25 Things Every Man Should Know?

Popular Mechanics list of 25 Things Every Man Should Know
1. Patch a radiator hose
2. Protect your computer
3. Rescue a boater who has capsized
4. Frame a wall
5. Retouch digital photos
6. Back up a trailer
7. Build a campfire
8. Fix a dead outlet
9. Navigate with a map and compass
10. Use a torque wrench
11. Sharpen a knife
12. Perform CPR
13. Fillet a fish
14. Maneuver a car out of a skid
15. Get a car unstuck
16. Back up data
17. Paint a room
18. Mix concrete
19. Clean a bolt-action rifle
20. Change oil and filter
21. Hook up an HDTV
22. Bleed brakes
23. Paddle a canoe
24. Fix a bike flat
25. Extend your wireless network

What an odd list. About half of the items I could have guessed, but HDTV? I doubt John Wayne could have spelled HDTV. Digital photos? 100-pound geeks in their mom’s basements spend hours “enhancing” their myspace photos to make them look like they can lift the 45-pound bar off the bench. I just don’t get it. What is the link between men and technology? I don’t see it. I do think that being somewhat computer and tech savvy is a must for living in the 21st century, but not for being a man.

However, a few I totally agree on. Rescue a boater… picture that and you picture a real man. Frame a wall, back up a trailer, get a car unstuck, paint a room, use a map, change the oil… couldn’t agree more. Those are the things that men are supposed to do and I don‘t see them going away anytime soon. But I think there are key things left out.

How about drive a stick?
How about put up a tent?
How about use a chainsaw?
How about throw a punch?
How about seduce a woman?
Real men from Clint Eastwood circa 1960 to 2008-version Brad Pitt can do those things.

Still, the aspect of the list that bothers me most isn’t the things that I don’t think should be on there, or the things left off. What gets me are those things that are rightly on the list that I can’t do. I can’t filet a fish (but I can order a Filet-O-Fish). I’m terrible at driving trailers. I’ve never bled brake lines in my life, but I have changed brake pads twice. Honestly, there are half a dozen things on this list I can’t do. Just can’t. What I get from this list is that I’m not there yet. There are still manly areas to conquer. Does that mean I’m not a real man yet? I’d like to think the fact that I’m mostly there, and trying to get there counts for something.

-bo

real men do yoga?

One wise person once told me that we should do something everyday that stretches you. I don't do those kind of things often enough, but last week I did. I went to a yoga class.

Now let me explain. I have never done yoga before because I only knew of hot girls doing it. I even called ahead and made sure that guys did this kind of thing. Not that I mind being in a room full of girls in sports bras, but I’d like a few other men around or I’m one of the girls (something no straight guy wants to be). I also settled on doing hot yoga—where the room is over 100 degrees—because I hoped it would be a tougher workout and because I like looking at skin.

I pulled up in my old truck, as if Jethro Bodine had come to town. I was met at the door by an over-tanned, five-foot-nothin, ninety-pound woman that I knew could kick my rear (and would probably enjoy doing so). She checked me in, made me feel like an idiot more than once, and reminded me that I was supposed to be 15 minutes early and that I was not.

There was one other guy in the room, about 50 years old and overweight. The rest of the room was girls ranging from college coeds to hot moms. I’m not anymore of a perv than the next guy, but the lack of clothing and the intense heat made for plenty to look at. The ninety-pound woman barked out orders from the back wall and told me to watch the girls in front of me to know what to do… I just did what I was told. My shirt came off and in minutes I was drenched in sweat.

I love to work out. I lift, run, and bike, but I had never worked out like this. I was breathing hard, my muscles were shaking from strain, but more than anything it was really tough keeping balance. The sweat made it impossible to lock my fingers under my feet and keep in locked position. I loved the pace of yoga. You’d strain and breathe hard and then slow down to stretch and pull yourself back together. It’s not like running or lifting; you know you’re exercising, but it’s not an intense workout. It’s relaxing and strenuous at the same time.

So do real men do yoga? Those who know better than me say that 4 out of 5 people who do yoga are female. Why is that? I have four answers to that, after having experienced hot yoga myself.

1- I think it is mainly because it is easier for girls. The girl in front of me had to be one of the most limber people I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t bend like she did and I’ll never be able to. I halfway did one position when the boss lady came and folded me in half. I didn’t know I could do the position and she sure showed me I could (I’m somewhere between sorry for and jealous of her boyfriend). The points is that I think this kind of exercise isn’t what men in our culture are used to. So we avoid what we’re better at: weights and running. That’s what I do.

2- It’s weird being in a class with almost all ladies. The other guy in the class said that men come often but drop out quickly. I’m sure some guys come just to look at a room full of women in positions they have wet dreams about, but those guys won’t keep paying $15 for the experience. Plus an all-guy class seems a little too homoerotic for most of us. So women continue to come to the yoga studio and men hit the gym. It’s the American way.

3- In this culture we respect big arms and a built chest, not the ability to put your leg behind your head. Yoga focuses more on the latter. Don’t get me wrong, it wore out muscle groups that I often neglect (like upper back, quads, and butt), but in this culture we just care about big beach muscles. I’d love to try a combo of muscle-building exercises and yoga. That would be a complete program.

4- It doesn’t feel like real exercise. I love the sensation of my arms and chest being fatigued after 4 drop sets of bench pressing, but after this workout they weren’t tired, and honestly I missed that. I felt more like I had just gotten out of a hot tub than post-workout. It was different. After the class, I talked to the other guy as we were changing and he said that yoga has changed his life. I didn’t feel that. After running or lifting, I usually feel drained and worn down, but after this I felt refreshed. Weird.

So is yoga for men? I guess it can be. But it’s far more important for a real man to be able to bench press with 45’s on the bar and run a mile. That’s the test of being a real man. Will I do it again? Likely. But I’m not giving up real exercise. Some real men may do yoga, but the real men I know lift and run.

-bo

comfortable in my skin

The phrase "comfortable in his own skin" poses both a question and a goal for me. Why in the world is a person ever uncomfortable in something they can't take off? And how in the world does someone get more comfortable in their skin?

I used to be the high school soccer player who feared taking off his shirt during practice and who always kept hismember covered in the locker room like it was a KGB spy. It’s taken me fifteen years to get over that and feel as comfortable without clothing as in it. Why is that? Did I just need to grow up? Did I need to live in dorms where I saw a dozen naked guys a day? Did I need to build up my bench press? Did I need to lose my virginity, have a couple kids and realize my dick works just as well as the next guy's? Or maybe I just needed to get over it.

My path has taken me down each of those paths, and I can’t deny that each played an important part in the process. But I think that getting over it has been the most important. I just stopped caring. No don’t get me wrong—I care what I look like. I lift, and run, try to keep a tan, and watch what I eat. But after I’ve done all I can do, I just don’t care what people think. I not the fat guywho stopped caring what he looks like. I care what I look like immensely; I just don’t care what you think that I look like.

I remember the summer I started lifting weights like a wimp about to go on spring break and got the confidence to walk around my apartment (in front of my girlfriend) bare-chested. I knew that she loved me so she had to accept my hardgainer bod. That was big for me. When a knock came at the door and my neighbor stopped to talk to us, I didn’t run to put on a shirt. I just talked to her. Albeit, my arms were folded and I was as uncomfortable as a preteen girl the first day she got braces, but that day I began to force myself to show some skin. I believe firmly that we have to do something everyday that forces us into new and uncomfortable territory. That was my first step.

Now I’m to the point that I love to drive with my shirt off in the summer. My, haven’t I evolved? My truck’s AC is DOA, and when I have to drive an hour in ninety-degree heat, my shirt comes off. It’s a simple pleasure that only guys can enjoy, so until I develop man-boobs... off comes the shirt. Last summer I was in a small town and my fuel was on E. I started to do what I usually do at a gas station—put on a shirt so not to look like one of those redneck guys with four teeth and a Dale Sr. hat—when I stopped and thought: I don’t give a crap what people think. I know this isn’t a big deal to you who are reading this, but going into that gas station like a shirtless construction worker was a milestone for me. It made a statement: I am now comfortable in my own skin.

So am I there? I don’t know. I’m a lot more comfortable in my skin than I used to be. I also think I am much more comfortable than most people are. Maybe you think I need to put on a shirt in a gas station. That’s fine, but I don’t care what you think. Not caring has been the piece that has gotten me this far, and I’m more comfortable with where I am than ever before. I'm going to keep not caring.

-bo

guys are better than girls... in my humble opinion

It's odd that the things I'm most proud of are things that I really didn't have any control over. Perhaps the things we can't control impact us the deepest.

If I had to name the things I'm most proud of (family aside), I'd say they're that I'm a guy and that I'm a southerner. You don't know me, but you know my type. I'm the average southern guy from a loud southern family who drives a Ford truck, knows good okra from bad okra, still isn't over The War, loves sweet tea, calls people y'all or ma'am or beau, and got his first erection thinking about Daisy Duke. That's who I am. I wrestled with shyness and spent years wondering if I wanted to be something else-- maybe I'd move to NYC and become an eccentric writer-type or head to LA and be a stage hand, but slowly and I've grown more proud of being an average guy in an average town.

I really love being a guy, and I don't believe girls feel the same. I hear fellas all the time saying they are glad they aren't a chick. Every guy alive loves the fact he can pee standing up, doesn't bleed every 28 days, and gets to impregnate rather than be impregnated. I mean male hygiene is a bar of soap; female hygiene is an aisle at Wal-Mart.

We take pride in being less-complicated even if women see us as simplistic and shallow. You can try to spin it into an insult, but simple is always better than complicated. An old episode of Northern Exposure said something like, "Men are controlled by their stomachs and their penises; those are two tangible things. Women much more complicated. They are controlled by things like love, hate, and rage." Women are too often too complicated.

I guess in most ways I'm an average joe who is proud to be a joe, but I think my neo-chauvinism goes deeper. I love everything about being a guy. I could go all Freudian on you, explaining my southern family ran by loud women and how it took me years to discover what it meant to be a man, but that is for another blog during another week. Suffice it to say that I am more proud now than I have ever been that I have a Y chromosome. Here are a few of my favorite thing about being a beau:

Driving down a wilmington road on a hot summer afternoon in my truck, windows down, no shirt. Freedom...

Getting naked in a locker room. I love the fact guys have little modesty and will let complete strangers see their stuff.

Opening doors, pulling out chairs, buying flowers, even killing bugs for a lady. I'm old-fashioned in that way and would hate someone to do that for me.

Sweating when I'm working outside or exercising. The say women don't sweat; they perspire. I love the feeling of being soaked in sweat after accomplishing something with my hands.

Going for a run on the loop Wrightsville beach with my shirt off. The feeling of cool wind hitting the sweat on your bare chest is awesome.

Wearing boxer briefs. I don't know why, but I love sitting on my couch in my nothing but my underwear; I think it's the idea of only wearing one piece of clothing.

I could go on and on about how guys have easier orgasms, about how not shaving is awesome, and about how I can be both gross and a perv and be seen as a normal guy. You may read thins and think I'm chauvinistic, close-minded, and shallow, but I guess that's just who guys are. Man, it's great to be a man.

-bo

Beau's Man Laws

A real men has more than male genitalia. We forget that. It seems that what it means to be a man continues to be blurred in the world of Everybody-Loves-Raymond wimps, Homer-Simpson bums, metrosexual posers, Oprah-watching sissies, and loser-without-a-job types. Real men are hard to come by, because few people remember what a real man looks like. Here are my commandments about everything manly.

• Thou shalt be proud to be a man. That doesn’t make me a chauvinist; it makes me right.
• Thou shalt open doors for women. You must do so because you are a gentlemen, but if you catch a look at a girl’s ass, then so be it.
• Thou shalt spend less than 30 seconds fixing you hair. Only pretty boys, homosexuals, and girls spend more than that.
• Thou shalt be a carnivore; only rabbits and women can survive on vegetables.
• Thou shalt take off your shirt whenever the hell you feel like it. Real men work, sleep, and sit around the house shirtless.
• Thou shalt be hairy. When men hit puberty, we get hair everywhere; get used to it. It is permissible to shave your chest, legs, or arms only if you an Olympic swimmer. It is never permissible to shave your package.
• Thou shalt wrestle with your sons, teach them how to fish, and explain the intricacies of an “I” Formation to them. If you have a daughter, thou shalt show her how a man will treat her.
• Thou shalt not share a bed with another man. If there is one bed and two guys, one must sleep on the floor. I don’t make up these rules; I’m just recording them.
• Thou shalt have a college team you know everything about, never forsake, and yell at ESPN because you are sure that Lee Corso hates them. Go Tarheels. Die Corso.
• Thou shalt eat fried food at least twice a day.
• Thou shalt be able to bring a woman to orgasm. Keep trying young men; you’ll get there.
• Thou shalt change your kids’ diapers. They’re your kids too.
• Thou shalt turn off the damn video games-- Jr. High boys conquer Halo; men have lives.
• Thou shalt not be a fat, lazy bastard. Real men can run over a mile, do at least 20 push ups, and can bench press 150 pounds.
• Thou shalt stop whatever you are doing if there is a possibility of sex.
• Thou shalt cry. Not as much as Oprah, but more than Dirty Harry.
• Thou shalt go to a barber, not a hairdresser, hair stylist, or salon. If it smells like a perm, get your ass out of there.
• Thou shalt tell your wife and your kids that you love them.
• Thou shalt be able to kick someone's ass if you have to, but only if you have to.
  
• Thou shalt know the basics about sports, i.e. the starting QB for Dallas, who is playing in the World Series, and that the Nextel Cup isn't something you drink out of.
• Thou shalt watch a chick flick if sex is highly likely afterwards.
• Thou shalt sleep in your underwear. It is highly encouraged to sleep naked if there is a woman in bed with you.
• Thou shalt start your wife’s car for her on cold days, and pick her up at the door on rainy days. It’s what men do.
• Thou shalt break a sweat. Real men mow their own grass, paint their own house, and figure out how to fix their dishwasher.
• Thou shalt own a pocket knife. Thou shalt use it as a toothpick, then to clean your nails, then to cut an apple. You will never wash off this knife.
• Thou shalt admit your mistakes.
• Thou shalt like being outside better than inside, and camp out at least once a year.
  
• Thou shalt watch Ultimate Fighting Championship whenever you see it on.
• Thou shalt never hit a girl, not even playing around. Never. Only kindergartners and pricks on COPS hit girls.
• Thou shalt never get pedicures. Or manicures. Or waxing.
• Thou shalt take care of your family. A real man works hard, protects, and would take a bullet for his family.
• Thou shalt do the right thing. Boys do the right thing when they are nagged. Real men do the right thing without being asked.
• Thou shalt own a dog. ‘Nuf said.

Real men aren't boys.
Real men aren't woman-like.
Real men take care of their families.
Real men are rare.
I try to be a real man.

-bo