We don’t know it’s his.
He posted a charming video on his Instagram stories. When the video ends, it briefly scrolls up to reveal the camera roll (not necessarily his camera roll!) and there it is, nestled in the grid. It’s a shadow. It’s a backlighted still-life. It’s a painting.
Reader, it’s a penis.
There is no doubt in my mind. Not to go into my sordid history, but I have seen one before. I recognize the contours. And it is erect. It is waiting, hotly and urgently, for the viewer’s attention. It thrusts to the left, as if it cannot bear the weight of its own desires. Two beautiful, muscular thighs flank it; the owner of the penis is recumbent on a bed, nude like a Renaissance figure, but bathed in curious blue light, like Tron. Silhouetted, the object is rendered in negative space. …
I used to be a songwriter. That’s not a brag. That is a fact.
I was not necessarily a good songwriter. I was no Judy Tenuta. Or Julie Brown, the one who wrote the songs for Earth Girls Are Easy. But one doesn’t have to be a good songwriter to be a songwriter. All one has to do is write songs.
And I used to write a lot of songs. I wrote them for the best reason: it was fun.
The first time I wrote a song, I was doing this playwriting thing in college. I had a writing partner, and we were collaborating on a play — but not really collaborating, in that the one had no idea what the other was doing. I’d work on the script and pass it to him, and he’d write something and pass it back to me. The script got weirder and more convoluted, and the center would not hold, but anyway, at one point, the two lovers were on the cusp of declaring their love, and then they were singing, and when I gave the script back to Seth, I told him, “It’s a musical now.” …