Meditations for Men Who Do Next to Nothing (and Would Like to Do Even Less)

by N. K. Peske

  I once met a guy in his fifties who shared with me what an awesome revelation it was when he discovered Grecian Formula for Men. “I can just lather and rinse,” he told me, “and I don’t have to deal with all that weird energy coming from babes who are old enough to be my wife.”

  Another guy in his forties told me that the way to stay young is to jog five miles a day. I have stopped returning his phone calls because I suspect that he has gone insane.

  Why would anybody jog when they could just lather and rinse? It doesn’t make sense. All that effort, and for what? Lower back and knee problems in later life, and it doesn’t even change your hair color.

  It seems to me that life is hard enough, what with breathing and bipedal locomotion and all, so why push it?

  If man were meant to go three miles a day, he would have been born with a turbo engine.

  BEAUTY/SELF-IMAGE

  It is better to look good than to feel good.

  Fernando

  In our visually conscious culture, we feel the pressure to put aside those activities that give us pleasure because we are worried about looking good. We don’t eat that sixth Twinkie, we forgo the family size bag of Doritos, because we are worried about our appearance.

  We start to feel self-conscious when we compare ourselves to guys like Mel Gibson, Lawrence Taylor, or Jon Bon Jovi. We begin to dread looking in the mirror. We begin to measure ourselves against every guy on TV, computing in inches, in quarter inches, or in metric if it sounds bigger.

  What we have to remember is that while women have to be beautiful, we Men Who Do Next to Nothing can rely on something called “character.” We can be “distinguished” or “quirky,” we can have loads of “personality,” a big bank balance, or just enough room on our credit cards to make it look convincing.

  Look at Keith Richards, Refrigerator Perry, Donald Trump. These are real men who are seeing major action in the trenches, and do you imagine that they are worried about an extra Twinkie here or there?

  Dieting is for wimps. Does Dunkin’ Donuts deliver?

  RELATIONSHIPS

  Relations stop nowhere.

  Henry James

  We Men Who Do Next to Nothing know more than we might think about healthy relationships. Even though most of our models for relationships are based on the unhealthy examples set by our dysfunctional parents, and even though our girlfriends have told us that we wouldn’t know a good relationship if it came up and bit us on the butt, we have to realize that we have learned a thing or two about the endless opportunities available for new and better ways to relate to a whole variety of women.

  Too often, relationships are looked at as some kind of eternal fix, like Super Glue. We are told that a relationship is a structure that gives form and shape to the bond between two people. Without it, we are like Jell-O without a mold. So what’s wrong with putting Jell-O in other places, like in the bathtub, for example? Green Jell-O, about three hundred quarts of it, kept at room temperature, so it kind of squishes when you step into it and oozes into every available orifice and gets real interesting when you turn on the whirlpool jets, although this usually requires the presence of a competent plumber.

  I’m Jell-O and you’re glue. Whatever slides off me sticks to you. Sounds like fun.

  JEALOUSY/LOST

  OPPORTUNITIES

  Whenever a friend succeeds, a little something in me dies.

  Gore Vidal

  I admire a man who can own up to jealousy. It’s an ugly emotion, and when we recognize ourselves turning green, we feel ashamed, particularly as it clashes with the couch.

  It’s only natural to resent those who have succeeded where we have failed, which means we Men Who Do Next to Nothing resent just about everybody, although only on alternate Thursdays because that much angst is just too exhausting on a daily basis.

  It’s hard to accept our station in life when we see where other guys are who have less on the ball than we do. I mean, can Schwarzenegger act? Can Dylan sing? No. And neither can we. So why aren’t we making the same kind of money they are? It just isn’t fair.

  Nobody said life was fair, but I at least thought I was going to be graded on a curve.

  PERSONAL SPACE/

  GETTING AWAY

  Unless we have a war or a big disease or a famine, there’s just too many people, and they’re gonna have to get off the planet.

  Paul Kantner

  Sometimes we just have to get away from everyone and everything to recharge our batteries. If we don’t have a mountaintop retreat, or a summer home, since she got it in the divorce, we may have to find sanctuary elsewhere.

  There are many spaces we can call our own. My favorite bat cave is the last booth at the Pleasure Chest. There I can get in touch with my inner self, my life force. As I slide in my fortieth quarter of the afternoon, I feel assured that there is a special place in the world just for me, and when you work it out, it comes to a lot less than the mortgage on that place in the Berkshires.

  All I want is a room somewhere with a clap on, clap off light switch and a VCR.

  GIVING CREDIT

  He who believes in himself is always good.

  Montesquieu

  Do I devalue myself? Do I forget to give myself enough credit? Do I forget my positive qualities and focus only on the negative?

  Today I will make a list of all that is good about me. I’m not on death row. The student loan people haven’t garnished my wages … yet. I can tell a good joke. I can remember the names and ages of all my kids. I remembered to give my mother a card on Mother’s Day last year. Or was that two years ago? Once I told a girlfriend that her new hairdo was nice even though it looked like her neck just threw up.

  If I think hard enough, I can come up with many wonderful, positive qualities that I possess. If I think even harder, I might be able to come up with something I’ve accomplished since graduating, or at least outline a plan for something I’m going to do eventually that my mom can put in her Christmas newsletter.

  Today I will give myself credit not only for what I have done, but for what I would like to do someday.

  IDENTITY

  I use heavy-gauge strings, tune low, play hard, and floor it.

  Stevie Ray Vaughan

  Did you ever see Stevie Ray Vaughan’s guitar? What a beautiful piece of work. So well-worn there’s hardly any finish left. Deep, sweat-stained grooves in the neck, nicks and burns from years of hard use.

  Like me. I’m sweat-stained and deeply grooved also. I have nicks and burns from that time when I tried to use a soldering iron. Hell, I even have calluses from years of strenuous league bowling, and I can’t even see my feet anymore when standing erect. Now that’s hard use!

  When I think of the life I’ve lived, and the scars I bear, the blues I’ve wished I could sing but can’t because my voice is shot, too, I see that I am one beautiful instrument.

  If I paint myself purple and attach some strings at my neck, maybe Susanna Hoffs will want to strum me.

  COURAGE

  I am the greatest.

  Muhammad Ali

  Face it: if you can say it, and mean it, then you can be it. Live any theory, even a wrong one, long enough and it becomes true. It worked for Ali. It works for the majority of monarchs and all politicians.

  Go ahead, say it, just once. Say, Dammit, I am one hell of a guy. I am an all-around, happening kind of dude. I’m the big cheese, the bee’s knees, the cat’s pajamas. Despite what my ex-wife, my kids, and even my mother are saying about me lately, I am the crème de la crème, passing through life, imparting that ineffable je ne sais quois to everyone and everything around me. I am an apotheosis of myself. I am my own best friend, my comrade in arms. I am my own hero.

  Honk if you love yourself.

  SELF-ACCEPTANCE

  It’s not the meat, it’s the motion.

  Bulgarian proverb

  I am just right! Sometimes I have suspected otherwise. Others have tried to tell me that I am too much. Like the tim
e I tried to get my date to pay for dinner by declaring that I was a feminist and therefore felt that gender specifications with regard to dinner tabs was a slap in the face of liberated women everywhere. After she paid up (I left the tip—hey, I’m not a total slouch) I asked her in for a nightcap. That’s when she told me I was too much. One time a date told me I was too little, but I don’t like to talk about that.

  What a relief to realize that I am just right, neither too much nor too little, but a healthy, respectable, undisputable, substantial, well-orchestrated, intensely mobile, neither understated nor overstated, neither diminutive nor pronounced, but a considerably well-rigged, well-maintained, and well-balanced five inches.

  Today, I will sit and be just right. Then tomorrow, maybe I’ll be just right with that girl in the French-cut bikini who sells foot-long hot dogs on the corner. I mean, how’s she gonna tell the difference in the dark?

  ALTERNATIVES/WORK

  It’s no credit to anyone to work too hard.

  E. W. Howe

  Contrary to popular belief, we Men Who Do Next to Nothing are constantly doing something. Just because we’re not getting paid for it doesn’t mean that we aren’t making excellent use of each and every day.

  There’s the lost episodes of Spiderman to catch up on, the sock drawer to organize, and I could wax the Mustang, too, even though it doesn’t run right now. Still, that car’s a classic, and I’ve got to protect the finish, because I’m gonna sell that baby for some serious dollar someday, and then I’m gonna buy a guitar and start a rock and roll band and tour the world and make zillions of dollars and get laid every single night by beautiful babes in fish-net stockings who all have alter egos that are German and look really good in midnight blue leather.

  Then I’ll be really busy, but until then, I have plenty here to occupy my time. I could hang up a hammock in the other corner of the yard, in case Dad is using this one when I feel like lying down.

  I wonder how much guitar lessons cost?

  CREATIVITY

  Every man of genius sees the world at a different angle from his fellows.

  Havelock Ellis

  I love the image of the back door. All men of vision approach the world from new directions. I, for instance, always make my approach through the back door. I love the thought of secret, out-of-the-way entrances. I love spending the afternoon contemplating what wonderful and surprising sensations await me on the other side of that unexplored gate.

  I suppose the real idea is not the back door per se; it’s the willingness to explore new paths, to go in through the out door.

  I need more back doors in my life.

  Getting in the back door may not be easy, but if they don’t see you coming, they can’t stop you at the gate or collect the price of admission.

  INSPIRATION

  Inspiration is never genuine.

  Samuel Butler

  Sometimes we forget that to do our work well, no matter what it is, we must be inspired. This is true for any kind of work, be it paid or otherwise, which explains why I haven’t been able to do any for quite some time now. Inspiration is the piston in our cylinder, the spark in our plugs, and as I haven’t had a tune-up in about eight months now, inspiration is just about entirely out of the question.

  I don’t know why my mother doesn’t understand this. I try to explain this to her. And I also add that inspiration does not come on demand. Like any process, it is a mystery and does not answer when called, but comes, uninvited, and expects not only a beer, but a beer glass.

  Inspiration is a real pain in the ass and somebody I’d never willingly sit down and have a beer with, ‘cause you just can’t depend on him. I mean, you give him a beer, you turn around to slap him on the back, where is he? He’s disappeared, and you’re sitting there, a dumb schmuck, with a dirty glass, and when you go to the fridge you realize the beer’s all gone. I mean, what kind of a guest is that?

  When I wait for inspiration, I always end up making another beer run.

  INSTINCT/ANIMAL NATURE

  Mglfwabogtrmslztsff.

  Kurt Cobain

  Any man who has sat in the park and watched a dog lift his leg on a tree, any man who has witnessed this unabashed and free-flowing expression of masculinity, knows the beauty of animal instinct.

  How often do our own pure instincts become clouded with civility and politeness? How easy it is to lose sight of the men we truly are. What a far better world it would be if we allowed ourselves to express our essential selves.

  Who we are is inextricably linked with what we are. We are men and like the spaniel must lift our legs often to mark our territory, to write our names proudly in the snow, and to claim every bitch on this side of the avenue as our property.

  To be a man I have to pee.

  PANIC/FATIGUE

  Jane, stop this crazy thing!

  George Jetson

  Living our lives can be so exhausting. Writing down phone messages, parking only in designated areas, and leaving the toilet seat down can be monumental burdens. Sometimes it feels like life is one responsibility after another, leaving us drained and despondent, and, in return, granting us only an illusion of control.

  We are caught on a treadmill, strapped to a rowing machine, chained to a Stairmaster, with no big-breasted, Spandex-clad aerobics instructor in sight. Could it be that we are creating our own inner turmoil, that conflicts and crises do not just happen to us, but are self-perpetuated? Wouldn’t it be better to admit that we are totally out of control?

  Isn’t it preferable to leave your shoes untied, your zipper unzipped, or better yet, just not to get dressed at all? Might not the elimination of all activity from our lives grant us the serenity we seek?

  I hope I will allow myself to see that an illusion of control is not worth the effort.

  ROMANCE

  Love’ll get you like a case of Bovine Encephalitis.

  Croatian shepherd’s saying

  Sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly lonely and unlovable, my mother takes the opportunity to tell me that there’s a trick to attracting women. She says that if I put on a nice suit, shave, and get a haircut, or a job, this will make others love me. I don’t think so.

  I mean, she’s my mother, what does she know about love? She probably hasn’t had any in about two hundred years. My father went into a walking coma back around 1969, the year we lost the pennant race by one run, and he hasn’t uttered a sound since. He can still do the important things, like operate the BarcaLounger and the remote control, but let’s face it, his Don Juan days are over. She drove him to it, always insisting that he put on a suit, shave, and get a haircut or a job. She did it to him, and now she’s doing it to me. It’s just like her, too, to choose these moments when I’m feeling down to sink her hooks into me and try to get me to conform to her expectations.

  Loving is letting go of expectations and letting people be who they are. If my mother really loved me, she’d get off it already and start baking me some of the miniwienies wrapped in the Poppin’ Fresh rolls. Now that would be helpful and loving.

  In a world with miniwienies, who needs love?

  HOLIDAYS

  Bah … humbug!

  Charles Dickens

  Christmas is coming, and already I feel exhausted and overwhelmed. It is so difficult to maintain my daily rituals and routines when she’s in a frenzy of gift buying, decorating, baking, entertaining, and just generally running around being cloyingly annoying. All that stuff was okay when I was a kid, but why does she have to bother now? I’m not five years old anymore, and I’m beginning to suspect that I’m allergic to tinsel because every time I walk by that damn tree I get hives. Besides, I can’t afford Christmas on an ex—barrel reamer’s unemployment benefits, so why does she have to go and rub it in?

  I have to face it. I am dreading the holiday season. Perhaps it is time for me to take stock and reevaluate whether or not it is truly important to me to have to go through this every year. Is all of the mind-bending act
ivity around here really worth the vented boxer shorts and the eight-pack of tube socks that is always waiting for me under the tree?

  Maybe I should check into the YMCA for a week. Wait, did I pay them yet for last Christmas?

  BECOMING A MAN

  The fox condemns the trap, not himself.

  William Blake

  In our shallow, materialistic society, so much emphasis is placed upon financial success that we have very few role models for manliness. Without any instruction manual, we are suddenly expected to be men and have the wage ceiling and bank balance of our fathers.

  In a society that knows absolutely nothing about it (or if they do, they’re certainly not telling us), there is the assumption that one is a little boy, and then suddenly one is a systems analyst. In our bourgeois, hedonistic, brutalizing culture, becoming a man is linked with making a lot of money. But manhood is much more than a pay stub or a bank balance. Manhood is about hanging out in bars drinking dollar drafts and talking about sports, and Rocky, and the Terminator, and the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders. Manhood is vintage Mustangs, and pre-CBS Fender guitars, heavy metal, and fly girls. Manhood is telling my mother that I won’t turn down the TV, shave, or go job hunting tomorrow because I don’t need those external yardsticks to measure my value as a man.