Rambling Rhodes

Disinfected

I'm not typically a hand lotion kind of guy. Unless, well, you know. . .

Seriously, I'm not the sort of person who worries about disinfecting every surface I touch and ensuring soft, moist hands. I generally leave that kind of obsessive worriment to the Lileks battalion of the Internet. I should note here that in no way was a dig at Lileks, who I consider to be a top tier humorest and general writer; his disinfecting ways have served him well, even if I don't share his daily bacteria-destroying agenda.

To somewhat illustrate how nonchalant I am when it comes to communicative filth, bacteria or otherwise: earlier this year, the mats on which I train in jiu-jitsu were moved for the first time in about four years, and the detritus between the cracks and beneath the mats was swept up for the first time in well over 1,000 days. The mountain of accumulated pubes, sand, dirt, band-aids and just general grossness that eventually piled up was enough to gag even Oscar the Grouch. It was seriously disturbing, and yet I was strangely okay with it.

At any rate, in my new employment position, they advocate routine hand disinfecting, to the point where they actually stock the supply closets with bottles and bottles of hand antiseptic/moisturizer. Now, since I don't actually have to PAY to cleanse my digits, I've taken to keeping a bottle on my desk and using the substance (which looks suspiciously like porn jizz) quite regularly over the course of a day, and I've found, quite to my surprise, that I actually enjoy having soft, moisturized hands, which just happen to also be disinfected.

I consider it progress. . . or something.