A wrote a little bloggy blog for the New York Times Magazine’s blog about my
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In the slushpile of press releases in my inbox this morning, I got a strangely charming email from an Egyptian publicist. He opened with “It’s a delight to discover your ticklish work.” I don’t know if he used “ticklish” because English isn’t his first language, but I’ll take it. Yes, everything I’ve written is intended to be ticklish. No other adjective sums it up as well. If I ever publish an anthology, the subtitle will be “The Ticklish Work of Eric Spitznagel.”
The guy I interviewed for my latest MTV column (see below), a British artist who makes plaster casts of vaginas, sent me a bunch of pictures, including this one, of his “Great Wall of Vagina” art opening in Brighton, in which three women are making what I can only assume are “vagina faces” in front of his exhibit. This makes me laugh very hard, because apparently I think vagina faces are hilarious. I am clearly the most emotionally mature person you know.
Top Three Most Depressing First Sentences in Press Release Emails of the Week: “I Think You’re Confused About What It Is I Do” Edition
1.) “Dr. Maryanne McGuckin is a trusted expert in infection prevention and would make a welcome guest on your show.” 2.) “All women like men in lederhosen!” 3.) “I know you’re a big fan of Deadmau5 and design contests, so I thought you might be interested in….”
Just been told that I’ll be the “contributor of the month” in the German edition of Playboy. It may be time to cut the “I have more testicles than Hitler” joke from my bio.
Top Three Most Depressing First Sentences in Press Release Emails of the Week: Special IRONY edition
1. “Who doesn’t love celebrity weddings?” 2. “Kanon Organic Vodka would like to invite you to their Disco Duck dance party TONIGHT!” 3. “The Grand Canyon Dinner Theatre is now open!”
1. “She was only 14 when her mom was sent away to prison.” 2. “Have you ever felt frazzled, disconnected, unhappy? Chances are good.” 3. “Life can be difficult enough for adolescent girls, but imagine how tough it must be for those who have suffered burn injuries.”
The Dame and I were taking Charlie to the Tampa Aquarium, and we passed this strip club right across the street from the docks, clearly the unhappiest (or at least most yeasty) place on earth. The sign out front read “Nudest Nude Dancers In the Southeast.” And I’ll be honest, it confounded me. How can you be nuder than nude? Once you’re nude, that’s it, you can’t get any nuder. Unless they found a way. Is a speculum involved? Are there internal organs on display? Do the dancers look like Cavity Sam in the Operation game? Anyway, long story short, that’s how Daddy’s unanswerable questions ruined a family trip to the Aquarium.
Look what arrived in the mail today! Two unsolicited press copies of my new favorite book series ever. Clearly I’ve reached the apex of my journalism career. I’m finally at a point where publicists say, “We need media coverage for these nonfiction books about puppies and kitties frolicking in a Christian heaven. Get Spitznagel on the line!”
When I was young and dirt poor, a Chicago writer and Playboy columnist named Asa Baber was unreasonably kind to me. He took me to dinners and introduced me to editors and pumped me full of self-confidence. He died in 2003. Yesterday, Asa’s son and my old friend and occasional writing partner Brendan had a baby — actually his wife did all the work — and they named him Asa. Knowing there’s another Asa Baber in the world has made me weepy and very happy. I cannot wait to tell that kid wildly exaggerated stories about the greatness of his namesake. “I once saw him kill a wild boar with his bare hands!” I will tell tales of the Colonial like an Anglo-Saxon drunk on mead.