Men and the Fifth Level of Pi

I have come to the conclusion, there is nothing more manly, more able to tap into a man's testosterone, more willing to spark a man and cause him to grunt and find the simple function of his brain stem, then pouring and setting concrete.

I poured a concrete slab early this Saturday morning. Had the boys over, three wheelbarrows, tools, AND RE-BAR! Anytime you can put a man with other men, concrete, a concrete truck, and RE-BAR you got yourself an event that transcends time.

I do not want to take away those testosteroney events from my brothers if they haven't ever done this- moments like parachuting into Kandahar in the dead of night or throwing a runner out at home from deep right field or even something as simple as changing the flange adapter to your m-wheel brace all contribute to the 'Big T' development, passing by a moment with my ancients and campfires, skinning the fatted calf, digging an arrow out of someones shoulder, those kinds of things. For men, all these things cause a significant release of that little hormone. But nothing can compare to schlepping mud like the Romans who invented it.

My daughter suggested that throwing a few hundred dollars at the project and allow some seasoned, experienced labors do the work would eliminate the sore backs, knees, shoulders, neck, feet, eyes, basically all parts of my fifty-four year old body that is sitting here popping ibuprofen like their jelly beans while I write this. But then, I wouldn't be in touch with the ancient Romans and the Big T. I laughed in her face and proceeded to order my three full yards of PSI 3000 Mix On Site bad boy concrete.

The project was set up quick, executed like landing Apollo on the moon, and after just twenty minutes, all the concrete was off the truck, being pushed into the corners and woven around the iron (really steel but the word iron is just more manly), cutting in expansion joints. We were running a cacophony of shovels, trowels, and enough sweat to take out three shirts, enough sweat to soak your shorts--both of them, running down your leg into your socks and pooling in the bunker fire boots we "accidentally" forgot to give back to our former employer thirteen years ago, just waiting for a day like today.The fact I didn't use the restroom for most of the day and when I did in the afternoon, the fluid coming from me was the color of lemon zest pie might have been an indication to the miscalculation of our hydration issues. 

Yep, that's what men do. I guess you could say the same thing for just about anything men participate in, but moving concrete, having a cement truck in your driveway, you have every man in the neighborhood perk up their ears, stop in their tracks in whatever it was they were doing, and turn in the direction of the disturbance in the force. Its like the migration of the Great American Bison during the rut. They're RADAR was on this primal event.

An incredible moment. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go tank up on some injectibles, a tall-boy of whiskey, and a bath, before I fall asleep sitting up.

Wait, I need to go pop a Bayer aspirin, you know, just in case.