Middle-aged men in summer have one thing on their minds: barbecue grills. Women in bathing suits are no match for a man's thrill at firing up his barbecue grill. The primal instincts of the hunter-gatherer can only find fulfillment in the sizzle and pop of a flank steak lined with the grid of the grill after each flip of the grill-master. The smoke rises as the warrior-king sends smoke signals into the sky to indicate another conquest as imagined in a bygone primal century. I recently had trouble with my grill, which would only heat up to about 200 degrees even though I had tried two full propane tanks, neither of which would work. This bout of grill impotence was unnerving because men measure their summer manhood by their barbecue-ability. It lasted about two months over summer and even stretched into September. Time after time I returned to the house with half-cooked morsels of meat as I was unable to finish the job. I took the grill apart, cleaned it, and put it back toge...
by Chris Rainey. This is a blog of my journaling, essays, opinion pieces, religious satire, and creative writing.