Saturday, August 25, 2012

Penises in World Literature: Günther Freitag, Brendel's Fantasy

Are you asleep? Sophie throws her coat over the back of the armchair, puts her shoes beside the bed and goes into the bathroom. Through an open door Höller watches as she undresses, tying her hair up with a ribbon and stepping into the shower. He sees white skin as if through a film of fog: outlines only, never her entire body. Under the covers he begins to rub his penis. Timidly at first, then harder, but the ridiculous piece of meat between his legs will not grow erect. Despite the great arousal; certainly a reaction to the painkillers, thinks Höller.
Höller is dying of cancer - hence the painkillers - and in a fit of moribundity decides to essentially throw over his business and spend the money staging a performance of Wanderer Fantasy. Sophie, his wife, doesn't know that he has cancer; she only knows that her husband is acting strangely, blowing the family's money on trifles, and threatening her promising legal career.

Naturally, their relationship has suffered a bit.

The line refers to Höller's "great arousal," but this is difficult to believe. He essentially seems to have apathy for everything except Schubert. In this moment it's more like Höller is trying to remember something he used to care about (sex, not Sophie). Hence the penis.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Today's Daddy: Nelson Appleton Miles

Ambivalence alert. This guy rocked a great mustache, looked incredible in his uniform (epaulets, sashes, and sword), and persecuted Native Americans during the post-1860s Indian Wars.


I love uniforms, but with a couple of hard limits: Nazis and Confederates. The stiffest dick can't override the knowledge of the purpose those uniforms served. I don't find a lot of elderly heartthrobs from the Western campaigns, so I've had the luxury of not deciding whether to add them to my exclusions list. On the other hand, I have read Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee (years ago; don't ask me to quote it) and it was tough stuff. So I leave it up to you.

I'd have to imagine Miles as a father to his men. He'd be the type who'd threaten to spread me out on a wagon wheel for some strong Western discipline. Only as we all know, men of action don't make threats, just promises. It'd be very John Wayne of him. Ugh, speaking of ambivalence...

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Today's Daddy: Robert Todd Lincoln

Robert Todd Lincoln isn't the hottest daddy I've ever dug up, but he earns at least an honorable mention for his broody circumstances.


Let's run down the list:

  • Father assassinated
  • Mother institutionalized
  • Mother later publicly embarrassed him for institutionalizing her - she was released and they were estranged
  • Witnessed James Garfield's assassination
  • Was in the vicinity of William McKinley's assassination
  • Son died at age 16
Yeah: ouch.

It kind of comes across in the photograph, where the slant of sunlight illuminates a hand but most of the man is recessed into the dark. Or maybe I'm reading too much into it.

I can imagine (read: fantasize about) his desperate desire to continue his family line, resulting in his grumpily/tragically attaching himself to a much younger woman and spending whole orgasmic days in bed. (The nice thing about fantasy is it's immune to decreased libido and performance concerns.)