Paddle Your Own Canoe: One Man's Fundamentals for Delicious Living (4 page)

Step Three:
Find a socialist and punch him/her in the face.

Step Four:
Craft a small wooden watercraft from cedar (for the hull) and domestic hardwoods, like ash or walnut or white oak (for the gunnels and other trim). Carve a paddle from cherry and Alaskan yellow cedar.

Step Five:
Make sweet but powerful love to another human, most preferably one who is welcoming of your advances. If you have adhered to steps 1 through 4, how could they resist? Upon climax, unholster your enormous pistol and empty the cylinder as you fire rounds laced with double entendre into the night sky dripping with stars.

Or not. Sorry, everybody, totally just kidding (except, of course, about the whisky and boatbuilding). I feel like these are some ideas that are somewhat mis-associated with my public persona, as well as with my TV character Ron Swanson. While I firmly adhere to much of this list, these are not, in fact, what I truly consider to be the steps one must tread if one seeks to attain a quality in life leaning toward what we’re here calling manliness. Most of this list pertains more to what I would refer to as the slaking of one’s animal thirsts, or just achieving some of the more delicious base pleasures in life.

Okay, so here we are. As I mentioned, I seem to have been associated with certain traits of machismo in the zeitgeist, at least for this brief, golden moment. I find that fact to be somewhat embarrassing, given my firsthand knowledge of my personal failings and propensity for jackass behavior, but I get it, based on superficially perceived signals of manhood, like a full, thick moustache and the ability to use tools. When people ask me questions relating to my “manliness,” I like to remind them that I am primarily an artist as an actor, writer, and woodworker.

It’s worth mentioning that the two best woodworkers in the Offerman Woodshop are women. Beefy, mannish women? No, nothing of the sort. Lovely, talented, strong, young, and smart ladies, who continue to learn and profit by the time-honored crafts of handmade wooden furniture and boats. Lee and Michele are full-time woodworkers. Me, on the other hand, I’m pretty sensitive. I am an entertainer, and I believe that “entertainer” and “artist” are not the usual vocations that spring to mind when we picture our idea of the classic “man.” I am studying at the same school as Lee and Michele, but they make it to class a hell of a lot more than I do.

Even in my family, I’m not the one you’d call manly. I’m the one who went away to theater school. I took two semesters of ballet, for Christ’s sake. Sure, my incentive was that it was the elective in which one could look at girls the best, but still. Come on, I wore tights and busted out an
entrechat quatre
. In layman’s terms, that’s when you spring straight up in the air and twiddle your pointed toes like scissors four times before you land. The talented dancers could achieve an
entrechat six
, so even in ballet, I was out-manned.

In most of the country (and the world), there are teenagers who could whip me in most contests, because they are working hard every day of their lives, swinging an axe, hauling buckets of water, wrangling herds of cattle, hogs, and horses. Conversely, I memorize written lines of (brilliant) dialogue. Then I go to a trailer where my hair is coiffed and MAKEUP is applied to my face. After that, I squeeze my beefy corpus into specifically unattractive garments before heading into the set, where I then deliver my prepared scenes with all the deadpan élan I can muster. If hungry, I can request a sandwich fixed to my liking. My mewling is easily silenced with a bottle of water or a cup of corn chowder.

Please don’t misunderstand me. In my life, there are and have been times when I do and did work like “a man.” I have engaged in seasons of labor on my family’s farm. I have framed houses. I worked two summers on a blacktop crew, paving parking lots and driveways in the Illinois humidity. I did some roofing in Chicago. I have known and enjoyed hard work for many of my prime years. But now, I am a clown who occasionally gets to mill a tree into table slabs.

Having thus established my current meager rank on the great tourney bracket of manliness in life, let’s begin this chapter in earnest. First of all, let’s change up our semantics. I wish to examine some human attributes that I think of as, yes, “manly,” but I would also like to touch upon some personality traits that I feel are charismatic in people of all sexes, that many readers might instinctively think of as “manly” but I will simply call “capable.” I will perforce be indulging in some gross generalizations here, like “all men have strong arms” and “women wear high heels,” but this is obviously not the case for everyone. Just making conversation.

For the menfolk:

Chivalry:
In a nutshell, there are certain situations in everyday life in which we fellas have the opportunity to behave, well, decently. The initial “women’s lib” movement brought the role of modern-day chivalry into question. “If you ladies want to be treated as equals, then shouldn’t you be able to open your own car door?” The answer to that is, quite simply, “No, dude. You’re an asshole.” Women are, quite clearly, powerful and smart, quite often more than us bros. Their literal bodily connection to the forces of the moon’s gravity and resultant tides, not to mention their quite regular performance of the medicine-ball-through-a-needle’s-eye MIRACLE of childbirth, renders them superior to men in many important ways. However, when ladies like to wear shoes that are difficult to move around in, or perhaps a foxy skirt that limits their choices in sitting positions, then it’s simply nice to lend them a sympathetic hand. We men generally weigh more than they do, so the wind doesn’t prove as much of a threat to us. Perhaps we’re not as worried about our hairdos, so the rain is not as big of a bummer. Whatever the adversity, if a man is on hand to provide ease to a lady’s cause, I think he’s a shitheel if he stands idly by when she could use an umbrella, a handkerchief, or a steady arm.

Of course, this is applicable to all people, not just ladies. There are a lot of daddies out there who sometimes need a little aid as they try to change a diaper whilst juggling groceries and a latte. I suppose that’s another part of being “manly,” or more accurately, “like a man.” I am speaking of our tendency as humans to try to do too much. People love to bite off more than they can chew. I consistently arrive at the grocery store for maybe five or six items, so I get the two-handled plastic basket instead of the cart, and I invariably see seven more things I need, including sixty-four ounces of cranberry juice, and, oh, I really should try this new craft beer from the Russian River Brewing Co., and on and on, until I am testing the limits of both the thick-gauge-wire basket handles and my arms and fingers. Why don’t I go get a cart? Go fuck yourself. Why don’t I ask for directions? A topic much masticated by many before me. “I know I’m lost, I
know
, but I will be
goddamned
if I’m going to stop and ask someone in a gas station for help.” Behave like that, and I’ll be much more quick to call you “manly” than if you win a boxing match.

Grooming:
Again, who is making the rules? How does a “man” groom himself in this modern age? As a character actor blessed with a thick head of hair and a thicker thicket of bracken upon my face, neck, and lip, I have enjoyed excessively utilizing these accessories in every possible permutation I could muster. I have done Mr. T’s majestic hairdo in both brown and platinum white. I often shave my head bald. I have exploited my whiskers for beards, goatees, Vandykes, muttonchops, and of course all manner of moustaches.

Working in the live theater or on a television series can mean maintaining a certain look for months on end, which means if I’m playing a person with a douchey hairstyle (for Christ’s sake, Ron Swanson’s coif is called “the full douche”) or lame facial hair choice, then I might be stuck with said shrubbery throughout my real life, at the lumberyard, at a Little League game, at the post office, you name it. It’s been fascinating over the years to study how I am perceived differently by strangers depending upon my current hair/whisker style. I certainly have rolled around town in a Gucci tuxedo or other fancy Sunday clothes. I have also swaggered about even more in dusty Carhartt pants and jackets (for my money, nothing beats denim and work boots), but whatever the case, people tend to look at you and judge you differently based upon the cover of the book.

I say, who fucking cares? Sure, I think we should do our best to keep ourselves clean, for reasons of health as well as politeness. If you want to attract a conservative person, then get a square haircut and a clean shave. If you long for a Phish fan, well, I don’t know what they typically look like, but I’m betting it’s more laissez-faire than most. Let your freak flag fly, friend. Do your thing, however it looks, keep the hygiene up, and tell everybody who doesn’t like it to kiss your tattooed ass.

Another thought that I think goes for everybody, but men especially:
Be Handy.
For Pete’s sake, I know not everybody can build a canoe, or even a Popsicle stick. That doesn’t mean you need to throw your hands in the air and say, “I’m useless.” There are many facets of our daily lives that entail minor tool use, which damn near any idiot can master. A pet concern of mine: changing a tire on your vehicle. I know, I know, AAA is great, they really are an amazing service, but don’t let the security blanket of their service make you soft. You just might get caught out in the cold without your blanket. Every modern car and truck comes with a full kit for changing a flat tire, and I highly recommend you give it a few practice runs in the safety of your own driveway or street, before you’re stranded in the hills on your way back from Bonnaroo with no cell phone service and a pancaked tire.

You can use a screwdriver. You can use a hammer. Trust me. If you want to fix a broken closet hook or doorknob, you can! Take your time, read about it online, or better yet, ask someone handy that you know for advice. I can’t describe the richly deserved feeling of accomplishment you’ll glean from nailing up just one fallen fence board. Your genitals will expand exponentially. Men have been known to gain up to seven-eighths of an inch in length, and a burgeoning nine-sixteenths of an inch in girth! I’ve heard tell of ladies who increased their vaginal volume by almost a half liter! Don’t take handiness lightly, especially if you hope to increase your manliness, particularly by means of an enlarged vagina.

I cannot wrap up this chapter before touching base with one of my all-time paragons of manliness. I speak, of course, of Theodore Roosevelt, aka “number 26.” Here is a piece he wrote to adorn the wall of the lobby at New York City’s magnificent Museum of Natural History:

MANHOOD

A man’s usefulness depends upon his living up to his ideals insofar as he can.

It is hard to fail but it is worse never to have tried to succeed.

All daring and courage, all iron endurance of misfortune, make for a finer, nobler type of manhood.

Only those are fit to live who do not fear to die and none are fit to die who have shrunk from the joy of life and the duty of life.

Oh, right, just in case we might have forgotten why he was the baddest mofo ever to sit the Oval Office bareback (we haven’t), this should firmly remind us. I would especially like to echo his sentiment that “it is worse never to have tried to succeed.” I would equate this notion with manliness, or, more correctly, capability. Damn it all, you have been given a life on this beautiful planet! Get off your ass and do something!

It is far too simple these days to lazily coast through an entire lifetime, performing adequately at some thankless job, so that one can purchase a roof, a television, a video game console, and a crappy vehicle, only to find oneself in the final days with absolutely nothing to show for the squandered years. My dad always told me, “If you’re gonna do a job, do it right,” and “Just always do the best you can, and then nobody can fault your effort.”

Those simple adages saw me through a great many times of adversity, lending me the necessary gravel for finding gainful employment, so that even when I couldn’t land an acting job, I could find carpentry work, which paid me dollars that I could then spend on beer. When the storm clouds hit, with a little gumption, life can begin to look rather sunny pretty quickly. If you like beer. Which men do. Just kidding. My sisters Laurie and Carrie can drink circles around me. Not sure if I mentioned that they’re also talented belchers.

You’ll notice that Mr. Roosevelt doesn’t mention punching anybody in the face or firing a weapon of any caliber in his description of manhood. This from a man who so famously led the Rough Riders in their conquest of San Juan Hill and punched a fellow assemblyman in the face during an argumentative session of the New York State assembly. He does suggest that quality can be found in a chap who lives “up to his ideals insofar as he can.” This, to me, is another arena in which men and women can prove their worth.
Loyalty. Honor.
Have a set of rules, a code of ethics, that you will do your best to uphold and defend, whether you’re on horseback in Cuba in 1898, or at a school board meeting next week, or merely at the water cooler with your coworkers. Pursue decency in all dealings with your fellow man and woman. Simply put? Don’t be an asshole.