It's Not Easy Being Me
I don't drink coffee, which is viewed as aberrant behavior here in Latte Land unless you're Mormon, and no one would mistake me for being Mormon; I always need a haircut, for one thing.
Actually, always needing a haircut is sort of aberrant behavior, too.
It's not like I'm shunned or anything. My coffee-less life might draw a raised eyebrow occasionally, but I live in a very tolerant part of the country where politeness is considered a civic attribute and people always cross with the green light. So it's not like I have to go out to the alley to drink my tea.
But the coffee culture is strong up here, and we start them young. My daughter and her friends began drinking coffee around middle school age, I think, although mostly back then they were getting coffee-flavored ice cream drinks.
Starbuck's has spread across the country, I guess, but it started here and to a teatotaller, it seems a little excessive. Doing a little experiment one day, I drove in a small square around my neighborhood, half-mile legs in each direction, and when I got back home I had counted 353 coffee places. You think I'm making this up.
I am making this up. But there are a lot of them.
I don't know why I never acquired the taste. I grew up with coffee; there was always a pot on somewhere when we went to visit grandparents or friends. I've just always been a cold drink kind of guy, I guess, and now I'm too old to change, even to fit in.
My wife doesn't drink coffee either, but women can get away with that. We somehow expect women to be more iconoclastic in our culture; we accept eccentricity and individualism and rebelliousness from them. They wear it better. Eccentricity in a man looks like a gray ponytail, a cry for help. It's hard to pull off without looking pathetic.
Rebellion looks immature on men, somehow. No matter how things change, no matter how enlightened we become and how many Mister Moms there are and how metrosexual we attempt to be and how much hair gel we buy, we still feel uneasy unless we can take a carburetor apart and then drink a cup of coffee.
Lots of us can't do this, of course. But it doesn't mean, no matter how well adjusted we think we are, that we don't secretly wish that we could.
And it's not an either/or situation. The big contradiction to the "Queer Eye For The Straight Guy" thing is the idea that men are one sort of the other (i.e., a slob in need of cleaning up, or a gay man with culture). Clark Gable, the original macho man, a guy most comfortable working under the hood of his car or riding his motorcycle or hunting, was an actor and an immaculate man. They said Gable was so clean you could eat off him, but still he could do the carburetor and coffee thing.
Me, I just look sort of hopeless. I've reached middle age and realize that about all I can do is type pretty fast. My yard is a mess. My car is about to blow up and I don't know how to fix it. There are roof issues. I didn't even watch the NBA playoffs. And I can't bring myself to drink coffee, even if it might redeem my manhood in the eyes of the world.
So now I'm going to get some iced tea and type some more. I might mow the lawn later, but it won't be a great job. I'll just get by. And God forbid something breaks around here, because my wife will just have to fix it.
And I really need a haircut.
10:02:59 AM 
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