BARJ

Sometimes, guys do things that very effectively emasculate them. Sometimes they get sucked into it and hate it, and sometimes they do these things voluntarily, and actually enjoy them (a good example would be chick flicks, which I continute to enjoy even though every one I've ever watched seems to steel a little bit more of my already significantly lowered masculinity). Sometimes they're very goal-oriented, like if you do something emasculating, like getting a manicure or wearing a pair of skinny jeans, your girlfriend will then allow you to hold hands with her and maybe (just maybe) kiss her on the cheek at the end of your date.

Doing things like this is fine, to a certain extent. Goals are a very good thing to have. I've always been a pretty goal-centric person, and realize that sometimes you have to make certain sacrifices to reach you ultimate goal--or else it wouldn't be very rewarding at the end. I know there have to be a lot of other guys out there like me, who are willing to make themselves a bit less manly in order to reach the ultimate goal that men were programmed to seek: the admiration of a woman.

So, I've decided to let you in on the little secret I have, a method to regain your masculinity almost immediately after losing a large and important portion of it. It's called "BARJing". BARJing is an acronym for Balancing And Restoring Justice, and it's very, very effective. I first learned of this phenomenon a couple of summers ago, when a group of my friends began using it (I'm not sure of it's origin prior to that). Everytime one of us would fuck something up, we'd have to do something else that would counteract our misstep. It's a way of restoring balance to the world, and to maintain your equilibrium so as not to compromise yourself, those around you, or, most importantly, a good time.

Basically, BARJing is very similar to karma. If you don't BARJ after something, then it could have an effect on you down the road, and usually in a negative way. Just like the whole karma "what goes around, comes around thing," except BARJing is less cryptic and not used as the ultimate go-to coping maneuver for when someone breaks up with you.

(You all know what I'm talking about. You get dumped, and don't know what to do with yourself, so you'll say something like, "Whatever, karma's a bitch, implying that the person is going to be fucked over at some point in their lives because they dumped you. We've all done it, and I want to be perfectly clear right now, before we go any further, that BARJing is not to be used as a coping mechanism following a heartbreaking. BARJing is not meant to make things worse for other people that you dislike. It's really only about you, and regaining a balance with yourself.)

Now, BARJing can be used in all kinds of situations, but I'm going to focus on how it can be used exceptionally to regain masculinity. Did you just watch The Notebook with your girlfriend and like it, even though the couple gets back together because Rachel McAdams character is a cheating whore (lets be honest, she could've broken up with Cyclops before she went and boned Ryan Gosling in the rain, even though I do quite enjoy the sauciness of that particular scene)? Did you just go to a Dixie Chicks or Kelly Clarkson concert? Did you just drink a Michelob Ultra (which, oddly enough, I'm doing right now)? Did you just watch more than one episode of Sex and the City and either admit that you knew where Miranda was coming from, or that it's actually a "pretty decent show?"

Well, if you've done any, all or some of these things, or committed any other emasculating acts, then you need to do some BARJing, and the only way to balance yourself out after something like that is to do something extremely manly. Something that will make your friends and yourself completely forget about the terrible act you recently took part in. You have to wipe the slate clean, and here are a few ways I believe you can do just that.

Go to the strip club. I've never personally been to one of these before, but I think that this is one of the most straightforward ways to regain some masculinity. I'm told you leave one of these places just absolutely reeking of lewd woman, and although dancers at strip clubs are (usually) feminine, they are a rare breed. They have a unique ability to make you feel very manly, which is probably because they show you all of their nether regions without ever asking you to run out to the grocery store and get them a fucking blueberry bagel with extra cream cheese. It makes you feel manly because you don't have to even try. This requires some imagination, though, because you are paying them money. If you can somehow pretend that you're R. Kelly or Bret Michaels or something like that, and that these girls are dumb enough to give you a lap dance for free because you have a show on VH1, you'll be golden.

Go outside and throw a football. Men do stuff like this. They just get out there in their Wranglers with Skoal rings and their old high school team cutoffs and just throw the fucking pigskin around. Throwing a football a long distance to another man shows strength and accuracy, and the ability to catch said ball demonstrates a grace that is pretty manly. How can grace be manly, you ask? Easily. After catching the ball, a man dives in the fucking mud. After this, you can go home to your wife or girlfriend or whatever, traipse through the kitchen with your shoes on, strip naked, tell her to wash your clothes, and then go into the living room where you will drink beer and watch football (still naked) while congratulating yourself on the fact that you just made a catch that would've actually made Chad Johnson shut the fuck up.

Eat red meat and/or chicken wings. I'm not sure what it is about beef exactly, but everytime I sit down and eat a steak I feel like I could run two to three countries simultaneously for eight years running without ever even breaking a sweat. You just feel like a dude when you have a steak. If you've really done something womanly (like sang along to Sheryl Crow while you had the top down), then go out to a restaurant and buy a steak. When the waitress comes to your table to set down the pre-entree salad, grab it and throw it in her face. Then tell her that you're a carnivore.

Fight someone. This has always been a pretty big go-to for regaining masculinity. Socking another guy in the face is always good for a huge surge of adrenaline, and you'll feel pretty powerful. Just make sure the man you fight is smaller than you and not very good at hand-to-hand combat, because if you lose said fight then you're fucked. You'll be BARJing for a very, very long time, because a lost fistfight is not something that your friends forget about easily. This method of BARJing can be dangerous, though, because of the addiction factor that comes with it. Some people have the tendency to begin thinking they're Chuck Liddel after beating up one person, and then they'll start trying to get into fights all the time. Sooner or later, they'll meet their match. Also, they might start wearing Affliction or TAPOUT apparel.

Drink scotch while showering. Scotch is known as one of the manliest drinks out there, and it's one you always see people sitting around and drinking while they shoot the bull and smoke cigarettes. Take it one step further. Be the man that is so excited about downing half a bottle of Johnnie Walker that he can't even wait to start until after he's done showering. Why would a real man shower? Because he's all muddy from diving in it during the fucking football game. A clean man is a respected man.

Blow some shit up. It doesn't matter what it is. Just light fire to something that's going to explode, then stand back and watch it. It gives you the feeling that you can destroy things without actually taking a step down that dark and slippery slope that eventually leads to homicide.

Shotgun a beer. Honestly, do you ever see girls doing this? Because I don't.(I can't wait until the three girls that actually read this message me and tell me about how they shotgun beers all the time. I know it's going to fucking happen, I just know it.) Sometimes, when a guy is all out of scotch, he has to switch to beer, which is hampering to one's overall goal of complete obliteration because there's less alcohol in a beer. So, to try and make up for it, you just have to get an entire beer down your throat in as little time as possible, and shotgunning is the best way to do it. Beer bonging is good, too, but not as manly. You put your mouth on a hose, 'nuff said.

Watch some porn. If you dont' have any (which translates to, if you are without Internet access), watch a few episodes of Mad Men. All the dudes on this show do is drink liquor excessively WHILE WORKING, smoke unfiltered cigarettes, and degrade women. They also wear suits. It's an amazing thing. If you don't have that, either, I guess you can watch Shark Week. I'm not sure why I'd even consider it manly, I just kind of enjoy watching it. Oh, I know: it's educational. Knowledge is power. Manly men are powerful. There we go.

Mow the lawn. Realistically, nobody really enjoys doing this (like riding the PitFall), but it goes with the pride a man has in his belongings. He wants his house and property to look fly, and so his lawn must look bangin'. You won't be as satisfied with it if you don't do it yourself, so you may as well do it. It's like this with most maintenance-intensive outdoor activities, like weedwhacking or chopping firewood. You fucking hate doing it, but feel great and really masculine after doing so. Especially if these tasks are completed either shirtless or while wearing a wife beater.

Lift weights. This is something guys do when they don't have a yard. Nobody really likes doing it, but you feel better afterwards, and stronger I guess. And girls might like you better if you have a nice set of pectorals. Also, chances are if you spend enough time in a gym, you'll find some of those guys that like to scream while lifting weights; they also usually enjoy talking about their diets, and maybe the crotch rockets that they like to ride on the weekends (I should stop, because stereotyping is no way to barj at all).

You get the idea.

These Early Morning Thoughts

It's seven o'clock in the morning, and I've already been awake for three hours. I've been at work for two of them, and I've only been doing real work for about thiry minutes. Now, I don't know if you've ever been up that early, but it's a very strange thing (also inhumane and fucking terrible). You almost need coffee if you're going to participate in something this abnormal and unsettling, and I'm hestitant to say that because I hate when people are so reliant on coffee that you can't talk to them until they've consumed an entire cup. The combination of the strange hour and the caffeine really makes you do a lot of strange thinking, and prior to it, some strange sleeping. It's really strange to attempt to fall asleep at 9 p.m. Maybe it's just me, but I've always done my best and most erratic thinking in the dark (which is probably why I don't sleep all that well), so my mind has been racing all morning. I'm going to write some of them down now, and I really have no idea why. Lack of anything better to do, I suppose.

--Wouldn't it suck to do something completely amazing when you were very young, and never be able to do anything to eclipse that for as long as you live? You'd be known for just this one thing forever, and no other achievement would even come close to it. Some of them might not even be recognized. Think of Vanilla Ice and "Ice Ice, Baby." (This could be a horrible example, because it's extremely arguable whether that song is even good, or just stupid good. Like that Chumbawumbah song, "Tubthumper." That's stupid good.) Think of Francis Ford Coppola. He directed The Godfather, which I'm told is really good and maybe even the best American movie ever made. I've never seen it, because the mafia doesn't interest me in absolutely any way, but I hear good things. Since then, that's all he's been known for. He really hasn't made another good movie, and all he does now is own a winery. Think about the high school quarterback who won a state championship, but then went on to work at a gas station before eventually being busted for cooking crystal meth in his bathtub. You've got to wonder, though, if this is better than never achieving anything at all. I'll let you know in a few years.



--I just read that Michael Jackson's memorial service is going to cost taxpayers more than $3.5 million in California. How fucked up is that? I mean, I know he was good and everything, but he was just a musician, and one with a pretty suspect past at that. I mean, evidence points pretty convincingly to him being guilty of child molestation, and I don't think anyone wants to pay money to remember someone like that. You keep hearing people saying things about how they want to remember him as the musician he was and not the extremely disturbed person he ended up becoming, which is fine, as long as people don't have to pay out the ass in tax money for it.

--Why can't we take that $3.5 million and give it to the pornography industry? I've been reading up on it (it was in the newspaper the other day, really), and they're not doing so hot. I think that if, during a recession, shit goes downhill with the porn industry, we're going to be in big trouble. I'm sure many jobless men sit at home all day checking out pornography sites, and it's probably one of the only things keeping them sane. If sites and movies begin to disappear or decrease in quality, these men are going to straight up lose their shit. Adult entertainment needs a bailout.

--I dig fmylife.com as much as the next guy, and I've gotten a good laugh out of it. But people need to quit using it for every little fucking thing that goes wrong in their life. I mean, I'd feel bad for you if something actually bad had happened, but you have to use judgement. This little snippet, from the site, is a pretty good fuck my life moment:

Today, my boyfriend told me he couldn't hang out with me because he felt really sick. I went to his house anyway to surprise him with homemade soup. I walk in to his room only to find him hooking up with my sister. She can't drive, our mom drove her there. FML

Compare that with this, which I saw from a person's status update on Facebook this morning: "I'm in the Charlotte airport and our flight to Phoenix was supposed to leave at 9:25, but now it's delayed 'til 10:30. FML!!!!!!!"

Yeah, fuck your life, because if that's your idea of a bad time, you should be shot. You're going to fucking PHOENIX, who gives a god damn if you have to wait in NORTH CAROLINA for an extra hour? If I was going on vacation to Arizona today, my girlfriend could be hooking up with all three of my siblings and I wouldn't give a shit.

I just think people should think a little harder before they decide to deem their lives as "fucked." If they don't, this thing that is kind of funny is going to turn into the most annoying thing ever, like people quoting Borat or Napoleon Dynamite.

--I hate when girls profess openly that they are "bitches," and that we're just going to have to "deal with it." Or something to that effect. It's like they're so proud of being spiteful and stupid that they have to convey it to the masses with some Sex and the City quote on their MySpace pages or their Facebook "About Me" sections. Do you ever see a guy write something revealing how big of a dick they are to girls (besides Tucker Max, who unlike the rest of mankind, has managed to make a handsome living off of doing just that)? Dudes don't just put, "I'm a douchebag, you're just going to have to live with it :)" in writing. They just wear Affliction shirts. It's quieter and easier to spot at least.

--Spencer and Heidi Pratt are fucking geniuses. I say this because they have it all figured out. It's obvious that they know they're no good at anything, and that they don't deserve to be famous for any reason at all. I think they've probably known this from day one, so what they decided to do was become the biggest idiots in show business. Everybody hates them, and they know it, so they continue to play to that role by making awful music videos and saying some of the dumbest shit anyone has ever heard in their entire lives. They know that eventually the public is going to figure this out, and then pay attention them some more. By the time they're completely obsolete, they will have accrued enough capital to live out the rest of their lives lavishly, even if it is without friends or admiration from anyone.

Basically, they're like that kid that used to wear urban-camo wife beaters and backwards hats with rainbow sunglasses to high school. They know that everyone hates them because everything they do is ridiculous, so they continue to outdo their own absurdity in an effort to get attention.

--The world is in gigantic trouble, and this is evident through three glaring entities: Sarah Palin, Twitter, and Sarah Palin's Twitter.

There are people out there that actually like Sarah Palin, in spite of the fact that she's clearly fucking insane. I'm not saying this because I hope to someday be a member of the media, but maybe I partially am. She constantly gripes about how the media mistreats her, but I think it's just how the media realistically treats her. If you say some of the stupid shit that she does, and you've somehow been picked to run as the vice president of the U.S., you're going to fall under a lot of scrutiny, and rightfully so. It's tough to think that someone who is as delusional as she is could have been one step away from the presidency. I don't get how that even happened.

Okay, I guess Twitter isn't really a sign that the world is in trouble, because it really does pass information around in a super quick and efficient way (not to mention extremely concise), and I've always been a fan of information (wow). It is, however, potentially going to have a pretty negative impact on the English language, I think. People already utilize terrible grammar through text messages and twitter and instant messaging, but my generation is the first to really start using those technological means of communication. Text messaging didn't really start to get big until I was about 15 or 16 years old, and by then I already knew pretty much all I needed to about grammar. What happens when 8 year-olds are Tweeting about winning a game of Red Rover at recess? What if the word "you" is someday officially replaced by "u," and people only communicate in short bursts of informational dialogue? The eloquence could be taken away from the language forever, in both written and verbal form.

Sarah Palin's Twitter is just fucking frightening, and not because of what she even says, exactly. I've found that she likes to really get on a soap box and rattle off a bunch of nonsense when she has something to say, so she doesn't give out much information on Twitter. She does, however, use some of the worst grammar I've ever seen in my life: "Grateful Todd left fishing grnds to join me this wkend; but now he's back slaying salmon & working the kids @ the site; anxious to join 'em!"
...That's actually one of her Tweets. This woman could someday be elected president, and that is how she Tweets. Can you imagine if the constitution was written that way? And is that actually a fucking semi-colon??

--Jon and Kate Gosselin are pretty awful.

--I just went to the bathroom to urinate, and it made me think about how much I hate having such an extremely small bladder. Somedays, I think I actually pee about once every 15 minutes, and it's so terribly annoying. Right now I work in an office where I have to get up and walk through a bunch of open cubicles on my way to the hall where the restroom is. Nobody has commented on the startling frequency of my trips yet, but I'm starting to get scared that my boss thinks I'm a cocaine addict. That's what I'd think if I saw someone going to the bathroom so often. I also have sort of a stuffy nose today, so I'm doing a lot of sniffling. Maybe there will be an intervention later on today.

--A few weeks ago, I went to bed on a Thursday evening after a night of some decently hard drinking. (To put it in context, my friend threw up all over the sidewalk while we were waiting for a taxi, and I didn't even remember that he did this until the next day.) Anyway, I set my alarm for 8:15 before I went to bed, because I'm a very light sleeper and will wake up when an alarm goes off, no matter what.

I woke up the next day, rolled over and saw that my clock was blinking, like the power had gone out. So, I went and turned my phone on and found out that it was 12:15 in the afternoon, and that my boss had called and texted me numerous times. So had my mother. He'd called my mother because he'd been worried about me, and she had in turn begun to call me. I called both of them and went into work, four hours after I was supposed to initially be there. Neither of them was mad, just concerned.

I guess if you sleep through work, you find out how much people really worry about your well-being.

--I was at a wedding a couple of weekends ago, and I realized that the Electric Slide is one of the greatest inventions ever. This is because a person that is a terrible dancer (see: me) can still get involved with the dancing process, and not feel like a total idiot in doing so. I mean, anybody can do the electric slide.

--I've noticed that people can often be just like movie trailers. Sometimes you see a trailer for a movie, and you immediately get very excited about it. Maybe it has a characteristic you like, like one of your favorite actors or is about a topic you've always been interested in.

Sometimes you see a person for the first time, and you immediately get very excited about them. Maybe they have a characteristic you like, like a nice body or the absence of braces.

Sometimes, when you go to see that movie, you come away disappointed and tell your friends not to bother, because all of the good parts are already shown in the previews. They made it look good, but the whole package didn't measure up.

Sometimes, after you've talked to that person for a little while, you may come away disappointed and tell your friends you won't be hooking them up with any of her friends, because she is a c-word or likes the Philadelphia Flyers. Or both.

Sometimes you see previews for a movie, and it doesn't look that good to you at all, so you pretty much forget about it. Months--or even years--later, you may come across it in a video store and realize that the topic may resonate with your life now, or maybe other people suggested it to you, or maybe you're just taking a random chance. You take home that movie and it becomes one of your favorites, possibly even the best you've ever seen.

Sometimes, you see a person and you think they're kind of good looking but for whatever reason you don't speak with them. You may think you don't have a chance, or you're nervous, or you're just not at a point in your life where you want to meet new people. Whatever. Months--or even years--later, you may come across this person again and strike up a conversation. Maybe you take that person home and they become the best person you've ever met in your life.

Sometimes you see a movie preview and it looks really good, so you go and see it the day it comes out. You love it, and think about it constantly. You buy it the day it comes out on DVD (in BlueRay, even!), and watch it a bunch of times. This infatuation continues for years, until one day you realize that, deep down, this movie wasn't all it was cut out to be, and that you don't want it in your life anymore. So you let it go.

Sometimes you see a person and they really appeal to you, and you somehow manage to take them out immediately. You love them, and think about them constantly. Eventually you move in together, and maybe even get married. Your marriage lasts for a few years, until one day you realize that, deep down, this person wasn't all you thought they were cut out to be, and that you don't want them in your life anymore. So you let them go.

See what I mean?

F-Word

"fuck |fək| vulgar slang
verb [ trans. ]
1 have sexual intercourse with (someone).
• [ intrans. ] (of two people) have sexual intercourse.
2 ruin or damage (something).
noun
an act of sexual intercourse.
• [with adj. ] a sexual partner.
exclamation
used alone or as a noun ( the fuck) or a verb in various phrases to express anger, annoyance, contempt, impatience, or surprise, or simply for emphasis.
PHRASES
go fuck yourself an exclamation expressing anger or contempt for, or rejection of, someone.
not give a fuck ( about) used to emphasize indifference or contempt.
PHRASAL VERBS
fuck around spend time doing unimportant or trivial things. • have sexual intercourse with a variety of partners. • ( fuck around with) meddle with.
fuck off [usu. in imperative ] (of a person) go away.
fuck someone over treat someone in an unfair or humiliating way.
fuck someone up damage or confuse someone emotionally.
fuck something up (or fuck up) do something badly or ineptly.
DERIVATIVES
fuckable adjective
ORIGIN early 16th cent.: of Germanic origin (compare Swedish dialect focka and Dutch dialect fokkelen); possibly from an Indo-European root meaning [strike,] shared by Latin pugnus ‘fist.’
USAGE Despite the wideness and proliferation of its use in many sections of society, the word fuck remains (and has been for centuries) one of the most taboo words in English. Until relatively recently, it rarely appeared in print; even today, there are a number of euphemistic ways of referring to it in speech and writing, e.g., the F-word, f***, or f—k."

That was, obviously, the official dictionary definition for the word fuck. Fuck is one of my favorite words, really, and I've been defending the widespread use of it vehemently for years now. I'm sure most people think I enjoy the word and use it so often because I'm an extremely vulgar person, which is not true at all in my eyes. (Vulgarity is a pretty relative thing, though, and it depends on how delicate the sensibilities are of the person that's judging you.) I use it so often because I like to think of myself as passionate, and I can think of no better way to express pretty much any extreme emotion that I'm feeling at any given time. Except love, because even I would hesitate to say something like, "I fucking love you." You've got to draw the line somewhere.

I also really appreciate versatility, and like guys who play on both sides of the ball in the NFL (Deon Sanders) and women that have a nice ass and also enjoy reading, fuck is extremely versatile. I'm prepared to say it's the most versatile word in the English language, and it's great (or fucking great) that when someone uses it, you can always immediately discern what they mean by it. There is no other word with so many meanings that so easily lacks ambiguity whenever it's uttered or screamed; whether it's used as an adjective, verb or noun.

For example, say a Nickelback comes on the radio while you're driving somewhere with a group of your friends. You might say something like, "Ah, change it right now. I fucking hate Nickelback worse than any band to ever perform." Upon hearing this, your friends will immediately know that you dislike Nickelback, which is a sentiment you could've easily conveyed without using the word fuck, but it adds an unparalleled degree of emphasis to the word. Your friends know now that you have a really extremely passionate dislike for this band, and that they probably shouldn't play any of their songs around you because a) you will start complaining immediately, and b) you will never hang out with them again. If you would've just said "I hate Nickelback," they'd put that group on the same level as, say, Green Day, who are pretty bad, but definitely not as fucking terrible as Nickelback.

If they keep the song on, and you realize that it's really not that bad (I assure you this will never, ever fucking happen), you might say something like "Holy fuck, this song isn't that bad." Again, the fuck isn't absolutely necessary, but it definitely carries more resonance than if you were to say something like "Holy cow," or "Holy Toledo." If you say something like that, then they'll probably just laugh at you and call you a douchebag. Believe me.

If the conversation continues about Nickelback--because there's always that one kid that's trying to tell you that they really aren't that bad because he's either people that say "Oh, I like everything" or just has exceptionally bad taste --you might get onto the topic of their lead singer, who goes by the name of Chad Kroeger and has the worst haircut I've ever seen in my entire life. You'll probably say something like, "God, if I ever saw that leather-pants-wearing talentless piece of shit in person, I'd probably want to fuck his shit up." Your friends immediately know that you mean you would not mind fighting Chad Kroeger (you might say is kind of an odd sentiment, to want to fight somebody because they make terrible music; if you are saying that, then you've probably never heard much Nickelback). They immediately know that you don't want to actually have sex with the guy, and that's why fuck is so awesome. It's got a clarity to it that other words with multiple meanings can't even touch. Think about it: if you would've said "If I ever saw Chad Kroeger, I'd slam him," then there might be a little bit of confusion over whether you actually want to slam him to the ground, or ram him in the ass. You don't want that kind of confusion at all, especially in circumstances as delicate as that. If you ever imply that you want to have sex with a member of Nickelback, you will probably immediately lose any and all credibility as a stable human being that your friends have ever awarded you.

I think you see what I'm trying to get at, here.

Another thing I really like about the fuck word is that you can use it to express a number of emotions simultaneously. I don't think there's another word in the English language that can actually do that. Say you find out your ex-girlfriend cheated on you with some dude from Miami Ink. You can express surprise, anger, contempt, etc. in regards to hearing that news by simply saying "What the fuck?" or "You've got to be fucking kidding me." Something like that.

Now, as you've read in the dictionary definition above, it says that fuck is still a pretty taboo word that rarely makes it to print, and is not really socially acceptable to say it in public. It's especially bad to say it around little kids. I think the only reason for this, though, is because people make it seem bad; or at least a lot worse than it really actually is. The truth of the matter--from my experience, anyway--is that people really don't use it all that often in conjunction to it's original meaning, which is to say sexually. If we actually started using it frequently, like at the dinner table or in children's books, then we might be able to someday eliminate it as a sexual term altogether. If fuck becomes a commonplace word that can be used exclusively to describe a broad range of emotions and not intercourse, then it can be used all the time to promote brevity and description, and not lose one ounce of its power as a word. People can say fuck at the dinner table, and not worry about being reprimanded. Talk about utopia.

I just think that times are definitely changing, and that the commonly-accepted vernacular should change with them. Our society is obviously more open to things that were once considered vulgar but have now become commonplace, like premarital sex or a nationally televised lingerie fashion show. Why can't fuck join that group?

In conclusion, fuck is an awesome word. Use it to your advantage.

Conversations with Complete Strangers

I've always been sort of fascinated by the prospect of random conversation, and the appropriate times in which it one should strike up some banter with a total and complete stranger. It seems like it's sort of a lost art among the people in my generation--especially the men--and I've always wondered why. I guess it's because, as a rule, men are more private and quiet beings. I don't think it's too far of a stretch to say that the typical male is not as talkative as your run-of-the-mill female. We just basically mind our own business and do our own thing, and if we don't like somebody, we don't put on a false air that leads them to believe we do. We just put our heads down and go about our way (or some of us beat the shit out of people, but more on that later). Even females, I've noticed, don't just strike up conversation with other broads right off the bat as much as they used to. (I actually don't know if this is true at all, but I always like to include women in this whole thing, because maybe they can somehow emphasize with what I'm about to talk about.)

I've found, though, the one place in the world where men seem to be absolutely ready to speak to whoever the fuck may be standing next to them: at a urinal stall in a public restroom. I do not know what the reason for this is, and I can't even begin to guess at it, but it's true. Ask any male who isn't agoraphobic, and they'll tell you.

Recently, I have found that the random conversation between strangers seems to be elevated to a whole new level in the restrooms of a bar. I don't even need to explain the reasons for this, because they're rather obvious.

I'm pretty much a rookie as far as bars are concerned, since I've only been 21 for half of a year and rarely go to them when I'm at school. But, last week when I went to the bar for the first time since arriving home for a few weeks of the summer, I finally discovered that people really love to jabber in the pisser at a bar.

I walked into the restroom at a local bar I was at with a few of my friends, and immediately saw one man talking to another while they had their cocks out and were hanging a wire into the urinal.

"Yeah, man, if those mother fuckers don't shut up I'll show 'em what a real hockey fight is all about," the one dude said to the other, and I immediately started to chuckle a little bit. Firstly, because I was drunk. Secondly, because we were in a bar and you can't really have a fight on ice in most bars, which would've made it pretty difficult for this man to have shown anyone in the bar what a real hockey fight was like. And thirdly, because I'd seen this man the last time I'd been at this particular bar. He was drunk, and kept thinking that my friends and I had stolen a pitcher of beer he had set down on the table we were sitting at (probably because we had).

The second guy obviously didn't know the man, and wasn't nearly as drunk as he was, because he just said, "Yeah..." then zipped up and walked away. I'm pretty sure he pinched off mid-stream, but I'm not exactly an expert. But, since I'm always looking for a good laugh, and since I was pretty intoxicated by that point (it was my first night of drinking since I'd had surgery a couple of weeks prior, so I was what they like to call "three sheets to the wind"), I decided right then and there that for the rest of the evening I would attempt to strike up a conversation with every person that lined up at the urinal next to me. (I feel it should be stated right now that I have the world's smallest bladder. It is a source of constant frustration to me, and one of the crosses I bare. When I get drunk, I piss literally every 15 minutes sometimes).

I was under the impression that I'd just had the greatest idea of my young life--which, in hindsight, was untrue, because one time I was a kissing booth for Halloween, and that was the best idea I've ever had--and I decided to test it out that moment when I got my shot at the urinal. My brother was standing next to me, and I like to fuck with him a lot.

So it was a nice start.

"Hey man," I said. "How's _________ (insert name of woman that equals next socially crippling mistake) doing these days? Did my 'save your date' get lost in the mail, or are you guys on the rocks?"

"Shut up, dude."

"No, really, I'm interested. What's it like doing charity work? Does banging her count as a tax writeoff?"

My brother started laughing then, and I was satisfied that my first go at urinal talk had gone well. I didn't think about how my brother has known me my entire life, and doesn't really take offense to me saying shit like that to him. My brother is not everyone else, that's for damn sure, and I was about to find out.

Less than half an hour later, I went back into the bathroom, and ended up with another kid that had graduated from my high school. I didn't know then, and still do not know now, what his name is, or exactly how old he is, or basically anything at all about him, but he does know a hell of a lot of fake information about my friend Jordan.

Jordan has been one of my best friends for years, and I remember when we were younger children people used to say that we looked alike. His older sister even used to call us twins, but I never really saw the resemblance. But, as I sauntered up to the urinal and tried to sift through the drunken cobwebs of my ideas to find the perfect random icebreaker, this kid started the conversation.

"Jordan!" he yelled, with a great deal of excitement. I turned and glanced behind me, to see if my friend had magically appeared, but then realized that he was actually in Virginia at the time. "How's it going, man? I saw your game on ESPN a while back!"

I guess now is the time for me to tell you that my friend Jordan plays football for a university, and that he won a national championship with them in a game that was televised on ESPN in late 2008.

I thought that maybe I should correct this guy, and let him know that I wasn't my friend Jordan, but if he was going to make urinal talk this easy and ridiculous for me, I couldn't just let that happen.

"Oh thanks, man," I said. "I appreciate you watching, that's really cool."

(I feel as though I need to point out how often the words "man" and "dude" are incorporated in the random talk between men who are strangers. When you don't know a person's name, these two words are what you immediately fall back onto, and they are about as indispensable as your favorite Affliction t-shirt, if you're on the way to a Nickelback concert.)

"Hey, no man, really, that's fucking awesome. What have you been up to?"

So this was when I took some creative license and just talked about what I thought it might be like to be a college football player. I told him about all of the different workouts I'd been doing and stuff, and how time consuming football was. He just stood there at the urinal, looking at me and shaking his head in the affirmative, just going with whatever it was I was saying. I don't even think he was urinating anymore.

Later on in the night, this guy bought me a drink. Awesome.

Following this episode, I walked outside of the bar with one of my friends to consume a water bottle of fruit-flavored vodka that he'd brought as a reinforcement for the night. Then, we ventured back into the bar, and I continued my continuous flow of frequent urination.

The next man I pissed beside was visibly a hick--a visibly large one, at that--and had I been sober, I'd immediately have been struck with trepidation at the prospect of saying something he'd find offensive.

But, I wasn't, and decided to be antagonistic. The only thing I had to do then was decide between saying something about either the potential legalization of gay marriage or Nascar. Or gay people getting married at a Nascar race.

"Dale Jr. fucking sucks," I said, and spit into the urinal.

"Yeah, I know, I like Tony Stewart," he said, and zipped up and walked away.

That plan obviously backfired, but it's probably for the best, because I could've ended up with my ass kicked in the least damaging scenario. In the most damaging scenario, I could've woken up at a secretive KKK death camp in the backwoods of western Pennsylvania, where I would be held hostage for years until I was brain-washed. And all they would have to eat was raw venison and Bush's baked beans.

(Speaking of baked beans, remember those commercials when the talking dog had the recipe? That shit was funny. Sometimes commercials with speaking animals just really tickle my fancy. Like that one with the penguin that walked around with beer and said "doo-bee-doo-bee-doo." That was a classic.)

My last attempt at urinal talk was probably my best, but it was planned. All of my friends wanted to leave, and I told them I wanted to have one last drink. So, they all had one, too. The real reason I wanted to stay was to wait for the man who wanted to hockey fight to go to the restroom one last time, so I could follow him and try to piss him off.

He went, and I followed. I got to the urinal and proceeded to drop my trousers the entire way down, Michael Buesink style. My belt hit the ground with a clank, and I heaved out a sigh of relief. I then took the quarter I'd been holding in my hand, and dropped it into the urinal.

It landed with a splash and I said, "Whew, that is cold! I really have to remember to hang onto it."

The dude laughed, kind of drunkenly, and then slurred out, "Ha, shut the fuck up. I bet mine is bigger."

I laughed and said, "Well, maybe it is, but I don't think we'll ever know. Like, what the fuck do you want to do, compare or something? Because I'm not into that, man. My locker room days are behind me."

"No way, man, you callin' me a fag?"

"No, not at all."

"I'll fuck you up."

"That's what your mother said last night, minus the 'up.'"

He took his hand off of his cock and tried to take a halphhazard swing at me, and I ducked below the piece of plastic separating the urinals. I quickly pulled my pants up while he started yelling about how he was pissing all over himself. I slapped him on his ass and then ran out of the door, yelling, "Ahhhhh that dude in there just tried to look at my dick! Let's get out of here!"

So, we left, and I don't think I'll be going back to that bar in the near future.

The moral of the story? Communication between strangers can be fun. And mom jokes to people you don't know have a very powerful effect.

To be a Lefty

A few weeks ago, my friend Haley asked me if it's difficult to drive with my right foot pushing the pedals since I'm left-handed.

"Not really," I said. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I was trying to do it today, just to see what it'd be like, and it's really hard"

Two things went through my mind at that point: my friend is really weird for doing such a thing, and that I'd never really thought about whether or not it'd be easier for me to drive using my left foot. It makes sense that it would, since I kick with my left foot, and do most things with my left appendages, but it wasn't something that had ever really crossed my mind.

"It doesn't really make a difference to me," I said, "because I guess I've just been conditioned to drive with my right foot, and I've never known any different. Kind of like Amish people, or those really religious folk who refuse to have sex before they get married."

This weird conversation got me to thinking about what it means to be a lefty, if anything at all. It's an odd thing, because I've always taken pride in being a left-handed person, but I don't know why. I did nothing to influence whether or not I would be one, and I assume I was just born that way. There's no conceivable reason that this makes me better--or worse--than anyone who is right-handed, because it's just the hand that I do things with.

It does, however, make me a little bit different, and I think I take pride in being left-handed because I'm sort of bitter about it. To be frank, being a lefty can suck dick, because like anybody who is different or is a minority, we are discriminated against. Not in any hardcore way, like apartheid or anything like that, just in ways that are more annoying and inconvenient than anything.

The one that seems to haunt me more than any other one is the whole system of writing. In the English language, we obviously write from left to right, and if you're a left-handed person, you just get straight-up shit on in this category. I haven't used a pencil (except on Scantron tests) since 9th grade, because everytime I do I end up with a gigantic graphite stain all over the outside of my hand from it rubbing over my own previously-written words. The words on the paper would also usually be smeared beyond recognition, as well, leaving my already extremely messy penmanship altogether unreadable. (I also blame my terribly messy writing on my left-handedness. Watch a lefty write sometime, and you'll see that it doesn't seem like a very natural action at all. Most of us bend our wrist in a very uncomfortable way in an attempt to crane our hand above the smearing area, which just results in smearing the words of the lines higher up. The whole process of writing is is totally unnatural for a left-handed person, and since all I ever do is write, I'm constantly reminded of it. I would've graduated from elementary school with a perfect A grade point average, but I always got C's on handwriting. Why the fuck do kids get graded on handwriting? That's like grading someone on how high you can jump or whether or not you have a nice singing voice. You either have it or you don't. You can't exactly study to become a great handwriter, and if you did, people would just beat the fuck out of you and steal your lunch money anyway.) Sometimes, this even happens with pens. A couple of months ago, I bought a friend of mine a pretty ridiculous birthday card at our student bookstore, and when I went to write a message for her on it, I smeared the black ink from my gel pen all over the glossy surface of the card. So, I had to go back in and buy the exact same card all over again, and I'm pretty sure the asian chick working at the counter thought that I was fucking insane, because it's rare for a kid to buy a card with a bunch of bikini-clad senior citizens on it. It's just plain weird for him to buy it twice within 10 minutes of each other.

In retrospect, I should've just went with whiteout.

It's obvious that when the written form of the English language was invented, it was invented by a right-handed person who paid no heed to the 10 percent of people in the world who are left-handed. He fucked over a lot of people, but he's probably hailed in history as some sort of genius. But then again, I'm trying to think of a way that I could solve this problem, and can't think of anything. I guess it's better to screw 10 percent of the people instead of 90 percent.

To further the whole writing problem, it's very difficult to find a desk that is made for lefties in college classrooms. It seems like they're all for right-handed people, and I can't ever get one that works for me unless I show up to class 20 minutes early, and that is definitely not an option.

Another discrimination against left-handed people comes from scissors. They can only be conveniently used by right-handed folk, and this has been pissing me off since day one. Or, more accurately, the first grade. We were making cookbooks shaped like the face of Santa for our mothers, and we had to cut his face out of every single normal sheet of paper. As the only lefty in my class at the time, I was the only one whose paper book came out with a bearded man that looked more like a homeless man than Santa, who has always been very well-trimmed for a dude who spends most of his life away from society at the north pole. My mom pretended that she liked the gift anyway, even though she doesn't cook and had to have realized that it looked terrible. I guess she just felt bad for giving birth to one of those dreaded southpaws. (I should note that I'm the only lefty in my family, and that it's the first exhibit I always point out when making my case for being adopted. I'm very different from everyone in my family, and I constantly talk to my mom about how I may be the mailman's child, because I'm left-handed. And cool.)

When I was little, I wanted to be a writer and an illustrator, until I figured out that I couldn't even adequately operate a pair of scissors, let alone oil pastels. Those motherfuckers smear like nothing else, let me tell you.

I know you're probably saying that left-handed scissors are, in fact, manufactured. But I don't own any, because I'd have to go into Michael's or some other crafts store to get them, and those places smell awful, like a mix of potpurri, death, and vomit.

***SIDENOTE: I just walked into my kitchen to get a drink, and on the way I passed my dad, who is sitting on the couch in the living room. He's watching a Tyler Perry movie on TBS. I just want to say that this proves he is not cool enough to be left-handed, and would also like to include this as further evidence that I am, in fact, adopted.

A lot of my friends are into golf, but I haven't ever gotten that excited about it. I mean, it's a cool sport that doesn't require a great deal of physical exertion, and you can do it fairly well while drunk, but it's a lot more difficult to find lefty clubs. I mean, I can find them if I look hard enough, but I don't as a matter of principle. I get pissed that they're difficult to find, and as a result, the world of golf will be forced to live without the likes of me.

I also really have a hard time getting excited about it, because there aren't many lefties to idolize on the pro circuit. In every other sport, there's at least a few left-handed athletes to pick from, and I tend to like them because I can empathize with them. In golf, the only famous left-handed pro is Phil Mickelson, and he's not the most likeable golfer ever. He has bigger man-breasts than I do!

Some people (right-handed) try to make lefties feel better about all of this by saying that they actually have an advantage in baseball, but I'm not buying that shit. Sure, left-handed pitchers are in demand, but I was never a pitcher. I wanted to be a shortstop, and they wouldn't let me because I was left-handed. If you're left-handed and want to play in the infield, you get to play only first base, which is a cool position, but there's really no variety. It's frustrating. I spent most of my baseball career standing in the outfield, and that wasn't very appealing because I quit before the age when kids could actually consistently smack it that far. As a result of this, I picked a lot of dandelions and did a lot of thinking about the meaning of life while my team was on defense as a child, and I don't think it had very positive effects on me.

All of these things seem pretty trivial, though, compared to this next statistic: apparently, left-handed people die an average of 10 years earlier than your normal right-handed person. This is something my friend Evan told me, and never hesitates to bring up. That asshole will probably outlive us all.

This is a scary statistic, and I have no idea why it is at all, so I'm going to choose not to believe it. Sadly, with the way things are these days, it's increasingly more difficult to simply die of old age or natural causes. I'll put a positive spin on it, though, and say that lefties just up and die because they experience a lot more and have just a hell of a lot more fun than your average righty. We're kind of like blondes, or something.

All of these things have put a pretty negative spin on being left-handed, and I guess a lot of people that are part of this hallowed group wish that they weren't. In my research, I actually came across a website that had advice for the parents of a lefty. Apparently, some people treat it as though it were a disease, and I don't think it is at all. I'm glad I'm a lefty, and now I'm going to tell you a few reasons why.

Firstly, since there only 10 percent of the world's population is left-handed, it helps to make me an individual. I'm basically an average, white, middle-class male, and it's kind of cool to actually be part of a minority and be able to break away from the status quo. I realize that being left-handed doesn't make me a different person, per se, but it's still domething different, and I enjoy that.

Being left-handed helped me with basketball. For some reason, southpaws seem to have a natural knack for shooting from distance, and since I am--as previously mentioned--an average white male who happens to be really slow, this helped me get decent at my favorite sport.

Lefties are traditionally more creative than righties, and that's something I'm proud of. I consider myself to be a creative dude (though this may not be true), and we're also among good creative company. There are many famous actors and writers who are left-handed, because lefties traditionally think with the right side of their brain, which is the creative side. I can't solve math problems without using my fingers and toes, but fuck it. I can write a sonnet if I have to.

Polar bears are left-handed.

And my favorite reason for being left-handed actually coincides with a discrimination against lefties. Computer mouses (mice?) are made for right-handed people. You can purchase left-handed ones, but if you're anywhere using a computer that isn't yours (a friends, a lab, etc.), you have to use your right hand to operate the mouse. This was how I was conditioned to operate a computer, and now I'm thankful that I was.

You know why? Because I can operate a computer mouse while simultaneously writing, eating with a fork, or--most importantly--catching a beat.

Just Some Ranting.

I'm sitting here, void of my damaged tonsils and high as a kite on Percoset. I figured that for the first few days after my surgery, I would be the most agitated and inconvenienced by the excruciating pain that would accompany such a procedure, but I was wrong (probably because the medicine helps so much with this aspect of the process). What's really bothering me is my inability to speak. I can barely talk, and when I do make an attempt, I don't have much resonance behind it.

This is particularly difficult for me, because I'm constantly filling the silence, and very often have a great deal of difficulty keeping my mouth shut. Especially when I am in some form intoxicated. So, since I'm incapacitated and unable to do anything else, I figured I'd just let my mind wander, and ramble on some of the random things that I think of in the next hour or so (or until I exhaust myself and pass out). I don't know why this would be of an interest to anyone other than myself, but I'm going to do it anyway. It's important to talk about the...issues.

--I really, severely dislike Asher Roth. I'm watchin MTV Hits right now, and he's presenting his "Hit List." This is about an hour's worth of videos that an artist enjoys and chooses to present. I've been watching it for about 15 minutes, and in that time have not seen any videos that I even remotely enjoyed. I didn't even know it was his Hit List until he came on to introduce the video I'm currently watching--which is one of his own videos. That's how you can always tell if the person doing a Hit List is a douche bag. They play one of their own fucking videos. If that's not conceited, I don't really know what is. Fuck this shit, I'm turning it off. Maybe I can find an episode of Murder, She Wrote or True Life: I Have Man Tits.

I think where my real problem with Asher Roth stems from is probably jealousy. It's a different brand of envy than I'm really familiar with, though. I'd usually be jealous of a celebrity because they're so much cooler than I am, and though I can't say that Roth isn't exponentially more hip than I am, I can't help but feel that what he's doing isn't hard, and that it's not something I could feasibly do myself. I mean, this dude writes songs about how he loves college, and he pretty much loves it for all of the same reasons that I do, except I'm apparently not as adept as he is at getting women naked. I also do not really like Banker's Club, and can honestly say that I have never sipped it. I've taken shots of it and thought about how it might be capable of taking paint off of walls (maybe this somehow contributed to the deterioration of my tonsils...), but I've never sipped it.

--Since we're talking about rap music, I'd like to address the term "swagger," or "swagga," as it were. Just what the fuck is it? Do I have it? I mean, I hear a lot of stuff in songs about "turnin' the swag on" and what not, but nobody ever really defines it. Is it just some type of extreme confidence? Can you see it in somebody's walk or distinctive gait? How do I get it? I feel like if I gain some swagger, I'll be a lot more successful in just about every aspect of my life. I'm going to start experimenting and trying out different approaches to acquire an adequate swagger. I'll start by wearing obscure flat-brimmed hats, smoking White Owls, laughing slyly about nothing in particular, and washing myself with that Old Spice bodywash that is, in fact, called Swagger.

--Yesterday evening, I was reading my local newspaper, and saw that a student had been thrown--or coaxed--out of Grove City College because he was a gay porn star. GCC is kind of against porn, or anything else cool, because they're one of those really christian schools. You know what I'm talking about, one of those places where boys and girls aren't allowed to be in the same room with one another with the door closed, which could possibly be why the dude in question decided to go with the whole gay approach.

Now, I don't agree with someone being forced out of the school they pay to go to because of something legal that they do with their personal life, but that's not really something I'd like to get into right now. Basically, the Jesus freaks are the way they are, and I don't think I'd be able to change that. They are about as rational as Kanye West at times, and probably just as stubborn.

What I would like to talk about, though, is how the administration found out. Allegedly, another student at the school recognized the aforementioned student when he was viewing pornography on a video website. That strikes me as funny, and I wonder why that kid isn't in trouble. Isn't watching it and punching your clown to it (because I doubt he was just watching it for the acting) nearly as bad as actually being in it? Why was this kid watching gay porn, and why would he e-mail it to a bunch of his friends? Is he not being made fun of at all?! Because he should be.

I also found out yesterday that the first case of Swine Flue found in my hometown area came from a student at GCC. I don't know if that's related, but maybe god's trying to strike them down for their hedonistic ways. Also, isn't a case of the Swine Flu something that would probably garner most of your attention, and not some guy cornoholing people on video? I'm just not sure if they have their priorities straight or not.

--Sometimes I see people with mustaches, and wonder if anyone has every honestly thought that their appearance is more appealing if they are rocking a full-grown mustache. Has anyone? I know peopel say that Tom Selick and Burt Reynolds and people like that look better, but this is probably only because they've never, ever seen them without one. Mustaches are, for all intents and purposes, a joke. The only people in my generation that grow them are people who want attention and think it's funny, or are truly dissilussioned. With that being said, I think I'm going to grow a post-surgery 'stache.

--Have you ever seen a hardcore sex scene on television that involves a severely tatted-up vampire throwing it at a woman in the doggy style position while she's tied up? Sounds pretty ridiculous, right? Well, I saw it just the other night when I was watching the pilot of a series about vampires called True Blood. This is something that I can handle, because I'm a 21-year-old kid, and I appreciate that tv shows only get ahead now if they severely push the envelope.

Watching it while you're mom is in the room sitting on the couch next to you, though, is another story altogether, and I hope none of you have to ever experience a moment of such profound and discomforting awkwardness.

--I saw a segment on CNN today (I'm already running out of shit to watch on television) about a number of new websites that are offereing teenagers sexual advice via text message.

Seriously, what the fuck?

Technology is overtaking everything. Pretty soon people aren't going to know how to have a conversation face to face with their parents or anybody else, because they aren't required to. This is going to take a lot of the fun out of life. I feel like every kid should get to have some kind of "birds and bees" conversation with their parents, if only for the humorous story it will produce years later when they recollect about it. There's nothing memorable about learning how to put a condom on via text message. It's a lot like losing your virginity to a flesh light.

--How about that Manny Ramirez guy? What a fucking idiot. He was one of the only superstars who hadn't been busted in the huge steroid craze that has dominated professional baseball in the past few years. So, what does he do? He decides to take something and get busted this year. Baseball is now an absolute joke, and I mean it. I'm not only saying that because my fantasy team is in last place, either.

One thing I don't understand, though, is why the government gets involved in the entire steroid scandal. Don't they have more important things to worry about, too?

--It has surfaced recently that the guy from Jon and Kate Plus 8 has been messing around on his wife. I'd spend a few paragraphs talking about how appalled I am that he's doing that when he has a wife and eight kids, but I'm rarely surprised by acts of infidelity anymore. It has become pretty commonplace in today's society, and sadly so.

What really surprised me about this, though, is just how awful these parents actually seem when they aren't filming their show. The first article I read about this scandal said that Jon was seen leaving a bar with a broad at like 2 in the morning. Apparently, his wife wasn't around to figure it out because she was in Seattle on a tour promoting her new book about how fucking hard it is to raise so damn many kids.

But, doesn't this bring up the question of who the fuck is taking care of their kids? He's at a bar all night, and she is out of town. Think about it.

--I read an article on CNN's website that maintains that praying may help to improve your sex life. I am literally speechless. I guess I could make some joke about "pulling and praying," but even I have enough tact not to go there.

--I often complain that people don't read anymore. Apparently, I'm wrong. I read an article about a 54-year-old woman who has posted nearly 13,000 book reviews on Amazon's website. This equals out to one book a day, every day, for 35 years. She says she makes her way through four or five books a day, and posts reviews for all of them. I think it's awesome that this woman reads, but when does she get laid? Or even eat? She says that her ultimate goal in life is to read every single vampire book ever published. I say good luck, because people are taking the whole vampire craze a little bit too far. Twilight was a phenomenon that will probably not be repeated, and the more people write about vampires, the worse it seems to get. I bet Bram Stoker would be ten kinds of pissed if he was still around.

--Percoset is a hell of a drug.

Man or Boy?

For a while now, I’ve been walking a line of sever confusion over whether I am now a man or still merely a boy. I’ve put a lot of thought into what I consider myself, and what I think others should consider me. It’s difficult to discern where the vague line between the two is, and what exactly would propel me over into the realm of manhood. Firstly, I’m not even very sure if there is one surefire thing or method to determine what makes you a man. Do you become a man the first time you wear a pair of Wranglers, or punch somebody in the face? Do you become a man when you lose your virginity, or when you become married? Is it when you get your first job, or buy your own car? Is it when you simply reach a certain age? Who is to say what it is to truly be a male, and is there anyone qualified to make such a rule? If they are, where, why, and how did they choose their criteria? Does a man have to watch sports on the weekends and pretend that his cock is much larger than it actually is? Does he have to drink beer and know how to tie a tie?
What classifies a man, and am I a man?
I don’t know really, but at 21 I’d like to think so. But why? Isn’t it better to be merely a boy? It’s not too far-fetched to say that your typical child doesn’t have nearly as many responsibilities and stressful problems that men do. One could argue that the best case scenario would be if you were stuck—for lack of a better word—somewhere in the middle, and you’re walking the line where you’re both a boy and a man. Like a cross between Peter Pan and George Clooney, or Kevin Arnold and Brett Favre. Can that happen?
I say absolutely, and I’m going to go so far as to say that I am living proof.
Now, I feel like I should say that I’ve never been all that concerned with labels. People could call me either a boy or a man, and I wouldn’t even think twice about it, because it never made a difference to me. But at my age, it’s hard not to think about every once in a while, because people start to expect certain things from you, and there are certain irresponsibilities that you just cannot get away with anymore, and you find yourself worrying about stuff you’d never even considered before, like where you’ll work after college and how to make enough money to afford the largest flat screen you can possibly find. People expect you to be a man, and I think I’ve rose to that challenge, but people also don’t really want you to become a lame tightass. I believe it’s important to keep some of those endearing characteristics you had as a boy with you for, well, maybe your entire life.
So, I guess I’ll separate the man from the boy as best as I can right now.



I’ve driven a car at over 100 miles per hour, until the governor on my car shut the engine down. I’ve been pulled over by law enforcement officials (pigs) for a number of road violations, with one of them resulting in a pretty fucking big ticket. When the officer approached my window, I didn’t start crying or feed him some bullshit about how I was going so fast because I had to urinate. I didn’t say my grandmother was sick, or make any other excuse. I took the ticket, because I was going 81 in a 65, which is blatantly illegal, and justly so. I owned up, because men own up.
I’ve never shot a gun, which I admit does not make me seem all that manly, but I have cooked many stakes and other forms of meat. I’ve eaten them, as well, and enjoyed it thoroughly. I didn’t feel a need to shoot them, because I could go to the local grocery store and purchase them pre-cut. I figured that if I did that instead of sitting outside in the freezing cold for hours I’d save a shitload of time and effort. So, even though I don’t really know much about guns, I am efficient, and that shit is manly.
Speaking of efficiency, I can type over 100 words per minute, with very few mistakes. Some say that would make me a good secretary, but I’m a man, so I tell those people to fuck off. I actually use this skill to write things every once in a while. My ultimate goal in life is to be a writer. Men have ultimate goals, I think. Sometimes, I get paid to write things, so I’ve been paid to do something that I love. I do what I want to, and occasionally get paid for it.
I love food. All kinds of food. I actually recently spent about an hour writing something about fortune cookies. Because of this, I’ve become adept enough at cooking to not be afraid to make a woman dinner. Every man should be able to make a respectable meal for a woman. I’ve done it before, for my mother on Valentine’s day. I did this because I appreciate my mother and all that she has done for my family and myself throughout the years (and I didn’t have a Valentine). I’m not afraid to admit that I need this woman in my life, and I’ll undoubtedly need some of the qualities that she has instilled in me forever.
With that being said, I’ve fought verbally with my mother, and not stood down in any way. A man should know that just because someone is special to them, they aren’t always right, and that respect doesn’t always mean the willingness to be silent when you feel slighted.
I have voted for a president, and known exactly why I was doing so. It wasn’t to be trendy, and it wasn’t because he was half black, or half white, or had larger than average ears that tend to stick out and remind me of that freckled dude on the cover of Mad Magazine. It was because I dug his opinions on certain things that I hold in pretty high accord.
I’m not really a fan of organized religion (but I do believe in God). Again, this is not to be trendy (I’m really not very trendy). It is because I was raised as a Roman Catholic, but never narrowed my sights to one exclusive school of thought. I researched and questioned things, which allowed me to come to my own conclusions. I don’t expect others to think this way, and they can believe what they choose. I’m not King George. I just believe that religions have ulterior motives, and I can’t get down with that. I mean, sure, I have ulterior motives for most things, too. My real motive for writing this is that women will fall in love with my eloquent prose and want to do sexual things to me, but I don’t go around bringing a higher being into that. Know what I’m saying? If you’re a man, think about it. You’ll get it, and if not, you can always ask me. I’ll drop some knowledge.
I fucking hate losing. Anybody who say that it’s not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game is either a boy or some kind of idiot, and they are lying to themselves. You don’t get involved in things that you might lose without at least wanting to win. (Unless it’s youth soccer and you get Little Debbies and Capri Suns after the game. Then it’s a totally different story.) When you do participate in these—be it sports, a game of Dungeons & Dragons or a fucking danceoff—and feel the pain of losing, you try your best to get better at them. I hated losing so badly that I mastered the art of putting a spherical orange ball into a metal hoop with consistency from as far as 50 feet away. I did this through stubborn and countless repetitions, through a lot of sweat and hours alone in a gym or on an asphalt driveway. I got good enough at it that I was recruited to play in college, and so I did. For about two months. When I realized I wasn’t having any fun, I shrugged and walked away from the game forever. Then I got drunk. I think a man realizes when he doesn’t like something that he’s able to quit (not things like raising a child or paying taxes), he does just that. A man realizes that even though his entire life isn’t going to be a lot of joyous jubilation, he doesn’t have to waste his time doing something that he doesn’t enjoy. If we spent all of our time doing things we hated when we weren’t at work, when would we masturbate, drink beer, and watch football? We wouldn’t. And then we just pretty much wouldn’t be men anymore.
I have amazing friends; the kind of friends that will be your friends for the rest of your life. We don’t spite each other, lie to each other, or refuse to help one another out, no matter what the task. We’ve done a lot of laughing and even some crying together. I can say that, even though I feel like I’m a very solitary person, I need these friends. Every man should have at least one friend like this (and I’m very blessed to have more), and he should be able to admit to himself and everyone else that he needs them. Because we need certain people. Every man does.
One time, on my 21st birthday, I drank 28 drinks between the hours of 12 and 2 a.m. I then proceeded to fall over behind the bar, where they serve the drinks. I was subsequently ejected from said bar, and was carried home by my friends as I imitated Dave Chappelle the entire way. I woke up the next day, and went to class. I can handle my booze and still fulfill all of my responsibilities, and a true man is capable of such a balancing act.
I frequently use the word “fuck,” and other swear words. I know when to exercise restraint, and I only use them to emphasize certain emotions. I don’t say “fuck” to amuse myself or others, but because I realize it’s the most effective word in the English language for expressing pretty much any emotion. I’ve found that it’s really good for expressing disdain, surprise, anger, profundity, and confusion. Fuck is basically a four letter exclamation point, and to use it properly is an art. A manly art.
Speaking of the word “fuck,” the Bronte sisters can all go fuck themselves.
Obviously, since I’ve given so much thought to the word “fuck,” I must spend a lot of time alone. I do, and that’s fine, because I’ve grown to enjoy solitude. I spent my entire last summer living by myself in an area where I didn’t know a single person. I loved it, because I could do as I pleased, and think about whatever I wanted to for pretty much any length of time. I know a lot of people who can’t stand to be alone, ever. Some people need to be in a relationship all the time, or desperately need the comradeship and approval of others. A man can spend extended amounts of time on his own, and not only entertain himself, but be happy for the solitude. A man can sit in a room and drink alone without crying. Too much, anyway.
Speaking of being alone, I possess a pretty extensive collection of porn. Boys don’t mess around with that shit. At least not on my level.
Speaking of porn, I firmly believe that chivalry is not, in fact, dead. I open the door for women without thinking about it, help them into the car, and may even send them flowers on their birthdays if they’re relatively special. I spend a lot of time yearning for a certain amount of romance, and I’m fairly certain that I could pen a pretty decent love letter if I was ever so inclined. I like holding hands so much that sometimes my friends slap me in the face for doing it. And you know what? I may not be a smart man, Jenny, but I know what love is. People believe that chivalry is going out the window, but me and my fellow men will keep fighting to keep it alive, no matter what happens. A man knows that romance is an important part of life, but that his affinity for it should never outweigh his good judgment. We usually learn this lesson the hard way.
I don’t get into fights often, but when I do I almost always win the verbal ones. And, one time I fist-fought my older brother when I was butt ass naked over who go to take the first shower in the morning. We also fought over possession of chicken wings once. Like a caveman, I needed to protect my food. I think it should be noted, for the record, that cavemen were extremely manly, and they had never shot guns either.





I’m still a boy because I spend most of my time daydreaming. My head’s always in the clouds, thinking about how things could be better for me, and more fortuitous. I’m not yet to the age where I can just sit back and look at the successes and happiness that I’ve found and accept it as enough. Anytime I feel as though I’m right where I should be, I remind myself not to settle. For some reason, I’m still unable to be content or satisfied, and this is something that may be hurting me. If it’s not now, it might in the long run. I think I might finally be satisfied when I have a pet unicorn or superhero abilities. I only want the abilities, though, because I’m not mature enough to take on the responsibilities of an actually superhero.
I’m still a bit hesitant to commit to most things, especially relationships with women. Mainly, because I’m very frightened of women. It’s just something that’s been instilled in me through the years, because I’m programmed to fear what I don’t understand, and I obviously do not understand girls. They’re either way too complicated, or so simple that I over think them. Boys are scared of things like that. And I guess the fact that they have vaginas doesn’t really help, either.
I still say “That’s what she said” at any possible time, and then I cackle like a fucking idiot after doing so. Usually for about five minutes, and then by the time I’m done laughing I’ve already found another spot to insert that overused saying into. The process repeats itself, and it’s like a never-ending cycle. I’m such a boy that I even get pissed at myself for how immature I am sometimes.
Sometimes in the mornings, I’ll eat a Snicker’s bar and drink a can of Mountain Dew instead of having a Nutri Grain and drinking coffee like a normal adult.
Sometimes I still do some stupid things when I’m drunk, like puke or tell people ill-advised and extremely emotional things. Just a few nights ago, my best friend and me puked off of our balcony. One night, I got so drunk in my dorm room that I sleepwalked three floors down to our dormitory’s basement. I woke up six hours later on a couch in the laundry room, wearing only boxer briefs and a dumbfounded expression. I also didn’t have my key to get back onto my floor and into my room. Last summer, I got drunk and sleepwalked into my kitchen, where I proceeded to flood my kitchen floor with water from the Culligan dispenser.
I still listen to “Mmmbop.” That just might make me a queer, I don’t know.
Whenever I have certain feelings about things that I don’t want to discuss, I use sarcasm and jokes to attempt to change the subject. This pisses a lot of people off, but I’ll probably keep doing this until I somehow can’t anymore. Or until my head gets forcefully pulled from my ass.
A few weeks ago, I was on a trip with my family. My brother and I went out to the bar while the rest of our tribe retired to our adjoining hotel rooms. We got pretty intoxicated, and proceeded to go to Wal*Mart, where we purchased ridiculous fishing hats and an air horn. We then took the air horn back to our hotel, and jumped up and down on our parents’ bed setting it off. It was an awesome time, but not something I feel a man would do.
I will jump at any chance to watch Peter Pan, Aladdin, or The Lion King. And I still believe that these Disney movies will teach you more about life than any documentary you watch, if you let them.
I’m reading the fucking Twilight series.
I still count Where the Wild Things Are and Harold and the Purple Crayon as two of my favorite books of all time.
I’m only ever really comfortable in tennis shoes, or no shoes at all, and I hate socks.
Recently, I got engaged (on Facebook). I gave the girl a mood ring.
I’m still very afraid of heights, and my hands get clammy when I see someone doing something from a treacherous height on TV.

I’m very impatient, and that’s why I’m going to end this right now. There are many, many more things I could write trying to discern whether I’m a man or a boy, and maybe someday I will. But for now, you can make your own judgment, if you’d like to. I don’t really care. I’m very apathetic (boy), but if you throw me a comment trying to belittle me, I’ll bang your mom (man).