My roommate is watching Goldeneye, a movie I remember mostly from its incarnation in video game form for the Nintendo 64. Except for the scene which was just on in which Xenia Onatopp, the Russian femme fatale, kills a man while she copulates with him, masking his screams with her own sexual yelps. This was one of three sources of information that were integral to forming my early understandings of sex. The second was the sex scene early in Jerry Maguire ("Never! Stop! F---ing! Me!"), and the third was Coach Huey's sex ed class. The latter instilled in me a permanent fear of STD's because, as we were taught, probably all of us in that very classroom had STDs, and we should never ever have sex with each other. From Jerry Maguire and Goldeneye, I learned that hot sex probably meant a) your girlfriend was a slut who should be dumped for Renee Zellweger (who is the girl-next-door and therefore has no sex scene) or b) you were about to be killed by an assassin from a Siberian separatist group. "Still," I or Thomas or John inevitably remarked for the 57th time, "that's how I'd wanna go."

How can I read Marvell when Sean Bean is being so deliciously devilish as 006 on Good Friend Television?