How'd you spend your Sunday? Putting your stamp on the land you own? Tilling the soil? Changing the very environment in which you live? Performing backbreaking manual labor? Probably not. You're soft. But I did!
I carved a 3-foot deep hole in the bone dry dirt. Chipping away bit by bit. Creating piles of dirt and pride everywhere. The sweat of my brow literally fell into the Earth, moistening it. Creating nourishment for the palm tree I transplanted from the backyard to the front.
Then I dug up a piece of bamboo from the east side of the yard and moved it to the west side. Tenderly put it where the palm used to be. Didn't want to traumatize Mother Earth any more than necessary. Not for my own needs. That's not what being a man is all about. That bamboo's life was literally in my hands. And I tended to it. It is fine. It will thrive, thanks to me.
I got blisters on both thumbs. I sweated a lot. I was the epitome of man at his finest. After I was done, I guzzled a bottle of porter. At that point, the ghost of George Washington appeared and said, "You lived this day exactly as I would. Tending the land, establishing your home, drinking porter. I love porter."
Washington and I share a toast to working the land and then just chilled the hell out for the rest of the afternoon. He asked me how the Constitution has been holding up and I was all, "Man, you don't even wanna know, Wash."