Salon.com > Cole Kazdin

Like a virgin

Wed, 07 Jul 2004 19:33:00 +0000

I have always loved to be kissed gently on the neck, to lie in someone's arms, to be made mad passionate love to -- at least I think I've always loved those things. That's what I'm told.

Things got confusing once I suffered a head trauma that brought on amnesia. Having sex after having amnesia was like losing my virginity all over again, except without the awkwardness and ineptitude of the real first time. And without Journey playing in the background.

In November 2001, I was seriously injured on the set of a low-rent TV pilot. The details of the incident are another story altogether, but suffice it to say that the show's producers have secured a spot in that special room in hell otherwise reserved for the creators of "The Swan."

I was left with an immobilizing back injury and -- even more immobilizing -- amnesia. I had always chuckled at the use of amnesia as a narrative device in films and soap operas -- it always seemed a little contrived and unrealistic. My own experience was a combination of short- and long-term amnesia -- I didn't know my history and I often wasn't aware of what was happening moment to moment.

Have yourself a horny little Christmas

Wed, 26 Nov 2003 20:42:00 +0000

Nothing says "Christmas" like a good old-fashioned circle jerk by the fire.

For all you squares who don't know what a circle jerk is, turn to Page 88 of the Abercrombie & Fitch Quarterly, under the picture of wet, naked college kids and the heading "Group Sex." (It's difficult to figure out where you are in the book since most pages aren't numbered.) It reads: "Sex, as we know, can involve one or two, but what about even more? ... A pleasant and supersafe alternative to this is group masturbation."

The challenge for me, when masturbating with my friends to the nubile nudies in the Abercrombie & Fitch catalog, is trying not to think about serious things like racial diversity; it tends to kill the mood. But because most of the models in the catalog are white and because a lawsuit has been filed against the clothing retailer for allegedly discriminating against a black woman who applied for a job at the store, it's hard for the issue not to rear its nonsexy head.

Scoring a husband

Tue, 28 Oct 2003 14:41:00 +0000

A few days later ...

I keep repeating to myself that I am a unique individual -- with thoughts and hopes and dreams ... Still, I find myself unable to stop humming my name to the tune of "By Mennen" as I walk down the street. "Cole Kaz-din!" I sing.

Advertising works.

I walk down the street with a hop in my step. I am no longer Cole Kazdin, unique individual who is happy and usually confident but sometimes unsure -- I stop myself mid-thought. Complexities, be gone! I am Cole Kazdin, Refreshingly Approachable!

I'm midway through the "Find a Husband" book, slightly disheartened by the idea that I have to strip away whole aspects of my being because they aren't in my marketing plan, or aren't wife-y enough, or can't be sung to the tune of a deodorant commercial. I decide that's bullshit, but I proceed in the interest of science.

Bearing in mind "Market Expansion," as author Rachel Greenwald calls it, I "cast a wider net" and attempt to open my eyes to men I would normally pass over. I walk outside of my apartment building and take a long look at Chico, as if for the first time. Sure, he appears to have no job and he spends his days sitting on a stack of milk crates. And yes, he has been wearing a beat-up plaster cast on his leg for the three years I have lived here. But he always smiles through his greasy handlebar mustache and says "Hola" as I pass him each morning. Maybe the man of my dreams was under my nose the entire time.

I’m refreshingly approachable! I’m a two-in-one shampoo! Marry me!

Mon, 27 Oct 2003 16:25:00 +0000

Cole Kazdin is smart, funny, creative and very together. She's the kind of woman I never thought would date me, but was, in fact, waiting patiently for me to ask her out the whole time. "Cole Kazdin: Refreshingly approachable!"

My creative team has been working overtime on my ad campaign. After I conduct extensive focus-group testing, my pal Todd Levin, ad writer extraordinaire, turns my pages of research into a catchy paragraph and some suggested tag lines.

"Cole Kazdin: What you want. What your friends want for you."

"Cole Kazdin: Are you fucking crazy? I'm hot."

"Cole Kazdin: As reflective as a wading pool, not nearly as shallow."

I decide to go with "refreshingly approachable" because it's nonthreatening and brings to mind a glass of nice, cold soda. And everybody loves soda.

This is one of the 15 steps I am trying from the not-so-cryptically titled New York Times bestseller "Find a Husband After 35 Using What I Learned at Harvard Business School: A 15-Step Action Program," by Rachel Greenwald. Steps include packaging, branding, telemarketing and quarterly performance reviews, and I have agreed to give it a whirl.

Remember “terror sex”?

Wed, 11 Sep 2002 19:37:00 +0000

My sex-kitten friend Ruby has made some big changes since Sept. 11. No more long-distance relationships. No casual sex. No more trite "So, where do you work?" conversations at hipster pickup spots. It's time for something meaningful and real.

"It's hard for me to say if it's Sept. 11 or just getting older," she says. She's only a year older, though. Before, she was considering leaving New York to be closer to a faraway boyfriend. Now he's out of the picture, and she's still here. She wants to be in New York and date a local boy. She's still feeling vulnerable and needy: "Even the toughest sex-and-the-city little girl may need somebody to tickle her back and help her go to sleep. You can't necessarily be tough and make it on your own anymore."

What happened to "terror sex"?

It's probably impossible to have end-of-the-world, earth-shattering terror sex for an entire year without serious chafing. And so, at some point between mid-October and January, we stopped. Even the Gold Crown Escort Service -- "for the most discerning of gentlemen" -- says that it's been a bit slow lately.

Dr. Bachelor

Mon, 01 Jul 2002 19:09:00 +0000

If Robert Epstein's experiment is a success, he will fall madly in love. He hasn't found her yet, but he's confident he will. The pair will be expressive, trusting and committed. They will vow to attend to each other's emotional and sexual needs, and they'll even forgive each other if the whole thing ends up not working out.

What does he know that we don't? Epstein, the editor in chief of Psychology Today, recently published an editorial in the magazine searching for a woman who would be willing to fall in love with him. The two would read up on love, meet with counselors, learn to fall in love with each other and write a book about the process. If all goes according to plan, by the end of it he'll have a steady girlfriend and a book deal. He swears it's in the interest of science.

What makes him different from "The Bachelor" on ABC is that Epstein is attempting to prove a hypothesis that he believes the rest of us can benefit from: Falling in love can be learned.

Love letters from the front

Fri, 09 Nov 2001 20:22:00 +0000

In 1945, 21-year-old Lt. Tommie Kennedy, captured at Corregidor and imprisoned on a Japanese "hell ship," wrote a letter that was the rough equivalent of today's desperate last "I love you" cellphone call. In what he must have felt were his last moments, without any paper to write on, he took two family photos and scrawled a note of farewell to his family on the back of them. He lived for a few more days after, found some actual paper and wrote:

Dearest Momie & Dad,
I am writing this so that you will know exactly what happened and won't be like so many parents. I guess I really made a mistake in not listening to you & coming over here. If I could only have been killed in action, its so useless to die here from Disentry with no medicin.
He wrote about the death of a close friend from dysentery. He asked that they contact his friend's mother. He also asked that his parents please apologize to Patty, who appears to be his girlfriend:

Tell Patty I'm sorry, guess we just weren't meant to be happy together. I weigh about 90 pounds so you can see how we are. I will sign off now darlings and please don't greave so much. These are my bars & collar ensigns ...
Continue Reading...

Couples in crisis

Wed, 10 Oct 2001 21:13:00 +0000

Leaving the toilet seat up doesn't seem like such a big deal all of a sudden.

"I have bitten my tongue 8,000 times in the past three weeks," says Natasha. Her husband's office was across the street from the World Trade Center, so now he is working at home. "He's been so stressed out so I say, 'Fine, I'll do the laundry, that's fine.'"

Since the attacks on Sept, 11, many couples are reassessing their relationships -- and choosing their battles. For some, this means letting go, as in: "OK, I'll take out the trash," "No problem, you're running late" and "That's OK, it happens to a lot of guys; we can just cuddle."

"During crises, couples can put the mundane things aside and reconnect to get comfort," says Shirley Glass, a clinical psychologist in the Baltimore area. People are traumatized and it's not worth getting upset about certain things. They are more tolerant and understanding, thinking about what's really important.

"Everybody has been touched by and alerted by the fact that people in their last breath wanted to reach out and say, 'I love you,'" says Glass, referring to the many cellphone calls from passengers on the four hijacked planes and from people in their offices in the twin towers.

Sex in a time of terror

Fri, 21 Sep 2001 19:08:00 +0000

My sex-kitten friend Ruby met a cute man in a bar Saturday night and he walked her home. "I don't mean to be presumptuous," she said to him as they stood in an awkward moment in front of her building, "but do you want to come up?" Pause. He hesitated, so she jumped in to reassure: "No, no, no, not for terror sex -- just to see my apartment."

Ruby didn't want him to get the wrong idea. And she had been noticing a new phenomenon among her close friends since Tuesday. The world had changed; so had relationships. Now, just about everyone she knew was having what she and her friends call "terror sex."

It sounded so inappropriate. We are experiencing horror and disbelief at what happened. We are grieving for friends, family and even strangers, who were alive just last week. Thinking about sex in a time of crisis seemed cheap. It reeked of bad-movie cliché: Cue the majestic music. The sounds of war outside as the barrel-chested man comforts the weeping woman. She tells him she doesn't want to sleep alone tonight. "Hold me," she cries. And he does. A fighter plane zooms overhead.

Wait.

A fighter planed zoomed overhead. Really. They are flying over my house even as I write this, so nothing seems far-fetched. Anything can happen.