Manly musings, done in a manly way that features a piano and a toilet.

Further to Thursday's post, I've always wanted to be a guy's guy. My old man could fix anything that was fixable. And if it wasn't, he would get rid of it. He used to flip houses by himself. Not renovate them; actually lift them up by one end and flip them over. Okay, not really.

Once, when he dragooned his weakling son into helping him fix up a place (I could paint and scrub dog hair out of radiators), we found a broken-down upright piano on the second floor. We could have looked into having it fixed up and sold, or we could have carefully brought it downstairs and seen if anyone on the block wanted a free piano. Or we could do what we did, which was chop it into pieces and throw the pieces out the window, into the backyard.

Manly!

So I've had my moments.

I wish I had been better at math in school, though. Math guys were supposed to be brainiacs and nerds, but some of them became architects and civil engineers and systems designers and other things that are extremely manly while still enabling them to keep their shirts clean. Unfortunately I was bad at math, and ultimately unqualified for any real work, so I had to start editing and writing.

Were I an engineer instead of useless, though, rather than writing I would be doing something worthwhile with my time. Take this guy:

Or take the guys who build giant trebuchets and air cannons and stuff for the annual Punkin Chunkin pumpkin-shooting event. Even the women involved are more manly than I am.

Oh, well. My dad's passed on now, and he probably never did understand how the son who could do what he never could---go to college---could wind up with so few usable skills.

I'm sorry, Dad. I miss you. We'll always have the piano.