Like everyone else, I miss things from my youth. I miss the body that I used to hate because I thought I was so fat at size 16. I miss gravity defying breasts. I miss perfect eyesight. I don’t think it’s a function of age that our eyesight weakens with time. It is a gift from G-d. The soft focus of myopia keeps our mate’s face youthful and attractive forever, or until we put on our glasses - whichever comes first. I’ve learned that the best way to take ten years off of my face is to knock the glasses off of his, or accidentally place them under the rear tire of any parked vehicle.
But what I miss the most is energy. The Aztecs called it “the age of never.” When suddenly you think to yourself, moving was never this hard before. Cleaning the whole house never took this much time before. Walking to the store was never so far, and uphill both ways!
One night you’re at a party. It’s 1 a.m. and suddenly you think to yourself, “I gotta get outta here. I gotta be at work at eight.” A few years go by and on the way to another party you say to yourself, “No matter what, I’m leaving by midnight.” A few more years go by and you find yourself saying to your host, “I gotta leave by 11 PM. If I don’t get at least 5 hours of sleep, my whole day will be shot.” Next you’re asking on the phone, “Well, what time does the party actually start?” You’re asking because you’re thinking, “I’ll take a nap before I go then I won’t be tired tomorrow if I stay late.”
For men, here’s where the big shift happens. Here’s what separates the Hard Working Joe from the Good Time Charlie, the young bucks from the warriors. One day a Good Time Charlie who has worked exhausted one time too many, begins to notice something that other men around his age are starting to do.
He notices that men gather in broad daylight on weekend afternoons. They roast raw meat which attracts women and children who praise them for their ability to roast meats of all types. Just like a night time party, they can drink beer and tell stories. Good Time Charlie has discovered another gift from G-d, fire...or, as modern man calls it....barbecue.
Fire in the form of barbecue is the warrior’s party time. He discovers he likes barbecues better. They end earlier and he can get a whole night’s sleep! Plus, barbecues are far more manly than parties. At parties, women put out tables of fancy dishes with lots of noodles, a hungry man needs to eat three plates to feel satisfied. Not so at a barbecue. The women still bring the noodle dishes, but he gets to eat slabs of meat marinated in garlic, onion, peppers and every available gas generating vegetable on the market. Combined with the beer and the baked beans, he learns never to turn his back to the barbecue flames.
Barbecue’s appeal to a man’s primitive soul. He must gather a bag of special black rocks. His hands become soiled as he piles the stones into the pit he has dug or purchased from Sears. Only he, the firemaker, can stuff tinder between the stones just right. Only he, the firemaker, can douse the magic stones with the water that ignites. All the women and children must stand at a safe distance, for they are only allowed to watch. The firemaker ignites a small stick with fire and then he tries to light the tinder around the black firestones. But he forgot to say the magic words, words so magical that women must cover the ears of small children. So he lights another small stick, says the unrepeatable magic words and tries again. This process is repeated until the fire god has heard enough already of the unrepeatable magic words and unleashes a burst of flames.
The fire must be nursed into a controlled blaze. When the stones are hot enough, which can only be judged from the thermostat that is genetically coded into the palms of all men, the flesh of the slain animals and fishes can be placed over the blaze by the firemaker. When enough time has gone by, and the firemaker has heard enough praise of his mastery of the fire pit, and he has heard enough begging and pleading from the starving women and children, he announces the food is ready. Everyone lines up, holds their plates humbly, eyes down, as they entreat the firemaker for sustenance.
The warriors know that microwaves are bad magic used by women. It is barbecue, which contains fire given to man by G-d, that is the good magic. As one of my brothers, whose nickname is Mongo, once said at a barbecue, “Nuker bad. Mongo no like nuker. Fire...fire good. Mongo like fire...”
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