I’ve lived abroad. I’ve written eBooks.  I’ve learned other languages.  I’ve gotten pick-pocketed more times than I’ve gone skiing (true story).  I’ve been a nomad.  And I’ve fallen deeply love with the lifestyle design approach to life.

And as much as I promote that lifestyle with every last drop of my being, here’s the truth: Even if that type of lifestyle is your end goal, you might not be at that point just yet.

So here’s the deal.

Living an excitement-filled, passionate lifestyle doesn’t always have to mean running off to Cuba, adorned in a Zorro mask and armed with nothing more than a leap of faith, in search of exotic cigars and cheap rum.  (Although, if there’s a Zorro mask involved, I would definitely give it some thought.)

Maybe you’re not ready for that yet.

Maybe that’s not even your goal.

Maybe you think Cuba is stupid.

It doesn’t matter.

Whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever stage of life your currently at & whatever side of the potato-potatoe camp you belong to…you have a choice. You have a choice as to whether you want to live your life according to how other people tell you to live it, and you have a choice as to whether you want to live your life according to how you want to live it. It’s as simple as that.

Personally, I pick the latter.

Allow me to introduce The Middle Finger Project’s OPERATION: GET EXCITED.

OPERATION: GET EXCITED is my attempt at helping you to get inspired to see that there are things you can do right here, right now to add excitement to your life. It’s something I’d like to call Small-Scale Lifestyle Design.  Large-scale lifestyle design is essentially all about increasing the quality of your life, so whatever helps you to attain that goal is okay in my book.  Whatever it is that gets you excited, is exactly what you NEED TO DO. Today.  No more oh-sorry-I’m-washing-my-hair-today excuses.  Trust me, you’ll be happy you left it dirty.

To summarize, I’ll be posting videos that will capture me trying out a new unconventional hobby or activity…hopefully without doing too much bodily harm.  The idea is not to advocate one particular activity over another; it’s simply just to help you get motivated to break the routine and go try something new that you’ve been wanting to try; it’s not as intimidating as you might think.  Go ahead, go do something fun!

Alas, I present you with video numero uno – it’s a bit experiential, but I think you’ll get a kick out of it.  Especially because you get to see me get a little nervous on camera…which is admittedly entertaining.

As always, I’ll leave you with this: To hell with the shoulds; life is short…do what you want!

So you’ve decided to become a corporate drone.

Congratulations, you bright, overly-enthusiastic soon-to-be white-collar you, in about four decades from now we’ll have been largely successful in zapping all of that fervor right out of your every last precious little brain cell, at which point we will generously reward you with a shiny gold-plated watch in exchange for the 93,600 hours of sweat, tears and blood that you’ll have shed from now until the time you retire.

If you work extra hard and sacrifice a satisfactory percentage of Little Johnny’s childhood by working overtime in the name of making us even more money than the disgusting amounts we already have, we might even engrave it. (FYI, rookie drone, it’s a fact that 36% of Americans work an average of 5.6 hours per day during the weekEND.) Anyway, don’t get too excited about the engraving; sometimes we just make stuff up if we think it’ll help to suck you in.  As the infamous Stanislaw Lem once said, “Cannibals prefer those who have no spines.”

I’m sure you can barely sleep at night, anticipating all of the fun you’re going to have fending off daily nervous breakdowns during 7am rush hour traffic. (The U.S. Department of Labor quoted an average of .73 hours per day spent commuting among Americans; that means you will drive a total of almost 8 full days each year. Did you get that?

That’s more than one entire week of your life you’ll be spending just driving to and from work this year alone, and five days short of an entire year you will have spent driving to and from work over the course of your working life.)

After that zen-filled, pleasure-packed experience each day, you’ll arrive to the office just in time to find that some Jersey asshole with spiky, gelled black hair just drank the last of the coffee, before you sit down to 76 new messages in your inbox, 70 of which complain about the vending machine being on the fritz.  Thank our lucky stars that handy disclaimer at the bottom exists:

This e-mail and any files transmitted with it are confidential and intended solely for the use of the named recipients only. If you have received this e-mail in error do not open or copy it but return it to us.

If word got out that our people weren’t getting their daily Kit Kat fix, it’d be total chaos.

Anyway, if all goes well, you’ll stare at your computer screen until approximately 5pm, at which point you will commence drinking heavily toward your impending alcoholism that will surely result.  That is, if you don’t develop a severe case of presenteeism first: The practice of working ridiculously long hours.

Sound good?  Okay, great.  If you’ll just sign here, here, here and here on the dotted line, we can get started as early as today in ruining your life and any hopes you ever had for it.

Oh, and one more thing–we will be withholding Social Security, Medicare, federal, state & local taxes from each paycheck…and maybe a little extra if payroll is having a bad day.  But don’t worry…all of us Americans have to fork over at least 15%.

It’s just the way the world works, you cute, adorable little rookie drone, you.

Oh, how I just want to pinch those naive little unjaded cheeks of yours!

Now, let’s have a mini-training session and go over some of the must-know rules beforehand.

Dress Code:

1.  When in doubt, wear black. If you aren’t sure if something will be appropriate, wear black.  If you’re feeling particularly fat that day, wear black.  If you have to impress someone, wear black.  Black is also the color of choice for days in which you plan to stab someone in the back; the blood stains will be undetectable, and you can just go about your day smiling your Crest-White Strip enhanced smile.  Remember: Fake it ’til you make it!

NOTE: Preferably all undergarments should be black, too.  We, as a company, discourage dissension even in its mildest forms.  This means no Spongebob Square Pants boxer shorts, thanks.

2.  If you get bored wearing black, wear grey. If you have business meetings, you’ll still blend in just perfectly fine.  But do us all a favor and make sure the greys match, will you?  There’s nothing worse than someone with mismatched greys.  We certainly don’t need any originality around here, thanks.

3.  One exception: On Fridays, if you’re feeling rambunctious, feel free go nuts with some pinstripes. But by golly, in the name of Uncle S, don’t tell anyone I told you, because it’s purely an unspoken rule.  Friday is like a holiday for us; we look more forward to Friday night happy hour with our co-drones than we do Thanksgiving dinner with our families. Just do us all a favor and steer clear of that wacky argyle crap.  We don’t need any seizures around here.

4. No flip flops.  Ever. Save ‘em for your 336 hours of yearly glory when you’ll be free to frolic around in a fit of glee in some sand somewhere (even though I will, in all likelihood, still require you to be available via email).  I don’t want to see your filthy, ingrown toenails here in the office.

Ranking & Status

1.  As an entry-level drone, I am your master. Accept it with pleasure.  Do not complain.  Make more coffee since Jersey asshole drank the rest.

2.  You will stay refined to your cubicle for the vast majority of the day; if you leave your assigned space, you will either be going to the bathroom or getting me more coffee.  Kindly submit a written request for anything beyond that.  Thanks in advance.

3.  You should probably have your mom pack your lunch, for two reasons:

A) You’re going to have to type me up a myriad of pointless, futile reports that are completely counterproductive. Finishing them all is kind of like trying to put socks on an octopus; furthermore, no one is ever going to read them, but you have to do them anyway because everyone will pretend that they are important and, well, it’s company protocol, after all, and you probably won’t have time to leave to go get food because you’ll be so busy jumping through superfluous hoops that I mandate. Remember:  I say jump you say how high. I recommend you watch this video every morning during your only break and practice singing along.  This will ensure a smooth transition.

B) You should take advantage of your mom while you still live with her since I don’t pay you enough to live like a normal human being on your own. Sorry about that.  Just think of it as paying your dues, kid!

That should be about it, for now.  You really aren’t expected to contribute much of anything in terms of intelligence; you’re more or less just here as a small, little insignificant cog in the machine and if you so much as even think of doing something foolish, like, say, try and call for clarification on something when I’m busy golfing at the country club, I will not hesitate to replace you. 

You are dispensable, drone.  Your role is not to be creative, it is not to be compelling, it is not to show off your individuality, it is not to produce great ideas, it is not for you to feel good about, in the least.  Do that during your spare time.  Your role is to help make us money.

Everything is a business, drone, and everything is about money.  Don’t you forget that.  The minute you stop making me money by being anything but what I’ve outlined above, is the minute you are no longer valued.

So, now that we’ve had that feel-good talk, are you ready to sign?  Here, here’s a pen for you.

-

It’s a fierce restlessness that boils in your soul. It’s that same restlessness that scalds even the faintest symptoms of boredom, and takes cruel, sadistic pleasure in scorching anything that even mildly hints at routine.  It’s been the catalyst of many unforgettable adventures, but it’s also been the source of many unforgettable heartaches; restlessness is not selective in choosing its victims, and too many times has callously incinerated the few relationships you’ve dared allow yourself in a foolish fit of selfish indulgence.

Sigh.

Yet, despite shortcomings & one too many bleary-eyed break-ups, you remain fairly confident that your restlessness has your best interest is at heart.  You have a love/hate relationship, wrought with alternating bouts of fiery passion and relentless insecurity.  You have occasional internal screaming matches against one another, and you often walk away wondering if this life is truly for you.  But every time you’re close to abandoning it, perhaps in favor of a calmer relationship with comfort, safety or placidity, it comes running to your side, seducing you all over again, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, touching you in all of the right places, and promising that this time things will be different.

You fall for it every time.

You can’t resist the way it makes you feel.  You’ve come to the conclusion that this will be a lifelong affair.

Courage, or something else?

Throughout the years, my own restlessness often has liked to play party tricks, stampeding around in an asinine royal blue cloak and fooling people into believing that it’s actually courage instead.  Usually, it works.

“I wish I had your guts, Ashley,” they say.

Maybe you’ve heard these same words thrown your direction a few times as well. If you’ve got your own relationship with restlessness, it’s no doubt that you have.  We often come across as extraordinarily ballsy and carefree, picking up and flying off to exotic places on a whim, finding ourselves engaged in new and exciting projects at a moment’s notice, and are not ones to be ever short on entertaining stories, one of which likely involves random porn producers we’ve shared seats with on airplanes, crack-addicted assailants we’ve chased down on foot to retrieve what’s rightfully ours, rare illnesses we’ve been tortured by and, by all means, the ubiquitous foreign love affair that goes without saying–with luck, no relation to the illness.

We have friends that are prostitutes, have secret handshakes with the town crazies in Latin America, Europe and Asia, don’t think anything of unrefrigerated cartons of milk, understand the protocol of dropping by the pharmacy to pay the phone bill, and someone, at some point, has tried to trick us into eating cow tongue.  Knowing your type, you may have even accepted. Anthony Bourdain isn’t the only one with a set around here, you know.

On the surface, we appear to be a daringly courageous, unabashed, spunky bunch, to say the least, and many times in many instances, that’s exactly what we are–especially when hostels are involved. (It seems that I’ll be pleading the 5th a lot on here.)

“I wish I had your guts.”

If you’re reading this and you identify with any of what I’ve just said, there’s no doubt you’ve heard the phrase.  I’ve probably heard it uttered most when people find out that I dare step foot into foreign countries alone.  As if I having another 110 pound female with me would drastically improve my chances of survival. (Okay, so maybe I weigh a tad more than 110 pounds.  Shut it.)

Every time I hear these words directed at me, two things immediately happen:  One, my feathers get all fluffed up and perty, and two, I immediately think to myself, “Hmmm.  I guess that takes guts.”  I had never considered such activities to be scary.  Bring on the naked gorilla safari, I say!  Fluff, fluff.

But then, one day during a moment of clarity, it hit me:  No matter how many naked gorilla safaris I embark on, how many prostitutes I befriend (it’s not as uncommon as you might think), or how many immigration officers I seduce, I am, in all actuality, very, very afraid.  As a matter of fact, I’m terrified–just not of those things. What scares me to my core is something else, a bit more unconventional, yet significantly more terrifying.

What it comes down to is this:  I don’t do the things I do because I’m some great warrior hero; rather, I do the things I do because my intense fear of mediocrity far outweighs any other possible fear. And sometimes, even that scares me–to think that a family of four and a golden retriever frighten me more than being bound, whipped and held for ransom without food for weeks prompts me to question several things, namely my wits. If nothing else, it can certainly lead to an intense psychological debate. 

Am I irrational?
Am I a spoiled little brat who can’t face reality and simply just accept things as they are?
Am I truly rebelling against something unknown to me at present, locked deep inside my consciousness?
Why am I so restless?
More importantly, why isn’t everyone else?
. . . Is this freaking chocolate on my shirt?

This immediately prompts a quick-fire mental interrogation, in which I hold myself prisoner and made to answer questions by the brutal, inhumane force of an overactive mind. Maybe I just haven’t found that one special person yet, and if I did, maybe that’d be the missing link that would make me want to settle…want to embrace the family of four mould + retriever?

What’s even more puzzling is that this restlessness character does not keep it in the family; based on precedence, there shouldn’t be even a drop of adventure in my DNA.  I grew up an only child with my mom, who might have been the most sensitive, book-reading, dirt-digging introvert to ever walk this earth.  When I was 19 and told her I wanted to go abroad for the first time to learn Spanish, the intense look of sheer horror that spread across her face was fit for someone up against a fire squad.  My mom wouldn’t even operate an automobile if there was even a chance for flurries, for fuck’s sake. Is it possible I’m an orphan?  Worse, an alien?

Your Life is Meaningless

This theme dances around in my mind quite a bit, teasing my common sense and causing a dizzy whirl of thoughts.  My restlessness characterizes me to the point of definition, where I would be rendered unrecognizable without it.  And while I thrive on the next adventure it ensures me, I wonder what life on the other side of the fence is like at times. Are these people satisfied with their routines, their existences?  Do they ever question whether or not there might be more out there?  Do they ever feel guilty for not allowing themselves to experience it?  Do they get bored, frustrated and disillusioned with the way their lives have turned out to be?  Are they even aware there’s more to life?  That there are other options?

Or are they simply content just to be?

Is ignorance bliss after all?

I will never be content to just be, and that’s what makes me nervous, yet grateful at the same time. I have no desire to play house and, you see, I would be drenched in guilt for even humoring that existence.  Most people feel the exact opposite, and might feel irresponsible for living a life focused almost purely on the self, but in my mind, to remain in one little corner of the world is the selfish act. To not actively seek knowledge, to not desire to expand ones self as far as humanly possible and to not crave to understand the world and its vast possibilities is what’s irresponsible. One only has to look up at the sky on a clear day, and take in the utter profundity of nature, to realize that in the big picture, our lives don’t amount to much more than meaningless little specks of nothingness.  The things we concern ourselves with, obsess about, cry over and argue in the name of are exceedingly petty, and do not matter in the long term, not for you and certainly not in terms of humanity. Yet, we spend all of our time and energy getting so tangled up in our own insignificant, trivial issues, that we struggle to see the big picture, and, as such, struggle to notice the value of it.

The world is a big, vast playground for you to explore, to run wild with and have a little fun.

And that’s exactly what I intend to do.

Truth be told, I always hated golden retrievers, anyway.

Philly, represent!

Fate vs. Reality

I don’t believe in fate.  I don’t believe in destiny.  And as much as I want to imagine that somewhere in the world, there’s one lucky* special person out there who would make the perfect gouda to complement my oversized glass of Merlot, I think that’s a bunch of happy horseshit, too.

It’s certainly a nice idea, me skipping off into the sunset with my new hot pink Brazilian thong rammed properly up my Hawaiian Tropics buns, sipping a piña colada with some stupid little flower in it, accompanied by a tall, dark, semi-scruffy (what can I say, I dig a 5 o’clock shadow) picture of perfection with an unnaturally white smile who just happens to share the same passions as I do, including global travel, entrepreneurship, reading, writing, philosophizing and Donkey Kong.

While this is certainly not an unrealistic or unattainable scenario, the fact of the matter is that if this were the case, my Hawaiian Tropics buns Pennsylvanian winter cellulite and his well-defined biceps did not find one another as the result of any divine intervention.  Regrettably (fortunately?), Hasselhoff is not my soul mate after all.

Soul mates do not exist.  Fate does not exist.  And destiny sure as hell is on par.

Cynical, aren’t I?

Before plummeting into a fit of despair, allow me to qualify my claims and explain why this perspective is a good thing, and how being a little cynical can increase your quality of life exponentially.

Here are the standard definitions of fate, kindly copied and pasted, courtesy of dictionary.com:

1. Something that unavoidably befalls a person; fortune; lot.

2. The universal principle or ultimate agency by which the order of things is presumably prescribed.

3. That which is inevitably predetermined; destiny.

4. A prophetic declaration of what must be.

5. Death, destruction, or ruin.

Now, is it just me, or did anyone else notice that the same word by which people often refer to with affection — “It was fate that we met that night!” — also means “death, destruction or ruin?” That should have been a big red flag right there.

Here’s the deal: Pie-in-the-sky constructs like fate and destiny imply that we have no choice in the matter.  All systems are a go, and you’re essentially just a pawn. A marionette. A puppet. You might as well be Bert or Ernie. You’d be just about as productive. You’ve got no control.

I don’t know about you, but the only time I’ve truly lost control involved me, a London tapas bar, and a Spaniard.  That aside, the rest of the time, I, like you, are continually making conscious decisions about how I choose to spend my time and, ultimately, my life.

• Did you drag yourself out of bed this morning, force yourself to sit through rush hour traffic and then miserably sit through work today, relying on 24 oz. cups of coffee to make you look like you care?  That’s was a choice you made.
  
• Do you wish you could travel but complain you don’t have the money?  Did you go out and lease a new car this year?  That was a choice you made.
  
• Are you stuck in an unfulfilling relationship, and have resorted to becoming a bitter, old maid because you’ve been together for so long, that it would just be too difficult to start anew?  That was a choice you made. (That you should really, really remedy right away.)

As a matter of fact, every single thing you did today was a choice that you made. Even attending that pointless, let’s-congregate-in-the-conference-room-so-we-feel-like-we’re-being-productive staff meeting.

You’re probably thinking, “Ashley, you piece of *@&$, I have to go to work because I have to make money.”  Technically, no, you don’t have to go to work at all.  No one is making you.  No one has a gun to your head.  You’re making yourself because you want what’s offered in exchange: Money.  But what if you wanted something more than just money? (I should hope you do.) Can dragging yourself to your job tomorrow morning give you what it is you want beyond a paycheck?  If the answer is no, I’d seriously urge you to reevaluate what choices you’re making, and where you might be able to make better ones in the future in order to balance things out a little.

Too many people rely on the “if it’s meant to be, it’ll be,” or my personal favorite, “everything happens for a reason.”  That is the biggest bunch of absolute @*%$! I’ve ever heard.

NOTHING happens for a reason.  Things happen because you make them happen (or don’t).

Why am I raining on the parade?

Because too often, people use these nonsensical, feel-good mottos to dictate the course of their lives.  When things go wrong, it’s much easier to take a deep breath and convince yourself that it wasn’t you who made a bad choice.  No, conscience, it wasn’t my fault; everything happens for a reason.  Whew.  Good, I was beginning to worry there for a second.

This is nothing more than a lazy avoidance of responsibility for your actions, and a justification for that avoidance.

Now for the good news: Once you start acknowledging the fact that your entire life is within your control, you don’t just reap the negative consequences of having made a poor choice, you also reap the limitless positive benefits of recognizing your power and then using that power to create the life you want.  You are not a marionette.  You are a human being with opinions and emotions and likes and dislikes, and you’re also a human being who is entitled to what it is they want out of life.  All you’ve got to do is choose it.

I was fortunate to come to this realization years ago, and since I credit it as having been my most valuable and effective life tool.  Many people ask me how I am able to travel the way that I do.  Really, there’s no secret involved.  I am not more capable, more intelligent or more savvy than any of you. What it comes down to is simply the fact that I choose to find opportunities for myself.  I actively seek them out.  I do not travel because it was in my cards, or this was my destiny.  I travel because I choose to, and I make it happen because it’s important to me.

Once you realize the world is your playground, and you can choose to live any reality you’d like, then it simply becomes a matter of prioritizing.  If you want to go hit the town tonight and spend $100 on overpriced cocktails and cover charges into clubs full of sweaty, questionable people wearing sparkly lycra, go ahead.  Alternatively, you could skip tonight’s meat market and put that $100 toward a plane ticket fund, and then mingle with sweaty, questionable people WITH ACCENTS in Spain 6 months from now. Is there even really a question?

I guess I should probably wrap this up with some well-thought out, clever closing, but to be honest, I don’t feel like it.  So I’m choosing not to.  See how easy that was?

*Disclaimer:  All funny cross-out words are the stylistical trademark of Andrew MacPherson, and I blatantly stole it for this post.  You want to see someone who puts this principle into action and really chooses their lifestyle, on their terms?  He’s your man.  I’d encourage you to go see what he’s up to, but be careful. He’s addicting.

Thoughts?  Agree?  Disagree?  Think I’m evil?  Would love to hear any stories about making conscious choices to improve your life, and what the results were!

1. You fantasize about ripping that freaking fish right off of the back of your neighbor’s Prius, and replacing it with a bumper sticker that reads Satan is my homeboy. And then videotaping their reaction from your bedroom window, and posting it on one of your several blogs. Evil laugh optional.

2. It baffles you that there is no World Cultures for Dummies book, yet the following titles are somehow in print: Canadian Wine for Dummies, IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) for Dummies, Rabbits for Dummies, MySpace for Dummies & Raising Smart Kids for Dummies (Step one: If you’re currently pregnant, put down the Scotch.)  Obama, where you at, bro?

3. You secretly always wanted to see Tony Micelli throw down his oven mitt & realize his potential as more than a glorified bitch. But not before he took Angela on the kitchen table.  Just once. Hopefully Mrs. Rossini doesn’t happen to be nosing around.

4. You have a love/hate relationship with suits; on one hand, James Bond wears one, and you like this. On the other, well…James Bond doesn’t really exist, and you despise everything that a suit represents. Unless, of course, Angelina Jolie is wearing a blazer with no pants on.  Then all bets are off.

5. You’ve engaged in sexual intercourse simply on the grounds that you couldn’t resist the accent. This may or may not have evolved into a long-term personal challenge to see how many “countries” you can add as a notch on your belt.

6. You’ve been known to bust into spontaneous dance parties while driving with your left knee, and bobbing your head from side to side while simultaneously doing the wave and making faces at the person next to you at the stoplight. Mostly because this makes them extremely uncomfortable. This is funny to you.

7. People fall wildly in love with you because of your sarcasm. Then, 6 months into the relationship, that same person complains that you never take anything seriously and you’re “insensitive.”

8. You’ve been voted most likely to fake your own death and escape everyone and everything.

9. You always thought you were smarter than your teacher, professor and/or boss. The day you called them out to correct their misuse of “immigrate” instead of “emigrate,” they silently admitted defeat and began covertly plotting your demise.

10. At one point in your life, you contemplated becoming an airline pilot so you could see the world while working.

11. You think a lot of things are stupid.

12. You refuse to do stupid things.

13. You’re routinely referred to as stubborn, pig-headed and/or an ungrateful for refusing to do aforementioned stupid things. Meanwhile, you can’t help but think the same about those people, but for opposite reasons.

14. The idea of not having a cell phone is appealing.

15. For you, I, Robot isn’t just a movie.

16. You know what I meant by that.

17. You don’t mind sitting in traffic, because you don’t really give a damn if you’re there “on time” or not. The concept of keeping time is a social construct in the first place.

18. Speaking of time, you disagree with the statement “Time is money.” Silly buffoons, those mind renters.

19. You laugh every time at Achmed.  (This really has nothing to do with lifestyle design, but whether or not you have a sense of humor.)

20. You know who Achmed is.

21. You’d have to seriously consider whether having The Donald’s fortune would be worth sacrificing your time and mobility. And hair.

22. You’ve pondered how, exactly, a turban is wrapped. Bath towels don’t count, cheater.

23. You look up to homeless people, in a way, because they are completely, utterly free to do whatever they want.

24. You also look up to Indiana Jones, because, let’s face it: That hat was BAD–ASS.

25. You’ve questioned religious teachings on more than one occasion; especially after they tried to convince you that a stale, moldy little crouton was actually the body of christ.

26. Even though you shudder at the thought of wearing a fanny pack, you tolerate their existence because you have friends in four countries that still wear them.

27. You drink alcohol in excess.  Mostly because you’re always in new social & cultural settings where everyone is inviting you out for a drink.

28. You romanticize the idea of meeting the most intriguing guy/girl in a hip little coffee shop, where you have instant chemistry; within an hour the two of you are on your way to the nearest international airport, where you scan the departures for the next flight out to wherever, and you board on a whim. You have no luggage, and you could care less. Could life be any more exciting?

29. You would actually do number 28.

30.  No Fear is still your favorite brand.  For obvious reasons.

31. You’re more intimate with your laptop than your partner.

32. You laughed at most of these, and can identify.

33. You just read this post to the end and are immediately going to tweet/facebook/stumble it!

You know you wanna add to the list.  Rally!