Just in time for the hottest season of all, I stumbled across this public service from New York magazine: Week-long sex diaries from six real, live New Yorkers. It’s from their recentish sex issue. I wish that I’d bought the whole thing.
My favorite diary? “The Frustrated Single Girl,” naturally.
“DAY 3: 8:30 A.M. Have long, inappropriate conversation with male colleague. Am proud of myself for doing as magazines say and practicing flirting on a less attractive man.
NOON: Construction worker screams a comment about my ass. I yell obscenities.
2:30 P.M. Read e-mail from a one-night stand from the U.K. Is coming for a visit in May. Put in saved-box.
3:45 Who am I kidding? I respond that I would be happy to “meet up.”
6:00–11:00 Grade papers.”
That’s so real it hurts.
In all seriousness, features like this remind me about the value of this kind of sociological journalism (anthropological story-collecting?). Knowing other peoples’ stories around the things that matter simply makes us all feel more sane, and those stories have to be collected, distilled, and distributed anew, decade after decade. So thanks New York, for the slice.