by N. K. Peske
When I get to feeling badly about my success with the babes, I remind myself that Christie Brinkley married Billy Joel. She has great legs. I try to imagine myself surrounded by legs: long legs; short legs; legs with chubby knees connected to ripe, fleshy little thighs; or bony knees, blending gracefully into long, lush thighs that seem to go all the way up to her belly button … and beyond….
I usually start to feel a lot better when I realize that legs are a large part of my life. Not only the gams on the babe in the Purchasing department but other gams, on other babes, in other departments, in other buildings, in other cities all across the country.
When I get discouraged, I remind myself that there is beauty before, behind, below, and if I’m lucky, even above me.
Boots were made for more than just walking.
TRUTH
Pay no attention to the truth.
Jules Renard
We live in a dishonest society. Everybody lies: politicians, businessmen, the bartender who says he’s out of those little pigs in blankets even though Happy Hour is only half over. In business, in politics, and in bars, it seems the successful communicator is the one who can talk the best game, regardless of whether or not he’s telling the truth. The prize goes to the best bullshitter.
Clearly, our world is more concerned with winning than truth telling, and as Men Who Do Next to Nothing, we have learned that to try to fight fairly, to point out that we should have been alerted to the pigs in blankets shortage before being poured our fourth Johnnie Walker, gets us nowhere. Still, we argue with ourselves until we are so exhausted that we cannot stay awake long enough to catch Muffy Goes to Boarding School on the Playboy channel. Maybe we should learn that in this world we are going to have to bend a little, and if a guy twice our size tells us he’s out of pigs in blankets, we’re just going to have to settle for a chili dog at Cow Chip Charlie’s.
The truth hurts, but so does Scotch on an empty stomach.
SECRETS
No one needs to know anything.
Jean Paul
The 12 Step program teaches that we are as sick as the secrets we keep. Secrets are like an acid eating away at ourselves and our relationships. When we keep a secret we sacrifice a piece of ourselves, and ultimately we are devoured, thread by thread, very much like an edible sheet.
An essential ingredient of recovery is to give up our secrets and live our lives in the open. Let your neighbors see you sleeping in the hammock at noon on a Tuesday. Those sneers are probably just because they’re jealous. Let them see you taking a leak in your bushes. It’s your hedge, and it looks damn healthy. Let your lawn grow. Don’t shave. Don’t change your shirt for a week. Refuse to shower. These are the outer manifestations of the inner man and should be displayed proudly like a medal of honor, not hidden beneath a well-manicured exterior, cowering beneath layers of pima cotton and Aramis for men.
The French say, “He who eats sheets before bedtime wakes up with cotton mouth.”
SATISFACTION
I can’t hardly sing, you know what I mean? I’m no Tom Jones and I don’t give a fuck.
Mick Jagger
Sometimes satisfaction seems unattainable. Yet to be satisfied with ourselves is like a warm Jacuzzi with the jets angled just so. It is so peaceful and cleansing to be truly content with who we are and where we are at this moment.
Often, we equate contentment and satisfaction with stagnation. This is absolutely true, and when this occurs to us we must congratulate ourselves for being on the right track.
After all, which is more peaceful, a still pond or a rushing stream? Can anything truly be said to grow in white water? Can fish eat lunch in it?
Satisfaction is a stagnant pond of quietude, a lunch break from the rapids of life, but it gets kind of crowded at the noon hour, so make your reservations early.
Men, like algae, flourish in standing water.
MALE BONDING
One’s friends are that part of the human race with which one can be human.
George Santayana
One of the devastating consequences of the constant and hectic froth of activity in our lives is that we have less and less contact with our friends. Friendship is a time for letting our hair down, for reveling in the differences and similarities that have drawn and kept us together. Friendship is a time to remember common histories and to be young bucks frolicking in the fields once more.
When did you last spend time with a friend? Can you even remember the last time you went to a hot-oil wrestling match or hung out on a street corner with a pal, smoking cigarettes and discussing automobiles, women, and condom sizes, not necessarily in that order?
What a shame that as employed adults we have placed work over friendship and have come to treat our friends the way our wives treat us—kind of like stale bread that we haven’t gotten around to making into croutons yet.
Strike a blow for brotherhood. Organize a circle jerk.
WONDER
He’s intercepted the ball at the forty-five-yard line. He’s broken away, ten, thirty, forty-five yards for the touchdown. He’s really earned his twelve point five million today.
John Madden
I hear the above passage, and I feel lost in wonder at the beauty of athletic competition. As I listen, I envision a brisk fall afternoon, cold beer, and bleachers. I can hear the roar of the crowd and glimpse the cartwheeling cheerleaders in those cute little pleated numbers, with their thighs pink from the cold, straining against gravity as they hurl themselves heavenward; up and up they go, along with their skirts and those cute little cropped sweaters that play peekaboo with me and everyone else in the first four rows.
I wonder at the grace and command of the quarterback, the salaries these guys make, and all the poontang they must nail.
At moments like this, the workaday world seems far away, which is where it belongs.
Wonder is a gift of real living—real living is a gift of the NFL.
SELF-LOVE
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting.
William Shakespeare
We are so accustomed to doing what others want us to do, or doing what is right, or doing what earns us money, that we have lost touch with our inner selves. We have grown so used to listening to the “shoulds” that we can no longer hear the “would if we coulds.” In the fight to meet our responsibilities, we have stopped knowing ourselves. We have denied our own needs and have come down with such a severe case of blue balls that we may never recover.
Imagine starting each day with the question, “What would I do today if I could?” What would be your answer? I’ll give you a hint. It probably has nothing to do with getting out of bed and going to work. Just as an exercise, try shutting off that alarm clock. Try missing the 8:07. Try out that new pair of chamois gloves the girlfriend got you for Christmas.
Try to visualize what your inner self is saying. If you’re like the rest of us Men Who Do Next to Nothing, it’s probably saying, “Jeez, why didn’t I think of these gloves before?”
Do they make Playtex gloves for men?
SELF-ESTEEM/SELF-ABUSE
Of course we revel in our own fucking genius. Why the hell not? Self-indulgence is what we’ re full of and we’re proud of it.
Johnny Rotten (Lydon)
Our feelings of unworthiness often lead us to abuse ourselves. One of the most common forms of self-abuse is work. Another is marriage. Many Men Who Do Next to Nothing are beginning to see that it is abusive to the self to keep so busy that we have no time to experience those things in life that make us feel good, like forests, or sunsets, or wet T-shirt nights at the Hell Hole.
It is abusive to the self to be so busy taking care of others that we neglect our own needs. And when we are unkind to ourselves it is inevitable that we will be unkind to others, which is an excellent argument for not visiting your in-laws. Try it out next Thanksgiving.
Although self-abuse is okay for some people, I do not believe that it is right for me.
HELPLESSNESS
Sitting is better than standing, lying is better than sitting.
Indian proverb
Me? Helpless? An empty skid on the loading dock of life? You bet! Is this bad? I don’t think so. I know that when I struggle to achieve and succeed, I feel ragged around the edges, my personal life takes a beating, and all I end up with for my pains is a paycheck eaten up by the government, interest payments, and dial 900-HOT-BABE.
Maybe I need to accept my helplessness, my utter lack of control over my own success or failure, and realize that if my life does need something, it’ll turn up eventually, and if it doesn’t, I probably didn’t need it anyway.
Just finding a reason to get up in the morning is enough of a challenge. What was that 900 number again?
INTIMACY/ISOLATION
If it weren’t for pickpockets I’d have no sex life.
Rodney Dangerfield
Human beings were not made to live in isolation. If we were, there would be no such thing as stadium concerts with festival seating. I like to get close, real close, to my fellow human beings. Women, I mean. I find that a bus at rush hour is a great place to achieve intimacy. So they usually don’t look as good as Barbara Dare, but they have one thing going for them. They’re three-dimensional.
It’s just not enough to watch all the time. Sometimes I have to get involved, as long as that involvement is confined to the eight-block stint on the crosstown express.
I deserve a soul mate. I deserve two. Preferably at the same time.
NEEDS/DESIRES
I’ve looked on a lot of women with lust.
Jimmy Carter
Have you ever heard a fog horn? It’s that low and mournful sound, penetrating the mist, leading blind ships ashore. For me, that baritone wail sounds the depths of despair and puts me in mind of the desolation of the human heart when it hasn’t gotten laid in a month and a half.
When I feel despairing and alone, caught in the heavy grayness of my existence, I find that duplicating the sounds of the fog horn can lead me safely to shore. I groan, I whine, I howl into the night, and before you know it, light appears in the midst of my murkiness, red flashing lights, coming to find out who is making all the racket in 2B.
In the stillness I can hear the sound of my needs demanding to be met. So can my neighbors.
FEAR
A man who has learned not to feel fear will find the fatigue of daily life enormously diminished.
Bertrand Russell
Fear is often the first link in a chain of emotions that can lead to activity. Fear can make us do all sorts of exhausting things. Fear makes us put our tails between our legs or hang our heads in shame. A final warning at work leads us at last to write up those reports that were due six months ago. An ultimatum from our wife or girlfriend spurs us to run to the nearest jeweler and pop for some overpriced bauble. All needless, fear-motivated activity.
We must learn to suppress our fears before they lead us to actions that embarrass us. When we feel that familiar knot beginning to form in the pit of our stomach, we must ignore it and wait for it to go away. It’s bound to eventually. And if it doesn’t, pound a fistful of Turns and forget about it.
What’s wrong with repression? It works.
EXPECTATIONS
Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.
Alexander Pope
Expectations are the worst! They are setups for disappointment and misunderstanding, particularly when other people are expecting something from us.
Many a pleasant evening has been sacrificed at the altar of expectation. Remember last Friday night when you took that fox from Purchasing out for Chinese, after which you expected to take her home and test out your edible sheets, but before this she expected to discuss the future of your relationship? What was the result? Disappointment? Misunderstanding? Certainly nobody was biting any sheets that night.
Be alert to the dangers of expectations. The next time she expects a relationship, or even dinner, explain to her that expectations are an illusion of control, which ought to be stamped out before being allowed to screw up another Friday night.
When we are tied to expectations, we usually don’t get laid. Besides, who needs dinner when you’ve got edible sheets?
NATURE/MASCULINITY
Like, peace and love, motherfucker, or you’re gonna die! I’m gonna kick your ass if you fuck with my garden.
Axl Rose
Deep down inside each of us is a wild man, a guttural, visceral, irascible being who if turned loose would call in sick tomorrow morning and see who is on Live with Regis & Kathie Lee.
Who is this wild man, this virile beast within, who bays at the moon and at girls wearing those thong things? Could this possibly be me? God, I hope so.
Imagine a world where your wild man can roam free as the tide, where you don’t have to hide, where you can live as free as the wind, unfettered by the expectations of others, or condoms. Imagine a world where beauty surrounds you, where women take you to dinner and then expect something in return. Imagine that you are born free.
Wild men, like lions, need nothing more than a grassy knoll and a large plain tree to be utterly fulfilled.
FREEDOM
Bo bo bo b’do bo …
The Cream
Addiction to activity is a progressive disease, which, if allowed to fester unattended, can rob us of our reason and even our enjoyment of life. We begin innocently enough, changing a light bulb, mending a roof leak, and the next thing we know projects like cleaning the gunk caked up around the base of the toilet or scrubbing petrified bits of food clinging to the walls of the sink begin to suggest themselves. Consider this: Would we have even seen the gunk or the petrified bits if we had not changed that light bulb in the first place?
We must embrace the freedom that exists in the semidarkness. We must recognize the inherent threat to our being in that first step toward doing. We must cast off the chains of guilt and duty that bind us and recognize that we are free men, if we choose to be.
Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to do.
ACTION
He who acts, spoils; he who grasps, lets slip.
Lao-tse
If there is anything we Men Who Do Next to Nothing have learned in our recovery, it’s how to avoid getting things done. We have become experts at avoidance. We have an unswerving instinct for looking in the opposite direction whenever things need to be done. It’s a way of life and one we are proud of.
Sometimes, though, we forget to celebrate how important our practical, everyday avoidances are. We long for some monumental task to shirk, some huge, all-important oversight. Yet our lives are made up of ordinary chores that need to be ignored: getting to work every morning, paying the bills, fixing the furnace. These common, routine avoidances can seem small and insignificant, yet they are not as meaningless as they might seem, as you will find out next winter, so we must remember to recognize them.
If they cut off my heat, my pipes will burst, which means I won’t have to bathe anymore. There is a positive side to everything, if we look in the right place.
FOOLISH BEHAVIOR
A fool has a fine world.
Yiddish proverb
The harder we strive to avoid working, the more flak we take from the unenlightened majority who actually think that work is important. We Men Who Do Next to Nothing know that although the grasshopper and the ant lead very different lives—one a creature of leisure, the other a creature of endless toil—they come to the same end, either squashed under somebody’s boot or fried by a kid with a magnifying glass. So why work so hard? Why work at all?
So some people call us fools. Why? Because we don’t have a six-figure salary, a stock portfolio, or furniture in our apartment? But while we’re gorging on Little Debbie cakes and perusing the new swimsuit edition, what are all those wise guys doing? They’re working. So we must ask ourselves: Who is the fool, and who is the wise man?
What good is furniture if you’re too busy to sit on it?
COMPETITION
Nice guys finish last.
Leo Durocher
May the best man win. Sounds fair, unless of course you’re not the best man. What if you’re the second-best guy, or the third or the fourth? What if you’re not even in the wedding party?
What if we don’t have an uncle on the board of directors, a friend who is sleeping with the professor, or a girlfriend with a mortgage? What if we are underemployed? What if, in the race of life, we are saddled with lead Nikes?
The point is, when we stop worrying about winning races, these things don’t matter. We no longer have to compare ourselves with that jerk down the hall who takes his girlfriend to the Bahamas twice a year and still has enough left over to not only pay rent, but purchase Minoxidil on a regular basis.
Besides, we’ve got a lot to offer when we think about it. How about that belching thing or our 10 percent employee discount on recreational rifles? That’s pretty good.