what is a man? read this, print it, staple it to your forehead and thank me later

In response to Esquire's essay of the same title published in its instructional May 2009 "How to Be a Man" issue.

A man carries cash, or at least a debit card. Maybe a handful of loose change, which he puts into a bowl of assorted change at the end of the day. Or perhaps the man just throws it on the coffee table. Because a man owns a coffee table. Also coffee mugs. But not demitasse spoons. A man wouldn’t be caught dead with a demitasse spoon. Unless he is Jonathan Adler, in which case he proudly carries his demitasse spoons with him.

A real man fears Jonathan Adler. He knows that Jonathan Adler will cut you, motherfucker.

A man builds things. Bookcases out of bricks and 2x4s. A coffee table out of a deer crossing sign. A fort out of his mashed potatoes. A mountain out of a molehill. This is his way of escaping mortality. Also of escaping Alcatraz. A man knows how to tunnel out of a maximum security prison using only a toothbrush and the cardboard from the center of a toilet paper roll. Steve McQueen was a man. So is SpongeBob Squarepants. You can tell because they both wear pants. That’s where they carry their cash and maybe their demitasse spoons.

A man can look you up and down and tell whether you’re wearing pants. Before you say a word, he’s figured out the pants situation. That’s because a man is fearless about scoping the crotch every once in a while. Even if he gets busted. From your shins, from your loins, from your button fly, a man infers.

A man owns things. That is why Buddha is not a man. Maybe he was when he was alive, because he probably owned that sheet thing he wore, but let’s face it. Buddha didn’t have pants. So he had no place to carry his cash, his keys or his demitasse spoons. What kind of man is that. Not much of a man. He would have been stuck in nursery school, never mind Alcatraz.

A real man loves the human body. All of it, but especially the delicate skin at the base of a throat, the swoop and curve of the left instep, the ineffable squishiness of the medulla oblangata, and the entire lymph system. A man, a true man, appreciates the glorious beauty of lymphocytes. When his woman, or his man, or, hell, even his dog, bends over, a man sees the beauty of the initial lymphatics, the prelymphatics or lymph capillaries that specialize in collection of the lymph from the ISF, and the larger lymph vessels that propel the lymph forward. Seeing this, he feels a thrum that only a man can feel.

A man doesn’t point out that he has a pimple.

A man looks out for children. Makes them stand behind him. Especially at parades. Because a real man loves a parade and doesn’t want any goddamn children blocking his view.

A man has had liquor enough in his life that he can order a drink without sounding breathless, clueless, or obtuse. Also without sounding obsequious, purple or clairvoyant. When in doubt, a man panics and orders a Slo Gin Fizz. Because they’re yummy, dammit.

A man welcomes the coming of the apocalypse. It frees him. It allows him to use the Lord’s name in vain because, fuck it, after that thing with that underage stripper that one time and the cheating at Russian roulette he was never going to make it to heaven anyway.

A man writes in short declarative sentences. A man knows that dependent clauses are for pussies. Only the weak need more punctuation than a period. Fuckers.

A man owns tools and knows how to use them. But a real man always abides by common safety precautions including the use of safety goggles. A man puts the tools back where he found them. A man also puts the lotion on its skin. Or else it gets the hose again.

A reciprocating saw, incidentally, doesn’t quite do what its name implies. Still, it’s a very good saw if you’re fitting windows, cutting down saplings or dismembering a body.

A man knows how to eat frisee without it sticking out of his mouth like he’s some kind of latter-day Apatosaurus. Speaking of which, a man enjoys the oeuvre of Judd Apatow. A real man would like to share a turkey sandwich with Judd Apatow. And then maybe a cuddle.

A real man knows the emotional value of some man-on-man spooning. Also possibly man-on-man forking.

A real man is flexible. He can touch his toes and those of others.

A real man will dance, but only to Huey Lewis and the News. Or Zeppelin.

A man shapes his opinions as carefully as he shapes his pubes. A man puts the “man” in “craftsman.” A man doesn’t fear needless repetition. A man doesn’t fear needless repetition. A man doesn’t fear needless repetition.

Quiet and introspective, boisterous and extroverted, crenulated and caespitose, a man likes to watch stuff. Stuff is what he likes to watch. All kinds of stuff. Anything, really. A real man just really, really likes stuff. This is not so much collection or meditation as obliviation. Men watch stuff and imagine that it’s blowing up. Because if there’s anything a man likes more than the creation of stuff, it’s the destruction. Also the deduction, especially if the man is a tax accountant. Men also enjoy the construction. A man also likes paper. A man refracts vision and gains acuity. But if he’s a Battlestar Galactica fan, the man re-fraks. A man is not ashamed of his Cylon fantasies. In this way, a man is like the Terminator, both captive and free, both man and machine, both artificial and intelligent. You cannot take your eyes off a man when he is like that. You shouldn’t. The hell if you know what he’s thinking, who he is, or if he has his demitasse spoons.

Comments

[Karl Elvis]

A real man thinks this is very very funny.

[aag]

A real woman who loves real men thinks this is about a million times better than the original.

[Trinity Shaw]

Very well written, Miss Summers. You are my muse. One day, I hope to be like you.

Trinity Shaw

[Di]

"both captive and free,
both man and machine,
both artificial and intelligent"

Tell me you did that on purpose.

[Innocent Loveboy]

You could probably set that to the tune of Baz Luhrmann's "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)", and it would work.

[sera]

Awesomeness. So much better than the original.

[Tess]

Another real woman agrees 120% with AAG.

[chelsea g.]

Thank you, all. What can I say? I was touched on the shoulder by the muse that is a man. Not just any man, but every man. The man who knows that men are nothing more than the sum of their clichés, the division of their church and states, or the collection of their demitasse spoons. A real man, in short.

kissykiss,
chelsea g.

[minstrel hussain boy]

brilliant my dear. totally fucking brilliant. i'm pulling a musical director's gig for "godspell" right now and my head is reeling with cute hippy jesus images.

you blasted them right out of there.

thank you for the morning you gave me.

[Pete]

CG,
As man, I thank that as usual you are a thoughtful writer who took a prosaic article and made it interesting.
Pete

[Pete]

CG
Make that think
Pete

[ThatToyChick]

Both you, and AAG's reference, are entirely on the mark. Bravo.

[Rob Bettmann]

I blogged about this some time ago..... wrote: "A friend recently turned and said to me, ‘Oh, you’re a dancer. That’s so great that you’re in touch with your feminine side!’ I replied: “dance is masculine, Woman!” It reminded me that aspects of our life today are embedded with expectations of gender and sexuality. Dance is inherently neither masculine, nor feminine. Dance is also neither straight nor gay." Can see at http://community.ovationtv.com/_Sex-and-Sexuality-on-Stage/blog/225920/16878.html

[Sean Murphy]

You are more of a man than Tom Chiarella. And I mean that in a good way.

[Liras]

You did a wonderful job of listing all the things that make men so...neat.

[Jack B]

I realize everyone is different, but how do the women here feel about guys opening doors for them? I know all the etiquette people say to always get the door on a date, but they also give a lot of old fashioned advice. Typically on a date, I don't get the car door (just seems to akward), but I get the door everywhere else. Thoughts?

[Jack B]

Oh, and just to be clear, I realize this was a very amusing takeoff of that original article.

[ChiaLynn]

Jack, you are more than welcome to open a door for me, so long as you don't push me out of the way to do it. (Yep, true story.)

I don't recognize that other man. But this man? I married this man. He's in the living room, watching some stuff.

[scott Kelly]

I must take exception with your classification of Buddha as not a man. You may recall that Gautama was a prince which trumps pants on the man meter.

Best,

scott
Mrs. Kelly's Playhouse