"As much as Ashley was growing on me, I tried to keep an eye out for girls who were stealing clients from the agency... But this girl knew how to play the game. She knew the better she was to the agency, the more money she would make. I knew part of the reason she was hanging out with me so much was exactly for that reason, and I was okay with that. I think we would have been friends anyway...

Ashley and I were amazing together. I loved her body. She wasn't skinny at all, you'd never feel like you could break her, but she didn't have any fat on her body. She wasn't noticeably muscular either—she had a naturally gorgeous frame and shape. The only thing I didn't love were her breasts. She had implants, and I didn't think they were the greatest. She told me she got them when she was sixteen. That shocked me. I felt like such a foreigner. What's more American than fake tits at sixteen?

When I saw Ashley's pussy, I was overcome with the need to lick it, to devour it. And when I did, I didn't want to stop—she tasted so sweet. Ashley was at that point when girl meets woman, and it's spectacular. I had to stop before I wanted to. I couldn't be selfish as there was a client in the room.

...When Ashley and I arrived back at the loft, I took Jason aside immediately. I said, 'You've got to book this girl. She has the most beautiful coochie I've ever seen.'

Jason wanted details. I struggled to find the words. Pink, small, pretty? How do you describe the perfect flower or sunset?"

As the weeks went on, my days got more and more frenetic. I’d fly to Florida for a four-day appointment. Then I’d come back and immediately do a ten-hour appointment, followed by another two-hour job. Sleep five hours. And start all over again.

I worked like that for a good three months straight. For most of this time my fee was $1,200 an hour. Here’s how it broke down: An average date was four hours, or $4,800. Ten percent off the top went to the booker. This left $4,320, which was split 50/50 with the agency (aka Jason). So I’d net $2,160 per date, or $540 per hour—the hourly rate for a top New York City attorney. I averaged between six and eight hours a day, one or two clients. I was making at least ten grand a week, easy.

And here's where it all went, other than up her nose:

Not that I could hold on to it. I was so new to having such ridiculous amounts of disposable cash I didn't know what to do with it... I’d take six friends out for dinner at Cipriani Downtown and not even sweat a thousand dollar check. Two thousand dollars paid off my mom’s credit card. Another stop at Western Union and she was able to go back to college.

I walked around with $1,500 in my purse at all times. I kept two eightballs (3.5 grams) of blow in my safe, at $200 each. Buying coke in bulk is like going to Costco instead of the neighborhood grocery store. It’s just economical. I restocked every week...

My new life wasn’t that expensive, considering my take-home pay. I paid $3500 per month rent. My phone bill was about $400. Manicures, pedicures, tanning, and massages cost another $500 per week. I spent about a hundred dollars a day on cabs.

“Is it that men are bragging about it and women are lying to everybody including themselves?” Dr. Fisher asked. “Men want to think women don’t cheat, and women want men to think they don’t cheat, and therefore the sexes have been playing a little psychological game with each other.”

"Dr. Fisher notes that infidelity is common across cultures, and that in hunting and gathering societies, there is no evidence that women are any less adulterous than men."

So the "Changing Landscape of Infidelity" hed is maybe not so changing after all. It all started with Eve and that damned apple. But here's something to think about:

"“Everybody talks by cellphone and the relationship evolves because you become increasingly distant from whomever you lie to, and you become increasingly close to whomever you tell the truth to.”

The Changing Landscape of Infidelity [NYT]

If you want to drink in grave-like silence in the middle of the day, pondering the economy and your role in it, this hallway-shaped dive's for you.

"Sex causes high blood pressure," an old man tells the bartender. "You know, the heart races and stuff." (Are you the only female in the bar? Are you, at this point, used to this?) You know what else causes high blood pressure? Not the failing economy! There've been reports that people are actually healthier (if not happier) during hard times.

Another even older man comes in off the street, asks the bartender, "What's 2 across?" and heaves himself onto a barstool. It collapses and he falls to the floor. "The legs just snapped off," he says sheepishly. Which sort of represents the subprime market—and as someone wise once said, "nothing is so successful that you can't fuck it up."

The answer to 2 across? I-R-R-A-T-I-O-N-A-L H-U-B-R-I-S.

Anyway, Milano's. A pint of Brooklyn Lager? $5. The day off? Priceless.

[Photo: Trig's Flickr]

In short: Pilot wrote an article about a topic that interested her, which was obviously just a huge mistake, due to the nature of the blogosphere. She was attacked in various on-line arenas—I mean, we're all desperate for content these days. We all need to chime in with an opinion, and then commenters can have their opinion, and thus—the status quo is upheld. (The status quo—"whore!"; "Feminism: Is It Being Set Back 30 Years?"—is just so incredibly boring.) Plus, there's a bit of bitchy media-jealousy thrown in—"she only did this article to make a name for herself, etc." Yeah, so?

From Pilot's Facebook page:

"After I wrote a first-person exploratory expose, an independent report I spent a year on profiling high-end call girls, and posing as one myself, for the love of the "gonzo" form. The reactions, once published were beyond my expectations. Though there were plenty of readers and editors who support me, those who chose to question my journalistic intent did so, quite viciously....

Here's an excerpt from one well-known blogger, who met me on a Sunday, and interviewed me for over an hour about my experience, reporting on call-girls, and to discuss my thoughts on the mixed reactions from readers who read my piece:

Blogger Babe 1: "How important to you is it to have this interview published? Honestly i dont think it's going to do much in the blogosphere, and i'm not sure it's right for my blog — although of course i respect you and think you discuss your topics and work intelligently but, i've been doing this for a while, and I'm pretty sure the only way this material would attract attention— if it does — would be in a negative way. if they find something to make fun of again, or just use it as a platform to go on the same old rants. I dont think we're going to change anyone's opinion I'm tired and don't have time (sorry — it's the truth!) 2. it's not quite the right content for us 3. if it was really critical to you, i'd do it, but i dont think it is."

The other blogger acknowledged that I am not in fact, a "desperate, young aspiring journalist", who wrote a story about the oldest, still most taboo profession, just to make a name for herself", but all told—-said she couldn't publicly acknowledge this."

Honestly, I don't know who the blog editors she's referring to are, but if her re-telling is accurate, you all sound like a bunch of little old ladies. Also: doesn't anyone here ever want to read about worlds they have no access to and know little to nothing of? That's basically what the piece was about.

Oh, you know who wrote a really great investigative book about prostitution—from low-end street girls to the highest levels of prostitution and pimping? (At the highest levels, it was explained, very little money changes hands.) Gail Sheehy—wife of the late New York magazine founder Clay Felker and successful writer in her own right. I'm pretty sure she did not have to deal with this bullshit when her investigation about the landlords of the prostitution hotels in Hell's Kitchen was published—but only because blogs weren't invented yet in the 1975.

It's about sex and puberty, and she deems it dangerous for kids: "I'm going to hang on to the book, your honor."

Reports the Sun Journal:

JoAn Karkos, 64, was confined to a courtroom at 8th District Court for about an hour after she was ordered by a judge to hand over the borrowed book: It's Perfectly Normal: Changing Bodies, Growing Up, Sex and Sexual Health. Karkos said she had no intention of giving up the book she claims violates the city's obscenity ordinance... She called her actions "civil disobedience."

She has Friday to hand it over, or else she'll totally be arrested.

[Photo: Sun Journal]

The book in question:

It also notes that her handcuffs were checked for "proper fit and tightness." It's a minor thing, but us criminals appreciate the details—it's something my own arresting officer never bothered to do. Those things chafe after four-plus hours, believe you me.

My name is Mark Mark Mark. I was walking down Ludlow Street and uh I guess a Police Officer who I've had interactions actions with in the past spotted me and followed me about four or five blocks, uh watched me take a pee in an alley in some garbage, in the rain and then followed me another two blocks and then put handcuffs on me and then took me to jail for which I spent twenty hours in a holding cell.

And was uh was released with credit for time served. Feel like it was kind of a rip off. Twenty hours in a thirty man cell, it's freezing cold for taking a pee when there's no public restrooms available is pretty bogus. I think if you're going to arrest someone for having to go to the bathroom you should maybe provide public toilets. I'm from San Francisco, they have pay toilets there at least on the street. There's no business that will open their restrooms to non paying customers. So if I don't have five dollars to buy a sandwich and I have to go to the bathroom I guess that means I'm going to go jail.

Yep, totally.

Also, from a tipster:

"Weird sighting last night. Steven Hirsh spotted in the deli on the southeastern corner of 1st ave and 9th street, buying all the copies of the New York Times, taking out copies of the Metro section (in which the article about him appeared), and handing out copies of the Sunday NYT (sans Metro section) for free to random strangers, including myself."

[Photo by Steven Hirsch for Courthouse Confessions]

"Sign up online, download the clinic verification form, and get tested; mail the results to STF, and they'll send a card w/ your unique member ID and photo (remember: nothing says "trust me" like Blue Steel). Then simply hand the card to whomever, reveal your secret password and ID, and tell her to dial the card's 1-800 number; she'll then be privy to the dates and results of your last two HIV/AIDS tests, irrefutable proof that you were disease-free on at least two specific occasions in the past."

Yeah. And if ANYONE is in the mood to have sex after that, please let us know.

(But wait! Boinkology says it's not such a silly thing after all.)

Gentrification tends to slow down during a recession (or the current crappy economic blip; whatever you'd like to call it). These incidents may or may not be freak isolated occurrences, but it's almost like the media's waiting for the natural step during a recession: crime wave!

Perhaps the developers behind the fancy new buildings will install walls and armed guards to keep the huddled masses out—now, how to avoid reality on their walks to the J train?

[via Adfreak]

If I don't get into this thing I'm going to fucking die! I already told like 17 chicks to meet me there.

The tone of that email is like a dude who gave a girl herpes but still wants to be friends for her drug connections.

VICE has issued a statement saying anyone turned away from the party tonight will get an Ikea couch.
Thanks VICE!

it was weird. i was on the list and waited for a good hour before finally getting let in but they didn't even look at the list. the guy at the door was just like "you're hot, you can come in" which I thought was fucked up and explained why it took so long.
the weirdest part was i went to the bathroom downstairs and then they wouldn't let me back upstairs (where the bands were) for about 40 minutes, so i ended up missing Vivian Girls.

Satan himself could not have orchestrated a more terrible party!
Where did Santos find these security fuckers?! They were so fucking pushy it killed my buzz.
Hong Kong Blood Gang sucked so many kinds of balls.
This place needs to be shut down, it's no fucking fun at all!!!!!!!
Fuck Santos Play Ground
Fuck Vice and their mothers and their forefathers
Fuck Colt 45
Fuck Nokia N Series
Fuck Santos security, bartender, bar backs, janitors, DJ, lighting/sound techs etc
I guess that covers it

Wasn't not worth not standing in line for.

[Brooklyn Vegan]

Application of the hair of the dog may sound like nothing more than a way of getting yourself drunk enough so that you don't notice you have a hangover, but, according to Wayne Jones, of the Swedish National Laboratory of Forensic Medicine, the biochemistry is probably more complicated than that. Jones's theory is that the liver, in processing alcohol, first addresses itself to ethanol, which is the alcohol proper, and then moves on to methanol, a secondary ingredient of many wines and spirits. Because methanol breaks down into formic acid, which is highly toxic, it is during this second stage that the hangover is most crushing. If at that point you pour in more alcohol, the body will switch back to ethanol processing. This will not eliminate the hangover—the methanol (indeed, more of it now) is still waiting for you round the bend—but it delays the worst symptoms. It may also mitigate them somewhat.

Some people say that the Red Bull holds the hangover at bay, but apparently its primary effect is to blunt the depressive force of alcohol—no surprise, since an eight-ounce serving of Red Bull contains more caffeine than two cans of Coke. According to fans, you can rock all night. According to Maria Lucia Souza-Formigoni, a psychobiology researcher at the Federal University of São Paolo, that's true, and dangerous. After a few drinks with Red Bull, you're drunk but you don't know it, and therefore you may engage in high-risk behaviors—driving, going home with a questionable companion—rather than passing out quietly in your chair.

Commencing during the approximately twelve month period preceding January 24, 2007, corrupt New York City undercover police officers assigned to the Manhattan South Vice Enforcement Division began frequenting Scores West and abusing their authority: i) did not pay otherwise required admission fees; ii) consumed but did not pay for alcoholic beverages; and iii) consumed but did not pay for food.

Camels were for procrastinators, those who wrote bad poetry, and those who put off writing bad poetry. Merits were for sex addicts, Salems for alcoholics, and Mores for people who considered themselves to be outrageous but really weren't. One should never lend money to a Marlboro-menthol smoker, though you could usually count on a regular-Marlboro person to pay you back. The eventual subclasses of milds, lights, and ultra-lights not only threw a wrench in the works but made it nearly impossible for anyone to keep your brand straight. All that, however, came later, along with warning labels and American Spirits.

Two years ago, Page Six reported that Natalie Reid, "the world's #1 Paris Hilton impersonater," may have worked there as an escort. Former clients include the Duke of Westminster, according to News of the World. He bragged to his hired gal about "Army connections and his inside knowledge of military matters. "

From: Gavin McInnes
Date: Jan 23, 2008 9:42 AM
Subject: new email
To: Gavin McInnes

Dear children of my corn,

I no longer have anything to do with Vice or VBS or DOs & DON'Ts or any of that. It's a long story but we've all agreed to leave it at "creative differences," so please don't ask me about it.

I'm going to continue to make fun of people's pants and offend as many of you as possible, but I'll be doing it at streetcarnage.com, a new company I started with Big Pinky.

There's a ton of other projects in the works, including books, a movie, comics, TV shit, etc and I'll announce them on the site as they blossom into fruition like a hundred humid vaginas in the presence of God's boner.

My new email is gavin@streetcarnage.com.

And though VBS.tv is still basically a "failure" by some standards—like, by the standard of 'getting people to go to the website and look at the videos and click on the ads'—Viacom is still really excited about it, and they're throwing lots of money at those lovable Vice boys to go do some hard-hitting journalism about drugs and hookers overseas, and also Iraq and stuff because the new Vice cares.

And even though it's all paid for with gigantic media conglomerate money, it's still wild and edgy and raw because they use very small crews and "no lights or makeup." So you know it's real.

A Guerrilla Video Site Meets MTV [NYT]
The Snarky Vice Squad Is Ready To Be Taken Seriously. Seriously. [Wired]
Related: The Serious Issue Of 'Vice'

Above what looks like a mid-90's VRML map—a little post-Tron!—the hapless reader is told:

What you are witnessing is a ridiculously-realistic virtual version of New York City's Lower East Side, a.k.a. the place where every angst-ridden, music-loving teenager (that means you, or maybe you a few years ago) dreams of running away to. This teensy neighborhood is so brimming over with cool bands, fun hangouts and bars, and pretty people that it can take about ten years to come out the other side once you move here... So vLES wants to send you there now to give you a head start. You can create a little person and then walk right into faithfully recreated virtual versions of legendary LES venues and see real bands play.... vLES is going to be so totally the opposite of boring, you don't even know.

Well, look at that! 'Vice' is doing a public service announcement about all the nasty-ass crap that's in the air and soil in Greenpoint and Williamsburg. Not that that's news, exactly, but we do like their implication that anyone buying one of those lovely million-dollar lofts springing up in the neighborhood is just asking for a great big case of cancer. They've got the obligatory quote from the hardened longtime Greenpoint resident, who tells the camera, "If I had that type of money I would be so out of here it wouldn't even be funny." Of course, they can't resist introducing the whole thing with a quickie anthropo-cultural tour of the area: "If you've been kicked out of art school anywhere in America in the past three years you're more than likely tending bar somewhere in the neighborhood." Or pretending to, at least. —Doree

Toxic Brooklyn: The Poisoning of William Green, Part 1 of 6 [VBS.tv]

Oh, look! It's '90s icon and Morrissey enthusiast Chloe Sevigny talking with '90s icon Gavin McInnes about some random girl's too-big glasses, in some sort of Vice Do's and Don'ts mind-fuck. We assume the whole time Gavin's thinking about how he can screw the crap out of her after the segment's over, but she'd have to put on the halter top she wore in Kids first. —Doree

Dos and Don'ts [VBS.tv]

I returned to the scene later in the morning and retrieved pieces of this historic pile of rubble. Here is your chance to own a piece for yourself. I am pictured below retrieving the pieces from the scene, so you know they're real and authentic. Also comes with a copy of the most recent issue of Vice Magazine. I have four pieces of the balcony as pictured below, and the high bidder will have first choice of piece.

2007 SXSW Vice after party balcony rubble. MEOW HOT [eBay]
VICE SxSW After-Party - Buy a Piece of it! [Synner Nation]

So this was supposed to be the "Girls" issue, and indeed, the issue itself is filled with girls—girls telling you how to sell your stinky underwear to perverts on the Internet, girls making out with each other, weird loner girls attempting to be "normal," girls dressed like leprechauns ... Pretty par for the course, it would seem. But the party was filled with a whole bunch of dudes. Bearded dudes. Jewfro'd dudes. Plaid-wearing dudes. The "cute guy sandwich" dudes of Jane Virgin Sarah fame (seen above with comely Editorial Assistant Heather).

Those quibbles aside, once again, I felt like I was on the Blue States Lose beat—it was like they'd run a shuttle bus from the Bedford L stop straight to the corner of Stanton and Chrystie. There are fun games you can play with these people. For example, it's fun to count the number of girls wearing hats that look like they came off the set of the video for Puttin' on the Ritz. It's also fun to pull on people's beards to see if they're real. Overall, though, the whole evening left us feeling kind of nostalgic. It reminded us of that scene in Breaking Away when Dennis Quaid's character is all bummed out about his life: "These college kids out here, they're never gonna get old. Or out of shape. Cuz new ones come along every year."

Vice Magazine "Girls" Party [Photos]

• The year in catfights. Yeah, we'd probably fight if we had to be on The View, too. [Radar]
  
• New Vice website: Junkies are funny! [Vice]
  
• Chuck Schumer's got Hillary Clinton's back 'till the end. [NYDN]

"The one with the curl is named Penny. He's just a weirdo. He listens to Sonic Youth even though I would have guessed he was too young to like them. He's also into those bands like Psychic Ills, Lightning Bolt, and Gang Gang Dance. When he heard that a girl we know wanted to go out with him he said, "I don't do dates." He likes wearing band tees and shirts with slogans on them, with tight jeans and Vans or dress shoes."

Ben Cho [Vice]
Earlier: Gawker's Coverage of Jackson Pollis