screengrab, it’s confirmed: Werner Herzog is one great big mystery wrapped in an enigma, wrapped up in bacon and enveloped in strange interview responses; James Cagney still kicks ass and takes names; an awkward breakfast with Bud Cort; and a cause worth supporting. Also: file this under “Sweet merciful crap WHY IS THIS HAPPENING”: a fourth Austin Powers movie? Are you freaking kidding? …Sigh.

The Nerve Video Blog continues to have their metaphorical muffins buttered by Senator Obama, even especially when he has to awkwardly schmooze with a drunken American public, and across the pond, we’re not sure if Britain’s got talent, necessarily, but this dog totally freaking rules. Also wrecking the video world: hot dog pizza, Cooking with Coolio, and Bozard and the BBQ Boys. Bon appetit, y’all.

— Caitlin MacRae

In Other Blogs, 4.8.08: Who Would You Rather?

Nicole Ankowski — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 21:19:00 GMT

Sometimes, the jokes just write themselves. Case in point: the New Zealand man being charged with assault for flinging a hedgehog at a 15-year-old boy. Then again, sometimes it’s harder to find the funny. Lucky for us, Scanner brings their A-game on the daily. Take a jaunt with them down to the Museum of Broken Relationships, where jilted lovers showcase the detritus of their failed romances; then marvel at the architectural porn that is the Finnish ice palace (like that story by F. Scott Fitzgerald! Anyone? Anyone?). But Scanner doesn’t just bring the news, they also ask the questions others are afraid to tackle, such as: How skinny is unf*ckable if you’re Jennifer Connolly? Tyra Banks vs. Jessie Spano, who’d you rather? Plus: The last supper turned hot gay orgy.

Over in Screengrab territory, we get a migraine-inducing preview of Oliver Stone’s Dubya biopic which, from the script snippets we’ve been handed, may as well be called Turdblossom and Friends; The Rep Report brings us the art house haps in three major cities; the DVD Digest gives us the skinny newly released flicks, from Munchausen to milkshakes; and finally, we get a look at Scarlett Johansson’s bone-crushingly literal album cover for her upcoming release (seriously, the only other option on the obviousness scale would be Tom Waits swaddled in a sheet.)

And lastly but not leastly, the Nerve Video Blog serves up bears playing hockey, the infamous pregnant man inviting the SNL cast to his baby shower (complete with pregnant stripper!), and an airline ad featuring hot buttered tits.

— Caitlin MacRae

From the Archives: Stranger Than Friction

Nicole Ankowski — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 17:51:00 GMT

As a lifelong masturbator and mild hypochondriac, I’ve definitely experienced phases that left me genuinely concerned that my habits might lead to some permanent damage. That said, I can honestly say that my self-love has ever necessitated serious medical intervention — unlike Kevin Keck, Nerve contributor and fellow masturbator, who chronicled the embarrassing results of his solo routine for our Shame Issue. A word from the wise, kiddies: motor oil was designed to lube one thing and one thing only, and it ain’t your junk.

It was what I always wanted to hear: my penis was a marvel fit for serious scholarly research. But it was a bittersweet revelation. My little man would end up in the mason jar reserved for freakish wonders, not the decanter marked "Huge Discovery." It was more likely to wind up in the gawkish halls of a Ripley's Believe It or Not! museum than the Smithsonian.

Read more here...

— Caitlin MacRae

In Other Blogs, 4.4.08: Friday WTF Edition

Nicole Ankowski — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 21:32:00 GMT

In addition to some Friday well-wishing that’ll take you way back to the glory days of Prince and his entourage (and deep into the dark subconscious of Scanner Nicole’s sleeping mind), Scanner brings us up to date with this week’s big gay news, including the gay naturist swimming hour, Chelsea Clinton courting the queermo constituency, E-harmony’s ludicrous bigotry, and a high school student suing for his right to be a bigot.

And as always (but especially today), Scanner brings up questions that burn hotter than a bad infection:
…Anime spooge sculptures?
Sonny Bono: was the skiing accident really a covert government assassination?
A bra made of raw bacon? We totally predicted this four days ago.
What’s better than Richard Simmons, Jimmy Kimmel, and the cowboy narrator of The Big Lebowski? (Answer: very little)
Ladies, how do you take your porn: gay, lesbian, or hetero?
Are we finally allowed to hate on Wong Kar-Wai?
And, finally, Bigfoot: benevolent myth or secret molester?

Over at the Video Blog, your cup of WTF runneth over. Between the heartbreaking tale of Permanent Nutface Gary, flying penguins, an elephant painting a self-portrait, and John McCain threatening an inquisitive youngster with the draft … well, sometimes the internets just leave us speechless.

And lastly but not leastly, today’s Screengrab offerings tops off your day in whatthef*ck, beginning with the trailer for the new Cameron Diaz-Ashton Kutcher vehicle, which might just be the film world’s fourth horseman of the apocalypse. (Seriously. Why is this allowed to happen?) Also: Have music documentaries finally gone too far? What about the seemingly endless spawning of musicals from films we actually liked once? Can the world be saved by the likes of the 48 Hour Film Project or….gasp… Wong Kar-Wai?

Tune in next week for more questions without answers!

— Caitlin MacRae

New on Nerve, 4.2.08: Yesterday’s Paper

Nicole Ankowski — Wed, 02 Apr 2008 20:02:00 GMT

Every few years, I’ve noticed, we get slammed with some article or other about how we’re moving into a kind of post-literate society, where books become obsolete and we’re all going to get our learning in capsule form or whatever. But I love my books, and I’m not giving them up without a fight. I grew up a bookish little one, preferring to spend my days devouring The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe rather than play house or whatever the other kids were up to. Since then, I’ve worked as a librarian, a conservator, a writer, and a book artist (printing and binding books by hand). Even working here at Nerve has caused me considerable anxiety, as it’s meant swapping my ink and paper comforts for the cold, tech-y embrace of the internets. Imagine my abject horror when Nerve editor Will Doig passed along a book called The Solitary Vice: Against Reading. I’m pretty sure I gasped audibly.

So I sat down with author Mikita Brottman for a quick Q&A about the hidden dangers of books, the joys of tabloids, and librarian sex appeal.

People assume that if you're not actually sitting with a book in your lap, you're not really reading. Whereas most of what people are doing online is reading. Sending text messages or sitting with a magazine or a comic is reading. There are all kinds of reading, and I think book-boostering campaigns are a reaction against these things that compete for our attention. People feel anxious about the demise of reading, but those anxieties are groundless, and perhaps rooted in snobbery.

Read more…

We’re Listening To…Beirut

Nicole Ankowski — Wed, 02 Apr 2008 14:52:00 GMT

Beirut is what it sounds like when you drop out of high school at age sixteen to travel Eastern Europe by yourself – or, at least it’s what happened when front man Zach Condon did that. Welcome to Balkan-inspired folk awesomeness, with a voice that soars like a trapeze act and music that lifts and leaps like it’s going out of style. I don’t know. I listen to them and think, circus? Cabaret? Moonlit boat ride? Solo strut down a rainy foreign alley? Whatever it’s reminiscent of, they’ve got something sexy and timeless about them. I have honestly listened to nothing else the past few weeks. Except for a healthy dose of Sinatra. But that’s another story completely.

What the rest of the office is listening to: the sound of snot percolating all up in my sinuses. Sorry, everybody.

— Caitlin MacRae

From the Archives: I, Slut

Nicole Ankowski — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 17:19:00 GMT

I’ve always been turned off by what I’ve come to term “Spice Girls Feminism,” which came to be embodied and wrapped up in impossibly ridiculous, expensive couture on Sex in the City. Maybe I’m just an incredibly late bloomer with a bajillion hang-ups, but I think female sexuality – specifically, what it means to be female, sexual, and open about it – is infinitely more complicated than the binary tropes we’re handed. Either you’re a swoony romantic or a power-seeking fatale. Right? Well.

In her personal essay I, Slut, Carrie Hill Wilner explores the dynamics surrounding the “slut phase”: what it means, how it’s been co-opted, and how to embrace f*cking without an agenda.

“It's incredible how, whenever you start sleeping around, people — even other slutty people — try to explain you to yourself with a vocabulary normally reserved for self-mutilators and alcoholics. Because, apparently, when you're a girl, casual sex (as opposed, of course, to formal sex) is caused by a) raw, man-eating, empowered lust; or b) confusion and insecurity. Every time you fuck someone without being totally into it, it's treated like a minor tragedy. According to golddiggers, therapists and screenwriters, sex is all about power, and if you're not careful, it's so easy to slip, drop that power and become a scared, drunk, dehumanized study in despair! Unless, of course, you're experimenting, and if you're experimenting, your mistakes are medals.”

Read more…

— Caitlin MacRae

We’re Listening To...Sharon Jones & the Dap Kings

Nicole Ankowski — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 16:24:00 GMT

So, if you’ve been all up on the neo-soul whatever-the-crap since Amy Winehouse hit the scene, let me suggest checking out the reason why her music sounds so fly: backing band The Dap Kings, house band for Dap Tone Records, who put out freaking phenomenal records with front woman Sharon Jones. Straight outta Brooklyn, full of fire and the ghosts of Laura Lee and James Brown, I can almost promise that you will find yourself with an extra smidge of sultry in your strut when the horns kick.
— Caitlin M.

New on Nerve, 3.21.08: Odds and Ends, Photography by Natasha Papadopoulou

Nicole Ankowski — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 14:25:00 GMT

No matter how sexually expressive you are, menstruation and its many accoutrements are more often than not relegated to the realm of unsexy. The whole culture surrounding feminine-hygiene products seems to demand that what happens in the vagina, stays in the vagina, until it can be stealthily discarded and never mentioned to anyone except your woman friends over fruity drinks. So there's something infinitely refreshing about the way these photos let lady-products be something other than a blocker of bleeding. Photographer Natasha Papadopoulou takes the tampon out of context and repositions it in ways that are imaginative, sexy and funny. By using it as a prop, it becomes a conversation piece, not something to simply be tucked away. — Caitlin MacRae

Check out all the below-the-waist love, right here.

In Other (Photo) Blogs, 3.20.08: “The Way I Like You Bent Over the Best”

Nicole Ankowski — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 17:32:00 GMT

Over at The Daily Siege, we’re greeted with a serious-looking portrait of a Texan couple that doesn’t remind me at all of my family portraits, a raw and lovely new set with trans-model Brooke, and a gorgeous shot of electric tattoos accompanied by a diary entry about regressive propagandists and moral hazards.

The world of Brandonland is full of body bridges and naked handstands, and fears that he may be menstruating. He also treats us to some shots of himself taking a piss and then, inexplicably, trapped in an ice machine. All part of a day’s work, y’all.

Chase is full of meditations on having a St. Patrick’s birthday and a rare shot of a model with a smile; he also brings us some stunning reflections of a girl in the water transfixed by her own image like a bird at a mirror, and, even though it’s Thursday, here’s a shot of last week’s Pink Friday to help you gear up for the end of the week.

Still rocking the streets of São Paolo, Autumn takes us on a night out with Monica Mattos, Brazilian porn’s beautiful girl next door, beautifully lit naughty bits, and candid doorway shots of the empress, barely clothed. Also: love bruises, and the body submerged.

And deep in the heart of everything Rose + Olive continue to feed their love of 50s Playboy centerfold Marilyn Waltz, look at skin surfaces in natural light and the fruit of creation, and bring us a sweet series of red little knees – a body part that often gets overlooked in the realms of sexy.

— Caitlin M.

Chase discovers a very special T-shirt:

Autumn's friend Miss Erikitty gets a new outfit:

Rose and Olive play pin up:

Siege loves ladies, all the ladies:

And Brandon loves this:

We’re Listening To…BARR

Nicole Ankowski — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 17:03:00 GMT

Somewhere between fierce spoken word performance and spare experimental instrumentation lies the brave, magical world of Brendan Fowler, performing under the name BARR. If you’re a word obsessor, someone who loves listening to people say things that reach down into the tiny secret angers and anxieties and wonders to give them a nice sharp pull, if you’re not afraid of downers and joy, you might love him too. This is what I listen to on the subway when I look at people’s faces and they are not talking and probably full of more than I know. Or when I’m making dinner, balancing a beer on my hip like a child and thinking about my day. Or whenever, really. — Caitlin M.

Here’s the video for “First,” from Summary (2007):

From the Archives: Photons

Nicole Ankowski — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 20:00:00 GMT

It’s difficult to imagine a more sensual, intimate, consuming relationship than the one described in Photons – a relationship made even more tantalizing because the intimacy isn’t between two (or three, or four, or however many) people, but between a woman and light. Justin Tussing delicately and weirdly twists a fixated sexual tension around brightness, a lifelong liaison of proximity without touch that, like any obsession, toes the line between creepy and tender.

There was no limit to the way light knew the woman. It knew her in the sudden flash of headlights and by the glow of alarm clocks. It knew enough to touch her neck thinking: I am heat. I am heat. Light found her from distant clouds and from the pale skin on the insides of her arms. Light saw those things that weren't the woman only as angles to approach her.

Read more here…

— Caitlin M.

In Other Photoblogs, 3.11.08: Happy Birthday, Siege!

Nicole Ankowski — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 22:37:00 GMT

The Siege may come to us on the daily, but his birthday seems to be lasting the whole month long. From boob telegrams to a gorgeous photograph whose title – “Beatrice Ass Up” – says it all, the man’s got something to celebrate. And in the midst of the revelry, he serves us up another eerie/beautiful shot to accompany an ongoing contemplation of birds, souls and gastronomy.

From the streets and rooftops of São Paolo, Autumn brings us striking shots of urban bondage, complete with police interference, then brings us deep into the forest for some barely-clad climbing and acrobatics. Also: sexy nose-picking and straight up f*cking. Prepare to be enthralled.

This week, Brandonland is full of naked dudes in crowded, well-loved apartments – including friendly competition with historical allusions, PBR suitcases, and come-hither stares with tangled microphone wires.

Chase never fails to deliver the visual goods with strong narrative accompaniment. Whether it’s Pink Friday, empty bathtubs and full lips, or a series of near-perfect derrieres, we’re always on the edge of our office chairs wanting more.

And as a beautiful finish, Rose + Olive take us into the bath as well – first with a stunning, playful romp in the tub with blended beets, and then an intimate homage to a vintage shot of Simone DeBeauvoir. Either way, we’ve never been so torn between getting clean and staying messy.

— Caitlin M.

From the Archives: The Undergraduate

Nicole Ankowski — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 16:09:00 GMT

We’ve all been on one side of the forbidden-fruit fantasy, whether as the object or subject, but what is it about the limits imposed by marriage that makes the seduction even more alluring? David Amsden takes on his accidental, repeated sexual experiences as the other man in the married woman/cougar fantasy, deconstructing his decisions and mistakes for all of us to see.

Our clichéd, juvenile fantasy of getting with older women — propagated, no doubt, by those damn Pepsi ads in which a tank-topped Cindy Crawford maliciously teased two prepubescent boys — had eventually transmuted into an acute desire to get with married women. We talked about it constantly. Bounced it around in our overeager minds, picked it apart: The mysteries inherent in the age difference. The things that we, who knew nothing, would learn. The prohibited wants and concealed vulnerabilities, a simmering component to any committed relationship, magnified by marriage, finally going berserk. What could be better?

His ultimate conclusion is witty and, to my mind, sort of surprising – here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson.

— Caitlin M.

New on Nerve, 3.5.08: 10 Reasons the Recession Will Rock Your Love Life

Nicole Ankowski — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 21:31:00 GMT

You haven’t lived until you’ve been part of a brainstorming session for the top ten ways the recession will rock your love life. Ok, I admit it, I clammed up…

Tina Fey, how do you make the funny all the time? I think, if shameful memory serves, I just kept saying #2 works because apartments are so tiny you can easily fall on someone’s d*ck. Thank the dating gods that Caitlin M., economist, sexologist and Nerve intern, came to the rescue.

Here’s the real #2:

Tinier apartments lead to accidental sex.
Since rents never seem to drop with the rest of the market, you’ll need to downgrade from that sturdy loft to a tiny railroad apartment whose walls seem to actually amplify your neighbors’ late-night viewing choices. Might as well seize the opportunity to accidentally on purpose touch one of your five roommates’ breasts while reaching around her to grab your coffee mug in the morning. With everyone unemployed and starved for a little human contact – and the unpaid electric bill shrouding you in darkness -- you can get away with more than usual.

Check out all ten, right here.

In Other (Photo) Blogs: Truth or Dare

Nicole Ankowski — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 15:07:00 GMT

From playing truth or dare in the backseats of cars to face painting with Claes Oldenberg, Rose + Olive maintain the uncanny ability to make the ordinary otherwordly, whether they’re philosophizing or using their hands. Sometimes both, at the same time.

Over in Brandonland, boys in the attic make everyday kitchen gloves just a little hotter than before. Also, another bare chap blisses out on the drums, wearing only a fuzzy hat and a facial expression that can only be described as nakedly peaceful.

Chase – while reassuring us that he is, in fact, not a creep (don’t worry baby, we never thought you were) – entertains with anecdotes about girls who go from sober to “spring break wasted” in a flash, crashing Goth clubs with sunshiny enthusiasm (“Who tells the DJ on people?”), and a reason to retain the bush.

The Daily Siege starts off our week with full, bright body shots and fierce, bound up faces. Also included: more sharp political relevance with a new, equally haunting shot of the Black Irish girl.

And Autumn explores further the naked body in and out of water, goosebump by goosebump, and gives us a sexy little shot of her favorite journalist’s desk.

— Caitlin M.

In Other (Photo) Blogs: Yes, Nipple Tats

Nicole Ankowski — Fri, 15 Feb 2008 18:10:00 GMT

On the road to nowhere specific, this week Rose + Olive blend their trademark intimacy with one another and brief lessons from the biological world, making even the mundane feel like the history lessons you wish you’d gotten in school. Yes, they flash school buses. Yes, they shave in the sink. And, whether recording dead animals or beautiful women, the result is always tender, gorgeous, and weirdly close to home.

The Seige joins us in mourning the impending death of the Polaroid, channeling that sense of loss into the kind of quick, urgent shots the camera seemed designed for in the first place. Also, a few more bodies immersed in milk, which always make me feel like I’m looking for familiar shapes in the clouds – tell me what you see.

Autumn never fails to bring us photos whose flirty, earnest appeal feels ready to just spill out from the frame. This week finds her offering up a gracefully naughty ballerina, a former nun (now in Playboy Brazil), and a naked boy playing in the river – all with her fast and insightful footnotes to guide us along, satisfying our basic curiosity but always hungry for more.

Brandonland brings us cheeky action shots from his time spent traveling, documenting the hard-scrabble boys of Portland in various states of undress (now with more naked skaters than you can shake a stick at). Well, there’s one new one, but it’s not recommended that you shake sticks at naked skaters – who knows what kind of ruckus they’ll bring.

Chase, also couch-surfing his way to/back from everywhere, catches up with a bunch of Grime House dwellers in the midst of hand-inking one another – and, even though there’s not a whole lot of naked, there’s something infinitely compelling, scarily intimate even, about watching someone let their softest skin get penetrated with needles strapped to a pen – that’s right, y’all, I’m talking nipple tats.

— Caitlin M.

See more pretty pics after the jump…

Rose and Olive hit the road...

Autumn goes swimming with friends...

Brandon plays it cool...

And Chase shows us the nipple tats...

In Other Blogs: The Joy of Sex, and Spray-On Tans

Nicole Ankowski — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 20:02:00 GMT

Even though Scanner Bryan managed to come back from Mardi Gras with an alarming lack of boob shots, Scanner managed to keep it real in the realms of anatomy and aesthetics: We’ve got an awkward phone encounter with some crazy mess who intentionally drank colloidal silver for ten years and turned blue [insert reference to frustrated testicles here]; complementary guys who spray-tan themselves orange, the gallery edition!; LED pasties; the Joy of Sex redux; Scanner Bryan learns about anatomy…down there; and another reason not to f*ck your cousin.

The Screengrab has been abuzz with losses, lists, and conspiracies. Behold: bidding a fond farewell to Roy Schneider, star of Jaws; trying their damnedest not to forget about John Hughes; and entertaining a new and slightly terrifying theory (Diablo Cody: possibly not a real person? Discuss.). Also, Screengrab takes on the Kingdom of Belgium, as Take Five sets out to prove that “there's a lot more to Belgian filmmaking than just Jean-Claude Van Damme.” Point taken.

And oh, Nerve Video. Feel like you’re pretty comfortable talking about your naughty bits? Well, you’ve got nothing on Alexyss Tylor, host of public access’ “Vagina Power” and harbinger of the most uncomfortably aggressive sex and hygiene advice this side of… anywhere. To wit: “We ain’t gettin’ no magic sticks, we gettin’ garbage dicks.” Indeed. Also: Oliver Miller brings us Monday afternoon roundups featuring the Jabberwocky and Mr. Show, open letters to shady politicians, and a rundown of films of the so-bad-they’re-good variety.

And finally: A brand spankin’ new Nerve Blog! The Modern Materialist is here to give you the skinny on all things “whimsical, practical, fashionable, and just really weird” – take, for example, the pistol blowdryer, this week in sweet sales & savings, and a fold-up scooter that lacks any hint of douchebaggery. Ch-ch-check it!

— Caitlin M.

From the Archives: Cult Worship

Nicole Ankowski — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 19:26:00 GMT

Yes, we have all been there: the stomach-dropping, self-doubt-inducing combo of being blindingly attracted to, and intimidated by, some hyperliterate untouchable. Or, if not hyperliterate, some other hyperbole, some apex of whatever kind of “cool” it is you’re chasing, someone whose every snarky insight makes you weak-kneed. Cult Worship, Ada Calhoun’s exacting personal essay takes on the perils of venerating these paper people, and with words as sharp as they are ultimately comforting, reminds us how much better off we are without them.

“That guy in the club liked me just enough to trade books, to tell me about Will Oldham, to go out for dinner, even to sleep in the same bed a few times, but would never leave anyone with the impression that we were dating. Whatever we were doing, it was in some miserable limbo between platonic and romantic. I tried to talk him into liking me, but that never works, and it really did not work this time…In frustration, I smoked a lot of cigarettes, drank a lot of deli coffee and slept with his best friend.

Check out the entire essay here, Chumbawumba included.

— Caitlin M.

From the Archives: Bad Sex with Jonathan Goldstein

Nicole Ankowski — Tue, 29 Jan 2008 16:12:00 GMT

Maybe, if you close your eyes and think really, really hard, there can be an upside to the tragedy of bad sex. Okay, maybe there’s only one and it’s kind of a stretch: bad sex can be sort of a catalyst, whether as a deal-breaker in a situation you were looking for a way out of, or as a friendly note-to-self that maybe sex for the sake of it doesn’t work if you’re not getting off. Or it can serve as fodder for a wickedly funny personal essay. Inducing as much laughter as it does empathy-pain, Jonathan Goldstein’s take on Bad Sex – recounting the hands-down worst handjob he’s ever received – is full of gleefully f*cked-up similes and wry observations. And, hey, after three hours of thankless manual stimulation, we’re impressed that he could manage such coherence, let alone wit.

“So used to the way I handjobbed myself, it took me a good ten minutes just to acclimatize to another person's touch. Once we got going, I needed a lot of encouragement — reassuring talk, oils, balms and constant repositioning. Plus, a decade of self-abuse had rendered my dick pretty much aristocratically indifferent. I had to practically slam it in a doorjamb to get it halfway turgid. So a typical handjob usually took anywhere between twenty to thirty minutes, with me shouting 'harder!' and 'faster!' like I was whipping a team of snow dogs across the tundra.”

Check out the entire essay here, one of Nerve’s 10th Anniversary “10 Funniest Articles.”

— Caitlin M.

In Other Blogs: Don't Be Frightened...It's a Couch

Nicole Ankowski — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 21:46:00 GMT

In this wild and wooly world, the Scanner crew keeps your comfort and well-being always in mind. What with the UFOs running around willy-nilly in our skies, and the uncertain fate of a certain digital version of a certain analog board game, they understand how rough a day it’s been. So whether you’re in need of a slightly worn vagina to cozy up in or a stiff drink apparently endorsed by Georgia O’Keeffe, Scanner’s got you covered. So go ahead, unwind, and don’t let Britney Spears or this freak you out.

Screengrab ponders some cinematic conundrums, such as: what the crap happened to those spunky Blair Witch kids? What advice does Hollywood have for my inhabited uterus? And, just how compelling can watching everyday folk bang on a snare drum be? (Answer: surprisingly.)

And the Nerve Video Blog contemplates the bewildering combination of Hillary Clinton and Tyra Banks, whose collective genius inspires us to remember the really important things in life. Like Knight Rider stripteases. Oh yes, the Hoff’s involved.

— Caitlin M.