Aboard the Hound

Aboard the Hound

Patrick turns his head in my direction as the Greyhound bus quietly bumps its way through the middle of Texas. It's night, I don't know what time.

Interior bus lights are turned down to a dim glow.

The low hum of the engine has lulled me mostly to sleep with my eyes partly open; but I pick up my head when I see this man across the aisle pivot to face me.

"I like Schlitz." He says it like he's answering a question; as if we've been mid-conversation and he is just now punctuating a previous point. I stare at him blankly. Waiting.

"My family lives in a trailer," he continues, "so I’m already white trash."

Ronnie, Patrick’s friend sitting behind him, chuckles.

"If you can fall off a horse without spilling your beer,” Patrick says, as if by explanation, "you’re alright."

He shrugs and turns toward his window, considering the pitch-black world outside.

Reclaiming the Pussy: A Modern-Day Woman's Manifesto

Reclaiming the Pussy: A Modern-Day Woman's Manifesto

The pussy is the first wonder of the world.

That labially adorned chute is the portal through which all life hitchhikes onto this mortal coil. That muscular mass is solely responsible for so much arousal; its pink and tan and brown and bluish velvety folds so welcoming and soft as to bring knights in armor to their knees. The fertile crescent—that hotbed of humanity that spawned the human race and nourished it on its uphill climb to the top of the proverbial food chain—refers explicitly to fertility. To womanhood. To the pussy.

Sexology: TV Star Catherine Oxenberg Takes on the Female 'O'

Sexology: TV Star Catherine Oxenberg Takes on the Female 'O'

It's surprising, to say the least. In a world where many consider feminism passe—where you can purchase a vibrator or dildo just as easily as you can a pair of shoes—roughly one-third of all women have never experienced an orgasm. In 2014, a half-century after the so-called sexual revolution, women are still very much strangers to their own bodies. Unable to access our own innate sexual energy, we allow sexuality to be equated with promiscuity, ejaculation with penises, and sex itself with intercourse and penetration.

Holy Night

Holy Night

There's nothing glamorous or holy beyond everything; which is both: this holy paper. The holy drunk slouched over the bar. The holy Caribbean sunset. Even the magical can become mundane; fame's a bore. This holy moment. Everything in the here. The now. Can you see the holy bird? The enlightened moon? The silvery fish, the helpless chick? Everything is already here.

Love Letter

The little old men at the Redwood Tavern agree: the Winchester Model 12 is the greatest shotgun ever made.

When the cows come home, pigs fly, Hell freezes over, and the music dies, you can bet there will be a handful of old coots parked in rocking chairs on front porches holding their Winchester Model 12s across their laps. These guns are going to be Redwood’s ticket out of the apocalypse, I’m told: Oil spills in the Gulf, terrorist attacks, alien invasions, plagues—you bring it, the Winchester Model 12 will smite it.

Interview with Mad Men's Bryan Batt

Bryan Batt is an actor, designer, civic activist, and author most widely known for his two-time Screen Actors Guild Award-winning performance as Salvatore “Sal” Romano on “Mad Men”. Bryan played Sal, the Italian-American head art director at Sterling Cooper, for the show's first three seasons.

AMC's critically acclaimed dramatic series has been lauded with awards including Emmys, Golden Globes, the Screen Actors Guild, and the Peabody award. Between his days traveling between New York, New Orleans and Los Angeles, he sat down with Playgirl to discuss his theater career, love life, and perspectives his “Mad Men” character.

Busking with Old Crow Medicine Show's Ketch Secor

From their days of busking in the streets to receiving a gold record for their recording of the iconic song “Wagon Wheel”, the men of Old Crow Medicine Show have charmed the pants off bluegrass, Americana, folk, and alt-country fans alike. After getting their start in 1998 in Upstate New York, fiddle player Ketch Secor and his merry band of musicians hit the road; playing music on street corners to whoever would lend an ear. They were “discovered” in North Carolina by none other than Doc Watson's daughter, who took her father over to the curb they played on. He offered the guys a gig at his MerleFest and the rest, as they say, is history. With their fourth studio album out this past July and another tour to boot, Ketch Secor, Critter Fuqua, Kevin Hayes, Morgan Jahnig, Gill Landry, and Chance McCoy are at the top of their games. We caught up with frontman Ketch Secor (fiddle, harmonica, banjo, and vocals) to chat about his band, family, and musical beginnings.

On Loving

What has happened twice, will happen once more. It's true. But hopefully it ends after the trifecta.

It's been three years since the last searing pain, and Princess' subsequent retreat to a castle far far away. How can more licked wounds seem so fresh, like she's never gone through it before? There were many things she missed. The warm curve of his back under her right arm as they slept. The feel of his perfect ears between her fingers. The heavy strength of his arms encircling her as they lay on the couch. The butterflies in her belly when they locked eyes while he played his guitar. The rhythm of his steps as he moved across wooden floors, the tingling of her skin when he watched her, the sounds he made when he slept. His chubby fingers. The empathy she felt when he crumpled his face up to cry. The way his skin felt under water. The safety of the honey he stirred into tea for her.