Last week my wife and I saw I Want Your Sex starring Olivia Wilde at our independent film house, Amherst Cinema. I love sex cos-play, so the costumes alone would have made this movie worth seeing for me:
The movie is extreme visual entertainment, what the New York Times reviewer calls a “jolly sex comedy that plays out in frisky conversations and gumball colors.” Olivia Wilde is stunning in every amazing outfit she puts on—in contrast to the schlubby main character, played by relative unknown Cooper Hoffman, who wears T-shirts and flannels and seems never to have brushed his hair. I enjoy BDSM play as much as (or ok, more than) the next gal, but not one scene in this wildly performative movie about modern art turned me on. Still, the movie was great fun to watch, and Olivia as a domme is delicious.
I was excited to discover that Karly Sciortino, big sister of one of my son’s best friends growing up, Robbie, co-wrote the film with its director, Gregg Araki. I am thrilled that someone from our sleepy hollow of Highland, NY, was able to emerge from the town’s culturally dominant Catholicism to be at the forefront of sexually playful cinema. (I mean, Karly was already running a Viceland show you can buy on Amazon called Slutever and is a former sex columnist for Vogue with a huge social media following, so it’s not like she just escaped her small-town life yesterday, but still, seeing her name on the big screen seemed like she’d really made it. Go, Karly!) On Rotten Tomatoes, more than 90% of critics loved the movie (though only 64 percent of regular watchers did, which probably speaks to how none of it is a turn on, even though it’s fun and engaging). Its main message is that this current generation of youth is so mired in anxiety and ennui that they’ve forgotten how to have sexy fun.
Speaking of sexy fun, I also listened this week to an audiobook, Helpless, by the author of Bright Young Women, Jessica Knoll. (Bright Young Women is a feminist literary thriller based on the Ted Bundy murders; it draws its title from a judge who called Bundy “a bright young man.”) This new book, Helpless, is about a former couple, both now married to other people, who reconnect at a funeral and uncover lots of dangerous secrets. There are many, many scenes of extremely explicit, steamy sex that made me squirm at times with their ambiguity about consent. I never like a book to leave me wondering if a sex scene is meant to show abuse or to be hot; I think Knoll is making a point about how blurred those lines can become in real life. On top of this, the story kind of drags in the middle (how many ways can two people worship one another’s bodies in between running for their lives?) and the ending was a jaw-dropping surprise that made me feel tricked. (What??? That’s how you’re tying everything up??). Still, it was a fast, gripping read, and if you’re looking for a scorching beach read, I recommend this one. Or if you want a good listen, the audiobook is superbly narrated by Marin Ireland.
Mostly, though, Renee and I have compulsively consumed the Netflix show Money Heist, an excellently dubbed show (that you can also watch in Spanish with subtitles, but we’re not, and the voice actors for the dubbing do a stellar job) about a crew of thieves working together to rob the Mint in Spain. The robbers do the job wearing Dali masks, which gives the first few episodes a truly eerie feeling. The show is addictive from its first minutes and has not let go of us yet. After dedicating several hours every evening to watching as many episodes as we could, tonight we watched the season finale, episode 13, of the first season. Chef’s kiss! An outstanding show! A smart, thoroughly engaging thriller with well-developed characters. We can’t help rooting for the robbers, even though some of them are really bad people—while the rest are good people doing very bad things.
I’m despairing to have discovered there are four more seasons after this one. Renee and I have never, over the course of our 17-years of watching TV together, felt this compelled to binge-watch a show. Still, we are grateful to Sarena Neyman for recommending this one! (I love your recommendations, everyone! Keep them coming.)
We still love the Apple TV show Margo’s Got Money Troubles, but as I just read that book, I know what’s going to happen in the show, so I don’t feel nearly as compelled to watch it.
I did manage to get a few other things done this week. I started doing live, daily yoga with Kripalu studios online every morning. This has been so helpful. Doing yoga with videos (mostly with Yoga with Adriene and an annual membership to her Find What Feels Good app) has been great for me these past 10 years since my son died, but I’ve reached the point where I needed a push. I was often distracted and sometimes paused my video to do something ese for a while before coming back later to finish. This ensured I never broke a sweat. Having a live teacher leading me through an hour-long yoga session first thing in the morning is getting me out of bed earlier, making me work harder, and helping me get longer sessions done, which is making my back feel better. I hope I can keep this up.
Jane Friedman, in her Electric Page newsletter, shared this extraordinary poem, which contains the last words of more than 80 men on Texas’ death row just before they were put to death by the state:
a poem
Um, I don’t know what to say. I am not as strong as I thought I was
going to be, but I guess it only hurts for a little while. I sat in my cell
many days wondering what my last words would be. I’m not going to
shout, use profanity, or make idle threats. I am not going to play a
part in my own murder, no one should have to do that. Can you hear
me? This here is a tragedy. They are fixing to pump my veins with a
lethal drug the American Veterinary Association won’t even allow to
be used on dogs. I should not have to be here. I’m not a killer. I know
how it look but I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill my wife. I did not kill those
drug dealers. I did not murder your loved one. I am sure he died
unjustly, just like I am. I have done everything to prove my
innocence. If I am paying my debt to society, I am due a rebate and a
refund. Everybody has problems. I allowed the devil to rule my life. I
was a kid in a grown man’s world. I was sick, afraid, and looking for
love in all the wrong ways. I messed up, made poor choices. But I am
not guilty of this crime. I don’t think the world will be a better or
safer place without me. I hereby protest my pending execution.
There are a lot of things that are not right in this world, I have had to
overcome them myself. You know this ain’t right. I don’t know why
all of this happened. I just played the hand that life dealt me. I
understand that you wanted this day to come, you got what you
wanted. I’m sure you think this is wonderful in your eyes. If this takes
the pain away, so be it. Whatever makes y’all happy. I know
you believe that you’re going to have closure. The truth is that you
are going to feel empty after tonight. A revenge death won’t get you
anything. Sooner or later every one of y’all will be along behind me.
You will answer to your Maker when God has found out that you
executed an innocent man. I wouldn’t wish this on you. I forgive all
y’all. It is all part of life, like a big full plate of food for the soul. Tell
everyone I got full on chicken and pork chops. I am going to miss
those pancakes and those old-time black-and-white shows.
Sometimes it works out like this. I would like to tell my wife that I
love her and thank her for all the years of happiness. I don’t want to
leave you baby, see you when you get there. To my kids, stand tall
and continue to make me proud. Don’t fight with each other. I know
this is hard for y’all, but we are going to have to go through it. Don’t cry,
it’s my situation. I’ll be fine. I won’t have to wake up in prison
anymore. Don’t be angry at what is happening to me. Enjoy life’s
moments because we never get them back. Yesterday was my
birthday. Ain’t life a bitch? Where’s my stunt double when you need
one? Oh, Lord. I am going home. I might have lost the fight but I’m
still a soldier. I am taking it like a man, like a warrior. Preparest a
table before me in the presence of my enemies. Tell them I finished
strong. Death before dishonor. With this let all debts be paid that I
owed, real or imagined. Lord, send me a chariot. Hallelujah, holy,
holy, holy. I guess that’s it. It’s my hour. Only the sky and the green
grass goes on forever. I’m done. I have come here today to die, not
make speeches. Warden, if you are going to murder someone, go
ahead and do it, pull the trigger. Let’s give them what they want. I’m
ready when y’all are. Are they already doing it? I can feel it, taste it.
My left arm is killing me, it hurts bad. Let me know that I will be in
Heaven tonight, please let me know, I don’t want to be in Hell with
Satan or anyone else, please, that is something I need to know. I am
starting to go. I am going to sleep now. Begins singing: Amazing Grace.
Speaking of poetry, every August poetry lovers are encouraged by the Seeley Challenge to read a book of poetry every day of the month. This has been going on for several years, and every August I try it, but I’ve never succeeded yet. Still, the challenge does encourage me to read more books of poetry than I otherwise might.
So far I’ve read a new collection, Ambergris, by a poet friend who used to work with us at Hampshire College, Amy Dryansky, who is also the former poet laureate of Northampton, MA. This is her third collection, and her poems are down-to-earth and mournful, with a powerful voice. I admire that she’s had two poems from this book published in The Sun, a dream publication for me. (Ambergris, because of course I had to ask Google, is a solid, waxy, flammable substance in the digestive system of sperm whales that is highly valued by perfume creators, as adding Ambergris to a perfume or cologne can “correct” any issues in the scent. So weird!)
I’ve also read all the poetry in the latest Iowa Review, Spring 2026,
and I read Poet Lore, a magazine with generally accessible poems that I enjoy, which is not always true of contemporary poetry magazines, which often feature poems that go sailing over my head.
The death-row poem reminds me that on our car rides Renee and I have also been listening to the latest season of Serial, a spinoff from This American Life, and a podcast we reliably find has excellent reporting. This season’s story , The Last Twelve Weeks, focuses on a group of lawyers fighting to get someone’s execution stayed so new evidence can be introduced. It’s an interesting listen, full of information about how death-row legal challenges work (and also enlightening about how hard it is to get new evidence introduced to exonerate an innocent man). But unfortunately, the person they are trying to save from execution is an admitted child rapist (he already served his full sentence, a grotesque seven years, for raping children, but he insists he didn’t rape and kill the women whose bodies were found in a desert). I am against the death penalty, but if anyone is going to die by state execution, I’d mind least if it were a child rapist, so it’s hard for me to care if this guy dies or not—even if he is innocent of the crime that landed him on death row.
In other news, I met with my writing friend Dina to write some poems over the weekend, and I squeezed out three. I was determined because I recently edited a collection for Reedsy, the freelance site where I get most of my editing jobs, and I gave so much advice about what makes a good poem that I was annoyed with myself for not writing more of them myself, so then I did.
But no matter how good I think my poems are, my new collection has now been rejected by all dozen or so houses where I sent it, so I am going to go back over it and edit it and try to make it stronger before I send it out again. I also have a chapbook I’ve had rejected a few times this year (including by Rattle’s extra-lucrative chapbook contest), and my daughter recently went over it and offered a lot of editing suggestions, so now I will go through and clean that one up, too. Plus I’ve written and submitted several kick-ass essays, and they’ve all been rejected, too. This submitting business is not for the faint of heart!
Here’s my favorite sign of the week:
And my favorite news story is that people are still suing to get the rest of the Epstein files released. Even Europe is demanding these files to help them with their own prosecutions. How long can the DOJ withhold them? Will anyone ever be held accountable?
But tied for a close second is one more moronic mistake by ketamine-fiend Elon Musk:
Finally, in case you’re keeping track of all the ways this government and the billionaires it protects are robbing us blind, here’s one more way. First, they imposed massive tarriffs on every country on earth. The costs were passed on to us, the consumers, via higher prices. Then the courts said those tarriffs were illegal, so now the corporations are suing to get back the extra money they paid—even though they didn’t pay those extra costs, we did! You think they’ll lower prices now to pass their windfalls on to us? hahahaha. Ugh.
What have you been consuming? I am focused on re-reading Lion Women of Tehran so I can propose interesting questions for our book group, which is meeting this Sunday at noon. Private message me if you want the Zoom link.
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