Gentle visitors, our Household is in the midst of a project: transforming the basement into a Man Cave.
Seems an odd pursuit since the current configuration is manly enough: cold, concrete slab; bare stud frames; heavy HVAC equipment; steel trusses and poles; exposed pipes and vents; old cast-off furnishings strewn about, along with a few crates of alcohol, some paint cans, a box of baseball cards, vinyl records, and a couple of beer steins, inter alia. No attempt at decor beyond the random beauty of a cellar. But, these days, Man Caves are planned and polished digs, and the unfinished look won't do.
The model for the Man Cave is, of course, a rocky hollow filled with crouching Cro-Magnon men dressed in animal carcasses, gnawing on bones then casting them onto a pre-exisitng pile, and regaling each other with tales of bravado -- a mastodon hunt or a battle with some pathetic Neanderthals -- conveyed in a series of grunts and spear thrusts. A wood fire would be required to enhance the performance, as well as the fermented juice of roots gathered by the women, if available. The more sensitive cavemen might do some drawings.
Not much has changed for Latter-Day Cavemen. We create the same bone pile with chicken wings. (Largely flightless are they are, the chickens have no real complaint.) Latter-Day Grass-Eaters (i.e., vegans) are treated with suspicion or outright scorn.
In a sense, we are like the denizens of Plato's Cave. Rough, hairy creatures sitting in darkness, seeing only shadows cast by a distant light and believing that the shadows are the real thing. Then, some brave messenger -- say, a Socrates (pronounced "sock-ra-tease," or "so -crates" in Cleveland dialect) -- descends into the cave offering to lead us out. He cautions that our ascent will be painful as our eyes adjust to the brightness, but promises that it will be fruitful as we finally stand in the brilliant sunshine and, for the first time, see things as they really care.
And, we respond, "Naw, brah, we're good. But, thanks for offering. Hey! Could you grab me another beer and pass the chicken wings."
These days, we are directed to focus on non-binary interests. But, Latter-Day Cavemen are content with their own binary, chromosomal construction: the entire sequence, beginning with an 'X" and ending with a 'Y', is pretty simple and easy to remember. We are told that there is an entire alphabet with 26 letters. But, how could one possibly memorize all 26 of them and in their proper order?
Even the Cavemen's binary opposites, while attractive, remain largely inscrutable: XX? What could it mean? Doesn't Y follows X? Now, the Cavemen are confused and fear that they're about to be outmaneuvered and overtaken. Their fear is well-founded.
Which leads us back to the planned Man Cave here. The other Householder (binary XX) is insisting, due to space limitations, that your humble Contributor choose between the weight set and the wet bar. One might as well be choosing between life and breath! After much agonizing, your humble Contributor settles on keeping the weights and roughing-in the bar for later development.
He realizes that he has been outwitted and vanquished, but rationalizes that "roughing-in" sounds manly enough, and this will form the explanation to the other Cavemen when they come to visit.
What he will never been able to explain is that there are no hunt drawings on the walls, but, instead, they are done in Accessible Beige.
Recent Comments