A Few Good Men

Ok, it's pre-mid January. What have we got on the agenda? Oh yeah, a new president will be inaugurated ushering in potentially the most historical bit of history we've witnessed. Or at least the most historical history that will be most immediately recorded as such and played back on DVR's and DVD's and Blackberries and Iphones and beamed via satellite directly into your skull, etc. Not saying it's going to be a media spectacle of course. But I'd be delighted if there is a little class in the whole thing. I'd be a sad puppy if halfway through I am invited to text in the name of the Obama offspring I find the cutest. Bleh.

Anyway, what else? Hmmm...taxes are coming up, ew. Um, the Superbowl is coming up to determine whichever team was most kind to the officiating team in the bribe department this past holiday season. (Thanks for my lifelong cynicism, Pittsburgh Steelers.) But what else? What other traditional hoop must I jump through?

Resolutions you dolt!

Or did I purposely skip past those? I recall one year somewhere in the mix of high school where I admitted that my resolution was to have "no resolution" at all that year. It seemed like pure genius to me, very zen-like. Unfortunately, all those around me saw this as less Taoist, and more Cop-out. So every year beyond that has had at least one easily forgettable resolution. But this year needs to be different.

So I sat down with myself and was completely and totally honest. What about me needs to change and grow and nurture so that I can more fully enjoy this year and those to come? I thought of the usual, weight loss, the ability to run more than 10 yards without being winded, dressing nicer. Naw, I'd already cycled through those. Instead I cooked up a really good one. Hey, I'm 29, I'm on the cusp of the next stage of my life. So this year my resolution is...

...to be a man!

That's right, enough I'm trading my bar t-shirts for polos, my pint glasses for rocks tumblers. I wave goodbye to Kanye and say hello to Public Radio. I say adieu to my ripped-jeans and wriggle into a pair of wrinkle free Dockers. I will no longer utter the word "motherfucker" and instead replace it with the more socially acceptable "business associate." I won't be giddy at the idea of a house party unless they specifically state that wine and cheese will be served. My delight will double if it becomes a BYOP affair (Bring Your Own Pate) affair.

Or at least I'll pick up some man mannerisms.

Mannerism #1. Be a Handy Man. I really should have paid more attention in autoshop, I keep reminding myself. I have the mechanical aptitude of a toddler, I really do. It's gotten to the point that the standards that others hold for me have sunk so low, people are delighted when I am handed a screwdriver and don't immediately accidently gouge my eye out. So I resolve to take on household projects all by myself for the first time. Except I do need monitoring around power tools.

Mannerism#2. Be a Sporty Man. Well I can check bowling off the list. After several months of randomly bowling every other weekend or so over drinks my bowling skill has actually gotten worse. Add to that list softball, as my arm strength is somewhere around Mr. Jamie Moyer, except without all that accuracy. In fact, every time I strut out to the infield, I can hear "Wild Thing" playing over and over again in my head. At least drinking is also encouraged for this sport too. But I need to declare and backup my proficiency in a completely unathletic and arbitrary sport. So I think I'll take up darts. Uh oh there goes "Wild Thing" again....OH GOD MY EYE!

Mannerism #3. Be a Well-Dressed Man. Ok, here I can actually make some strides. I know that flat-front khakis are in, and they pretty much come in one color (hint: it's khaki). I know that stripey shirts are ok, but nothing says professional like a bleached white shirt offset by a incredibly masculine pink tye (hint: it's actually salmon). So, I vow to work on the wardrobe. Unfortunately my current occupation usually has me crawling through attics or steam tunnels. Knowing that one should never button the lower button does me little good, when I've hooked my sportcoat on a building truss and am currently strangling myself while I grapple for my ladder.

Mannerism #4. Be a Money Man. I took approximately five minutes of an econ class in college once, which pretty much sums up my financial awareness. I know that demand and supply are involved in a ritualistic dance and when conditions are right they invest with each other and a consumer is born. Or maybe that was health class, I don't remember. Anyway, the point is my financial responsibility level is right around an Enron executive, except without the Enron salary. My retirement package is literally a package under my bed (I packed extra undies). So until that time, I consider running across the hardwood floor and sliding on my socks wearing nothing but my professional white shirt, some of my retirement boxers and some killer shades as proof positive that I know what I'm doing with my investment portfolio. I also sing Bow-Bow...chicka-chickaaaa!

Mannerism #5. Be a Sensitive Man. This one I've got in spades. While everybody else in college was learning...well learning basically important stuff, I was off learning the acceptable rhyme variations of a sonnet. I'm also currently learning the differences between wines that actually comes in bottles. Bye, bye Franzia, you were a good friend. I'm learning the appropriate time to give flowers and cards and have taken to cruising the O channel now and again. (Also, the Hallmark channel rules.) I'm in the process of understanding a woman's wants and needs and how best to fulfill her wondrous desires (hint: empty the dishwasher).

So all in all there is much work to be done. But like the Marines commercials show, one can be transformed from an ordinary guy like myself to a crisp, standout Manly Man merely by scaling a cliff with your bare hands, and then putting on a nice Blazer and waving a sword around in synchronized fashion. Without gouging an eye.

Sigh.

Maybe I'll regress this once, as I sit here typing with my bar shirt on and drinking my Miller Lite with *gasp* no coaster! Then tomorrow I'll get back on the wagon.