The Pittsburgh Tribune-Review recently asked me “Has the pickup line changed? Is it even relevant anymore? Are there new rules?”

Personally I don’t believe I have ever used one or seen a guy successfully use one. Here's what they printed from our interview:

Some guys use groaners like "If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?" by pretending that they realize the ridiculousness of the line. You're not fooling anyone, says Rocky Rakovic, an editor for Playboy magazine.

"The only thing lamer than using a pickup line is pretending to use one ironically. You can forgive a man who tries them because he has no natural tact, but when a man recognizes that cheesy sexual quips fail and attempts to deliver them in a tongue-in-cheek manner,that makes him an absolute loser. The best pickup line has been and always will be 'Hi,' — unless, of course, she is French, in which case try 'bonjour.'"

Worse than pickup lines, I feel, is when people ask me what my zodiac sign I am. Why? It means the person is going to prejudge me based on something as random as what month I was born. I’ll get "Oh, that means you are impulsive and selfish." While that may be true at least get to know me first.

(Art above from one of my favorite web comics Natalie Dee.)

Over the weekend the New York Times noticed that some sex stats simply didn’t add up:

In study after study and in country after country, men report more, often many more, sexual partners than women…But there is just one problem, mathematicians say. It is logically impossible for heterosexual men to have more partners on average than heterosexual women. Those survey results cannot be correct.

The researchers—bookish types no doubt—were probably unaware of the "Rule of 3" that governs the dating ethos. As the Times points out: "If asked, a man, believing that he should have a lot of partners, may feel compelled to exaggerate, and a woman, believing that she should have few partners, may minimize her past." The Rule of 3 states that when a woman gives her number of men she has slept with you should multiply it by three to determine how many men she really bedded. When a guy gives his number you should divide it by three. Men always want to sound like great swordsmen.

Unfortunately because this is a known algorithm, men often multiply their real number by six before giving it out. Now that I’ve floated this out there I’m wondering—should I multiply my number by 12?

Of course I have a thing for the Mses. Johansson, Richie and Lohan (yep, still). I even admire the beauty of a few Mesdames. But here's my list of more obscure sweeties who I’m sweet on. Few may be household names (which may mean only that I have a better chance), but I love them the same.

Kari Byron from Myth Busters (pictured)
She’s a little goofy, a bit smart and smoking hot.

Alice from Snorg Tees
I’ve seen her on ads on CollegeHumor.com forever and her big smile and soft-looking skin always drive me crazy.

Gail Simmons from Top Chef
Sorry Padma.

Tasha from the Hey song on YouTube
A cute Israeli girl who likes the Pixies and knows how to sit in a chair.

The Girls of The N: Miriam McDonald from Degrassi and Alexz Johnson from Instant Star
Two Canadian women who are hidden in teen dramas, for now.

Ah, the Spice Girls. With the Beckhams coming to America and a reunion tour  announced, there has been a lot of controversy in the office as to which is the hottest Spice Girl. Left to right in the Union Jack photo are: Posh, Sporty, Ginger, Scary and Baby.

The first summer they were broadcast on MTV, I was 14 years old and there was no escaping them. Unfortunately, I still remember the lyrics to Wannabe. I took “if you want to be my lover, you gotta get with my friends,” to mean that girls wanted you to fool around with their girlfriends. I was let down when this wasn’t the case. I know Baby Spice was a fan-favorite, but because I was 14, all the girls I knew looked like Baby. Also because I was 14, there were two things I really cared about: sports and women. Naturally, Sporty Spice was the one I envisioned myself with back then.

Now, older with a few more interests (but not too many), and eleven more years of interactions with females, I’m dumping Sporty.

At least 30 times, I’ve had some friend tell me about a new girl he’s fallen for, “and the best part is that she loves sports! We can watch football together.” That’s the worst part. You spend all your time outside work with a girl and—though you love her dearly—when the game is on and you want to go to Jon’s house to watch it, she wants to know why she can’t come.  Sharing interests and hobbies are wonderful for couples, but not when it cuts into guys’ time or you can’t have a life on your own.  

Anyway, sorry Becks, I am now into Posh/Victoria. Who did you like? Do you still?

Last Thursday night I was reading an advance copy of The Gonzo Way—a must for any HST fans—written by his widow Anita Thompson, which put me in the mindset to drink scotch and watch the Democratic Forum. The Chivas Regal (Hunter’s favorite) was a Happy Non-Father’s Day present from my roommate for not having impregnated someone yet. Anyway, I'm not sure how many fingers of Chivas I had, and as I type this I'm still a bit groggy, but I think I’m a huge fan of Mike Gravel.

He was animated, unapologetic and didn’t even bother wearing a suit to the debate. He wants out of Iraq now, single-payer health care and the abolition of income tax. He also would legalize marijuana (I'm not a pot smoker—always got terrible cottonmouth—but don’t think it should be illegal). “You should be able to buy that at a liquor store,” Gravel has said.

I had no idea that my newest MySpace friend would be a 77 year-old former senator, but not being a registered Democrat (I’m not affiliated with any political party; you have to earn my vote) I will most likely not be able to throw my ballot away on him. But I know he will make the primary interesting in other ways.

When it comes to romance, it always pays to remember the fundamentals. Our intern Lynsey Gilchrist considers the most basic of the basics:

Recently I introduced two friends at a club. Before too long they went to over the bar, where they briefly made out. When they came back to our table and sat down together, the guy turned to me and asked loudly, in front of 10-or-so people, “What was her name again?” In the end, she had the last laugh. The next time we all went out together, she showed up sporting a “Hello, My Name Is…” sticker.

I know no reader of this column would never make that mistake, but just in case the worst happens, try to find out her name before trying to make a move. It’s even better to opt for the classic “Hey, you” than embarrass her in public and guarantee that you will receive no further action. Or you could get everyone to start subscribing to this guy’s theory and never have to worry about it.

If remembering names is a chronic problem for you, check out July’s Playboy Advisor for some tips.

A box of Trojan vibrating (cock) rings and condoms found its way to my desk a few weeks ago. Always one to try to bring pleasure to other people’s lives I handed them out with the hopes that they would report back to me on their experiences. Here are some of the reactions:

“I couldn’t figure out how to put it on.”

“When I first touched her with it she simply said, ‘It feels like my vibrator when they batteries are about to die.’ But we still used it.”

“She liked the vibration but—because sex involves thrusting being buzzed on and off every other second—it ruined her concentration and she eventually found it annoying.” [Editor’s note: Gotta use the “rock-back-and-forth” method.]

“It worked best when I took it off and held it against her clitoris during sex.”

(With a big smirk) “It felt great for both of us—especially her.”

“She said that she didn’t want the thing anywhere near her so I wore it around my fingers and used it as handshake buzzer all day.”

I’m a beer or scotch guy, so on those occasions when I am invited to launch parties for the new elderberry wine or infused vodka, I normally pass. But when Carlo Rossi (the company, unfortunately, not the man) invited me to "re-taste Rossi," I had to attend.

Jug or box wine reminds me of the simplicity of fun day-drinking during college. In no way am I going through a quarter-life crisis, but it was nice to sip on something that took me back (well I suppose only three years) to those heated "Edward Rossihands" battles.

In those days there were only two Rossi wines I knew of: chablis and sangria. At the party, however, there were at least seven different varieties. My lovely date and I were surprised that we actually really enjoyed the rhine. It was sweet and resembled a crisp riesling. All the wines were served the only way Rossi should be—in Solo cups—and were paired with a tailored tasting menu of pulled pork sandwiches and hush puppies. The next time I have the old college friends over for a Southern cookout, I will most certainly have a few jugs of rhine on hand, though I think I’ll pass on breaking out the duct tape.   

What do you remember drinking in college? Thunderbird? MD 20/20? Boone’s Farm? Crazy Horse?

Normally e-cards are something I, or any respectable man, should stay away from sending. Sure your mother or girlfriend may send you some campy animated missive with a dancing bear that says “I Wuv U” and while that is sweet, only they can get away with it.

Yesterday a friend of mine sent me this e-missive true or not it’s damn funny. After receiving this I tore through the Someecards.com site and spent the next hour sending these to pretty much everyone I know. Finally an e-card exists that is devoid of camp and suitable for a man to send.

A friend of mine was attending the Civil Liberties and Public Policy conference in Amherst, Mass. and brought me back this souvenir. While it was sweet of her to give me the button, we hadn’t ever discussed my feelings on the subject and I realized that because abortion was not on my mind in a while, I am unsure about my position. I recall some scary times as a teenager when I felt one way and now a little older and less selfish I’m leaning another way.

The best way to figure things out is by having discussions with people of all views. The Supreme Court’s ruling on partial-birth abortion yesterday will make “the right to choose” on the top of people’s minds.

Originally I think the purpose of the button was to attract the right (leftist) girl into a flirtatious dialogue. Needless to say it turned into quite the serious conversation piece.

Last summer my friend’s girlfriend was talking about how she didn’t feel sexy in her glasses because in the magazines she reads and the movies she watches she never sees bespectacled women. I was appalled that she felt that way: As I noted in a previous post I have a thing for smart-looking girls. (I actually once went glasses-shopping with a girl for a first date.)

Anyway, later in the conversation, my friend’s girlfriend—an optometrist—mentioned that my friend hated going with her to the Vision Expo (a trade show for corrective eyewear). I was outraged, as this trade show surely has models wearing glasses. I let the optometrist know that I’d happily be her date as did Cuts of Beef, a fellow girls-with-glasses enthusiast.

I forgot about the whole thing until February when credentials for a Dr. Rocky Rakovic came to my house. Cuts and I attended, as the girlfriend may have been creeped out by our over-appreciation for sweeties with spectacles, and we were let down. While we were there to simply observe a subculture of eye doctors and spot beautiful women in frames, both categories were lame. The few models looked like they walked out of a strip club. They didn’t look right in glasses. The doctors were all salivating on the models while they not-so-causally brought up the fact that they are doctors to them (aside from the buyers, Cuts and me, pretty much all the attendees were doctors).

I realized that specs appeal has to be authentic. Cute girls who wear glasses are naturally beautiful. There is no anti-glasses conspiracy in Hollywood due to the lack of leading ladies with lenses. The sexy-librarian look simply can’t be forced.

 

I am attracted to smart girls. For instance, the hottest thing a stripper ever whispered in my ear was, “I’m studying film at NYU.”

At Playboy, we get pitched loads of amateur ‘babe’ calendars- some of college girls, and way too many featuring women who have seen better days. (Thanks, Calendar Girls !)

Of those pitches, by far the most enticing has been the Girls of Engineering calendar from the University of Illinois. The brains behind the operation is Lake Forest College student Syed Karim, who neither attends U of I, nor studies engineering, but did manage to organize the calendar and the website featuring girls who do both.

“Friends of mine were not happy with the stigma that female engineers are not very attractive or feminine and the calendar is the product of that discussion,” Karim told me.

Are these girls knockouts? Not really, but they are the total package: pretty and smart. One of them supposedly interned at NASA: now that’s sexy.  

Above is Gwen. Below, Karim provided us with behind-the-scenes shots of Jenna and Laura.

 

Seeing the best in their respective games is always a moving moment. I was blown away when I saw Tiger Woods chip on in person and in absolute awe when I was not more than a stone’s throw from the basket and witnessed LeBron James dunk over two players. Watching televised games or concerts on video may be pleasurable but until you see the events unfold in person you really can’t appreciate the awesomeness of the players involved in the moment. That’s why people still attend performances.

A few weeks ago Altoids held an event for the launch of their Dark Chocolate Dipped Mints that featured a performance by the premier burlesque dancer in the world Dita Von Teese. Not being a prude I didn’t expect much going into the party and then the porcelain-skinned beauty strutted on stage and I was paralyzed. Her grace and sexual power emanated through the room, both guys and gals were transfixed. I have watched burlesque before but now I understand the art. She wasn’t a hard-luck girl in plastic stilettos flopping around the stage, Von Teese’s sultry dance embodied the perfect mix of flirtation and class. Was I turned on? Yeah, a little. And neither Woods nor James could ever do that. If you ever get a chance to see Von Teese perform, you must. In burlesque, it doesn’t get better than her.  

Also not because I feel obligated, but rather because I like them, I must say that the dipped Altoids are pretty good. I don’t normally like sweets but the thin coating of chocolate around the mint is just enough to help when your blood sugar gets low in the late afternoon. Unfortunately I was not able to sample any mints that shared a bath with Dita as seen here in the photo taken by David Prutting for Patrick McMullan.

As we were cleaning up the fashion closet last week, we found an old prop from one of the shoots. Nobody wanted to take the steer horn monstrosity—including myself—until I remembered it was Cuts of Beef’s birthday. Cuts—a Texas native—and I were working on his off-road vehicle the weekend before and couldn’t get the hood to pop, so naturally we drilled a series of holes into the hood to bust the lock.

Now he has the coolest ornament north of Dallas.