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I don’t do sports. I don’t play them, I don’t watch them, and I most importantly don’t understand them. I still get basketballs, footballs, and blueballs confused. Until I was not-so-gently corrected by a friend, I thought Tiki Barber was the name of a Hawaiian hair salon. So it comes as no surprise that I not only don’t participate in watching the weekend football games, but I actually go out of my way to avoid them.

My roommate and I have an understanding: I leave the apartment when she watches the Eagles game and she leaves the apartment when I watch Grey’s Anatomy. We both find the others’ television viewing choice ridiculous and pointless. On the rare occasion I make the mistake of sticking around during a football game I am subjected to her ear-piercing screams that are so loud and so full of energy that people must mistake her cheers for domestic abuse. When they are winning she shouts; when they are losing she screams. Either way, it’s a lose-lose situation for me.

However, she apparently isn’t the only one that enjoys the sport and over the years I’ve had to endure several games. By several, I mean two. I’ve learned a few things along the way: Read More »

I have a friend who has a job thousands of people would kill for: he works in video games.

Whenever we’re out and he meets someone new, the conversation inevitably dissolves into a discussion of his job. Even those who hate video games (like me) want to know how he landed a position in such an elusive field.

And I thought, why not give you guys the benefit of his experience? So I interviewed him and, voila, here it is. May it be at least somewhat helpful.

If so, let me know–I’ll conduct some more of these suckers with people in other industries.

Okay, here’s the interview:

Hi, friend! What’s your name?
Ronnie Villanova.

And how old are you?
27.

What’s your current job title?
I’m an Associate Producer.

Oh, cool. And what kind of company do you work for?
It’s a video game company. They make and publish video games.

Wow, that sounds really interesting. Do you like it?
As fun and creative as people think video games might be, my actual job is very corporate and full of red tape, and hierarchies, and meetings, and Excel; lots of Excel. It’s sort of like The Office, except even more socially awkward. Read More »

[Editor’s Note: New York Magazine does these Sex Diaries that are sometimes cool, sometimes lame. Sometimes they’re interesting portrayals of every day life, and sometimes they make it seem like EVERYONE in New York City is having copious amounts of crazy sex — which isn’t always the case, btw. What would happen, I wondered, if some of CC’s writers blogged about their sex life for a week? Would it be cooler? Funnier? More believable?

Let’s see…]

DAY ONE
9:15 a.m.: Walking to the gym in sweatpants, a dirty wifebeater, no makeup. Get catcalled by at least fifteen people. Oh, ethnic neighborhood, you’re so charming.
12:03 p.m.: Walking home from the gym in the same gear as before, only now drenched in sweat, get catcalled by about fifteen more people. I finally tell one of them to f*ck off. It feels good. His response? “Someone needs to get laid!” I hate dudes.
11:23 p.m.: At my place of business which is, in fact, a strip club, where I am, in fact, a stripper. A scruffy but jovial old man solicits me for a trip to the VIP room, which I gladly agree to (Guaranteed $160 for a half hour? Hell yes!), but first warn him that I’m not one of those girls that do “special favors” in said room. He says that’s fine and wanders off to get more cash from the ATM.
11:43 p.m.: After about ten minutes, the old man pulls out his dick and asks me to give him a blowjob. I tell him no way in hell; I already said that’s not how I do. He tells me it’s fine, because he has a condom. I tell him he can get the f*ck out.
11:50 p.m.: After five minutes of arguing and an extra fifty bucks for being an asshole, we finish the dance and the guy behaves himself. Before we exit the room he kisses me on the cheek and tells me I’m a lovely girl. Read More »