As many of you know, I work for a government agency that shall remain nameless, but this week I'm in a class that everyone at my grade level (at this agency) is required to take. This is a class in learning how to develop processes. We're suppose to be networking with the 50 other students and learning about conflicts and validation and lots of other horse shit that I'd rather suffer physical pain than do.
It is unbelievable to me that tax dollars are going to teach these people how to do something they should already know. One of the exercises today involved the instructor (or facilitator) standing in the room and he represented a conflict with your boss. Then we were suppose to position ourselves in the room where we wanted to deal with this conflict. He asked the people standing nearby him why they were standing there. They wanted to deal with conflict head on and confront it. Some people stood far away because they didn't want to deal with conflict.
We had to interview the person next to us and introduce him or her to the class. The person beside me told me he was a cancer survivor. I felt like saying, "you survived cancer to have to sit through this?" You may think I'm over-reacting, but I truly hate doing this kind of crap, especially since it has absolutely nothing to do with my job. I don't develop processes. I just happen to be at the same grade level as these middle managers. If I did develop processes, I surely wouldn't follow this crazy-ass method to develop my process.
Things look like they are only going to get worse as the week goes on. Thankfully, it is only a 4 day class and I have Friday off. Only 3 more days. Only 3 more days. Only 3 more days.
This Blog is Over
Monday, February 23
100 Facts About Me -- Week 8
This is yet another installment of the 100 Facts about me. Each week (until the list totals 100) I post 11 items, 10 of which are true and one that is not. Try and guess which fact is not true. Next Monday, I'll post 10 more facts and one non-fact next and disclose which one of the items from this week was false. This list is kind of dull, but how many exciting facts can one person have? I'm trying to save a few for the end.
The false item from last week was #7. My high school did not have a talent show, and I was never the ventriloquist dummy in any skit.
Here's the eighth list of 10 facts and one non-fact:
1. My best friend in school from the 7th through the 9th grade moved away and I have never seen him or had contact with him since.
2. I get 208 hours of vacation time each year -- about 5 weeks and 1 day -- and I get every other Friday off (because I work 9 hour days).
3. When I talk to someone I don't know on the phone, they often assume I'm a woman.
4. I have been complimented on my blue eyes.
5. I once stood in line to get the autograph of Grandpa Jones, star of TV's Hee Haw.
6. Our rowhouse in DC is more than 100 years old. It was built in 1905.
7. I can type more than 80 words a minute.
8. The first show I ever saw on Broadway was The Magic Show, which featured the magic of Doug Henning and was written by Stephen Schwartz, who later wrote Wicked.
9. The last show I saw on Broadway, as of this date, was a play called August: Osage County.
10. My minimum retirement age is 56, which means I can retire from my job and draw a pension starting August 3, 2017 -- less than 8 years and 6 months.
11. I have dated someone from Africa.
The false item from last week was #7. My high school did not have a talent show, and I was never the ventriloquist dummy in any skit.
Here's the eighth list of 10 facts and one non-fact:
1. My best friend in school from the 7th through the 9th grade moved away and I have never seen him or had contact with him since.
2. I get 208 hours of vacation time each year -- about 5 weeks and 1 day -- and I get every other Friday off (because I work 9 hour days).
3. When I talk to someone I don't know on the phone, they often assume I'm a woman.
4. I have been complimented on my blue eyes.
5. I once stood in line to get the autograph of Grandpa Jones, star of TV's Hee Haw.
6. Our rowhouse in DC is more than 100 years old. It was built in 1905.
7. I can type more than 80 words a minute.
8. The first show I ever saw on Broadway was The Magic Show, which featured the magic of Doug Henning and was written by Stephen Schwartz, who later wrote Wicked.
9. The last show I saw on Broadway, as of this date, was a play called August: Osage County.
10. My minimum retirement age is 56, which means I can retire from my job and draw a pension starting August 3, 2017 -- less than 8 years and 6 months.
11. I have dated someone from Africa.
Saturday, February 21
DVD Recorder/VCR Installed
movies on VHS tape that I want to put on DVD. I can't tell you how
many hours I've spent trying to connect the damn thing to our TV. The
main problem is that the way our TV is mounted to the wall, I can't
access the back of the TV. It has been VERY frustrating. I was very
close to packing the whole mess up and taking it back. Today,
however, I finally figured it out. Praise Jesus!
Friday, February 20
Forcing Forsythia -- Not Just a Bunch of Sticks
My forsythia sticks are starting to bud. When I first put these in a vase, they didn't look like much more than a bunch of sticks. In a short time, they will be blooming like springtime.
Thursday, February 19
Wednesday, February 18
John and Yoko on the Mike Douglas Show 1972
This is one of the most surreal videos I have ever seen. Mike Douglas has the audacity to sing Michelle to open the show like only he (or Merv Griffin) could sing it. If you look up the definition of train wreck in the dictionary, this is the clip to which they refer you. I love that John and Yoko announce the list of guest at beginning of the show, including Louie Nye. It is also interesting when they talk about having Ralph Nader on and how it would be great if he ran for political office. I find this whole thing beyond bizarre.
Tuesday, February 17
The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest #181
Here's another try at the New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest for this week.My caption for this cartoon is below:
"With the current stimulus package, we can only build the infrastructure."
Let me know if you come up with a caption too. Click on the link above to enter.
Monday, February 16
100 Facts About Me -- Week 7
This is yet another installment of the 100 Facts about me. Each week (until the list totals 100) I post 11 items, 10 of which are true and one that is not. Try and guess which fact is not true. I had been offering a fabulous prize if you guessed correctly, but I feel that has soiled the 100 Facts About Me concept -- somehow made it dirty and bad. I apologize for making this wholesome and beautiful thing into something trite and disgusting.
Next Monday, I'll post 10 more facts and one non-fact next and disclose which one of the items from this week was false. The false item from last week was #5. I never jumped off a roof using a bed sheet as a parachute. The other 10 items I listed were true.
Here's the seventh list of 10 facts and one non-fact:
1. My favorite ice cream flavor is Baskin-Robbins German Chocolate Cake.
2. I once owned a dark green Mazda Miata. Someone crashed into the back of it one day when I was stopped.
3. At one time, I had more than $14,000 in credit card debt. I now pay off my full balance each month.
4. I currently do not own a car. Our Honda CRV is owned by Shane.
5. At work, I have an interior office with no windows. However, I do have a TV.
6. I once stabbed myself in the leg with a hunting arrow.
7. I performed in my high school talent show doing a ventriloquism act -- I was the dummy.
8. I'm currently 20 years older than the age my father lived to be.
9. I used to have two cats -- one named Lucy and and the other named Ethel.
10. The first major I declared in college was Accounting.
11. I was in the 4-H. My projects included photography and dog obedience.
Next Monday, I'll post 10 more facts and one non-fact next and disclose which one of the items from this week was false. The false item from last week was #5. I never jumped off a roof using a bed sheet as a parachute. The other 10 items I listed were true.
Here's the seventh list of 10 facts and one non-fact:
1. My favorite ice cream flavor is Baskin-Robbins German Chocolate Cake.
2. I once owned a dark green Mazda Miata. Someone crashed into the back of it one day when I was stopped.
3. At one time, I had more than $14,000 in credit card debt. I now pay off my full balance each month.
4. I currently do not own a car. Our Honda CRV is owned by Shane.
5. At work, I have an interior office with no windows. However, I do have a TV.
6. I once stabbed myself in the leg with a hunting arrow.
7. I performed in my high school talent show doing a ventriloquism act -- I was the dummy.
8. I'm currently 20 years older than the age my father lived to be.
9. I used to have two cats -- one named Lucy and and the other named Ethel.
10. The first major I declared in college was Accounting.
11. I was in the 4-H. My projects included photography and dog obedience.
Sunday, February 15
Saturday, February 14
Not Just Sticks
some forsythia (try saying that without lisping). The plan is that
they will bloom in a few days. I cut them from a bush in my mom's
backyard.
Friday, February 13
Bugaboo Hubabaloo
eat. She wanted to go here for some reason. We called ahead for
their call ahead seating. They said there was no wait, which I
thought was surprising for a Friday night. When we got there, about
30 minutes later, they said the wait was 45-50 minutes.
We waited and got seated in about 30 minutes. The place was loud,
crowded, and tacky. I was trying to be a vegetarian, but the have no
meatless items on the menu. I had salmon. It was pretty good.
Thursday, February 12
HAPPY DARWIN DAY!
I was glad to see Google acknowledge Darwin Day with "Darwin Finches" as part of their logo. An anonymous poster explained to me today that the finches "are evidence of Intelligent Design and not evolution." The anonymous poster continues that "all the finches have the same DNA/genes, so there is no "evolution" from one beak sized bird to another. Designed in the finch is a regulator in the brain that releases the appropriate amount of protein to cause the beak to grown long or short. The same finch can have either a long or short beak - what an Intelligent Design."I, of course, disagree that this is any proof of intelligent design. I'm not sure why this trait, since it works so well, isn't just part of the evolution of the species. Anyhow, if it makes them feel better to think that some being designed finches to work that way, who am I to rain on their parade. I just roll my eyes.
To celebrate Darwin Day, I took the day off work, which turned out to give me a 5 day weekend. Friday is my regular day off and Monday is Presidents' Day. To celebrate, I'm taking Shane out to dinner tonight. Shane had to work and is very jealous I'm off today and tomorrow.
Today, I went and got another estimate on my car repair. I found a place that was highly rated on Angie's List and they gave me the lowest price yet, so I think I'm going with them. I dented the back of the car in a bit when I went to the local grocery store to buy a case of wine. That turned out to be the most expensive wine I've ever purchased. The repair estimate is $550.
I also got my haircut and bought some Valentine's cards. And, I bought myself a little present at Best Buy. I got a DVD recorder/VCR, because I have a bunch of old home movies on VHS tapes I need to convert to DVD before they disintegrate.
I hope everyone is doing something special for Darwin Day. Oh yeah, Happy Birthday Abe too.
Wednesday, February 11
Rainbow Connection by the Dixie Chicks
I included this song in a playlist I compiled for my boss's baby shower we had today. Her partner and their 3-year-old daughter also attended. Her partner is the one having the baby. It was very cool that nobody seemed to care they were a same-sex couple. At my office, nobody seems to care I have a picture on my desk of Shane and I. I appreciate how much things have changed. I could never imagine being out at work and having it be a non-issue. It's great and I know I'm lucky.
Tuesday, February 10
I'm All About the Free Stuff
I used to always order stuff from the back of comic books when I was a kid and I loved getting those books that told you ways to get free stuff. I loved getting the mail and I loved when there was something with my name on it in the mail. It was always junk that you would get, but it was fun getting anything. I got brochures and posters and lots of free samples of dog food and shampoo. 
Now, you don't need a book to tell yo how to get free junk. There is the Internet. Just type in free whatever into Google and there you go. For instance, today I typed in "free t-shirt" and found http://petrix.com/shirt/. Apparently, they give away shirts with logos they goofed up. You just give them your name and address, and in a few short weeks, they send you a free shirt in the mail -- with free shipping. You can't beat that. It will be something I can wear to the gym. I love the Internet!
How to Win the New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest
A champion reveals the recipe for victory. By Patrick House -- Slate magazine --Updated Monday, June 2, 2008, at 5:02 PM ET
Today I can finally update my résumé to include "Writer, The New Yorker." Yes, I won The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest, and I'm going to tell you how I did it. These observations have been culled from months of research and are guaranteed to help you win, too. (Note from Slate's lawyers: Observations not guaranteed to help you win.)
Most people who look at the winners of the caption contest say, "I could've done better than that." You're right. You could have. But that doesn't mean you could've won the caption contest—it just means you could've done better. And if your goal is not to win the caption contest, why bother entering? There is one mantra to take from this article, worth its own line break:
You are not trying to submit the funniest caption; you are trying to win The New Yorker's caption contest.
Humor and victory are different matters entirely. To understand what makes the perfect caption, you must start with the readership. Paging through The New Yorker is a lonesome withdrawal, not a group activity. The reader is isolated and introspective, probably on the train commuting to work. He suffers from urban ennui. He does not make eye contact. Laughing out loud is, in this context, an unseemly act sure to draw unwanted attention. To avoid this, your caption should elicit, at best, a mild chuckle. The first filter for your caption should be: Is it too funny? Will it make anyone laugh out loud? If so, throw it out and work on a less funny one.
Next you need to know the selection process. The first line of defense at The New Yorker is the cartoon editor's assistant, a twentysomething from Texas named Farley Katz. The cartoon assistant reads every single caption—at least 6,000 per week—and passes his favorite 50 or so to the editors, who narrow the list down to three. If you don't make it past Farley, you will never get your name in print. Knowing how he thinks is crucial. The astute captioner will note that he used to be a rollercoaster operator at Six Flags and a telemarketer. He is an outsider who has never trod in the cemented garden he protects. He had to look up "urban ennui" when he arrived in New York—he didn't learn it riding the subway for 25 years. Exploit the fact that Farley is working off the same stereotypes of The New Yorker readership as you are.
Now that you know your gatekeeper, it's time for some advanced joke theory. Should you make a pun or, perhaps, create a visual gag about a cat surreptitiously reading its owner's e-mail? Neither. You must aim for what is called a "theory of mind" caption, which requires the reader to project intents or beliefs into the minds of the cartoon's characters. An exemplary New Yorker theory of mind caption (accompanying a cartoon of a police officer ticketing a caveman with a large wheel): "Yeah, yeah—and I invented the ticket." The humor here requires inference about the caveman's beliefs and intentions as he (presumably) explains to the cop that he invented the wheel. A non-theory-of-mind caption (accompanying a cartoon of a bird wearing a thong), however, requires no such projection: "It's a thongbird." Theory of mind captions make for higher-order jokes easily distinguished from the simian puns and visual gags that litter the likes of MAD Magazine. To date, 136 out of the 145 caption contest winners (94 percent) fall into the "theory of mind" category.
People read The New Yorker to stay on top of the cultural world if they happen to be smart or—if they're just faking it—in the hope of receiving some sort of osmotic transfer of IQ if they hold the magazine tight enough. Nobody wants to feel that The New Yorker is above them, and the last thing they need is to have a cartoon joke go over their heads, lest they write a whole Seinfeld episode about it. Everyone must get your joke. Use common, simple, monosyllabic words. Steer clear of proper nouns that could potentially alienate. If you must use proper nouns, make them universally recognizable to urban Americans. Excepting first names, only nine proper nouns have ever appeared in a winning caption: Batmobile, Comanche, Roswell, Hell, Surrealism, Tylenol, Bud Light, Frankenstein, Kansas Board of Education. You get the idea. Keep it lowercase, keep it simple.
If you heed these instructions, maybe one day you will get a call from Farley and find yourself a finalist. Now what do you do? First, I Googled my fellow finalists: a legislative director in New York and a public-affairs director in Seattle. Clearly 9-to-5 types, at a loss for time, who would be unable to take advantage of the fact that the contest is decided by an online vote. You can and must do better, preferably by launching a full-scale viral marketing campaign. E-mail everyone you know. Create a Facebook group. Call in longstanding debts. It helps if, like me, you have no shame. I had musicians pitching me at their shows, professors pitching me in their lecture halls, and old ladies at cafes pitching me to their grandnieces. Kiss babies, shake hands, and play to win.
It also helps, of course, if you have the best entry. And I did. Here's the cartoon.
My winning caption: "O.K. I'm at the window. To the right? Your right or my right?"
Mildly amusing at best? Check. Theory of mind? Check. Proper nouns? Nope. And what better archetype of urban ennui could there be than a man in a cardigan holding a drink, yapping on his cell phone while blissfully unaware of looming dangers? A very similar cartoon by Jack Kirby from 1962—similar enough to lead the New York Post to shout plagiarism—has the person inside the window frightened and cowering, sans drink, glasses, or phone. But that was 50 years ago, and drudge and complacency have settled on the urban landscape sometime between now and then. You must look for these themes in your cartoon and pounce.
I will stop analyzing now, in deference to Seinfeld's New Yorker gospel: "Cartoons are like gossamer, and one doesn't dissect gossamer." But what does Jerry know, really? He may have a hit show, millions of dollars, and a beautiful wife, but he has never won The New Yorker caption contest. But I have. I have dissected gossamer. And now you can, too. Good luck.
Today I can finally update my résumé to include "Writer, The New Yorker." Yes, I won The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest, and I'm going to tell you how I did it. These observations have been culled from months of research and are guaranteed to help you win, too. (Note from Slate's lawyers: Observations not guaranteed to help you win.)
Most people who look at the winners of the caption contest say, "I could've done better than that." You're right. You could have. But that doesn't mean you could've won the caption contest—it just means you could've done better. And if your goal is not to win the caption contest, why bother entering? There is one mantra to take from this article, worth its own line break:
You are not trying to submit the funniest caption; you are trying to win The New Yorker's caption contest.
Humor and victory are different matters entirely. To understand what makes the perfect caption, you must start with the readership. Paging through The New Yorker is a lonesome withdrawal, not a group activity. The reader is isolated and introspective, probably on the train commuting to work. He suffers from urban ennui. He does not make eye contact. Laughing out loud is, in this context, an unseemly act sure to draw unwanted attention. To avoid this, your caption should elicit, at best, a mild chuckle. The first filter for your caption should be: Is it too funny? Will it make anyone laugh out loud? If so, throw it out and work on a less funny one.
Next you need to know the selection process. The first line of defense at The New Yorker is the cartoon editor's assistant, a twentysomething from Texas named Farley Katz. The cartoon assistant reads every single caption—at least 6,000 per week—and passes his favorite 50 or so to the editors, who narrow the list down to three. If you don't make it past Farley, you will never get your name in print. Knowing how he thinks is crucial. The astute captioner will note that he used to be a rollercoaster operator at Six Flags and a telemarketer. He is an outsider who has never trod in the cemented garden he protects. He had to look up "urban ennui" when he arrived in New York—he didn't learn it riding the subway for 25 years. Exploit the fact that Farley is working off the same stereotypes of The New Yorker readership as you are.
Now that you know your gatekeeper, it's time for some advanced joke theory. Should you make a pun or, perhaps, create a visual gag about a cat surreptitiously reading its owner's e-mail? Neither. You must aim for what is called a "theory of mind" caption, which requires the reader to project intents or beliefs into the minds of the cartoon's characters. An exemplary New Yorker theory of mind caption (accompanying a cartoon of a police officer ticketing a caveman with a large wheel): "Yeah, yeah—and I invented the ticket." The humor here requires inference about the caveman's beliefs and intentions as he (presumably) explains to the cop that he invented the wheel. A non-theory-of-mind caption (accompanying a cartoon of a bird wearing a thong), however, requires no such projection: "It's a thongbird." Theory of mind captions make for higher-order jokes easily distinguished from the simian puns and visual gags that litter the likes of MAD Magazine. To date, 136 out of the 145 caption contest winners (94 percent) fall into the "theory of mind" category.
People read The New Yorker to stay on top of the cultural world if they happen to be smart or—if they're just faking it—in the hope of receiving some sort of osmotic transfer of IQ if they hold the magazine tight enough. Nobody wants to feel that The New Yorker is above them, and the last thing they need is to have a cartoon joke go over their heads, lest they write a whole Seinfeld episode about it. Everyone must get your joke. Use common, simple, monosyllabic words. Steer clear of proper nouns that could potentially alienate. If you must use proper nouns, make them universally recognizable to urban Americans. Excepting first names, only nine proper nouns have ever appeared in a winning caption: Batmobile, Comanche, Roswell, Hell, Surrealism, Tylenol, Bud Light, Frankenstein, Kansas Board of Education. You get the idea. Keep it lowercase, keep it simple.
If you heed these instructions, maybe one day you will get a call from Farley and find yourself a finalist. Now what do you do? First, I Googled my fellow finalists: a legislative director in New York and a public-affairs director in Seattle. Clearly 9-to-5 types, at a loss for time, who would be unable to take advantage of the fact that the contest is decided by an online vote. You can and must do better, preferably by launching a full-scale viral marketing campaign. E-mail everyone you know. Create a Facebook group. Call in longstanding debts. It helps if, like me, you have no shame. I had musicians pitching me at their shows, professors pitching me in their lecture halls, and old ladies at cafes pitching me to their grandnieces. Kiss babies, shake hands, and play to win.
It also helps, of course, if you have the best entry. And I did. Here's the cartoon.
My winning caption: "O.K. I'm at the window. To the right? Your right or my right?"
Mildly amusing at best? Check. Theory of mind? Check. Proper nouns? Nope. And what better archetype of urban ennui could there be than a man in a cardigan holding a drink, yapping on his cell phone while blissfully unaware of looming dangers? A very similar cartoon by Jack Kirby from 1962—similar enough to lead the New York Post to shout plagiarism—has the person inside the window frightened and cowering, sans drink, glasses, or phone. But that was 50 years ago, and drudge and complacency have settled on the urban landscape sometime between now and then. You must look for these themes in your cartoon and pounce.
I will stop analyzing now, in deference to Seinfeld's New Yorker gospel: "Cartoons are like gossamer, and one doesn't dissect gossamer." But what does Jerry know, really? He may have a hit show, millions of dollars, and a beautiful wife, but he has never won The New Yorker caption contest. But I have. I have dissected gossamer. And now you can, too. Good luck.
Monday, February 9
100 Facts About Me Contest -- Week 3
This is yet another installment of the 100 Facts about me and third week of the t-shirt contest. Frankly, I can't give the t-shirt away. I must be a very good liar. Nobody guessed the correct fact that was a lie last week.
Each week (until the list totals 100) I post 11 items, 10 of which are true and one that is not. If you can guess which fact is not true, you can win a Running With Blue Sponge t-shirt. If more than one person guesses correctly (which would be a miracle), there will be a random drawing for the winner.
Next Monday, I'll post 10 more facts and one non-fact next and disclose which one of the items from this week was false. Each person may only make one guess. Leave a comment or send an email to runningwithbluesponge@gmail.com.
The false item from last week was #8. I never shaved my head because of a co-worker undergoing chemotherapy. I totally would do that, if the situation called for it, but I haven't. The other 10 items I listed were true.
Here's the sixth list of 10 facts and one non-fact:
1. My little finger on my right hand is shorter than my other pinky, and it has hair growing on the palm side (feel free to throw up).
2. I met Shane online.
3. I had the mumps.
4. I've sold seeds door-to-door.
5. As a child, I jumped off the roof of my house holding a bed sheet as a parachute.
6. I have college credit in Bowling.
7. A former babysitter of mine got a bit of a crush on me when I became of age, but while I was still living at home with my mother. She threw pebbles at my bedroom window so I'd meet her in the backyard late one night. It didn't really work out for her.
8. Shane and I have traveled to the Union of Myanmar (Burma).
9. While in elementary school, I had to go to a speech therapist to help correct my lisp.
10. I've taught a class in candlemaking.
11. I bite my nails.
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