I have to make money. I have a car. I have a Camaro. I mean that costs money, you know?

I don’t read women’s magazines. (I have a really awful addiction to People.com, but that’s a whole other topic.) I read The New Yorker, I drool over Maxim or FHM, and I peruse, with moderate interest, GQ and Esquire, the latter because it pops up in my mailbox every month (oh, free subscriptions from Nerve). I used to read Rolling Stone, but that one didn’t forward. I hear there are a few months worth piling up in the west village for me, but I doubt I’ll ever see them.

My point? Men’s magazines are better. Period. I could go into a whole diatribe on the sexist implications of the magazine publishing industry (read: Hearst and Conde Nast. Note: should I ever become employed by either of these companies, directly or indirectly, this line will be omitted. Ah, editing.) But I digress…

I would rather know How to Have Sex with Mary Louise Parker (p. 225, Esquire) than learn 101 Sex Tricks to Try Before You Die (Cosmopolitan. I would tell you the page, if I read the damn magazine. But I don’t. See above.)

Related: I would like to take a minute to talk about cars. Yes, cars. One car in particular; the 2009 Chevy Camaro concept car.



Now, I know what you’re thinking. “It’s a Camaro.” But it’s the coolest thing I’ve seen since Tybalt’s royal blue Executioner from Romeo & Juliet, which, in addition to Claire Danes, I’ve had a hard-on for since 1996.

As Esquire writer Ezra Dyer describes the Camaro, “The front end, in particular, is not just angry looking but utterly filled with contempt for the world.”

Yes, indeed. This is the car for me.