If I have one complaint about email and the Internet it's that they've almost single-handedly managed to kill off one of life's most thrilling experiences - the love letter.
Sure a sexy subject line in Outlook from somebody you're mad about can get blood rushing to the right places, but it's not quite the same as a hand-written missive bearing the smells and doodles of the one you love.
Recently, a well-known women's magazine asked me to write something for a feature they were doing on love letters, "the idea is to bring tears to the eyes of the reader" said the commissioning editor.
To help me along, she sent me some examples of the style they were looking for:
I know we said we'd never talk again, but because of that, I've never been able to tell you that our one-night stand was the best sex of my life. Another thing you should know about that day: It started with my getting fired, which explains why I was at a Whole Foods in the middle of the afternoon.
I'm surprised you didn't tell me to get lost when I delivered that trite (but true) pickup line about how beautiful your hair was. Instead you invited me to lunch-and it was your suggestion we go for a hike afterward. You were so confident, so unafraid of the obvious sexual chemistry between us.
A few hours later we were checking into a hotel under the names "Tom" and "Katie" and continuing our introductions while we stripped ("You're from Philly?" you said, climbing into bed. "Fascinating. Get in here").
What could have felt dirty was playful instead. I still think about how, in the midst of it all, I grabbed hold of your feet, pressed them against my face and kissed them.
It goes on, and it's not bad, but it struck me that if this is how a woman's magazine considers a love letter should read, there's probably a host of females out there who expect a short-story rather than a shivering shot of emotion.
I reckon a good love letter is all about longing, it needs to be ardent and explicit and a little dirty: most of all, it should be just a bit embarrassing if anyone other than your love was to read it.
-- SAM de BRITO
Yet more evidence that the end of the world is near: Ashton Kutcher is about to become a major star.
Lately, I've seen some changes at the two Starbucks that live less than a block away from the Mother Jones office. Last month, they both started pushing a new blend called "Pike Place Roast" as their regular drip coffee, as part of a campaign to compete with brisk coffee sales at Dunkin' Donuts and McDonald's. As part of the campaign, Starbucks re-introduced its 1971 brown-and-white logo featuring a two-tailed mermaid. Okay, technically it's a siren, but regardless, the image of a female figure brazenly spreading its tails has made a few Christians vow to boycott the company.
"The Starbucks logo has a naked woman on it with her legs spread like a prostitute," explains alarmist Mark Dice, of a Christian group called The Resistance. "Need I say more? It's extremely poor taste, and the company might as well call themselves Slutbucks."
While I'm curious what the value of a Slutbuck is relative to a Schrutebuck, I'm worried that Dice doesn't seem to understand the Starbucks siren is half-fish. She doesn't have legs to spread, much less a vagina to go between them. The fact that Dice doesn't get the difference between a fin and a foot may be an example of what abstinence-only funding does to education . . .
-- JEN PHILLIPS
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