It’s the Adultery, Stupid: Politics is now about sex. Not just scandalous sex, not just who is having what kind of sex, but what we think about the sex each politician is having, or not having. Sex (sex, not gender) in politics is as significant a subtext as race. It has the power to alter elections, undermine parties, and, possibly, change history. Barack Obama is running for president today because the ex-wife of his favored opponent in the 2004 Senate campaign in Illinois, Jack Ryan, said her husband took her to swingers’ clubs, handing the election to Obama. [Vanity Fair]
Back-to-basics biking movement takes hold in cities: But the most impressive piece of Woodroof’s outfit is his bicycle: A stripped-down race bike with no brakes and a single-speed, fixed-gear rear hub that, in effect, turns man into a cog of the machine. This is biking at its most primal – no stopping, no coasting with the pedals stationary, no helmets. It’s a ride built on adrenaline and danger, like walking across a lava flow in flip flops. [CSM]
A Better Way to Fight Crime: The brilliance of DNA swabbing: In June 2006, a minor brawl erupted at Ye Olde Six Bells pub in Horley, England. In the aftermath, police arrested Mark Dixie, a chef at the pub, who surprised them by breaking into tears. He had good reason. As a standard practice in arrests, a DNA swab was taken from him. What the authorities didn’t suspect, but he did, is that his DNA would match that of the man who raped and murdered an 18-year-old woman nine months earlier. He was eventually sentenced to life in prison. [Reason]
Why New York City’s Iconic Pizza Is So Tough to Replicate: Pizza may have been invented in Italy, but it was perfected in New York City. And whenever I go home to visit, I return with a sizable doggy bag from Arturo’s in Greenwich Village. That’s because the pizza in San Francisco sucks: flaccid crust baked in positive energy, its cheese and tomato sauce buried under bushels of organic artichokes and salad greens. Even when you can track down an unadorned pie — the pure, ideal form — it just doesn’t taste right. [Wired]
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