While on the flight yesterday I read a book my little sister pointed out to me when I was in the States called "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell". Its by this guy, Tucker Max, who has made a career out of being a promiscuous drunk who likes to say nasty things about women and, well, pretty much everyone who isn't him or his buddies.
The guy is a moron, but the book is amusing and I finished it in 5 hours so clearly not intellectually taxing. But what I found most amazing was that I know at least 30 Tucker Max-esque guys who work out in the field. There were a number of stories where I actually could picture somebody I know doing the things, but just transplant the setting from Austin Texas to, say, Lusaka.
Having just come fresh off being back in the States and getting lots of "You must be such a good person because of the work you do" type comments, it made me laugh even harder. There are good people, sure, but lots of people are in it for the lifestyle which often translates to insane amounts of drinking, random hooking-upping and pretty remarkable social cruelty all excused under the banner of "I'm in the field, it doesn't count."
Just in case you were wondering.
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Mr. Max nothwithstanding, I am trying to broaden the definition, or better yet, to favor the term boychik lit to mean male-centered comic fiction. From that viewpoint, Portnoy's Complaint qualifies, as does Catch-22.
Humbly,
Gerald Everett Jones
Boychik Lit http://www.boychiklit.com
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