Some surprising facts regarding Real Men

My nephew Posthumus was growing up amazingly, incredibly and wonderfully (for the son of a single mother) free of the androgynous coeducational gender-blind clap-trap. Like many teenage boys, he was interested in setting himself demanding standards and The Real Man served fine. Besides taking a part of it quite seriously, we also kidded a great deal about it: Real Men, I'd announce waking him up for breakfast at nine, get up before five, take an ice-cold shower and run half a marathon before daybreak. Real Men, he'd announce when setting out in the afternoon, don't shop, they buy stuff. And so forth.

Gibs' legendary A history of Ottoman Poetry (1905), now finally in my hands, is a book Posthumus would have loved. Right off the bat, in chapter one, it characterizes Ottoman Turks as, well, Real Men: fiercely courageous and doggedly loyal, they were men of action not speculation, and, when it came to writing poems, not only did not know how to write, but what to write and, even before that, what to think until a Persian told them. (A devious but effeminate Persian, of course, Gibs kindly forgets to add).

Von Kottwitz suggests Ottoman Turks were brave and loyal but lousy administrators; he misses the obvious point that since their intention was to administer their empire in a manner which would maximize courage and loyalty, and therefore maximize opportunities for the exercise of the same, then, obviously, it follows from the string of bloody wars and rebelions they managed to foment that they administered quite well, thank you.

As one proceeds in this manner in exploring the Real Men lore, one begins to make ever more such surprising discoveries, such as this one: the fellow three seats down from me at the Cafe Colon (Real Men only) is, I am guessing, named Rancho B. Taurus: he has the neck and shoulders of a corrida bull, a shaved and polished head lowered threateningly like a poised battering ram, hands the size of bread loaves, and a brutal facial expression. And he -- sips a sweet rose water milkshake.

Yes, a sweet rose water milkshake. No, he is not having a quadruple espresso with tabasco sauce in a glass -- and is not crushing the glass in his teeth as he drinks it. He is having a sweet rose water milkshake.

Because, well, he can.

From which several Real Mandom aphorisms would appear to follow:

Real Men do whatever they want.
Real Men pay no attention to the rules of Real Mandom.
Real Men do not spend time composing Real Mandom aphorisms.

And, most importantly:

If you ask yourself, you aren't.