Lost in love and don't know much Paul Feig knew even less...Like any other red-blooded, straight young man, Paul Feig spent much of his teenage years trying to solve the mystery of women. Unlike most red-blooded, straight teenage boys, however, Paul Feig was sadly at a considerable disadvantage. He was tall and gangly. He had a love for musical theater. And, perhaps the death knell for his burgeoning sex life, Paul was a tap dance student. (And we have the pictures to prove it-see the front cover.)Infused with the same witty and infectiously readable style of his first book, Kick Me, Superstud chronicles the trials and tribulations of Feig's young dating life with all the same excruciating detail as an on-air gastric bypass-and you just won't be able to tear yourself away.
It bodes well that the dedication to this book is laugh-out-loud funny, and indeed, Feig (Kick Me) does not disappoint in this comedic tale of his early sex life, or lack thereof. The author, creator of the television series Freaks and Geeks, was always a romantic, but sex, in many ways, frightened him. As a practicing Christian Scientist, he believed he should not only refrain from sex, but from masturbation, too-yet his adolescent hormones disagreed. His confusion was compounded when he heard a radio preacher declare, "[E]veryone knows that each time you masturbate, God takes one day off of your life." Feig writes in desperation, "Everyone knew this Nobody told me about it.... How many days had I lopped off my life so far " At heart, the memoir is a one-note story of sexual frustration. Feig doesn't delve deeply into his religion, his family relations or his life outside of the physical. The book's many flashbacks will satisfy any child of the 1970s (e.g., Feig is wild about roller skating). While his eventual deflowering is anticlimactic, the account of his journey to sexual manhood is witty and entertaining and one to which any former sex-addled adolescent (male or female) will relate. Agent, Joni Evans. (July) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information. -- PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.
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June 27, 2005
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Excerpt from Superstud by Paul Feig
I. Bliss Interrupted
Let's face it. Masturbation has never been a proud activity. It's very seldom that people will brag about the fact that they have masturbated. You don't often hear the response to the question "What did you do today?" being, "Oh, ran a few errands, paid my bills, masturbated, made dinner." It's just not an activity you really want to brag about. Or speak about. Or even admit to yourself that you do. When your body decides that it yet again wants to engage in a little round of onanism and your brain gives in like a beleaguered mother acquiescing to her child's incessant demands for candy, your brain still won't really let itself admit what's about to happen. The walk to whatever place has been decided upon as the conjugal site is usually filled less with thoughts of "Man, it's really great that I'm going to do this" than "This isn't right" and "I wonder if I have a problem?"
Or at least it has been for me.
The "problem" started when I was a kid. I was raised as a Christian Scientist, which is the religion that is mostly known as the one that tells its followers not to go to doctors when they get sick. The whole faith is based on not giving power to the physical world, the idea being that you can avoid sickness and bad things happening to you by basically keeping your thoughts and desires above the realm of the body and earthly entanglements. And so this means that you're really not supposed to think about things like sex and bodily pleasures. And this is all well and good if you can turn your libido on and off like a light switch. But if you're a normal, healthy human being who has the genetic code of the Homo sapiens in his or her DNA, then it's a little hard to deny your body what it wants, especially when you're going through the ravages of puberty.