Natasha: In Davy Rothbart’s semi-confessional piece about the alleged effects of porn on the male libido he basically says that dudes have so much access to porn that they ‘over-masturbate’ and lose their desire to penetrate human lady vaginas. Do you think this is a problem a LOT OF DUDES HAVE 2 DEAL WITH? READ MORE

Natasha: Oh, Julie, remember 1999, wobbling along the edge of a millennium, when the word ‘aught’ was nothing more than an arcane dictionary entry — we, the accountants of pop-culture, lamented about the future like two lugubrious characters from a Tony Kushner play? The cinematic runes spelled doom for us: American Beauty, The Matrix, and, god help us, The Green Mile. It seemed as though the fires of virility and danger of the mid-‘90s, you know, the kind that involved Chloe Sevingy’s nipples, were snuffed out under the mawkish gauze of the Ron Howards and Sam Mendevis. When it seemed that we would all have to endure another decade of Sean Penn-as-a-Retarded-Single-Father style performances, there was a radical burst in form of three ugly, pasty, enthralling character actors. I don’t like to give Paul Thomas Anderson much, but I will give him credit for harvesting the craggy Gene Hackman genome, splicing it into thirds (Philip Seymour Hoffman, Billy Macy, and John Reilly), and using them to streak maudlin narratives with performers able to portray authentic vulnerability, sorrow, and loneliness. READ MORE

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Natashy, this is tough like Jehu. Tough like the rind off a New York Strip from Tad’s Steaks. Tough like a horde of Hell’s Angels with filthy, stew-ingredient-ridden Santa beards. READ MORE

Natasha: Jewlz, this is a potent list of Silvery Fox Men you've thrown down. READ MORE