How to Apply the Laws of Physics to Personal Relationships: Vol. 2

This is the first time I did a comic openly revisiting the subject of a previous comic. Notice the word “openly.” I had revisited subjects before, but this time I couldn’t think of a way to disguise it as a new idea.

Also, looking at this, I’m amused by the fact that I took the picture of the friend I used as the model for the woman in the first and last panels on an evening in late October in Seattle, and I took the pictures of Rick mid-day in the middle of July. As a result, the comic features a woman bundled up in fuzzy clothes and a big scarf being hit on by a guy in a t-shirt and jogging shorts.

 

You can comment on this comic on Facebook.

As always, thanks for using my Amazon Affiliate links (USUKCanada).

How to Apply the Laws of Physics to Personal Relationships: Vol. 2

This is the first time I did a comic openly revisiting the subject of a previous comic. Notice the word “openly.” I had revisited subjects before, but this time I couldn’t think of a way to disguise it as a new idea.

Also, looking at this, I’m amused by the fact that I took the picture of the friend I used as the model for the woman in the first and last panels on an evening in late October in Seattle, and I took the pictures of Rick mid-day in the middle of July. As a result, the comic features a woman bundled up in fuzzy clothes and a big scarf being hit on by a guy in a t-shirt and jogging shorts.

 

You can comment on this comic on Facebook.

As always, thanks for using my Amazon Affiliate links (USUKCanada).

How to Pick a Restaurant

I would totally eat at Colonel Kraut’s Bratwurst Bunker. I picture the logo being a sausage impaled on one of those old German spiked helmets*.

There is a very good German buffet at EPCOT. We ate there a couple of times when one of my brothers was in town. It has been said that the difference between many Mexican dishes is all in how the chef folds the tortilla. By the same token, the difference between many German dishes is the circumference of the wienie, and how thin they slice it.

*Those helmets were called “Pickelhaube,” and the Wikipedia page about them just cost me ten minutes of my life. In WWI they discovered that the traditional pickelhaube was ill-suited to trench warfare, partly because the spike would stick up over the top of the trench and make the wearer a target. The solution: a new helmet design with a spike that was detachable!

Note from Missy: [1] I love how sour I am through this whole thing. [2] I went to Wikipedia to find out if “pickelhaube” had any root in “pickle.” (Turns out no: “pickel” is German for point or pickaxe.) I ended up falling down a rabbit hole for 15 minutes. Thanks a lot, Scott. No Rib Round-Up for you!

 

You can comment on this comic on Facebook.

As always, thanks for using my Amazon Affiliate links (USUKCanada).

How to Pick a Restaurant

I would totally eat at Colonel Kraut’s Bratwurst Bunker. I picture the logo being a sausage impaled on one of those old German spiked helmets*.

There is a very good German buffet at EPCOT. We ate there a couple of times when one of my brothers was in town. It has been said that the difference between many Mexican dishes is all in how the chef folds the tortilla. By the same token, the difference between many German dishes is the circumference of the wienie, and how thin they slice it.

*Those helmets were called “Pickelhaube,” and the Wikipedia page about them just cost me ten minutes of my life. In WWI they discovered that the traditional pickelhaube was ill-suited to trench warfare, partly because the spike would stick up over the top of the trench and make the wearer a target. The solution: a new helmet design with a spike that was detachable!

Note from Missy: [1] I love how sour I am through this whole thing. [2] I went to Wikipedia to find out if “pickelhaube” had any root in “pickle.” (Turns out no: “pickel” is German for point or pickaxe.) I ended up falling down a rabbit hole for 15 minutes. Thanks a lot, Scott. No Rib Round-Up for you!

 

You can comment on this comic on Facebook.

As always, thanks for using my Amazon Affiliate links (USUKCanada).

How to Deal with Trick-or-Treaters

I bothered to draw myself pouring Mr. Pibb, and to craft an instantly recognizable rendering of one of those plastic Halloween Jack-O-Lantern buckets, but the kids pirate costume consists entirely of a scribbled on eyepatch and a terrible drawing of a skull and crossbones.

It’s not that I’m lazy that bothers me. It’s that I can’t even bother to be consistent about it.

 

You can comment on this comic on Facebook.

As always, thanks for using my Amazon Affiliate links (USUKCanada).

How to Deal with Trick-or-Treaters

I bothered to draw myself pouring Mr. Pibb, and to craft an instantly recognizable rendering of one of those plastic Halloween Jack-O-Lantern buckets, but the kids pirate costume consists entirely of a scribbled on eyepatch and a terrible drawing of a skull and crossbones.

It’s not that I’m lazy that bothers me. It’s that I can’t even bother to be consistent about it.

 

You can comment on this comic on Facebook.

As always, thanks for using my Amazon Affiliate links (USUKCanada).

How to Deal with Insects

Panels one and two are only slightly exaggerated, and depict the conversation I had the first time I encountered what Floridians refer to as “Love Bugs.”

Aside from the dialog being a bit jokier in the comic, the differences between what you see here and what really happened are:

It wasn’t just a couple of bugs on my head. The person I was talking to and I were standing in the middle of a noticeable cloud of the wretched things.

And

The conversation wasn’t between me and Rick while wearing street clothes. It was between me and a coworker while we were both wearing 1920s bellhop costumes.

I kind of like the fact that I have a life that I have to make less surreal in order for it to be relatable.

 

You can comment on this comic on Facebook.

As always, thanks for using my Amazon Affiliate links (USUKCanada).

How to Deal with Insects

Panels one and two are only slightly exaggerated, and depict the conversation I had the first time I encountered what Floridians refer to as “Love Bugs.”

Aside from the dialog being a bit jokier in the comic, the differences between what you see here and what really happened are:

It wasn’t just a couple of bugs on my head. The person I was talking to and I were standing in the middle of a noticeable cloud of the wretched things.

And

The conversation wasn’t between me and Rick while wearing street clothes. It was between me and a coworker while we were both wearing 1920s bellhop costumes.

I kind of like the fact that I have a life that I have to make less surreal in order for it to be relatable.

 

You can comment on this comic on Facebook.

As always, thanks for using my Amazon Affiliate links (USUKCanada).

How to Correct Someone

This commentary won’t be funny so much as it will express something I happen to feel very deeply about.

I was a trainer at one time. I always believed that it was my job not only to tell my trainees what they did wrong, but what they did right.

I have also been a trainee many times. Most of my trainers did not subscribe to the same point of view. One trainer I had, in a sort of a cashier-ish job which I will not describe in detail, stood behind me as I dealt with customers and walked me through each part of the process by ordering me to do the next step before I had the chance to start it on my own, while employing a tone of voice that suggested to anyone listening that I had forgotten what to do. At the end of every customer interaction the trainer would thank the customer for their patience, and apologize for the inconvenience and my mistakes.

Someone asked me later what it was like being trained by this person. I said, “If (name redacted) were a track coach, (he or she) would train people to run faster by running behind them and shoving them forward.”

To tell someone when they’re wrong and not tell them when they’re right is to give them incomplete information. A fuel gauge doesn’t just tell you when your tank is empty. It also tells you when the tank is full.

Note from Missy: I suspect we’ll all have stories about this one. One time I was being trained in a task by a coworker who I found to be loud and grating in general. She perched over my shoulder and watched what I was doing like a hawk. As I was typing things, the occasional typo would slip out. As my right pinkie went up toward the backspace key, she’d shout, “AH-AH-AH, UH-UH, YOU MEANT TO TYPE X.”

I’ve only ever cried a couple of times at a couple of jobs, and every time it’s been out of sheer anger and frustration. She was one of the ones who made me rage-cry.

 

You can comment on this comic on Facebook.

As always, thanks for using my Amazon Affiliate links (USUKCanada).

How to Correct Someone

This commentary won’t be funny so much as it will express something I happen to feel very deeply about.

I was a trainer at one time. I always believed that it was my job not only to tell my trainees what they did wrong, but what they did right.

I have also been a trainee many times. Most of my trainers did not subscribe to the same point of view. One trainer I had, in a sort of a cashier-ish job which I will not describe in detail, stood behind me as I dealt with customers and walked me through each part of the process by ordering me to do the next step before I had the chance to start it on my own, while employing a tone of voice that suggested to anyone listening that I had forgotten what to do. At the end of every customer interaction the trainer would thank the customer for their patience, and apologize for the inconvenience and my mistakes.

Someone asked me later what it was like being trained by this person. I said, “If (name redacted) were a track coach, (he or she) would train people to run faster by running behind them and shoving them forward.”

To tell someone when they’re wrong and not tell them when they’re right is to give them incomplete information. A fuel gauge doesn’t just tell you when your tank is empty. It also tells you when the tank is full.

Note from Missy: I suspect we’ll all have stories about this one. One time I was being trained in a task by a coworker who I found to be loud and grating in general. She perched over my shoulder and watched what I was doing like a hawk. As I was typing things, the occasional typo would slip out. As my right pinkie went up toward the backspace key, she’d shout, “AH-AH-AH, UH-UH, YOU MEANT TO TYPE X.”

I’ve only ever cried a couple of times at a couple of jobs, and every time it’s been out of sheer anger and frustration. She was one of the ones who made me rage-cry.

 

You can comment on this comic on Facebook.

As always, thanks for using my Amazon Affiliate links (USUKCanada).