The plan

So, I have recently noticed that there was a whole bunch of me on this blog, and entirely too little John Jameson.  So, to rectify this situation, my plan is to bring a tape recorder out, to capture the sheer wit of Mr. John Jameson.  I don't know where this is going to lead, but I must assume that hilarity will ensue.  Enjoy folks.

The very best

Mediocrity.  Focus on this word, know it, remember it's scent, it's taste, it's feel.  Cauterize it into your mind, feel it's sting.  Mediocrity, ladies and gents, is the enemy.  As a species, we are capable of unimaginable things.  Each one of us is in possession of skills that we can cultivate and sharpen to achieve an almost paragon status. 

Yes, you read correctly, every single person.  Fatties, morons, slackers, everybody.  The one thing that the movers and shakers have that these lack luster bags of flesh don't is this: the inability to settle for "okay".  Think about it, the rockstars, famous actors, CEO's, professional athletes, super secret squirrel guys, nothing has been given to these folks.  Sure, some of them might have started off with more than the rest of us, but that doesn't mean that everything on the way up was easy.  Athletes like Jolie Gentry have a biological advantage, but that doesn't mean that they didn't work their asses off to push that advantage all the way to superiority.  Jolie could have easily been content being a regular police officer in pretty decent shape.  But she wanted more.  Like so many before her, she refused to settle for mediocrity. 

What is it that drives humans to push themselves?  I don't think it's genetic.  I know some really successful people with douche bag offspring.  It could be a product of the environment they are raised in, but there are plenty of people that come out of inauspicious beginnings and go on to achieve amazing things.  The only thing that holds true across the board is that success is really fucking hard work. 

Once you break ground level, there are all sorts of things that will do their damnedest to keep you down with them.  Sycophants, or "looters" as Ayn Rand called them, will ride your work as high as they can without doing anything themselves.  In their own homes, the slack jawed masses despise the successful.  Someone rising above the circumstances that the rest of society uses as an excuse to give up forces them to look into the mirror and accept the fact that they could be you, if they weren't so fucking lazy.  Instead of getting off their asses and helping you or putting in some work themselves, they will offer you hollow words of encouragement while secretly hoping you fail. 

Fuck them.  I do my best to not associate with these people in the first place.  All of my friends, the people I surround myself with, are people I count as peers.  I've created my own personal Galt's Gulch of people working to be the best human beings that they can be.  It doesn't matter if they are an aspiring musician, dancer, artist, athlete, student, soldier, or neuro-scientist.  Together we work as hard as we can.  We are the producers, we keep the world turning.  We will never rest, we will never accept mediocrity.

The Greatest Joy in life...

When asked by a Mongol General what the greatest joy in life is, Conan replied,"To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of their women." 

This Saturday, I won't be invading, pillaging, or plundering.  I will be rucking, mauling, scrumming, and generally smashing the crap out of people.  That's right folks, we're talking about EFFING RUGBY!  I concur with Conan on a basic level.  There is a great amount of elation derived from physically dominating the opposition, to see the fear in their eyes when we lock gazes before the crash. 

There's something magical about the sport, to me anyways.  The way an offensive line spear heads and crushes through the flat defensive line is the closest thing to the Phalanx in our world's culture.  One on one tests of strength support the over all victory as a unit, a team.  There's no trash talking during press conferences, there's no loud mouthed super stars, no endzone dances.  Just sport in the purest sense of the word.

Some clubs even start their matches with tribal war dances to challenging their opponents, like the All Blacks.

Saturday, I hope to experience the joy of crushing my enemies, seeing them driven before me, and hearing the lamentation of their women.  The main difference being that after the crushing, driving, and lamenting, we'll all go out and get shit faced while laughing about it.  I love this sport.    

The Black Ring, and other fun facts

Recently, I've adopted an idea from my amazingly awesome friend Dani, and have adorned the second to last finger of my left hand with a solid black ring.  Relax, this does not mean that I am married.  The ring does, however, represent a commitment none the less.  Throughout my life, there have been many women that have passed through; a few as quality traveling companions and most as driftwood.  The commitment I have made by donning the ring is to cut out the latter category.  I'm not saying I'm saving myself for marriage, or even a girlfriend or some form of socially acceptable relationship.  I'm just tired of taking gambles on women that end up not being worth the money I spent on the soap I used in the shower getting ready.  In the immortal words of Gloria Gaynor, "I'm savin all my lovin for someone who's lovin me".  Yeah, I quoted I Will Survive.  Say something, I dare you. 

Do not mistake my caution for arrogance, I'm not saying that I'm super amazingly awesome or really really really ridiculously good looking (even though I am, that's not the point of this blog).  There just happens to be a shortage of attractive, productive, motivated, and sane women in this world, and my time and effort would be better spent rooting them out as opposed to settling for someone that does not meet those criteria.  I am willing to compromise on the sane aspect, so let's change that one to sane-ish.  Realistically, I am pretty crazy.  Being prone to often hilarious alcoholic binges, public nudity, crazy eating habits, borderline masochistic workouts, I no longer really count myself amongst the sane.  I just want someone that will not key her name into my car if we break up.    

On a quasi related note, this Saturday marks two weeks into my very own personal paleo challenge (see "crazy eating habits" above) and I feel AWESOME.  I drink on the weekends, but not as much as usual, and I eat good food when drunk, as opposed to doners and Hostess snack cakes (mmmmmm, twinkies).  The whole reason I started a personal challenge is that I find when the CF Ramstein Paleo events are over, I eat like total crap.  I love the way I feel and the way I perform when I'm on strict paleo, but it's not really livable to me.  So, my new challenge is eat good food as often as possible.  Example; eating at T-Bell during lunch with Jay (my office cohort) is not a situation where eating clean is impossible.  On the flip side of that, eating a slice or two of wedding cake at my buddy's reception is A-OK.  I want this to become more of a lifestyle and less of a diet.  And,  want abs.  Twelve of them.
Smooches.