Via DeLong, Ross Douthat, make-out king of Cambridge:

One successful foray ended on the guest bed of a high school friend’s parents, with a girl who resembled a chunkier Reese Witherspoon drunkenly masticating my neck and cheeks. It had taken some time to reach this point–“Do most Harvard guys take so long to get what they want?” she had asked, pushing her tongue into my mouth. I wasn’t sure what to say, but then I wasn’t sure this was what I wanted. My throat was dry from too much vodka, and her breasts, spilling out of pink pajamas, threatened my ability to breathe. I was supposed to be excited, but I was bored and somewhat disgusted with myself, with her, with the whole business… and then whatever residual enthusiasm I felt for the venture dissipated, with shocking speed, as she nibbled at my ear and whispered–“You know, I’m on the pill…”

That poor woman. She makes the tragic, incomprehensible mistake of finding Douthat attractive, and she’s rewarded with ridicule and a role as symbol of what’s corrupt and decadent about our age. Among the eternal verities I hold dear: be nice to people who want to have sex with you.

More broadly, what steams me about the passage, apart from the spilling breasts and the masticating, is this: like all of us, Ross can choose to have sex only with people who regard having sex with some special reverence, or he can choose to to have casual sex with a nice blonde girl in the basement, but what he really shouldn’t do is act the latter way while being the judgmental bitch of the former way.