To tell you the truth, the book is pissing me off because the writing is so good, because the subject matter is so engaging, and because Michael Chabon has rock star looks and writes rock star prose. Yes, I'm suffering from prose envy. I'm staring at his picture on the back cover of Wonder Boys, him with his dark, lion's mane of hair and his come-hither, fuck-me eyes. When I suggested this book to the members of my book club, I told them he was quite attractive. I pulled a picture of him up on my iPad. They (I'm the only man in my book club) all looked at the photo, and one of the ladies said, "I'll read any book by him." Or something like that. Frankly, even though I'm heterosexual, I'd probably do him, as well. He's that hot.
So, Michael Chabon is talented, successful, rich, and sexy as hell. Plus, he's won a Pulitzer Prize. That's why I'm getting pissed off. God seems to have showered this guy with everything that should rightfully be mine. OK, maybe not everything, but does Chabon have to be such a hog? I mean, he's practically perfect in every way, as Mary Poppins says.
I'm going to end this post now, before I lapse into hair envy, book envy, and talent envy, as well.
Oh, wait a minute. Too late. Saint Marty has already gone there.
|Admit it. You'd have sex with him.|