I was flexing (quite pointlessly, rest assured) in front of the mirror this morning and trying to set the mood for the anniversary of the day I was born (you can only have one actual birthday, now can’t you?) when a question popped into my mind: What does it mean to be me, a son, a brother, a citizen, a writer—a man? Is there more to it than just failed workout routines, bad relationships, and bald spots (—and worthless weblists)? “No!” said I, and shortly thereafter compiled this weblist of perks to having a kickstand over a coin-slot.
- Being a man means…
- Knowing how to assemble furniture without using all the pieces.
- Not crying during the tender parts of a chick flick, but bawling like a little schoolgirl when the Lakers lose.
- Eating a turkey sandwich while standing over your bedroom wastebasket…without a plate…on Thanksgiving Day…while wearing nothing but your underwear.
- Wearing an extra layer of clothing in order to mask certain specific odors on those hot summer days when you just don’t feel like showering.
- Leaving beard stubble in / around the bathroom sink and blaming it on your 10-year-old sister…or your 75-year-old grandmother.
- Saying “thank you” when your best buddy tells you that you look like shit.
- Dating a 40-year-old when you’re 18, and dating an 18-year-old when you’re 40.
- Giving biker names to your testicles and then using those same names on credit applications.
- Thinking of breasts during jury nominations.
- Thinking of ass during a wedding ceremony.
- Thinking of pussy during a funeral.
- Having a Christmas wish list that reads: socks, underwear, “that blonde down the street.”
- Understanding that your family will always respect the nine-to-five, minimum-wage-earning grunt in you more than they’ll ever respect (or even acknowledge) your desire to become a writer, an artist, or a porn star.
- Sleeping on the couch because you came home with knock-off brands instead of what was really on your wife’s shopping list.
- Three words: Eighteen-year commitment (sixteen if the kid goes off to college early).
- Assuming you’ll look as good in a pair of boxer briefs as does the bodybuilder on the package.
- Never saying “I’m sorry” until after you’ve beaten up the wrong guy for getting your order wrong.
(Any comments / additions / rebuttals should be directed to my MySpace page.)