It All Started on Caprica

From the muddy banks of the Wabash to the musty foothills of the Wasatch, it is good to be back on the 'Couch! IF there was some kind of hierarchy to the madness of the Man's Couch's Salad Days, Scutch -your moderator- was the Captain of the Couch; the Sinatra of our Rat Pack, the Tyler Duerdon of our Fight Club, the Russel Hammond of our Stillwater. It is therefor with a great sense of humility and flatulence that I accept the invitation, as the Sammy Davis Jr. to his Sinatra, to contribute to this musing of manhood and media.

In times like these it is essential to remember that it all began with the lot of us (there were 5 in the beginning,) being too loser-ey to attract real females (I had been stood up by some skank from the Avenues, Scott's lady had just left for a Mission, and Dennis and his cousins were up to their normal evening sulk.) Somehow we ended up being at the Dennis Pad at the same time, and it was suggested that an unhealthy dose of Papa John's and Coke accompany a viewing of one of the nerdiest of film selections: the original "Battlestar Galactica" pilot/movie.

Now, bear in mind, this is not the edgy version we see today (that I could totally care less about, BTW.) Starbuck was still a dude, Boomer was still black, Adama was still Pa Cartright, and Cylons were not hot blondes. No CGI, no Edward James Almos, and no overly-confusing plot lines. Just stuff blowing up, a pre-"A-Team" Dirk Benedict, overly dramatic acting, and lots of Mormon innuendo. Loved it when I was 6, still do today.

At any rate, that first fateful meeting of the minds combined to make our little "Manly Home Evening" an institution that would go on to be the stuff that legends were made of. I'm just glad that everyone else (or maybe just Scuddy,) has good memories of it too, or at least, how it began. In the end, it wandered away from its pure intentions of a bunch of guys getting together to exercise their inner (and in some cases, overly-outer,) geek by watch obscure sci-fi, imitating the Rat Pack, writing songs about girls who hate them, and eating junk food. It later got bogged down in the mire of jealousy, back-biting, too many chicks, and a midget lesbian; but by no means am I blaming all of that for the dismantling of the Man's Couch.

No, I think it disbanded simply because most of us just out-grew it; like that favorite pair of underpants or that band you used to think was so amazing. Scutch's amazingly-cool best pal introduced him to his soul-mate (and y'all who have been reading this blog know how that turned out,) Dennis -the Deano of the gang- got married and now takes photos of marriages, Brooke found love and is now MIA in Utah someplace, Kris works at some major university, and the cousins....I am pretty sure are still the cousins. As for me, I moved to LA to exercise my rock star demons and flee a relationship based on mistrust, and ended up meeting the woman of my dreams. We are 4 weeks and 10cm away from having our first child (the feminine-kind,) living in Indiana, and loving every minute of it.

But, as the faded white leather of the original couch is long gone and I am not sure what happened to that Fat Elvis tapestry that hung like a specter over every meeting, we can at least let the testosterone flow through our finger tips and muse about whatever it is that is making that lingering hint of the original Man's Couch spirit within us tingle like so much Spidey Sense, right here on this Blog, baby! Cheers be to Scott for reviving this, you can count on me to crap out whatever I can; whether it be MASH trivia or the subtleties of the films of Coleman Francis. To any who read, EXCELSIOR!!

-Fargo