Kudos to Mandy, for getting coffee all over my screen at 8 AM on a Sunday.
Of all the really bad ideas moldering before Congress, The PRO Act has got to be among the most odious. If it passes, no less than 70,000,000 independent contractors across the country will lose their independent status. Tens of thousands of truck drivers, graphic artists, dance instructors, cameramen, speech therapists, real estate agents, skilled tradespeople, and countless other Americans who would prefer not to labor as traditonal employees will be forced to do so…or find a new line of work. Likewise, thousands of small businesses that simply can’t hire full time employees will be forced to close.
I don’t weigh in too often on political matters, and God knows, I’m not looking to pick a fight with the unions, (who are solidly behind this really bad idea.) For the record, @mikeroweworks has assisted many people who belong to a variety of trade unions, and I respect their right to do so. But the freedom to work independently is an essential part of being an American, and the attempt to eliminate freelancing from America’s labor force reeks of an ulterior motive, particularly among the unions that pushed it forward. Even if the endeavor was genuinely well-intended, the result is fraught with unintended and devastating consequences. If you want to help me stop this assault on the right to freelance, watch the full video on @youtube and share it. It’s too late for the freelancers in California, and the small companies who rely upon them. But the rest of the country need not follow us off the cliff.
Links in bio.
In case you missed it, say hello to @gabbyreece, a tall drink of water overflowing with charm. There’s probably somebody out there who doesn’t like her, but I can’t imagine who, or why. She’s awesome, and our conversation proves it. Link to the full video –
https://youtu.be/80Q7HA8l-UY?si=7UxpDAimOc4KodqW
My mom, Peggy Rowe, is 86 years old today and hanging tough. She’s been busy these last few weeks looking after my dad, who continues to recover nicely from his Christmas surprise. If you’d like to join me in wishing her the happiest of birthdays, or, if you’d like me to pass along a message, please spell it out in the comments below.
As for you, Mother, I’m sorry I’m not in Baltimore today to celebrate another trip around the sun. But like you, I’m terribly busy doing a variety of important things. I sure do love you, though, and wish you many happy returns. As usual, there will be no sappy card for you to make fun of and then throw away. xoxo Mike
I was in Scottsdale yesterday, replenishing my electrolytes at a bar when a man introduced himself.
“My name is Sy, and you probably won’t remember this, but we met on the streets of SF in 2007.”
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll never forget that day.”
Sy laughed. “You were kind of a smart aleck back then, too.”
“I guess some things never change,” I said. With that, Sy opened a small notebook and removed a piece of folded looseleaf from the inside flap.
“Here,” he said. I looked at the paper and recognized my signature, along with my trenchant bon mot, and wondered why this man would carry it around for 17 years. “I have no idea why I asked for your autograph in the first place. I mean, I liked Dirty Jobs, but I’ve never asked anyone for their signature before, or since. Isn’t that strange?”
I nodded and agreed. It did seem strange, but not nearly as strange as what happened next. The bartender, a tall guy named Kenny asked me if I’d care for another. “Sure, and whatever Sy here is having.”
When Kenny returned with our drinks he said, “You probably won’t remember this Mike, but we met back 2007.”
“Did you say 2007?”
“Yep.”
I looked at Sy and said, “Do you guys know each other?”
Both men shook their heads. Kenny continued. “You were in a bar on Mackinac Island. You guys were having a big night.”
I asked, “Were you a bartender back there?”
“No, I was just a guy who grew up watching Dirty Jobs.”
“That’s quite a coincidence. Two guys in a random bar, both of whom met me 17 years ago. I wish you’d taken a picture.”
“Why is that?” asked Kenny.
“Because it would be statistically impossible if both of you had evidence of our meeting.”
“Not quite impossible,” said Kenny. With that, he pulled out his phone and started scrolling. 30 seconds later the evidence was downloaded from the cloud. “There we are,” said Kenny. “That’s me crouched down in front of everyone. And that’s you, in the plaid shirt drinking a beer.”
It’s moments like these that make me wonder about the belief held by so many that everything happens for a reason. Personally, I’m still a guy who believes in coincidence…but not as much as I did before Sy and Kenny brought the receipts.
I was in Scottsdale yesterday, replenishing my electrolytes at a bar when a man introduced himself.
“My name is Sy, and you probably won’t remember this, but we met on the streets of SF in 2007.”
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll never forget that day.”
Sy laughed. “You were kind of a smart aleck back then, too.”
“I guess some things never change,” I said. With that, Sy opened a small notebook and removed a piece of folded looseleaf from the inside flap.
“Here,” he said. I looked at the paper and recognized my signature, along with my trenchant bon mot, and wondered why this man would carry it around for 17 years. “I have no idea why I asked for your autograph in the first place. I mean, I liked Dirty Jobs, but I’ve never asked anyone for their signature before, or since. Isn’t that strange?”
I nodded and agreed. It did seem strange, but not nearly as strange as what happened next. The bartender, a tall guy named Kenny asked me if I’d care for another. “Sure, and whatever Sy here is having.”
When Kenny returned with our drinks he said, “You probably won’t remember this Mike, but we met back 2007.”
“Did you say 2007?”
“Yep.”
I looked at Sy and said, “Do you guys know each other?”
Both men shook their heads. Kenny continued. “You were in a bar on Mackinac Island. You guys were having a big night.”
I asked, “Were you a bartender back there?”
“No, I was just a guy who grew up watching Dirty Jobs.”
“That’s quite a coincidence. Two guys in a random bar, both of whom met me 17 years ago. I wish you’d taken a picture.”
“Why is that?” asked Kenny.
“Because it would be statistically impossible if both of you had evidence of our meeting.”
“Not quite impossible,” said Kenny. With that, he pulled out his phone and started scrolling. 30 seconds later the evidence was downloaded from the cloud. “There we are,” said Kenny. “That’s me crouched down in front of everyone. And that’s you, in the plaid shirt drinking a beer.”
It’s moments like these that make me wonder about the belief held by so many that everything happens for a reason. Personally, I’m still a guy who believes in coincidence…but not as much as I did before Sy and Kenny brought the receipts.
I was in Scottsdale yesterday, replenishing my electrolytes at a bar when a man introduced himself.
“My name is Sy, and you probably won’t remember this, but we met on the streets of SF in 2007.”
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll never forget that day.”
Sy laughed. “You were kind of a smart aleck back then, too.”
“I guess some things never change,” I said. With that, Sy opened a small notebook and removed a piece of folded looseleaf from the inside flap.
“Here,” he said. I looked at the paper and recognized my signature, along with my trenchant bon mot, and wondered why this man would carry it around for 17 years. “I have no idea why I asked for your autograph in the first place. I mean, I liked Dirty Jobs, but I’ve never asked anyone for their signature before, or since. Isn’t that strange?”
I nodded and agreed. It did seem strange, but not nearly as strange as what happened next. The bartender, a tall guy named Kenny asked me if I’d care for another. “Sure, and whatever Sy here is having.”
When Kenny returned with our drinks he said, “You probably won’t remember this Mike, but we met back 2007.”
“Did you say 2007?”
“Yep.”
I looked at Sy and said, “Do you guys know each other?”
Both men shook their heads. Kenny continued. “You were in a bar on Mackinac Island. You guys were having a big night.”
I asked, “Were you a bartender back there?”
“No, I was just a guy who grew up watching Dirty Jobs.”
“That’s quite a coincidence. Two guys in a random bar, both of whom met me 17 years ago. I wish you’d taken a picture.”
“Why is that?” asked Kenny.
“Because it would be statistically impossible if both of you had evidence of our meeting.”
“Not quite impossible,” said Kenny. With that, he pulled out his phone and started scrolling. 30 seconds later the evidence was downloaded from the cloud. “There we are,” said Kenny. “That’s me crouched down in front of everyone. And that’s you, in the plaid shirt drinking a beer.”
It’s moments like these that make me wonder about the belief held by so many that everything happens for a reason. Personally, I’m still a guy who believes in coincidence…but not as much as I did before Sy and Kenny brought the receipts.
I was in Scottsdale yesterday, replenishing my electrolytes at a bar when a man introduced himself.
“My name is Sy, and you probably won’t remember this, but we met on the streets of SF in 2007.”
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll never forget that day.”
Sy laughed. “You were kind of a smart aleck back then, too.”
“I guess some things never change,” I said. With that, Sy opened a small notebook and removed a piece of folded looseleaf from the inside flap.
“Here,” he said. I looked at the paper and recognized my signature, along with my trenchant bon mot, and wondered why this man would carry it around for 17 years. “I have no idea why I asked for your autograph in the first place. I mean, I liked Dirty Jobs, but I’ve never asked anyone for their signature before, or since. Isn’t that strange?”
I nodded and agreed. It did seem strange, but not nearly as strange as what happened next. The bartender, a tall guy named Kenny asked me if I’d care for another. “Sure, and whatever Sy here is having.”
When Kenny returned with our drinks he said, “You probably won’t remember this Mike, but we met back 2007.”
“Did you say 2007?”
“Yep.”
I looked at Sy and said, “Do you guys know each other?”
Both men shook their heads. Kenny continued. “You were in a bar on Mackinac Island. You guys were having a big night.”
I asked, “Were you a bartender back there?”
“No, I was just a guy who grew up watching Dirty Jobs.”
“That’s quite a coincidence. Two guys in a random bar, both of whom met me 17 years ago. I wish you’d taken a picture.”
“Why is that?” asked Kenny.
“Because it would be statistically impossible if both of you had evidence of our meeting.”
“Not quite impossible,” said Kenny. With that, he pulled out his phone and started scrolling. 30 seconds later the evidence was downloaded from the cloud. “There we are,” said Kenny. “That’s me crouched down in front of everyone. And that’s you, in the plaid shirt drinking a beer.”
It’s moments like these that make me wonder about the belief held by so many that everything happens for a reason. Personally, I’m still a guy who believes in coincidence…but not as much as I did before Sy and Kenny brought the receipts.
I’d like to tell you that “The End of Average” by @ltoddrose is the most important book I’ve read all year, but given today’s date, that seems like some pretty weak tea. So how about this: “The End of Average” holds the key to fixing everything that’s broken in our educational system and reading it will absolutely change the way you evaluate yourself, your kids, your mate, and every other person around you. At least, that’s what it did for me.
Full disclosure, Todd dropped out of high school with a GPA of 0.9. Today, he’s a professor at #Harvard with at least one Ph.D., but please don’t hold that against him. What Todd is offering to society is the very definition of a bottom-up solution. After meeting Todd on my podcast, I made a video about this topic, and I’d be grateful if you’d share it. I’ve been railing against cookie-cutter advice since I started @mikeroweWORKS 16 years ago—I just haven’t been railing as well as Todd.
Watch the full video: https://youtu.be/nBcaFNz0mro
Get a copy of Todd’s book: https://bit.ly/3tWHJeU
Dear Oklahoma,
@arcweldingangel is not a female welder. She’s not a weld “her.” She’s just a welder…and you can be, too 💪🙌
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#workethic #scholarship #applyNOW #welder #weldernation #skills #work #chloerocks
The smartest dropout I know…
Link to the full conversation
https://youtu.be/Z3TfZQCRU_Y
It’s a beautiful evening, warm and windy. Lee Greenwood’s voice fills the air. The song is “Proud to Be an American,” and everyone knows the words. Suddenly, our attention is directed to a helicopter 5,000 feet overhead. A parachutistleaps from the chopper and begins to plummet in our general direction. A trail of smoke follows him down. The wind is gusting at 25 or 30 knots, and if his intention is to land near the pavilion where we’ve gathered, he’ll need to be very proficient or very lucky. As he falls, a couple of tugboats employ a number of water cannons, shooting ribbons of H2O high into the air. Little rainbows form in the mist. Somehow, a big American flag appears from the leg of the parachutist, trailing behind him has he falls toward the earth. The flag snaps in the breeze. Lee Greenwood finishes his famous number, and a twelve-year-old girl with a voice like a grown-up picks up a microphone and begins singing The National Anthem. No one takes a knee. Everyone sings along. The parachutist – a guy named Brent – comes in hot, but sticks the landing perfectly. I run over to help him manage the flag. Together, we walk it over to the crowd, now applauding with a level of enthusiasm best described as “unbridled.” The event has officially begun…
“My Old One Smells Like Ass and Fish”
For a more detailed explanation, please watch the brief but informative video. Then head over to @americangiant before it’s too late!
Link in bio
I can sing 87 of these songs from start to finish. Not well, but still…87 out of 100 – seared into my brain fifty years ago. Does that mean I’m a genuine a music lover, or just an old boomer?
If you need a laugh today, join my mother and me for another cup of coffee and another mildly inappropriate conversation. You will very likely snort. Link in bio.
Hi Roy
I bring you good tidings of great joy. Or at least, some pretty good news. After a long and protracted delay, we now have in our storeroom a modest supply of Knobel Barrel Strength Whiskey. It’s awfully good, especially with a single cube, but be advised, it packs a punch. 121 proof, last I checked. Online proceeds benefit the @mikeroweworks Foundation, which, as you may have heard, is giving away a million dollars in our next round of scholarships. Applications will be accepted at the end of the month, at mikeroweWORKS. But you don’t have to wait that long for a snort, at knobelspirits.com (link in bio.)
Mike
PS. The person attached to the hand in the photo is not me. While I have nothing against tattoos, I don’t have any. But if I did, I’d be open to, or at least intrigued, by the notion of the word “SLOWHEART” festooned upon flesh beneath my left pinky. It seems like a good indicator of a healthy cardiovascular system, or maybe, a sign of prudence. Regardless, the hand in question is gripping some very good whiskey.
Hi Roy
I bring you good tidings of great joy. Or at least, some pretty good news. After a long and protracted delay, we now have in our storeroom a modest supply of Knobel Barrel Strength Whiskey. It’s awfully good, especially with a single cube, but be advised, it packs a punch. 121 proof, last I checked. Online proceeds benefit the @mikeroweworks Foundation, which, as you may have heard, is giving away a million dollars in our next round of scholarships. Applications will be accepted at the end of the month, at mikeroweWORKS. But you don’t have to wait that long for a snort, at knobelspirits.com (link in bio.)
Mike
PS. The person attached to the hand in the photo is not me. While I have nothing against tattoos, I don’t have any. But if I did, I’d be open to, or at least intrigued, by the notion of the word “SLOWHEART” festooned upon flesh beneath my left pinky. It seems like a good indicator of a healthy cardiovascular system, or maybe, a sign of prudence. Regardless, the hand in question is gripping some very good whiskey.
I don’t want to read too much into this, but heads up!
Pelvic Thrusts and Ball Squeezing with America’s Grandmother
People often wonder where the titles come from for these conversations with my mother. Wonder no more…
Link in bio
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#TheWayIHeardIt #podcast #mom #grandmother
Great to have @billwhittle back. As expected, this time, a lot came up. Link in bio to watch full video on @youtube
The Eternally Radical Idea
Greg Lukianoff returns to the podcast to talk with me about his commitment to preserving our right to speak freely.
Link in bio
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#TheWayIHeardIt #podcast #free #speech
DAV is proud to support the @mikerowe and @mikeroweworks Work Ethic Scholarship. Hardworking veterans interested in apprenticeships and trade school programs can get financial support. Applications are due by April 17. Apply now at the link in our bio. #veterans #scholarship #mikerowe #workethicscholarship
The application process for this year’s Work Ethic Scholarship is winding down. You can apply now!
Link in bio
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#Workethic #scholarship #applynow
