Where are the callouses?!

It's an old subject, but it's bothering me.

Most of my rants come from observation, frustration, or societal claustrophobia (maybe I'll explain what I mean by this one sometime). A lot of my observational frustration comes during my commute, so please, humor me.

Now that I'm thinking about it, there's a noticeable polarization between drivers on-road behavior in the morning driving in vs. the drive home, which is odd because for the most part these are the same drivers sharing the same road at different times of day... But that's a thought for another day. 

Sorry, back to the old subject. For today's typo-psych excursion I would like to complain about men. I don't mean that like it sounds, because it sounds like something a feminist college activist would paint on a white t-shirt (Fur is murder! Furder!). No, I want to complain about "men"; that 'special' variety of male who never learned to change a tire or mow the yard. Honestly, I wouldn't even call this a rant, but it is a concern of mine, a thought worth thinking.

The Question: When did men decide to stop being Men?
Answer: ...I don't know, but I feel like it began a generation or two before me and then spiraled.



I don't claim to be an authority on manliness. I'm no construction worker, but I did grow up on a strawberry farm. I work on computers all day, but I know how to drive a tractor. I also know that there are jobs to be done at home that my wife, although she's perfectly capable, and the most powerful woman I know, would prefer her husband do. So I go home, and if needed, I put on a paint and Spackle covered pair of old jeans and get to work, but then again, I had to grow up

quickly and never had the luxury of laziness.

Real men get manicures before handling power tools

Oh, right, and I chew on a piece of recently tanned leather from my back yard while I work. Almost forgot to tell you that. 

Yes, I know, there are plenty of guys out there going home and doing manly things, I'm not negating anything from the 'real' men out there, but I do have a point somewhere in my head, maybe we'll get to it.

I just grew another chest hair. It's beautiful

I include my own generation in this because many of my peers' are whiney little guys who would rather pay 'the guy' to install their new faucet while they drink an appletini than role up their sleeves and do the work, which is fine, I guess? It's funny to me, most of these men get up early and go to a gym to pump weights, but they are sorely lacking in skill-sets that use those same muscles for anything other than filling out an overpriced t-shirt.

Maybe I just don't get it, but there's something to be said for doing things yourself, even if it's just for the sake of saying "I did this".

We recently had a large meeting here in my office building, and for that meeting baskets with all kinds of little toiletries were placed on the bathroom sink counter-top for all of our guests to use.

1. Gold Bond powder - Okay, sure, good stuff.
2. Q-Tips - Who doesn't love cleaning out their ears, it's an amazing feeling, I try to do it after every meal. We're doing good so far.
3. Listerine and some small cups - Very good.
4. Udderly Smooth Body Cream Skin Moisturizer - ...Oh, um.

(Do not google "Udder Cream")

Dairy Cow Nipple Cream; no, that's not an odd thing to have in a men's restroom at all. I have often found myself in a raw nipple situation (haven't we all), and in the absence of my backpack tub of Udderly Smooth have resorted to using, among other things, tapioca pudding, thermal CPU paste, and of course, peanut butter.

NO!

There is not one good reason on this planet to have udder cream in the men's restroom! Seeing the udder cream however brought back to mind all of the hands I've shaken over the years and how they've recently started feeling a little... dainty.

Sorry for the long lead, but seriously, where are the callouses!?

Have a great Monday, and please, be a pal and use a power tool today.

-Austin