To err is human

Today, for a second, I thought I'd lost a Panamanian golden frog at the Reptile House. It's hard to explain what a sickening feeling that is. Fortunately, it was just hiding on the side under the lip of a jar, no doubt laughing at me, but I actually ought to thank it for reminding me to have a sense of perspective.

A couple months ago I got the name of something slightly wrong in a story, and they had to run a correction, and it was a huge mortifying deal that made me and everyone look bad, and I was miserable and felt like a huge idiot, etc. It is important to remember at a moment like that - at least, in the work I do now, I can't kill anything. The worst mistake I can make is still really no big deal in comparison.

I used to think of something similar when I taught linguistics. One of the good things about my field, instead of teaching, say, medicine, or how to build bridges, was this: when a linguistic theory fails catastrophically, no blood is shed. I could be sure that none of my students was ever going to accidentally kill anyone using the material I had taught them.

Well, unless someone died of boredom, of course.

Party Animals

On Saturday night, I went to the Bark Ball, a black tie fundraiser for the Washington Humane Society, to write a story. I have so far spent most of my career in journalism sitting in my home office talking on the phone, and otherwise have been a zookeeper for the past several years. The result of this is that I have virtually no respectable clothing.

I tried on some dresses belonging to a coworker (resulting in much joking about female animal keepers all owning one dress between them that gets passed around in the rare cases that we need it). I went shopping twice. I finally realized that buried in my closet I had one dress that would be just barely suitable and also not cause me to pass out in the near-100 degree heat.

It was discouraging but not surprising to discover when I arrived that some of the dogs were better dressed than I was.

(Pictured: Faith Buttercup, in a dress her owners brought back from the Virgin Islands. She gets a new dress for the ball every year.)

Important Discovery

I believe I am very close to determining the answer to what I believe is a question for the ages: What is the value of an idea?

My editor at the newspaper pays $75 for a story that she assigns. But she pays $100 for a story if I come up with the idea for it.

Therefore, an idea is worth $25.

Unfortunately, I made the mistake of thinking about this harder. What if this really proves that an idea is worth 1/4 of whatever a whole project is worth?

The idea that all ideas are worth exactly the same amount is pleasing. And I'll bet it would make intellectual property litigation a lot simpler.

But maybe the latter theory is more plausible. And I'm equally pleased by the statement it makes that at least 3/4 of anything is in the execution, not the idea.

Go ahead, Dooce me

OK, I have been avoiding making snarky rude posts about work. But I'm only a temp. What are they going to do, make me leave in six weeks?

So, here's the new zoo vehicle policy, instituted after an uproar about the previous new policy which banned driving on the zoo paths after 10 am, which means you can't haul or deliver anything.

When unavoidable with work or special requirements, vehicles can be driven in the park after 10 am with these conditions: slow and careful driving with an escort (person walking in front of the vehicle).
The escort must have a bright colored vest and mild noisemaker/bell...

At first I didn't see what was the problem with this policy. But then I realized that they would probably fire me for swinging the bell and calling "Bring out your dead...."

(Dooce: to lose one's job because of one's website.)

Man vs Nature

This is my boss trying to persuade that cottonmouth there on the floor to go into a clear plastic tube. I know, it's not the greatest picture, but I was wearing sandals and didn't want to get closer. It is not recommended to wear sandals when there is a venomous snake on the floor, but I had no idea when we started that putting it on the floor was going to be part of the technique.

The point of getting the snake into the tube is so we can safely do medical procedures without being bitten, or, like we were hoping to do here, figure out what sex the snake is. Which, unfortunately for the snake, requires a bit of poking into its private parts.

It didn't work this time, by the way.

(PS: Click on the picture for a closer view.)

Strange feeling of deja vu

Today I tried to listen to a guy give a Powerpoint presentation about amphibian decline. I managed to stay for about an hour. Then I had to leave before I started to gnaw my own leg off.

Here's the thing: I gave up lifetime job security so I would never again have to sit in a room listening to a PhD utter the words "controversy in the literature." And it turns out it doesn't make a damn bit of difference what topic he's saying it about.

(To get the same information as his talk in about three minutes, click on the link to my Year of the Frog article over there on the right, if it's still there.)

The benefits of professional misanthropy

I have a cold. So there's another reason to go back to being a work-at-home freelance writer instead of a regular person with a full time job. I can't even remember the last time I had a cold - it must have been at least a year ago. You just don't have a lot of chances to pick up germs when you only interact with people over the phone and email.

Strange feeling of deja vu

"Midlife is when you reach the top of the ladder and find that it was against the wrong wall."

--scholar of comparative mythology Joseph Campbell, quoted in an article in today's Washington Post.

Been there, done that. Hmm, if I've got it wrong this time too, does this mean I STILL haven't reached midlife?

I could get to live forever, this way.

At the Zoo

After two weeks of the busy spring break season, I have come up with the following helpful list for zoo visitors.

Be kind to your local zookeeper! Please:

1. Do not tap on the glass. No, actually it doesn't bother the animals, but it drives us CRAZY. And cleaning your fingerprints off the glass is the least rewarding part of this profession.

2. Remember that you are the ten thousandth person this weekend to ask me where the bathrooms are. I'm answering as patiently as humanly possible under the circumstances.

3. If I am holding a snake in my bare hands and talking to people in the public hallway, ask me if the snake is venomous. I need a good laugh.

At the Zoo

I seem to be working full time at the zoo again. I didn't mention it here for a few days in the hope that I would wake up and it would all be a dream. But apparently it is not.

It is only another temporary job, fortunately, and I am hoping it will finally be the one that cures me of wanting to be in this business. Wish me luck.

Life lessons, fictional and otherwise

I am spending the morning reading about the last episode of The Wire on the web instead of working.

The theme of the triumph of the institution over the individual resonates a long way back for me. In my very first meaningful work experience, before I'd even graduated from high school, I learned the lesson that I've always thought of as "You should never love an institution because it can't love you back."

And yet, if you're the sort of person for whom meaningful work is crucial, who has to do a good job of something to feel like you exist, it's almost impossible not to repeatedly put yourself in the position where an institution can grind you down, break your heart and spit you out.

Someone remind me of this if the zoo ever calls about that job, OK?