The Good Men Project is a collection of autobiographical stories written by men "on the front lines of modern manhood.” It’s about and for men who are living their lives, figuring out what it means to be a good man. The book is a collection of 32 stories, broken into four sections: Fathers, Sons, Husbands, and Workers. There’s also a documentary film which took four of the written stories and told them visually.

Tom Matlack, one of the founders of the Good Men Project, wrote in his introduction to the book that the goal is "by reading other men’s stories and watching them on our documentary film, you can reflect on the arc of your own life and, in the process, begin to form your definition of a good man."

The stories are touching and represent a variety of lifestyles and values. Professor and fiction writer Perry Glasser wrote about being a single dad to an eight-year-old girl. He used beautiful imagery to define security (pouring concrete for a tether ball pole) and the dangers a father protects his daughter from (a bat that gets into the house). Glasser explains how single fatherhood faces different challenges than single motherhood. A single mother wouldn’t have to go to a hair dresser to learn how to brush a girl’s hair. A single mother wouldn’t be questioned by a security guard because she’s waiting for her daughter to come out of the dressing room at a clothing store. This story, the first one in the book, is about a man actively on the front lines of modern manhood, where he learns how to protect and raise his daughter into womanhood.

Because most contributors write professionally, the book is an enjoyable read, but the editors should have defined goodness for themselves. By offering the reader a clear definition of goodness, or several clear definitions, the reader would have something solid to think about. Instead the book presents the stories leaving the reader, if he’s ambitious enough, to decipher for himself what each story says about goodness.

James Houghton, the other founder of the Good Men Project wrote in his introduction, "Despite the pressure we felt at times to make the book more prescriptive, for it to provide easy answers or definitions, the great lesson I’ve learned over the past year… is that there is no definitive answer."

It was an innocent errand, a friend and I were wandering the grocery store looking for two specific items.‚  I had spent a good 20 minutes doing laps through every aisle, carrying a cantaloupe in my hands, looking for this item.‚ 

I know that grocery stores are designed such that customers spend as much time possible in them — the more time to notice some item you had no intention of buying, but with that clever display, suddenly it’s a necessity.‚  Usually I win.‚  This time, the marketing won.

The cantaloupe was getting heavy, and shedding tiny bits of its rind onto my shirt.‚  We just needed one more thing before we could escape the maze of Albertson’s.‚  Escape was on my mind.‚  Then I saw this:

The drink is called “Vacation in a Bottle”!‚  The palm trees!‚  “Happy” and ‚ ”Relaxation” printed in bright, friendly letters at the top of a sleek aluminum bottle.‚  No stress about polluting with a plastic bottle.‚  Also in friendly letters, no caffeine and very little sugar in the drink.‚  No stress about polluting my body and mind with stimulants.‚  This drink is what stressed out Americans have been waiting for!!!

It was two for $4, so my friend and I each got a can.

My friend had Pomegranate Berry and I had Mango Lime.‚ ‚ I opened mine as soon as I got in the car.‚  Fizzy.‚  Tastes‚ familiar . . . like something I had a long time ago . . . reminds me of swimming in our pool . . . summer‚ barbecues . . . KOOL-AID!‚  It’s carbonated Kool-Aid!‚  Green flavor, to be exact.‚  The Pomegranate Berry tasted purple.

Feeling a little sheepish that I fell for such obvious gimmicks, I couldn’t help but admire the anonymous marketers who‚ took advantage of me.‚  I have noticed, as many others have, the prevalence of energy drinks in their fancy black cans with neon streaks.‚  Those black cans are intimidating.

Someone agreed with me and decided to make a more accessible drink, though I agree with this reviewer that the bottle design looks amateurish.‚  But why go through all the trouble of inventing a new drink, when you could just take Kool-Aid, add club soda and repackage it?

Fool me once ViB, but you won’t fool me twice.‚  I’m not drinking this Kool-Aid.

If you have never heard of The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, and you love a good long immersion in a book, stop reading this blog right now and go pick up the book.‚  Don’t be deterred by the Oprah sticker on the front.‚  Those come right off, and sometimes even Oprah has good taste.

Anne Fadiman wrote, “[T]here is a certain kind of child who awakens from a book as from an abyssal sleep, swimming heavily up through layers of consciousness toward a reality that seems less real than the dream-state that has been left behind.”

I was that kind of child, and I read a book every night hoping to recapture the experience Fadiman describes.‚  With David Wroblewski’s The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, I did find a realer reality in Edgar’s world.

I suggest jumping in without reading anything about the book, because that’s how I did it.‚  I spent the first quarter of the book fascinated.‚  Wroblewski spent those first hundred or two pages building intricate characters and their intricate connections to their surroundings: a dog-breeding farm in the 1960s.

Edgar is born mute, but I usually forgot that.‚  He uses sign language to communicate with the dogs.‚  Wroblewski adeptly describes the thoughts and emotions of the dogs, and conversations between dog and person.

When Edgar is fourteen (or thereabout), his father collapses and Edgar cannot call for help.‚  At this point, the story begins to fill the Hamlet‚ mold Wroblewski‚ chose‚ for it.‚  I had not realized until Edgar’s mom plays house with his uncle that the story was a retelling of Hamlet.

Hamlet has a very complicated plot, and every detail that I can remember is represented in The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.‚  Yet Sawtelle has its own, separate identity.

Imagine the story of Hamlet as a line drawing; it is very detailed and rich.‚  It is complete: a perfect work of art.

With Sawtelle, Wroblewski filled in the lines with color, adding the subtlety of shades, giving the lines new relationships and definition.

Wroblewski is a talented story-teller.‚  At first I was jarred out of the story.‚  I knew the plot of Hamlet, so I knew how Edgar’s life story would end.‚  I was disappointed, betrayed.‚  Wroblewski didn’t need the gimmick of re-telling Hamlet, he told a beautiful story without reference to the Bard.

I was on an airplane when this happened.‚  I didn’t have much reading material, so‚  I dove back into Sawtelle’s life.

The familiar characters and events of Hamlet became unfamiliar.‚  I smiled at the blatant references that I had missed before.

If you have not studied Hamlet, there is much to love in the 562 pages of The Life of Edgar Sawtelle.‚  You will experience American rural life as it was before computers and cell phones.‚  You will observe the relationship between a boy and the dog who helped raise him.‚  You will experience tragedy as so many characters make destructive choices in response to chaos.

If you know Hamlet intimately, you will be surprised at the depth that Wroblewski gives to characters.‚  They may participate in the same events as the classic play, but these characters do it for their own reasons, not to serve a gimmick.

I realized I was addicted to texting when I grabbed lunch at Panera. I traipsed over to the soda dispenser. I don’t usually drink soda, so I couldn’t decide between Pepsi and Dr. Pepper. Naturally, I sought the opinion of my best friend, Nichole.

How did I, a 26-year-old graduate student, who has lived on my own for several years, get to the point where I could not make a simple decision about a lunchtime beverage without sending a text to a friend I haven’t seen in over a year who lives two time zones and half a country away?

Oh no, I thought, I’m officially a statistic. I can now be lumped with those socially inept teenagers who can’t carry on a coversation because of the cell phone glued to their palms.

I recently ran out for a short shopping trip and I forgot my phone. I had to purchase a new suitcase with no texted input from Nichole, my mom, or my sister. I could not send pictures of my options. I had to make the decision all by myself. I’ve made these decisions plenty of times before I had a cell phone. In post-unlimited-texting world: it was lonely.

I thought it was bad when my mom joined Facebook.‚  It was my fault.‚  I did that thing where you add pictures then invite friends via email to view your photos.‚  I thought she would be able to see my photos without opening an account.‚  I was wrong.

She signed up, saw my photos, then I unfriended her.

That’s right: I unfriended my mom.

Before you let the shock and horror flood your nervous system, you should know that I talk to my mom at least once a week on the phone.‚  During one of our weekly conversations, I told her I was unfriending her because I don’t like to mix social circles.‚  It never works out.‚  And really, my mom does not need to see some of the comments I make.‚  Really.

But then, my hip aunt joined Facebook, along with every other middle-aged American.‚  I told her I wouldn’t accept her friend request, but she insisted.‚  So I friended my mom again.‚  (BTW I’ve never used “friend” as a verb so much.‚  Makes me feel sloppy.)

There’s a certain etiquette on Facebook that I didn’t realize existed until my mom broke it.‚  I am by no means embarrassed, it’s just revealing of the type of interactions to which I’ve grown accustomed.‚  For example, with over 200 friends, I do not feel the need to comment on every status update or posted link.‚  For awhile, my mom would comment on everything.

I’m okay with it now, and the shine has worn off for her.

Then, my cousins joined Facebook.‚  My nine-year-old cousin, and my 11-year-old cousin.‚  So now, I have to refuse requests to “buy a digital pet” or “fight on Family Guy” or whatever.‚  I get 10 quizzes or applications a week from those guys.‚  I wonder if I should tell them they’re breaking etiquette, like interrupting a conversation.

“Children, please do not flood me with games and quizzes, I’m talking to the grown-ups.”