Udaman!

I have absolutely no interest in being "the man."

That guy at the bus station with the long jet-black permed hair, wearing a muscle shirt (cropped above the belly button) over genuine unnaturally large muscles, with jeans that are tight on top, baggy around the knees and tight again at the ankles: He was the man sometime around 1984.

The runner, with his grey mane of hair flowing behind him, who is wearing only running shorts (the old, tiny kind that show an abundance of side thigh) and shoes: He was the man in 1978.

The thick neck who's sitting one booth over with his hat on backwards, talking about his fantasy football draft to his wife, who's looking at her menu: he was the man a few years ago.

As soon as you say "I'm the man," time clamps down, and you're instantly not the man anymore. Forever.

So, if I'm ever acting like the man, grab my forearm or chin, and tell me forcefully "You don't want this."