I am a heterosexual American man, comprehensively bought into the competitive ethos of the business world but also in a fiercely-gripped, almost fanatical state of arrested development. I seek to both understand the vanguard of mass-market fashion and effortlessly mimic it, in my clothes, my hairstyle, the ways I use my impeccably-current electronic devices, what I say to girls, what I say to my friends, and what I think when I look in the mirror. In the last few years, it’s become acceptable for me to have a beard and an untucked button-down while giving a presentation in my company’s boardroom. My large house is meticulous in its organization, cleanliness, and adherence to conventional design logic. Maintaining these appearances is largely the responsibility of my perky, doting wife, who is not only permissive and patient but actually is deeply passionate about the same things I am: football, eating, and sex. A few chores around the house, though, fall to me: aside from hosting football-themed parties on Sunday, it’s my job to use tools in practical ways – such as building a railing for our naturally water-resistant back deck – and to mow, seed, and fertilize our perfect front lawn.
I like to buy everything as cheaply as possible, especially food. This works out great for me and my family, because we think fast food is so delicious. With our busy lives, lightning-quick free delivery and convenient drive-thru service make our bacon-stuffed-crust pizza, festive autumnally-spiced coffee beverages, and Mexican-inspired taco disruptions seem to taste even better. My beverage of choice is light beer, because that’s what all my friends like to drink when we’re having fun. Since we’re all committed to the most flavorful possible beer compatible with our active, athletic lifestyle, a low-calorie malt beverage is a must. Sometimes, if I’m feeling insufficiently sexually dangerous or am insecure about being timelessly American, I’ll drink either Bourbon or Jack Daniel’s. I drive two cars: one of them is a Ford F-150, because I am a rugged, handy individual who needs a truck that can both handle the demands of my honest, physical labor profession and also broadcast to the world that my concerns are practical, not self-involved. The other is an imported hybrid vehicle with great gas mileage, loaded with safety gadgetry so I won’t hit anything or hurt anybody, that hugs the road no matter how hard it’s raining and is, in fact, engineered to the standards of professional racecar drivers.
My greatest professional concern is maximizing profit through embracing efficiency. That’s why I insist on having a smartphone with the absolute best coverage map and the fastest download speeds, at, you guessed it, the lowest possible monthly price. I use a hybrid tablet/laptop, because I can use the stylus on its touch screen to design cutting-edge presentations but still type chat messages to the remote colleagues I’m sharing my screen with. I send a lot of packages and envelopes, so I need to be able to track them at all times on whichever device I’m currently using. I own TSA-friendly matched luggage, and use my airline credit card for as many purchases as I can. I have entrusted my retirement savings to a wealth-management firm that understands the complexities and interconnections of the global marketplace, so that when I’m firmly in my Cialis years, my gracefully-aged wife and I will be able to vacation in breezy bungalows next to empty white-sand beaches.
Despite having such a specific and conventional life plan, I have surrounded myself with a diverse and attractive community of kindred spirits. No matter if I’m hosting a backyard barbeque, taking my truck up into the mountains for a fishing and camping trip, hanging out on the beach with some babes and their dogs, or having a good laugh over a business lunch, my white-teethed, racially comprehensive, youthful and energetic friends, family, and coworkers can’t wait to share the experience with me. Why wouldn’t they? This is what all of us want, and because we’re all such hard workers, we have all achieved the American Dream together.
There are two kinds of people I respect above all else. The first, of course, is famous people: singers, actors, models, athletes, former College Football coaches, faded sitcom stars, basket cases whose notoriety keeps them on gossip pages. I’m really into men who are tall, square-shouldered, and poised, who don’t rely unnecessarily on charisma or advanced vocabulary, and who project a confident sexuality that doesn’t have any trace of androgyny. I just trust and respect them, you know? As for women, I generally respond well to the young, thin, athletically toned, eager to please, submissive type. If a woman is particular about her hair and makeup, and puts a lot of thought into maintaining eye contact and conveying an inviting but slightly dangerous warmth to me – like if she’s an eager participant in my sexual health and carnal satiety – I really respect her viewpoint and where she’s coming from. Matching these standards is why my wife and I put so much effort into making physical fitness a part of our daily routine, committing to personal hygiene, and keeping our armpits at the cutting edge of aphrodisiac gender-appropriate personal scent.
My other group of heroes, of course, is the men and women of the military. It is their sacrifice, excellence, physical fitness, eagerness to complete obstacle courses, mastery of advanced touchscreen technology, and facility with futuristic weaponry that serves as fuel to the American engine. They are all that stands between us and anarchy, and I am not only reminded of them every time I see the American flag, it’s as if the flag is taking on their physical qualities, like the banner is morphing into a symbolic manifestation of their sacrifices. Everything great about America (that is to say: everything about America) is a direct result of the bravery of our soldiers. I will never, ever get sick of entertainment centered around soldiers and militarism. This is most true of video games and movies. If I can control an actual U.S. Marine using my XBox controller, like in the case of the Call of Duty games, that’s obviously ideal. But even if the game designers are using some other context, such as an alien planet or a dystopian future, as a proxy for me to give myself over for six or seven hours at a time to a military avatar, that’s great too. With filmed entertainment, I’m generally looking for my military-themed violent adventures to be built around expensive computer generated imagery featuring weapons-related havoc, destruction, and bodily carnage. Whether it’s a morally unambiguous superhero punching out the forces of evil, a pair of misfit cops busting a cartel of job-stealing immigrants, or alien nations warring over the fate of a galaxy, I find myself most pumped about confident, youthful men violently overcoming dire circumstances on the largest possible stage. That, to me, is patriotism.
I’ll sometimes watch comedies, but only if they move fast enough that I’m entertained at all moments. What helps this is if the jokes follow predictable, or often-used, formats, so I can anticipate being entertained before the punch line really drives it home. That kind of thing makes a show feel like a fluid, innovative comedy creation. And because tenderness and compassion are tools that I use to connect with my wife, I’ll sometimes watch shows or movies with her that have actresses in them. Oh, it’s for this reason also that I’m so concerned about beating breast cancer.
Mostly, though, I love watching football. Part of this is because I love the game: the quarterbacks, archetypal leaders of men for our times; the cheerleaders, doting, supportive, nubile future caregivers; the four-star-general tacticians prowling the sidelines; the fervor and reverence of the fans not only in the stadium, but across America, watching via their satellite dishes or on their tablets, connecting as strangers in an airport bar, wearing their jersey as a proud badge of devotion to one of the NFL’s equally important centrally-controlled franchises. But the real reason is because nowhere else in my life do I feel as home, as wanted, as understood, as I do while watching the advertisements in a football game. I feel like they’re MADE for me.
