Making It Up As I Go Along #279

MONDAY...
— Fairly easy going day. Work is pretty quiet too. Hour and ten minute walk tonight.

TUESDAY...
— Work’s okay. I get to see a lying twit in action today but that’s okay I guess.
— A rare positive of the Barry Bonds home run chase. There’s a Giants vs. Dodgers game on TV tonight when I get home from work. Giving us the Dodgers means we get the greatest announcer in all of baseball. Vin Scully is so far above all others, it’s incredible. And he’s the only baseball commentator I know of who goes it alone. No colour commentator to chime in. And he doesn’t need that extra person either. Vin Scully simply makes you want to watch Dodger games.
— Hour plus walk to end the night.

WEDNESDAY...
— All over night at work. AFIS is down from 7:30 on so we’re sent to QC to do work. It’s my first time working there in two months. Can’t say I was happy with that.
— Supper with Shannon (the co-worker who was on maternity leave, not the guy from home).
— No walk tonight. I’m actually ready for it... but get caught by a show on the discovery network. And since I’ve been out for more than an hour for three straight nights, I allow shark week to overtake me.

THURSDAY...
— Leave it to CNN for beating a story to death in as overly dramatic a fashion as possible. The bridge collapse in Minnesota is bad but CNN has the “Breaking News” headline plastered on their screen for 29 hours and counting since the bridge collapsed. 29 hours does not make the news breaking.
— Out for an hour and a half walk after work. It’s humid... nearly 30 degrees as late as 2:00 AM and there’s dry lightning flashing in the distance through most of the walk.
— Work is okay... Melissa, Shannon and I have Greek for supper.

FRIDAY...
— One of those days when you’d rather be home. Not that work was horrible, it’s just a slow going night with nice weather outside. Still, we get Chip Wagon for supper (Frankie, Josee, Dave, Cosimo and me) and the last couple of hours of work is fairly fun.
— No walk tonight. Kind of tired (thanks to an early morning wake up) and some muscle soreness due to the week’s walking.

SATURDAY...
— Very lazy early in the day. I’m dead tired and sleep for much of the time until about 2:30. Louis drops over for a few hours this evening. We just sit around, watch some Pulp Fiction on TV and talk.


Prissy Boys
How do you know if you’re no longer a real man? I think I have the answer and it comes in several categories of life.

A man’s car is very important. This week, I got a lesson in this from one of the girls at work. If a man wants a woman, he needs to either get a sports car... or a truck. And if he has a sports car, it should be convertible... and he should have nice hair.

For those who don’t know, I do not have a sports car... I don’t have a truck... and I don’t have all that much hair.

But the lesson gets worse. The co-worker goes on to talk about men in small cars and how unmanly that is. One of the others brought up the Mini Cooper... perhaps a man could still be a man in such a car?

“No... not even then” she says.

Not five minutes later, this person is asking if I can give her a ride when we go to pick up supper. Again, for those who don’t know, I drive a little red car. An Echo hatchback. And it appears that my mode of transportation has had more to do with my life as a single guy than I had ever dreamt. So I told the group that I could drive to supper... but only three besides me can fit in my little ‘chick’ car.

This all brings a degree of clarity to the man/woman issue. Often I hear girls talking about there not being any nice guys out there... and how the guys they date are such jerks. Well of course... the nice guys are being seen as chicks... by the chicks. And the jerks need only drive a pick up truck to become Prince Charming. And if he happens to have enough hair to throw a bit of gel in... he’s made.

So perhaps the girls who only ever find jerks are doing so because they’re as superficial as any guy could possibly be. How a guy acts... his character... his honesty... sensitivity... ability to joke or carry on a conversation... irrelevant.

I know not all women look at things this way... but enough do, and enough guys buy into it as well. I sometimes think being single isn’t all that bad after all.

Following the stereotypical guy routine, a man is expected to love Andrew Dice Clay (the crude comedian of the 80s). Some of Dice’s jokes are fine enough. When I recently heard him on someone’s CD, I admit to chuckling a few times. But I don’t look at Dice as brilliant or a master... and, among some guys, that makes me a bit girly. Here’s the thing, Andrew Dice Clay doesn’t offend me with his racial and politically incorrect jokes. But for me, simply saying something crude as a method of getting laughs isn’t anything special. And people like that soon bore me.

Another thing that makes a man a man is the manner in which he gets hurt. Breaking a leg in a football game... manly. Spraining an ankle while leaping over a puddle... not. Tearing the ligaments in your knee during a ball game... manly. Pulling a hamstring while walking the dog... not. Shot while rescuing a woman from a street thug... very manly.

My last two injuries, unfortunately, place me in the category that’s best driving a small red car. I have no business in that pick up truck.

Back in the fall, I pulled a vocal chord. For a few days, my voice sounded like Johnny Cash... and I thought I’d become very manly. But then it cracked and fell away to nothing more than a whisper. Vocal chord injury... not real manly. Doing it while having a big sneeze... I may as well start growing breasts.

And today, as I write, I’m hobbled. My knee is sore and creaky. I need to stand up and walk around every twenty minutes or so, and I’ve been icing it down all morning. How’d I do it? Was it running after a mugger? Carrying a refrigerator up the stairs? No. In fact, I’m not sure how I did it. I went to bed last night and all felt fine. I woke this morning because of the throbbing in my joint. I hurt my knee while sleeping. I’m not even sure how well I’d be able to drive my girly car.