Archive for March, 2009
The Twilight Zone
I’ve been out of college for almost 17 years now. About halfway through that time period I made a dramatic career change. I moved from a Fortune 500 employer to a completely different Fortune 500 employer. The buildings are almost three miles away from each other, so as you can imagine this caused a major disruption in my life.
Not really. But it was a pretty big change compared to something smaller like, say, changing managers. I swap managers like Topps baseball cards.
Today I experienced a change pretty high on the relative career change scale. I got a new office.
Now this wasn’t one of those “movin’ on up” Jeffersons-esque moments where I got a big corner office wrapped in windows. Basically I moved from a small windowless square with a door on the left to an eerily similar windowless square with a door on the right. And when I say “eerily similar” I mean exactly the same except for the door. I am on a different floor because that’s where my new department is located.
My old office arrangement (i.e. where I put the desk) could be described as a masterpiece of engineering efficiency. Thus, with the new opposite door I simply laid out my new digs as a mirror image of the old digs.
This may have been a mistake.
When I need a Kleenex I reach to the left, but the Kleenex box is now on the right. When I need the phone I reach to the right but it is now on the left. I feel like I’m in an episode of The Twilight Zone (or at least how I imagine The Twilight Zone considering that I have never watched it). I should also mention that the “Twilight Zone” would be an excellent nickname for a defensive scheme in college basketball (somebody page Dick Vitale).
This afternoon in my slightly discombobulated state I made a trip to the new restroom. I probably should have gone back downstairs where I am still combobulated. The first thing I noticed in the restroom was a head of shiny, long, brunette hair. Before I could fully freak out about being in the women’s room, I realized I was actually looking at a man who normally wears his long hair in a pony tail (which apparently hides the remarkably healthy sheen I hadn’t noticed until today).
Still somewhat shaken, on the way back to my office I walked right past the hallway where my new office is and went to the hallway where my old office would be if had magically risen one floor. Apparently my body is now calibrated to walk a specific number of steps after exiting the bathroom.
I hope to be better oriented by the end of the week. Or at least to stop answering the Kleenex box.
Everyone Would Be in Love with Me
The other day I was out for a run and saw a HUGE pink limousine. Maybe I just wasn’t getting enough oxygen upstairs at the time, but the first thing that went through my mind was, “Wow. I wonder how much Mary Kay makeup she must have sold?”
So a couple of days later I’m out running in the same area and what do I see parked in downtown Lexington but the actual Oscar Mayer Wienermobile (or at least one of them; I have heard there are more than one). For those who need an explanation, the Wienermobile is basically a giant motorized road-legal hot dog with bun. It has four captain’s chairs in the front seating area (I looked). If I owned a cell phone I would have wished that it had a camera and then I would have wished that I had taken it running so that I could have wished there was a bystander willing to take my picture next to the Wienermobile. I have always thought the Wienermobile is very cool. In fact, it tops my list of favorite mobiles:
1. Wienermobile
2. Popemobile
3. Bookmobile
4. Mobile, Alabama
5. Batmobile
For a while I couldn’t figure out the connection between the giant Mary Kay limo and the Wienermobile being in the same area. Then I got it. If you’ve sold enough makeup to receive a giant pink limousine as compensation, and then you decide to have a cook-out with your friends, the Oscar Meyer corporation snaps to attention and sends the Wienermobile. Case closed.
Unless I really wasn’t getting enough oxygen.
Ayyyyy
Posted by Mark in Current Events, Entertainment on March 26th, 2009
Many Ark readers are by now probably familiar with infamous money manager Bernard “Bernie” Madoff. He was big in the news a few months ago and got some more attention recently when reporting to prison. Madoff made off with LOTS of other people’s money by perpetrating a huge “Ponzi” scheme. As a public service, The Ark of Mark wants to make sure readers fully understand the nature of “Ponzi” schemes so you will not be vulnerable.
First things first. The “Ponzi” scheme got its name from famed Happy Days television character Arthur “Ponzi” Ponzarelli. Ponzi was the white T-shirt and leather jacket-wearing high school dropout who menaced local teens before somehow evolving into a respected community figure. Ponzi inexplicably maintained an imposing physical presence despite being slightly built and about 5’7” tall. Such was his natural leadership ability that nobody found it odd or even slightly creepy that a thirty year old man would regularly conduct sensitive meetings with teenagers inside the men’s room of a local diner.
Now let’s compare and contrast the financial Ponzi scheme with the original.
In a financial Ponzi scheme, unwitting investors hand over hard-earned money to an investment manager. The manager promises big returns without offering any information about how he is able to provide them. Returns are paid to investors not with actual investment earnings but by using some of the money paid in by subsequent investors.
In the original Ponzi scheme, unwitting teenager girls in poodle skirts sacrifice their hard-earned reputations by commiserating with the Ponzi fellow, often visiting him in groups in his small apartment atop the garage of a good-natured, naïve family. The scheme includes a bizarre 1950’s ritual called “necking” which most historians agree is somehow related to the fashion trend where boys of that era would wear their shirt collars flipped up around their necks. The power of the original Ponzi scheme is such that victims under its spell can be summoned with a demeaning staccato snap of Ponzi’s fingers.
(The financial equivalent of the finger-snap is most likely a simple phone call to a potential victim from a friendly investment “advisor” with a carefully practiced discipline to suppress evil giggles).
I hope this clears things up for everyone. The Ark of Mark urges its readers to invest only in solid, time-tested methods. I’ll let you know when “The Ark of Mark, Inc.” goes public.
Get Your Hands Off Me You Dirty Ape
Posted by Mark in Current Events, Entertainment on March 22nd, 2009
You’ve probably seen the commercial if you watch much TV. I’ll admit it’s kind of cute. Dad is packing for a business trip and his daughter sneaks a stuffed monkey into his suitcase. The outcome is predictable. Dad gets mauled by drug-sniffing dogs at the airport because the monkey is filled with heroin the daughter planted on him because he refused to buy her an iPhone.
Not really.
What actually happens is that while on the business trip Dad takes heartwarming digital photos of the monkey on various adventures to send back to his delighted daughter. For example, the monkey is seen standing in front of the Golden Gate Bridge, eating lunch in a fancy restaurant, arguing before the Supreme Court, etc. I think the commercial is for a cell phone or some internet thing. Or maybe Geico.
At the end of the commercial we see the daughter open up the last picture on the family computer. The monkey is sitting on a suitcase in front of the house. Dad’s home! Yay! (I like to imagine he’s actually been sitting outside for two hours waiting for the daughter to finish watching Dora the Explorer and check her email so he can finally come inside). She runs outside for a tender hug, which Dad really needs right now because he just got fired for spending all his time on the business trip with a stuffed monkey instead of meeting with important clients.
Just kidding again. Dad didn’t get fired. He has one of those rare jobs where he can do ridiculous things and waste company money so long as he musters sufficient indignation when anybody points out that that he did anything wrong. He’s a Congressman!
Bye Bye Birdie
Posted by Mark in Entertainment on March 19th, 2009
So I went to a play on a recent Friday night. Most of you would not have guessed I am a theater buff. I even had the male lead in our fifth grade class production of Clementella, a very clever country-western version of Cinderella. Then again, I only got the lead role because my friend Matt (who won the role on an actual merit basis) got cold feet about a week before opening night (which was also closing night; also it was in the afternoon). I think the teacher chose me to replace him because among the kids without speaking roles I had absorbed by osmosis the most dialogue. I’d feel bad that my short-term memory skills won me the role instead of my acting ability, except I’m pretty sure Jimmy Stewart got his start that way.
Regardless, it was my interest in theater that led me to a local production of Bye Bye Birdie. And also Laura told me we were going because it was performed by students at the high school where she works.
The kids did a fantastic job and we had a really good time, even though I think the title of the play was totally misleading. I assumed it was the story of an aging professional golfer dealing with the natural decline of his skills over time.
It was not.
Borderline Comment
The NCAA tournament brackets came out last night. Today, millions of workers scurry to the network printer to retrieve copies before they can be accused of abusing their office supply privileges. I propose that we pause for a moment of reflection before the upcoming four day basketball binge that is the glorious first two rounds of the tournament.
First, as a University of Kentucky fan who for the first time in his adult life must manufacture an interest in the NIT, I reflect upon how sometimes bygones should be bygones. Coach Pitino, all is forgiven. If you come back we can work this thing out. I swear. You can even reopen the Italian restaurant. I’ll even go try it out this time. Promise.
Second, I reflect upon a wonderful comment that a helpful reader posted following an online article about UK basketball earlier this season. This UK fan complained that the basketball team was playing like a bunch of “pre-madonnas.”
Well, then. There’s a couple of ways this could go.
First, I suppose the fan may have been thinking of “Madonna” in the “mother of Jesus” sense. Thus, “pre-madonna” would be akin to “before Christ.” I suppose claiming that the ball team was playing ball like they did during “B.C” could imply he thought they were playing like cavemen.
Second, perhaps the fan was thinking more along pop culture lines. Considering that pop star Madonna became famous in the 1980’s, maybe “pre-madonna” implied that UK basketball had devolved back to the 1970’s. I reject this interpretation because in context his comment seemed intended as an insult, and UK had some very good teams in the 1970’s. Thus I come to the possibility that he meant a literal interpretation of “pre-madonna” in the pop culture context. Maybe he was trying to say that the team was playing so poorly they somehow reminded him literally of, say, Cher.
His criticism must have been brilliant because it works on many levels. Well done, sir.
Cut the Cord
When I was a kid I spent a lot of time worried about a potential nuclear war with the USSR. Well, that’s what I remember the TV news saying kids were worried about back then. In truth I was more worried about whether BJ and the Bear could foil Sheriff Lobo again.
So last night Shelby, age six, told me what she was worried about. As I helped her get ready for bed she asked, “Do you know why I don’t want to grow up?” I secretly hoped she would say because she always wants to be Daddy’s little girl. I asked her why.
“Because I’m afraid it will hurt when the doctor cuts the vocal cord.”
We stared at each other blankly for a few seconds. And then I got it. “Do you mean the umbilical cord?” She realized her mistake and laughed. “Yeah!”
She must have been picturing being a mommy someday, and I have no idea where she picked up that part of the process. I assured her that she really didn’t need to worry about that. Little girls should dream instead of worry. The future will be here all too soon, and she’ll be ready for it long before I am. It’s a beautiful, healthy thing for a child to become a responsible young adult. But cutting that cord is really going to hurt.
The Slub
Laura purchased a shirt that included a tag with the following message:
The occasional slubs and gentle shadings in this fabric should not be regarded as defects. They are characteristic of the fine yarns which give this fabric its beauty and dramatic texture.
I absolutely love this tag. First of all, I love this tag because it is the only tag that has inspired me to visit www.dictionary.com.
slub (n): A soft thick nub in yarn that is either an imperfection or purposely set for a desired effect.
I intend to start working “slub” into as many casual conversations as I can. Consider the following possible scene from a business meeting:
CO-WORKER: Hey. How are you?
MARK: Well, I’m just not sure.
CO-WORKER: Why? What’s wrong?
MARK (thoughtfully rubbing shoulder): I think I may be developing a slub.
CO-WORKER:
The main reason I love this tag is its attitude. The tag is basically saying:
If you think something is wrong with this shirt it’s only because it was made with QUALITY materials and you’re too UNREFINED to know the difference between a flaw and a feature. You will wear this shirt and like it or we will come to your house and forcibly transfer it to somebody with sufficient class to appreciate it.
One wonders how many meek shirt-owners are self-consciously wearing slub-riddled clothing because this tag has intimidated them into accepting a shirt with real problems. The tag has inspired me to consider using the following statement as a footnote to all my blog entries:
The occasional factual or grammatical mistakes in this blog should not be regarded as shortcomings on the part of the author. They are characteristic of the purposeful homespun tone the author takes and are what gives the blog its beauty and dramatic texture. Just as you cannot understand why Andy Warhol’s painting of a Campbell’s soup can is so great, you are similarly incapable of comprehending the many levels of genius displayed in this work. If anything contained herein sounds stupid it reflects poorly on you alone.
Brave New World
WELCOME to the brand new blog at The Ark of Mark. Theoretically, this could eventually be the best blog in the history of the internet. Or the worst. I suppose the odds favor it falling somewhere in between. Let’s have some fun.