The Secrets of My Man Cave

Living in a family with two growing boys, space in our home is already at a premium.  Thus, when the early onset of middle age came nipping at the back of my neck and caused me to desire a man cave of my own, I naturally thought outside the box.  By "the box" I mean our house because it is rather shaped like a box.  The unpredictability of Chicago weather caused me to scratch off the tent possibility and that left me with either the back of the minivan since we have pretty much removed the middle row of seats permanently (pay attention, this will be relevant later...oooh, foreshadowing) or the garage.  So, into the garage I went.

After clearing space of all things hoarded, I assessed the remaining half of the garage and imagined how I might use the space.  The one thing I had known for some time the cave must include was a collection of retro video games.  I procured my old systems dating back to my childhood and gathered as many games as I could.  The result was a functioning NES, Super NES, Nintendo 64, Gamecube and, the flagship of the museum (because that's what I considered it, a museum to the history of gaming) my old Atari 2600 as well as several boxes full of game cartridges.  I also took back an old 32-inch tube television from my brother-in-law, which was much heavier than I ever remembered it being, and received an old 20-inch tube TV from my parents.  I then found the original DVD player and found that both that and my old college stereo were still working like champs.  Things were shaping up nicely.

The problem that I faced was a lack of shelving to display my old video games.  I imagined those slick looking metal shelving units you see in the Sears tool catalogs lining my garage walls.  You know, the ones with the exposed riveting and the textured shelves that make your testosterone levels sky rocket just looking at them.  Yes, your testosterone levels too ladies, that's how manly they are.  This was pondered for about a minute, then I came to my senses.  Such a major overhaul costs a pretty penny and I was short on money.  The money I did have could certainly not be earmarked for man cave renovations.

So, my eye became more analytical.  I started searching for possibilities where others might not see them.  I scrounged.  I considered all things old and discarded that could find both new life and purpose in a new place, like a washed up Cubs' pitching prospect traded to another team.

That was when I noticed the old beat up under the garage patio's overhanging roof.  They stood there patiently holding my sons' long overlooked outdoor toys.  Buckets and sand shovels, wooden blocks and dry-rotted water guns were removed from them and I quickly found the perfect space for them to fit in.  They would do nicely, but they were in terrible shape.

That's when a stroke of genius hit me: Duct tape.

The Winds of Change Whisper Through the Pines and I Think it Would Be Rude to Ignore Them

I was torn today. Every now and then, one realizes that certain truths one may hold very dear don't exactly get along perfectly. They are the Felix Unger and Oscar Madison of your brain and while you roll your eyes and chuckle at the hilarity of their differences there's still always that uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach that one day one of them is going to be caught trying to stuff the dead corpse of the other down the incinerator chute. As I navigated the tree lined passages of the Northwoods, my iPhone alerted me to the incoming text message and instantly and instinctively I pulled it from my pocket to check it. This is something I never would have done five years ago. Of course, I couldn't have done it five years ago because the network reception wasn't nearly what it is today, so I suppose I ought not to get so high and mighty over the sanctity of nature with myself. Still, it bothered me slightly. When you escape into nature, you expect there to be an enveloping dome of technological regression that is somewhat comforting. It's not that you don't want to be able to reach the ones you love or be able to contact help in case of an emergency like a bear attack (though I hear the last thing you should do during a bear attack is get on your cell phone...it will only further enrage the bear and increase the ferocity with which it mauls you) it's just that you welcome the excuse to limit your contact with the outside world. Simultaneouly, I was ashamed to be excited. I love for my sons to be on the cutting edge of technology. I love that they show me how to do things on the iPad. I love that they have begun to show me effective video game techniques. I suppose I will enjoy it slightly less when they begin to kick my ass at said video games, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. So, when the two sides of my psyche collided, the side that loves getting away from it all and the side that feels the constant need to be plugged into it all, my head began to swim. I texted my response and immediately dragged my boys onto a canoe and started paddling. And while I ran from my choice between technological progress and good old fashioned outdoorsy fun, the answer came to me. I didn't need to make a choice at all. If the two sides of me were to coexist, who was I to resist. After all, religion and science can find common ground. Okay, that is an admittedly terrible example. But I'm sure I can make this work. I have to. Besides, what's the harm in catching a largemouth bass and immediately posting my celebratory photo on Facebook? Once I'm done using the iPad's 3G network to write this blog post, I'll shut it down and pick up an old paperback book and read unto the wee hours. Then I'll wake up in the morning and do some fishing first thing all by myself from the dock. I'd better set the alarm on my iPhone so I get up on time. (Note my inability to properly edit the format of this post...I am so roughing it)

How Cleaning House Led Me to Rediscover My Manhood

Everyone has a place in their home where all the crap goes.  In our home that place is our office.  It is technically a third bedroom that we have filled with desks, computers and bookcases.  Thanks to the fact that we have two boys and bunk beds, we can retreat there from the noise of the average day and try to be productive doing things like paying bills, writing a blog and spending way too much time on Facebook.  At least we can do so when the crap hasn't piled up.


To clarify, this is metaphorical crap I am talking about.  Certainly, we have a room (two of them in fact) where the literal crap goes.  Some crap technically ends up in the yard, but that is 99% of the time at the hands of our dog ("hands" here is also used metaphorically in that dogs have paws and hopefully neither hands nor paws are ever involved in said crap's placement...ew).