Rambling Rhodes

WOW

Holy crap.

Best quote: I sensed there was a problem on the other end of the 911 call, said dispatcher Jenny Buchanan. The dog was too persistent in barking directly into the phone receiver. I knew she was trying to tell me something.

Pet Peeves

I'm not what you would call an ideal candidate for pet ownership. My track record with pets is spotty at best, demonic at worst, and mildly evil in between.
It's not my fault, really. It's just that the two dogs my family owned while I was growing up came into the family fold while I was. . . er, growing up. As such, my brother and I often didn’t understand the fine line between "playing with the dog" and "teasing the dog into insanity."

The first dog we owned was a German Schnauzer named Max; which, by the time my brother and I were done with it, may just as well have been named Hitler. Except that Max was even crazier than Hitler. Max, although a small dog overall, was graced with the strongest jaws in the world. Even sharks would have been hard-pressed to match the sheer chomping power of Max.

In addition to gnashing our couch, the drapes and several book bags to tiny little bits, Max also developed a taste for human ankle. Our entire neighborhood, and quite probably most of the town, lived in fear of our family pet. Everyone knew that, if you were to enter the Rhodes home, there was a 70 percent chance you'd be bit on the ankle, a 100 percent chance that it would hurt really bad, and a 98 percent chance it would bleed. Therefore, there were very few visitors to our house during Max's tenure.

Our next foray into pet ownership was a mutt we named Ray. Ray was a mix of many, many breeds: there was obviously a little terrier blood in him, as well as possibly some beagle blood. But, the overriding genetic trait that coursed through Ray's blood was a heavy helping of "stupid." Ray was a very, very stupid dog and, although he lacked the vise grip-like jaws of Max, he possessed twice the angry enthusiasm, in thanks primarily to the fine teasing tutelage of my brother and me.

Once again, the Rhodes family was known by pretty much everyone as the people who owned the smallest, yet meanest dog in town. Unlike Max, Ray didn't specialize in biting any one body part. If there's one positive quality about Ray, it was that he didn't discriminate when it came to biting body parts. Everything was fair game to Ray. He once bit my good friend, Joe, in the groin which, as you might imagine, didn't go over to well with Joe. Ray bit me in the face once, and he bit Jody (now my sister-in-law) on the hand. Ray could bite with a surgical precision that would leave most doctors in dumbfounded awe.

Given my less-than-stellar history with pets, it came as a shock to me to find that, about four weeks ago, I allowed two kittens to come live in my home. I can assure you that the idea of housing two kittens was not mine; it was my girlfriend's.

Originally, I started talking about getting a cat because my girlfriend brought it up and, because I was trying to watch TV at the time, I absentmindedly agreed to think about it. After awhile of not thinking about it, my girlfriend asked me if I had thought about it, at which point I lied and said "yes, I've thought about it."
All of which led to, invariably, me agreeing to get a cat. I figured that getting one cat wouldn't be a big deal. As pets go, cats are fairly self-sufficient, which means I wouldn't have to care too much about a cat strolling around the house.

Then, my girlfriend's sister's cat had to go and mess everything up by getting pregnant. Suddenly, there was a whole litter of kittens to choose from and, if there's one thing I've learned about women, they simply can NOT choose just one baby ANYTHING. Therefore, I found myself engaging in deep discussions with my girlfriend about the pros and cons of owning TWO kittens.

GIRLFRIEND PRO: They can be friends, and they won't get bored when you're away from the house for a couple of days.

RYAN RHODES CON: Yeah, but that's still TWO CATS.

GIRLFRIEND PRO: If you don't get two cats, I'll be sad, and I'll probably cry.

So, now I have two cats running around the house. And, I have to admit, they are cute, in a scratch-my-fingers-into-oblivion sort of way, and they do, indeed, appear to be friends that can get along just fine when I have to be gone for a couple of days or so.

Of course, seeing as how I have a reputation to uphold, I now have to tease both cats into such a deranged state, they're feared everywhere within a 70 mile radius.

It's tradition.

Crazy Croats

Caroline says: There are so many things wrong with this story: http://www.cnn.com/2004/WORLD/europe/10/29/croatia.sexvideo.reut/index.html

Caroline says: "Top Croatian pop star"? Are there that many?

Ryan says: Oh sure. You've no doubt heard of the "Crooning Croats?"

Caroline says: Hmmm, I don't think I have.

Ryan says: Oh, they're wildly popular.

Caroline says: What have they sung?

Ryan says: "Please Don't Let My Airplane Croatia"

Caroline says: ugh

Ryan says: Admit it. You smiled.

Caroline says: I gagged.

Ryan says: But you were smiling while gagging.

Caroline says: impossible

Ryan says: I could give you something else to gag on.

Caroline says: That nasty lunch you were eating?

Ryan says: But, you probably don't want to sniff my shoe.

Apologies

I'm sorry. I realize the content of this blog has been sucky as of late. Work has taken precedence for a change, since I have several articles with looming deadlines that must be written yesterday. I promise to provide more humorous content sometime in the near future.

It Makes The Brain Hurt, It Does

How can you tell if your local daily newspaper is staffed by complete dorks?

When you see a photo caption like this:

Do they even HAVE editors?

Religious Ramblings

I'm not a particularly religious guy. I have a fair, but by no means extensive, understanding of the history behind most of the world's religions. Generally speaking, however, I've never been an active participant in any particular belief.

I was brought up, loosely speaking, as a Unitarian, which is the religious equivalent of a buffet table: you take what you want, but you're not required to eat everything you take. You pretty much are allowed to believe what you want, so long as you acquiesce that, yes, there's probably a powerful being that's larger than ourselves who certainly crafted this reality in which we find ourselves. Whether He or She takes an active role in the day-to-day machinations of His/Her creation? Well, that's kind of up to you to decide. As religions go, Unitarian belief is pretty darned flexible.

My mother was brought up a Catholic, in the strictest sense of the word. As such, she couldn't wait to get out from under the heavy weight of sin, sin, SIN that is one of Catholicisms hallmarks. She decided well before I was an itch in dad's pants that any child of hers' would not be force-fed any religion. She read to me at bedtime, occasionally, from a child-friendly version of the Bible (new and old testament), and she made sure I knew the Lord's prayer, but that was pretty much the extent of her religious training for me. Typically, I wanted her to read Dr. Doolittle and the Pirates instead, so my familiarity with the Bible was flimsy at best.

As for my father, well, he's from the school of thought that, once you're dead. . . you're dead. Light's out. Kaput. You're done. Worm food. No extra points. No endzone dance. No bright tunnel. Just dead.

In other words, I had some conflicting messages coming at me regarding religion as I was growing up. But, there was one thing that I've always believed, and that's that there most assuredly is a God. Whatever that God is, I'm not sure. Whether God's a woman or a man, or a burning bush, or a booming voice on a mountain top handing out stone tablets, or that crazy man on the street yelling that sunbeams are actually miniature robots sent to eat our brains. . . well, it's all possible.

For me, the brilliantly complex simplicity of the universe, with all its secrets and everyday miracles is just too nearly perfect to have happened by accident. Science can tell me that the universe is ruled by the laws of physics, but I have to wonder who put those laws in place in the first place. Science can uncover all the physical laws imaginable, from quantum physics to plain old Newtonian physics, and that would be great, but they still likely couldn't tell me, with any degree of satisfaction, how the heck all those equations and formulas originally came into being.

So, I pray. I'm not particularly good about praying. I'll miss an evening or two, depending on how engrossed I get into a given computer game or softcore program on Cinemax, but I do try to pray when I remember. And, I have a standard issue prayer that I use that has been gradually taking shape since I was about 10 years old. I thank God for everything I have, and I God bless the appropriate litany of people who are important to me, and I ask for the same stuff: long life for me and family and friends and a better understanding of the world and my place in it. Pretty tame stuff, but it makes me feel good, a little bit more secure, and a little bit less lonely.

All of which is a long-winded segue into this little bit of stupidity uttered by one silvery-maned windbag known as Bill Maher:

To me, to me it's a real dividing line between people of intelligence and – not that there haven't been some intelligent people who are religious. I mean, T.S. Elliott was a great poet and he became a very devout Catholic… But I always call religion a neurological disorder. I really do believe that. I mean it's not criticizing. I'm just saying if you took religion out of it and somebody went to a psychiatrist and said you know I believe in you know this crazy, illogical thing, the shrink would say, well you have a neurological disorder. And you need to really get therapy or take a pill.

Did you get that? Maher isn't criticizing, he's JUST SAYING. He's JUST SAYING that myself and the vast majority of the world's population suffer from a collective neurological disorder. Gee, thanks Bill. Apparently, Maher is uniquely enlightened to the point that he's immune to this scourge of this religious neurological disorder. How does he do it? Does he take extra vitamin C?

I also like how he calls religion a "crazy, illogical thing." When I engage people on a theological debate, nine times out of ten they'll throw out the "religion is illogical" riposte, as if they're about to grow pointy ears and utter a Vulcan greeting with their hand extended in the familiar Vulcan "V" salute.

The thing about the "religion is illogical" that gets me is that people can spout off that religious belief is illogical while at the same time totally ignore so much else about human beings that is illogical. Love, for example, is probably one of the most illogical human traits we've been dealt. Someone will tell me that belief in God is illogical and I'll ask "Do you love your child?" or "Do you love your parents?" or "Do you love your friends?" and I'll invariably get a blank stare because "Of COURSE I love them."

"Would you run into a burning building to save your child?"

"Yes! Yes I would! Absolutely!"

"But why? It's illogical for you to love someone so deeply that you'd run into a burning building to save them. It flies into the face of all the rules of self-preservation and common sense."

Obviously, I'm playing devil's advocate when I put forth such an argument, because I'd fight off a grizzly bear if it were threatening someone I love. I'd lose the fight, mind you, but I'd be sure to get in a good groin kick.

The point is, there's a lot of illogical human behavior that we ALL dabble in, so to single out religious belief as a neurological disorder because it SEEMS illogical is quite possibly the weakest single argument against religion that you can trot out, yet Maher lobbed it up for all the reading world to see. Excuse me while I whack that one out of the park there, Bill.

The thing that rankles me about squishy-headed wonks like Maher is their inability to even acknowledge their own raging hypocrisy. They'll rail against religion as an illogical crutch of the un-intelligent, and then they'll shuffle on up to pray at their own personal alter of politics. They've simply substituted one brand of worship for another. And really, politics is far less satisfying than any other faith, in my most humble opinion. Think about it; would you rather pray to an all-powerful being for long life for you and your family, or to a Washington bureacrat for tax increases and a balanced budget? Your call, I guess.

And I'm certainly not saying that all religious belief is a good and wise thing. The Falwells and the Pat Robertsons of the world are quite obviously good examples of religious belief taken to unhealthy extremes. And, obviously, there are some certain individuals in the Middle East currently strapped with explosive belts that have been drinking too deeply from an unhealthy religious doctrine.

You can choose to believe in a given faith, or you can choose not to. It's entirely up to you. But, if you choose not to, you're still putting faith in your beliefs, which sounds suspiciously like, you know. . . a religion.

So, anyway you slice it, Bill Maher thinks you're suffering from a illogical neurological disorder.

And doesn't that just piss you right off?

Who Are We?

Evelyn says: Is Andrea in the office?

Ryan says: Not right now, no.

Evelyn says: Hmm. We're supposed to be meeting right now.

Ryan says: We? As in me?

Evelyn says: no

Evelyn says: Andrea and I

Ryan says: Oh. We as in she.

Evelyn says: something like that

Ryan says: Sooo, when you say "we" you actually mean "she" and not "me."

Ryan says: Which is an important distinction, because "me" and "she" aren't "we."

Take A Picture, It Will Last Longer

Over the weekend, my good friend got married. I never thought I'd see the day, but on Saturday afternoon, I saw the day.

Troy asked me to be the wedding photographer, which, well. . . it's one of those things.

In college I took a few photography classes, since that was a requirement for aspiring journalists. The classes dealt primarily with black and white film, which I learned to develop and enlarge and all that happy horse crap. It wasn't all that boring or anything. In fact, it was kind of relaxing. I'd go out and take all sorts of pictures, and then I'd spend roughly 897 hours in the campus dark room developing film.

Well, Troy, being my college roommate, apparently remembered that I took a few photography classes, so he asked me to be the photographer for his wedding. You know, because I'm cheaper, in that I work for free.

Thing is, I don't really have the equipment that actual wedding photographers have at their disposal. My equipment consists of a Canon camera that my parents bought sometime in the late 1970s. It's a beat up piece of hardware that got me through five years of college and two years of newspaper work, as well as countless hours of recreational picture snapping.

The lighting in the church was not well-suited to photography. It was just dark enough to keep my light meter guessing, so I had to rely on my flash with maddening regularity. And, as any photographer knows, relying on a flash is a dangerous habit to get into.

So, now here I sit, with six rolls of film, unsure whether any of the pictures I took of my good friend's wedding will even remotely turn out. I'm absolutely dreading bringing them in to get developed.

Perhaps David Grenier has some advice?