Fair warning. Last week was my 51st birthday, today is the 25th anniversary of the passing of Superb Racoon the First and I am on my third round of Laphroaig whiskey. If you don't know what that is, you need to find out. Learn to drink things that smell and taste like they might kill you but don't. Brings back memories of oil and gas mixed with Marlboro of my Grandfathers garage. It is wonderful stuff!

So I am a little buzzed. Exit now if you don't want to Read the Rant.

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Still here? Ok, remember I warned you...

The hard man himself, I swear from when I was a kid until my idiot Uncle buried him in a suit he wore one of these jumpers, in brown, or on some random occasions, blue.https://i.imgur.com/rxdOX2x.jpg

My god, that man skin makes Clint Eastwood's face look like a babies bottom!

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I see a lot of posts today about "What do I do in my career path?"

Well here is a surprise: No one can tell you that, and if they do they are selling you something.

SR1, aka Gramps, was a tough bastard, born of dirt farmers and sharecroppers. Was a SeaBee and landed with the Marines. Was in the first class of the Air Force Academy, where he failed out because of stomach cancer.

Stomach Cancer caused, we found out after his death, by working on the Enola Gay fleet and we were piss poor at handling radiation back then. He swore not to speak of it and by god he kept his word until his dying day.

Enough about him, this is about you... or at least advice for you.

I was just as Jr. Sysadmin at the time and I screwed up big: 6 days of backups failed and I did not notice. I got my rear end chewed off and I deserved it. I felt like crap.

Gramps pulled me aside into his kitchen and poured us coffee, adding a liberal dose of Laphroaig. Maxwell house coffee that has been cooking all day and THAT whiskey in it is a real eye opener.

Gah! I can taste it now, nearly 30 years on. Like despair and disaster spiked with diesel fueled hope.

Then he went to the bookshelf and pulled out a ragged old pamphlet, given to him by the Pacific Union Railroad.

"A Message to Garcia" by E.B. Hubbard.

Dogeared and water stained he told me to read, and read it slow. I suggest you do the same, but I am going to cut small parts out here. It is not long, maybe a few thousand words in total

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The world bestows its big prizes, both in money and in honors, for but one thing. And that is Initiative. What is Initiative? I’ll tell you: it is doing the right thing without being told.

That is our Holy Grail. To have Initiative. To do the thing no one asked us to do and without praise because we know it is the right thing.

None of us... ok, me... live up to that standard. I try for the next level:

But next to doing the thing without being told is to do it when you are told once. That is to say, carry the Message to Garcia: those who can carry a message get high honors, but their pay is not always in proportion

Who the hell is Garcia, I hear you ask? Doesn't matter, what matters is that the President told a man to take a letter to General Garcia when no one knew where he was or how to find him.

Some one said to the President, "There’s a fellow by the name of Rowan will find Garcia for you, if anybody can."

Garcia was found, and given the Letter.

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And that is ultimately our burden as IT workers, to do the job and get told "Job well done" and get crappy pay. Such is life.

The problem is the next levels, which I see people posting without realizing they are one of these poor souls. I shall name no names, it is for each individual to decide where they fall and to act accordingly. It is no small task to be self-aware and self-critical:

Next, there are those who never do a thing until they are told twice; such get no honors and small pay.

Next, there are those who do the right thing only when necessity kicks them from behind, and these get indifference instead of honors, and a pittance for pay. This kind spends most of its time polishing a bench with a hard-luck story.

Then, still lower down in the scale than this, we have fellow who will not do the right thing even when some one goes along to show him how and stays to see that he does it; he is always out of job, and receives the contempt he deserves, unless he happens to have a rich Pa, in which case Destiny patiently awaits around a corner with a stuffed club.

To which class do you belong?

I have yet to see the last class here, at least everyone has come here to ask for advice. I am giving, hard as it is, and I salute them for asking!

It is, perhaps, this last bit I offer you that is why I posted (excuse his choice of words, this is the 1920s):

The point I wish to make is this:

McKinley gave Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, "Where is he at?"

By the Eternal! there is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed in every college of the land. It is not book-learning young men need, nor instruction about this and that, but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will cause them to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies: do the thing- "Carry a message to Garcia!"

If you are not willing to Carry the Message you are perhaps in the wrong business. There are other out there, find one that meets your skills and desires.

Life is short, be happy!

If carrying the Message makes you happy, as it does me...

Get out there and Carry the Message!

“To the confusion of our enemies.” as he would say...

I guess he must have met Oppenhiemer at some point.