¡Existe el amor solamente para matarme! or Love and Me Have No Business Doing Business by Stuart González
197 pages
Self Published, 2006
Though he'll call it a novel, González's exhausting, tongue twistingly titled tome (alliteration!) isn't so much a novel as it is a novella, and it's not really a novella inasmuch as it is a collection of loosely connected vignettes, all written between the summer of '05 and winter '06.
Within its pages lie stories about a brother and sister living together who are actually one person; about a man who falls in love with his empty bedroom wall; about a young woman who travels to Europe and is unimpressed with the supposed sexual virility of the men she encounters; about a tattoo of a girl's name that gets soused one night and wakes up on a man's hairy ass; about Spanglish becoming the official language of the southwestern US; about a painter who manages to accurately depict god; Ronald Reagan and Ayn Rand were secret lovers... etc.
Easily the best of these is "The Manhood of Europe" about a college grad named Sarah Leigh who backpacks across Europe with the sole intent of having sex with one man in each country.
Sarah got her man. She got him in every country. In Albania and Poland. In Italy and Germany. In France and Spain. In Denmark. She had them all. Men typical of their nations. Stereotypical. Some were greasy. Some pale. Some dirty. Too dirty. Some clean. Too clean. Some hirsute. Some androgynous. ... And most...
[...] her epiphany came as she ground her hips into a Scottish guy's hips in Glasgow. A room solely consisting of shadows and blue light. It was simple. She felt no joy. It was too easy. She could conquer, oh yes, and easily at that, but one cannot rape the willing. She wasn't doing anything new, even for a woman. And despite the much touted and spoken of romanticism that supposedly gripped Europe, she felt she must be in the wrong place (78).
González points out here that perhaps lust isn't all it's cracked up to be. Of course he's wrong, but he must be given points for trying. After all, it's not like from there it descends into piety, highlighting the finer points of celibacy. In fact, he's very good about doing the exact opposite of preaching: moral indifference.
On a bus in London, Sarah sat next to an older man. She was traveling from Greenwich to Westminster and she was reading "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love." When she took her eyes from the pages to look out the window, she noticed the man shifting his eyes from her face to the book in her hand.
"Raymond Carver is no Hemingway," said he, chuckling.
"And Italians don't fuck nearly as good as Chicanos," Sarah responded.
"Yes... yes. Very well," he said, and eased himself out of the seat with the aid of a cane. He tipped his hat to her (83).
This kind of humor, prevalent in the book, seems sharpest in this story. González likes absurdity. He likes shock. He hates Raymond Carver. A lot. In fact, every story has a line about how Carver sucks. Good one, Stu.
Cop this book.
descendingastaircase@gmail.com
Bottle of Scotch outta be sufficient.
Showing posts with label Sexcapades. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sexcapades. Show all posts
21.8.09
18.8.09
Stuart González gives me the Q&A treatment.
Name and number?
Me: Patrick Patterson-Carroll. And man, I will not have sex with you.
That makes me kind of sad. You work?
Me: In so many words, yes. I have a job.
And what do they make you do?
Me: I have an official title. Theater Technician. It means that when my boss is too busy, I run the theater. Sometimes it's work. Sometimes it's just babysitting. I get plenty of time to write. Just not a whole lot of money to piss away on drink and dame.
I just yawned.
Me: Big enough so my dick got's ta fit!
¡Ay papi chulo! Why do you write?
Me: Because I ain't so pretty.
For the record, I find you pretty fuckable.
Me: Thanks, man.
Read any good books lately?
Me: "Nights of Paris" by Restif de la Bretonne. I read half of "The Picture of Dorian Gray" and that is one of my favorites.
You must be one of those who finds Wilde quite witty.
Me: Sure.
Why?
Me: I don't know. I read his shit, and it's like, it seems very tame by today's standards, but he was really going against the grain in a lot of subtle ways. I mean, he wasn't freaky like de Sade, but his wit contrasts greatly with the prevailing attitudes.
I disagree.
Me: Of course.
You must be shocked, being that you're the contrarian. But I think Wilde was a self-loathing homosexual who hated women, and used his wit as a way to mask those latent sensibilities. Well, he couldn't hide his hatred of women.
Me: I disagree with some of that.
Fuck you. Still into Asia Argento?
Me: Of course. She's perfect in every way. Ever seen "Scarlet Diva"? Which reminds me, when I take my laptop back to Conn's for a repair, I need to remove the nude photo of her from the log-in screen.
LOL. Worst sexual experience?
Me: I'm going to say the worst was an experience that didn't lead to actual penetration. In fact, it didn't lead to anything other than making out in an SUV.
So Strange and I went out to Cedar Springs to hit some clubs, get drunk, and maybe meet some girls. We were winding down the night and met a couple of girls outside. I got the "pretty one," though being drunk, who fuckin' knows? So this girl and I, we were trading affections. Kissing. Licking each other's ears and shit. So anyway, we get into the backseat of her SUV, and Strange is caressing the "ugly one" or something. I don't know. To be honest, I didn't want to look at it.
The girl tells me that messing with her nipples is pointless because they aren't sensitive. In fact, she was kind of bossy for a desperate woman. I wasn't kissing hard enough. I wasn't being "aggressive enough" for her liking.
Long story short, we end up at this Chinese Restaurant on Lower Greenville. Strange starts talking politicks, and it spirals into some brainless bullshit about how she (the girl I was making out with) thinks GW is awesome and that the war is righteous and that we're a bunch of liberal pussies, etc. My penis got pretty soft at that point.
You don't think Republican girls are hot in the sack?
Me: I don't know if I've ever been involved with one. But I don't care about a woman's political affiliation. As long as I don't have to hear about how horrible I am for being who I am.
You're a despicable human being.
Me: Now who's editorializing?
I think conservative chicks fuck the best.
Me: No one asked you.
Favorite movie?
Me: "How Tasty Was My Little Frenchman"
Now you're just being purposefully obscure.
Me: I had a French roommate. He was very amused by my smoking habits and my sexual proclivities. He'd ask me about "ze black girlz" and if I "liked zem" "to... fuck zem." My answer, of course, was "I've never been there, but I'd like to go there." And I did eventually. I guess the cool thing about him was that we "got" each other. He thought my description of "the ripple" was beyond amusing.
"The Ripple"??
Me: It's not important.
I don't believe you can speak Portuguese.
Me: I can't. I can read it and kind of write it. I just started, man.
Why Portuguese?
Me: Because Spanish is only impressive to people because I'm a gabacho. And besides, girls just laugh when I use the clicking consonants thing. You'd think they'd be like, "Whoa, hey! That's neato! Khoisan languages!" But no. It's just a laugh followed by, "Got something stuck to the roof of your mouth?"
You cunning linguist, you.
Me: Now I remember why I always wanted to choke you.
Hell is other people.
Me: Indeed.
Top five records?
Me: We Are the Romans-- Botch, The Tyranny of Distance-- Ted Leo + Pharmacists, Kamaal the Abstract-- Q-Tip, Mos Def and Talib Kweli are Black Star, Calculating Infinity-- The Dillinger Escape Plan
Who's the better writer, me or you?
Me: A better question is whose sister is more attractive. Hint: I don't have a sister.
I notice this blog doesn't get a lot of comments, and one person said you were a pussy drinker.
Me: I notice you make a lot of dumb ass observations.
I hope Adam Strange is cooler than you.
Me: He is. And is more punk.
So what's England like?
Me: Cold. Stark. All the pretty girls are foreign.
Man, you really got comment checked by a girl? About booze? I thought you were the big drinker?
Me: I kind of liked that. There's something about a woman who calls you out, but doesn't make you look stupid. Besides, you don't even like Everclear in your Four Horsemen.
I don't boast, either. Okay, words to live by?
Me: Double. Down.
This has been an illuminating conversation.
Me: Fucking liar.
Patrick is a 25 year old writer who is working on a "novel." He edits this blog and laughs at his own genius. Women want him, men want to be him. At least that's the fantasy world he resides in when not existing within the boundaries of reality.
Me: Patrick Patterson-Carroll. And man, I will not have sex with you.
That makes me kind of sad. You work?
Me: In so many words, yes. I have a job.
And what do they make you do?
Me: I have an official title. Theater Technician. It means that when my boss is too busy, I run the theater. Sometimes it's work. Sometimes it's just babysitting. I get plenty of time to write. Just not a whole lot of money to piss away on drink and dame.
I just yawned.
Me: Big enough so my dick got's ta fit!
¡Ay papi chulo! Why do you write?
Me: Because I ain't so pretty.
For the record, I find you pretty fuckable.
Me: Thanks, man.
Read any good books lately?
Me: "Nights of Paris" by Restif de la Bretonne. I read half of "The Picture of Dorian Gray" and that is one of my favorites.
You must be one of those who finds Wilde quite witty.
Me: Sure.
Why?
Me: I don't know. I read his shit, and it's like, it seems very tame by today's standards, but he was really going against the grain in a lot of subtle ways. I mean, he wasn't freaky like de Sade, but his wit contrasts greatly with the prevailing attitudes.
I disagree.
Me: Of course.
You must be shocked, being that you're the contrarian. But I think Wilde was a self-loathing homosexual who hated women, and used his wit as a way to mask those latent sensibilities. Well, he couldn't hide his hatred of women.
Me: I disagree with some of that.
Fuck you. Still into Asia Argento?
Me: Of course. She's perfect in every way. Ever seen "Scarlet Diva"? Which reminds me, when I take my laptop back to Conn's for a repair, I need to remove the nude photo of her from the log-in screen.
LOL. Worst sexual experience?
Me: I'm going to say the worst was an experience that didn't lead to actual penetration. In fact, it didn't lead to anything other than making out in an SUV.
So Strange and I went out to Cedar Springs to hit some clubs, get drunk, and maybe meet some girls. We were winding down the night and met a couple of girls outside. I got the "pretty one," though being drunk, who fuckin' knows? So this girl and I, we were trading affections. Kissing. Licking each other's ears and shit. So anyway, we get into the backseat of her SUV, and Strange is caressing the "ugly one" or something. I don't know. To be honest, I didn't want to look at it.
The girl tells me that messing with her nipples is pointless because they aren't sensitive. In fact, she was kind of bossy for a desperate woman. I wasn't kissing hard enough. I wasn't being "aggressive enough" for her liking.
Long story short, we end up at this Chinese Restaurant on Lower Greenville. Strange starts talking politicks, and it spirals into some brainless bullshit about how she (the girl I was making out with) thinks GW is awesome and that the war is righteous and that we're a bunch of liberal pussies, etc. My penis got pretty soft at that point.
You don't think Republican girls are hot in the sack?
Me: I don't know if I've ever been involved with one. But I don't care about a woman's political affiliation. As long as I don't have to hear about how horrible I am for being who I am.
You're a despicable human being.
Me: Now who's editorializing?
I think conservative chicks fuck the best.
Me: No one asked you.
Favorite movie?
Me: "How Tasty Was My Little Frenchman"
Now you're just being purposefully obscure.
Me: I had a French roommate. He was very amused by my smoking habits and my sexual proclivities. He'd ask me about "ze black girlz" and if I "liked zem" "to... fuck zem." My answer, of course, was "I've never been there, but I'd like to go there." And I did eventually. I guess the cool thing about him was that we "got" each other. He thought my description of "the ripple" was beyond amusing.
"The Ripple"??
Me: It's not important.
I don't believe you can speak Portuguese.
Me: I can't. I can read it and kind of write it. I just started, man.
Why Portuguese?
Me: Because Spanish is only impressive to people because I'm a gabacho. And besides, girls just laugh when I use the clicking consonants thing. You'd think they'd be like, "Whoa, hey! That's neato! Khoisan languages!" But no. It's just a laugh followed by, "Got something stuck to the roof of your mouth?"
You cunning linguist, you.
Me: Now I remember why I always wanted to choke you.
Hell is other people.
Me: Indeed.
Top five records?
Me: We Are the Romans-- Botch, The Tyranny of Distance-- Ted Leo + Pharmacists, Kamaal the Abstract-- Q-Tip, Mos Def and Talib Kweli are Black Star, Calculating Infinity-- The Dillinger Escape Plan
Who's the better writer, me or you?
Me: A better question is whose sister is more attractive. Hint: I don't have a sister.
I notice this blog doesn't get a lot of comments, and one person said you were a pussy drinker.
Me: I notice you make a lot of dumb ass observations.
I hope Adam Strange is cooler than you.
Me: He is. And is more punk.
So what's England like?
Me: Cold. Stark. All the pretty girls are foreign.
Man, you really got comment checked by a girl? About booze? I thought you were the big drinker?
Me: I kind of liked that. There's something about a woman who calls you out, but doesn't make you look stupid. Besides, you don't even like Everclear in your Four Horsemen.
I don't boast, either. Okay, words to live by?
Me: Double. Down.
This has been an illuminating conversation.
Me: Fucking liar.
Patrick is a 25 year old writer who is working on a "novel." He edits this blog and laughs at his own genius. Women want him, men want to be him. At least that's the fantasy world he resides in when not existing within the boundaries of reality.
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