I send this to all of the callow youth out there reading � until today, I had not realized what it meant to be a man.

Different people � well meaning, good people, no doubt � will mark manhood in different ways: driving their first car, kissing their first girl, sex, marriage, the birth of a child. All lovely and arguably important milestones, yet utterly, utterly wrong.

Today I understand that. For today was my first visit to a urologist.

I'll pause so that those of you under 28 can go look it up, and so that the ten percent or so that decided to bravely come back to this thread after looking it up don't miss anything.

The entire process is not designed for comfort. At least not yours. I'd like to suggest a few changes in the system to any proctologists or urologists (professional or amateur) who regularly read this page [ed: You know who you are].

First, the reception area. This is set up like most doctors' offices � an open room seating 20-30 people, filled with magazines dating back to the Nixon administration. That part is all right. I can even handle being handed a 62 page form to fill out regarding my past medical history, favorite authors, and a questionnaire designed to discover "Just How Litigious Are You?"

But the 19 year old receptionist and the intake procedures mystify me.

Despite filling out the aforementioned 62 page form (not counting the appendices and errata pages), you are immediately asked by the aforementioned receptionist, "Why are you here to see the doctor?"

At the sound of the question, you can just picture the 24 heads in the waiting area lifting from the pages of their 1962 Scientific American article talking about the incredible possibilities opening up because of the newly invented "audio cassette" to allow 47 eyes (yes, 47 � don't ask) to zero in on you for your answer.

Well. He is a urologist, after all. That pretty much narrows it down to one body part. And while I may well not be representative, I would hazard a guess that the majority of people use that part for � primarily, at least � only two functions. I don't really want to talk about either function in detail with the doctor, let alone a receptionist who appears to think that Teen Beat magazine is good reading.

Yes, I know she has a six week degree in telephone skills and therefore upholds the highest professional standards in keeping my medical information sacrosanct. It will be merely between myself, her, and the 24 people in the waiting area � plus the UPS man who is waiting to deliver a package. Nevertheless, I must question if this is the best possible procedure for handling my information.

I mean, I was forced to give the reason for the appointment over the phone when I set this up. And then there is the referral from my general doctor, in which he also stated why I was being referred. Plus, of course, the 62 page life history I was in the process of filling out. But apparently I must still make a general announcement for the room � thank God the PA system was on the fritz.

So I made the best of it: "Fungal rotting disease," I stated. "They're testing to see if it is as contagious as they feared."

At least I know how to make sure I get a seat to myself while leafing through my 1975 Time magazine articles on the Middle East � "Jimmy Carter named man of the year; real opportunities for peace ahead."

At any rate, I was still uneasy. I know that I am old fashioned � here I was worried about baring myself for a doctor's visit when three quarters of the Rinderpest.com staff have done the same thing before a grizzled guy named Ernie with seven fingers and three teeth just because he offered them 50% off on matching skull tattoos.

Nevertheless, I worried about making a good impression. Should I have dressed differently? Should I have used cologne? In the end, I went with a simple dusting of talcum. Although the sandalwood was nice, I chose unscented, as I didn't want to give the wrong impression.

And then I had another worry: do I shake hands with the doctor, or not?