Most of you won’t want to read this piece in GQ about porn’s effect on sex, the upshot of which is “porn used to be the poor man’s substitute for sex; now the latter has to be gussied up with facials and ball gags and D-grade dialogue to be even half as enticing as porn.” (It does include the astute observation that many modern sexual practices are, thanks to porn, “more like masturbation with a fellow 3-D person,” but again, you probably don’t want to read about it.) The reason I mention the piece at all is to note what has become the standard disclaimer: “Before you brand me some sort of sexual neocon, let me say: I like sex. I watch porn.” Reminded me of this piece in the NYT on the tired ubiquity of strip-club scenes in TV and film: “First let me say that I yield to no man in my fondness for naked women. I have seen several in person, though none recently, and rank them right up there with a good sunset or a crisply turned double play on my list of things worth looking at…” You know, because without those disclaimers, these people simply wouldn’t be worth listening to. Because then, they might be suggesting something was wrong with modern sexual mores. And heaven knows, we can’t have that.