Rambling Rhodes

The Secret of My Success

The other day, I was making a hefty donation to O.P.E.C. at a local petrol establishment, and I happened to catch snippets of conversation between a father and his son, a child who looked to be about four years old or so. It was the usual exasperated stuff, with the father doing the rapid-fire question and answer thing while trying to concentrate so he could exactly hit $25 on the fuel pump. It was at about $21 or so when he uttered a classic line:

"Someday, you'll learn the value of an honest day's work."

I'd heard this line before, of course, from parents and teachers and other people who just wanted to say something to shut me up, but I suspect most epople never really think about what a bunch of propagandist bullshit nothingness that statement actually is.

Because, seriously, I've experienced, firsthand, the value of an honest day's work and, quite frankly, it leaves a lot to be desired. Primarily, it leaves me with a desire for a lot more value for my honest day's work.

At some point along the line, having dabbled for years and years attempting to ascertain the value of an honest day's work, I very seriously started to think there was probably something about a dishonest day's work that people weren't telling me. I started to think the benefits and value of a dishonest day's work were so alluring, the people who discovered it wanted to keep it to themselves and invented the phrase "value of an honest day's work" as a diversion, a way to keep us in the dark as to where the real value can be made.

When you really stop and think about it, when you hear the term "value of an honest day's work," it's often followed up with words and terms like "strong work ethic," "integrity," "dependability" and "productivity." Who has time for shit like that?

So, I started to think in terms of a dishonest day's work. I did this by taking the words and terms previously mentioned and acting as opposite of those words as I could. Rather than developing a strong work ethic, I thought in terms of sloth and laziness, striving to achieve the most lax work ethic I could possibly muster.

Then, when I looked up "integrity," I discovered it involved a strict adherence to a moral code, which frankly just sounded to me like it required a lot of work. Why spend all sorts of time and effort trying to adhere to a moral code when I could opt to, you know, NOT adhere to a moral code of any kind? I could be free to wallow in any amoral whim that caught my fancy. So, now I was free to be both lazy AND randomly hedonistic.

My next step was to tackle the whole "dependability" issue. Let's face it, there's a fair amount of responsibility required if you want to strive to be dependable. And for what? Once you become dependable, people start to think they can rely on you. Really, being dependable just means people will feel more apt to use you. You basically become a rube. So, I decided to become wildly inconsistent and unreliable. I wanted people to look at me and say "Holy hell, steer clear of that guy if you want to get anything done with any amount of quality."

Finally, I had to achieve the polar opposite of "productivity" if I really wanted to realize the value of a dishonest day's work. I had to find a field where I could produce a bare minimum of output and still be recognized occasionally for something I produced.

With all my targets and goals for a dishonest day's work in place, my path was crystal clear.

I went into journalism.

Sanctuary

I'll occasionally drop by some of the blogs run by the local newspaper of note, the Rochester Post-Bulletin. Awhile back, when a local mixed martial arts (MMA) fighter was being featured in the reality TV show "The Ultimate Fighter," I ended up mixing it up in a comment thread with a few people whom I could only classify as Grade A Douchebags. It was the typical kind of thing; people who are basically ignorant about the thing they're offended about, easily provoked by online comments, and with a Mr. Miyagi concept of "martial arts as self defense only" bullcrap.

One of the great things about training in the boxing gym where I'm learning Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu is the rawness of it all: the occasional blood splatters on the floor; the phlegm mixed with blood stuck in the drain of the drinking fountain; the completely un-PC tee-shirts and sweatshirts proclaiming "Fighting Solves Everything," "Tap, Snap or Nap" and, as worn by one of the few women in class, "You Wish You Could Fight Like a Girl."

Walking into the gym is like briefly unplugging from the wussified city life of people who think all of life's problems can be solved by a long chat with a therapist followed by a good cry.

This Winter Can Just Go Take A Flying Leap

I'm determined this winter won't break me, but it's putting up a most valiant effort to crush me. I don't know if the early daylight savings time this weekend will be enough to see me through to the light at the end of the tunnel, but I need something to combat these blahs. For crying out loud, I've been reduced to reading the "Harry Potter" books for a second time (just now wrapping up "Goblet of Fire" and on to "Order of the Phoenix"). The consecutive days of below freezing temperatures; the gargantuan blanket of snow that will take weeks to melt; the seemingly neverending sameness of it all. It's enough to make a lesser person weep.

Why yes, this does make you feel insignificant

The earth and moon, as photographed from Mars.

This Made me LOL. . . out loud.

Via this Fark thread.

Yes, We Have No Bananas!

Saturday was my 33rd birthday, and Melissa and I were excited because we were going to a local Japanese steakhouse to celebrate. Melissa had the forethought to locate a coupon that touted half-price entrees to people celebrating their birthday.

So, we were seated, and I ordered the combination filet mignon, shrimp and chicken entree, and Melissa goes to hand over the coupon, at which point the waitress informed us:

"I'm sorry, but we don't honor those on Saturdays."

What kind of a policy is that? That coupon is completely useless if your birthday happens to fall on a Saturday. I mean, COME ON! As my co-worker, Caroline, puts it:

"that's like saying here's a coupon for memorial day, but you can't use it on Mondays"