A journalist, in the grand gonzo tradition of self-reflective writing, gave up sex for a year and wrote about it. The first thing I thought was: fuck, she must've had a shitload of casual sex for it to have it make that huge of an impact on her life. I'm far from a prude and can't remember ever turning down sex, but I've gone more than a year sexless without some grand scheme - but, I guess, that wouldn't make for a very good book to read. "Day 340: Wait, was I somehow paying attention to my sexlessness?" Stories like hers, on one hand, make me regret my less-than-slutty life, but on the other: who'd care to read about it if it weren't some anomaly? The woman's own 1960s arty mom even told her: "You sleep with these men too soon." Lady, your problem isn't sleeping with them too soon, it's worrying about the sex first.