for fuck's sake by robert lasner
I just finished reading For Fuck’s Sake by Robert Lasner. It has generally been lauded. I thought it was OK. Maybe I’m unnecessarily critical, since one of my fantasies has been to write a book of my own, and whenever I read the work of one of my alleged peers who has been critically acclaimed, I always unjustifiably think to myself that I could do better, or at least just as good. (Ask me just exactly how much I’ve written. Go on.)
Anyway, it was somewhat refreshing, though a little disturbing, to find a guy writing about the absurd neuroses that fill his mind while pursuing a woman romantically. This is the kind of shit that I’ve always been told impugns my manhood. That real men don’t think about this shit, that I’ve got to get a hold of my balls and take charge. Right.
Still, this machismatic message (holy crap, maybe my mind is really scrambled, but I had a tough time deciding whether I should write machismo or masochism. Although, in any culture imbued with Catholicism, they somehow amount to the same thing…) has etched itself into my brain, assimilated into my superego, recorded onto my “parent” tapes. Resulting in the catastrophe that is my love life, no doubt.
For Fuck’s Sake is disturbingly, depressingly too much like my life, except that I don’t have any of the sex. (In the same way that The House of God is like my career, except that I don’t have any of the sex.)
So yeah, ladies, guys actually do think about this kind of crap. Unfortunately, if I’m any barometer on the issue, these same guys are usually very undatable.