Deflated

Never order from Virtual Florist dot com. Never!

They were supposed to deliver me balloons for a photo shoot.
I called to stress the importance of on-time delivery.
They were really nice, promised it wouldn't be a problem.
Time came.
No balloons.
I called. They said it was on the truck, "should be there any minute."
Half hour goes by. I call back.
I suggest she calls the truck to see where they are. Time is ticking, I needed to be at the shoot with the balloons.
She calls back twenty minutes later.
No balloons, no trace of order even though I got two confirmations (through email and verbally).
Disappointed, I still understand. Things happen.
So I tell her to credit my card. She assures me it was never charged and apologizes again.
I did my bills last night and there it was $45.90 from Virtual Florist charged to my account!
I called but it was ten at night and the kid answering the phone couldn't do anything for me.
This morning the woman called me. I'm being credited.

This is a dumb rant, I know.
I just needed to let it out.

Like Wow

Judging by the crowds in Bryant Park for their Summer Friday music series with GMA, Jonas Brothers are way more popular than Miley Cyrus.

Happy Birthday Duchovs

You hot, sexy man, you!

Rated PG

I heard. I know. Playgirl is folding. It’s going to be online only.

Kind of funny since when I worked there the company’s web presence was revoked. Big scandal. Arrests. Including Bruce Chew, a crusader and a man who called me a company person. He was awesome—tanned and toned and always smelled great. When we would have to have the cover approved, the last stop was Bruce. To earn his “BC” on the glossy was always a feat. Chew liked my ideas, but then he was locked up.

I was left with Carmine Bellucci, the Publisher, who caused his own bouts of scandal within the company. He didn’t like me. He used the word “cock” a lot. One day he went to Germany or Poland or somewhere like that to work on the production of hardcore videos in conjunction with one of the company’s other titles (High Society or Cheri perhaps) and he never came back. Word was he fell gravely ill, was flown home on the company owner’s private jet, and was “retired.”

Sometime in 2004 that owner, the man whose bust statue ominously peered at you when you stepped off the elevator to his office, took an unprecedented interest in Playgirl. Carl Ruderman took a trip to France, saw some chic gay mags, and came back with an idea: to make Playgirl more like “Sex And The City.”

It was something I fought for since I started there sometime in 1999, though I wouldn’t have phrased it quite that way.

The prototypes we created were some of the best Playgirls I’ve ever seen, save for the days of the 70s. Too bad they weren’t approved. We did manage to get one issue out and the higher ups weren’t happy with the lack of penises—they weren’t on every page anymore. There was more mystery, romance, sensuality. Four more issues came out with my imprint and then I was “retired” in my own way in 2005.

“We’re taking you off the magazine,” “I warned you about them,” “I tried to tell you not to push your ideas,” were some of the comments I heard from Ken Kimmel, a cherubic man who served as Creative Director. Ken discovered Jenna Jameson, but he never got any credit for that. He’s a man with great ideas that nobody listens to.

These men, the final say behind Playgirl, were all straight men (as far as I knew). Most of them married with kids.

Why do I think Playgirl failed? Well, when I was there was told it broke even. There were hardly any ads. I don’t think much had changed in those three years. And that’s the problem.

Straight women in middle America loved it for the hunks. Gay men in the metro areas liked it sometimes and they fantasized about turning the straight models gay. Others thought all the guys were gay and hated it. It’s hard to be a magazine hoping to satisfy so many. But it’s even harder to be a magazine about sex for women when the final approval must be made by straight men.

Playgirl started as a nightclub for women in the LA area. It was a response to the women’s movement in the early 70s. A magazine was created for those feminist gals who wanted to express themselves sexually. The magazine cost one dollar—every last one sold out. There was no nudity then, just crossed-legged poses. Lyle Waggoner was the centerfold.

Women complained and wanted to see more. They got what they wanted. But they won’t anymore.

Despite it all, I am really sad it’s not going to exist anymore. But maybe I am more sad about the idea of it or rather my ideas for it (and the team that I had), and all its promise, never being able to come back around and be what it once was.

I used to be Playgirl's Editor-in-Chief.


An addition:
I just thought of something...
Playgirl was a raging success in the 80s, and in that era, men were buffed, oiled, and all "Let's Get Physical" style. The problem with the higher ups at the mag is that they knew this and maybe thought that look was what was needed to make it successful again. Chances are that is when these higher up men were also in their prime. So that "look" was "hot" to them.

Still...a losing battle of the sexes.