My Mancave Manifesto

When we moved to Texas, I was pleasantly surprised that the job had perks. The biggest of which was the presidential residence.

Years earlier, the college had decided it needed a home for the president of the college….a nice place to attract candidates….and keep them in Snyder. And it is a nice place….a four bedroom home with three living areas and a nice spacious backyard for the Dreith basset herd.

I remember my first thought upon accepting the job.

Ahhh, now I will build the Mancave that I have always desired. It will be my Fortress of Solitude. My Ponderosa. My place….where I can hang my stuff and play with my toys.

That fleeting thought evaporated as members of the family put bids in on the various bedrooms. Carol and I have a mixed family of five…..three belonging to me…..two to her. I also had a nephew who was extended an invitation to live with us to earn an associate’s degree at Uncle Mike’s college. All cool….all part of making our new house a home.

But I soon realized that the Mancave was not going to happen. The floor plan wouldn’t allow it.

Being the selfless trooper that I am…..I did not complain….I endured….and waited….and finally…..a room opened. I seized it and declared squatter’s rights. I ordained the future of the space----There will not be a bed moved into the room. It will be adorned with my stuff. I will steal a door hanger from a hotel that says “Do Not Disturb” and put it on my Mancave doorknob. And I did….and it was good.

Today, for the first time, I came to believe that I have put many of the final touches on the space. Oh, there will be additions as technology advances….but I feel good about where the project is at the moment.

The Mancave can best be described as “technology-enhanced aromatically virile art gallery with a strong emphasis on audio creativity and dust collection.” I now have enough computer storage to completely document all of the drugs Charlie Sheen has ingested in his life. Yes, I have terabytes of drive space. NASA should subcontract with me.

It features a totally functional Internet radio station, two laptops, a flat screen which doubles as a computer screen and satellite television receiver….an audio board, various killer microphones, my camera trunk which stores my various cameras and lenses…..my most cherished photos (my sons in various athletic poses and at least one fetching picture of my wife)…..and one commanding office chair that is reminiscent of the one used my Captain James Tiberius Kirk from the original Star Trek. It reeks with authority.

No one is welcome. For any prospective burglars (and my wife) reading this blog-----the room is booby-trapped. Start messing with stuff in the Mancave and crap will rain down on you like you are Joe Pesci trying to grab Macaulay Culkin.

 

You have been warned.

 

I often write in the Mancave. I listen to my jam. I never dust. I keep my workout bag on the floor and it provides the pungent odor that reminds me of the youthful locker rooms of Bethalto Unit 8 schools. It is distinctive. It makes my eyes water with memories. It makes Carol’s eyes water for another reason.

Every man deserves a loyal woman, a few toys and a place to keep them. That is a Mancave.

If you don’t have a Mancave, don’t be selfless like I was for years. Take one of those shrines that used to belong to the kids and create.

Do it for yourself.

Do it for your marriage.   Then she can watch the stupid country music awards shows while you munch on some mini-tacos listening to Steely Dan and write your blog.

That’s the life, my friend.

I’m living a dream,

Join me.