I survived Literary Death Match

Yep, I came out alive. Only, it turns out everyone survives Literary Death Match. They don't actually let you fight to the death. Bummer, right? But, get this, I won -- which is the opposite of a bummer.

I was especially nervous about the essay I read, because I'd written it in the days before the event. That meant I didn't have the endorsement of my kick-ass editor at Salon, Sarah "My Safety Net" Hepola. Also, per my usual, I chose a topic one usually doesn't discuss with other people, let alone a large crowd of strangers: How I, as a pubescent teenager, attempted to investigate the deepest, darkest depths of men's collective sexual unconscious through Internet porn.

The judges offered their commentary and, much to my relief, there were no curmudgeonly Simon Cowells. The hilarious Elissa Bassist was won over by my use of the word "vagina" and Kasper Hauser's Dan Klein offered my favorite compliment of the night:

That's right: I'm not selling sex, people, I'm just writing about it. I made it through the first round based on literary merit and won the final heat with a single round of beer pong. Thank you, college!