Cutesy name aside, Google Doodles are actually pretty awesome, aren’t they? In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m referring to artistic renderings of the Google logo designed to commemorate significant people, events, etc. These images and interactive displays on the Google homepage are probably one of my favorite things about “The Google” these days—besides calling it “The Google,” of course.

Recently, Googlers honored the birthday of Howard Carter, the English archaeologist who discovered Egyptian Pharaoh Tutankhamun’s tomb 1922. The final resting place of this 18th dynasty ruler was an especially remarkable find because it had been spared the despoilment visited upon so many other graves in the Valley of the Kings. Thanks to Carter and his backer, the 5th Earl of Carnarvon, you and I can appreciate the artistry of King Tut’s funerary mask; no grave robbers melted it down or sold it on the ancient black market.

Google’s tribute to this real-life Indiana Jones (fewer Nazis and less fancy whip work than in the movies) inspired me to dig through the Doodle archives to pick out some of my favorites from over the years. As you might imagine, there were quite a few options, and I had some trouble narrowing down the field. I’ve selected a few I particularly like, but this is by no means an exhaustive list. For this reason, I’d like to invite you to share your own favorite Google Doodles in the comments section.

Without further ado, and in no particular order, here’s a selection of some cool ones from the archive.

St. Patrick’s Day 2012—This was a tough call, but I think I have to pick the illuminated manuscript look of this year’s image as my favorite Ireland-related Doodle; St. Patrick’s Day 2011 was a close second, with its lovely depiction of swans in an aquatic setting.

Franz Liszt’s 200th Birthday—In 2011, Google honored Franz Liszt, the renowned Hungarian composer, conductor, piano virtuoso, and teacher. Although I’m generally a ’77-style punk guy, I cut my musical teeth on Liszt’s compositions when I was a child. In fact, many of you are likely familiar with his “Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2,” which serves as the soundtrack to a number of Warner Bros. cartoons.

Agatha Christie’s Birthday—As a tribute to one of history’s most famous writers of detective fiction on what would have been her 120th birthday, Google chose to depict a typical scene in which Agatha Christie’s Belgian sleuth Hercule Poirot unfolds the details of a crime in his characteristically pedantic fashion. Poirot, you’re a man after my own heart.

2,500th Anniversary of the Marathon—According to legend, the first marathon was actually run by a single person, Pheidippides (or Philippides), who ran from the site of the battle of Marathon to Athens in order to inform his fellow Athenians that their heavily outnumbered hoplites had defeated the invading Persian army. Pheidippides is said to have dropped dead immediately after running 42 kilometers to deliver news of the victory. What makes this feat all the more impressive is that this same Pheidippides had just run a round trip of 240 kilometers between Athens and Sparta before running to Athens to share the good news.

Birthday of Katsushika Hokusai—This 2010 Google Doodle is a rendering of “The Great Wave off Kanugawa,” which the best known work by one of Japan’s most revered artists, Edo Period master Katsushika Hokusai. If you’re interested, you can see an exhibition of Hokusai’s work at the Freer Gallery in Washington, DC, but make sure you get there before June 17th!

Antonio Vivaldi’s Birthday—I really like how the Googlers incorporated into this Doodle Vivaldi’s penchant for string composition as well as his most famous piece, The Four Seasons. This Venetian composer of the Baroque period not only wrote some of the most brilliant music of his time, but was also endowed with fiery red hair, a trait which earned him the nickname of “The Red Priest.”

René Magritte’s 110th Birthday—Belgian surrealist René Magritte is a personal favorite of mine, so naturally I had to include Google’s tribute to him on this list. I especially like his painting “The Treachery of Images,” which shows a pipe with the caption “This is not a pipe.” Totally blows your mind, right? Whoa!

Well, there you have it. I’d love it if you’d augment this post with some favorite Doodles of your own, but please, nothing about the “royal wedding.”

If you’re surprised to learn these facts, you’re certainly not alone: a Harris Interactive poll taken earlier this year indicates that 51% of Americans were unaware that St. Patrick was the patron saint of Ireland, and 25% didn’t know that the whole “driving out the snakes” thing was probably just a bunch of malarkey. Given the inevitable disparity between historical fact and the popular myths surrounding holidays like this one, I feel it’s my duty to clear up some of the misinformation out there.

At this point, you may be thinking, “Wait a sec, if this shamrock guy wasn’t Irish, where was he from?” Well, as is often the case wherein identity is concerned, St. Patrick’s origin—if you accept that there was only one St. Patrick—is a bit complicated. You see, although he was likely born in what is now England or Wales, he certainly wasn’t Anglo-Saxon or anything like that. In fact, before the Anglo-Saxon dominance of Britain, the island was populated by Celtic peoples (not unlike their Irish neighbors). Britannia in Patrick’s day was also part of the Roman Empire, and Patrick himself a Romano-Briton; thus, his identity was probably at least threefold: Celtic, Christian, and Roman.

This discussion of Patrick’s Roman citizenship brings me to the other dead Roman to whom I referred in the title of this piece: Gaius Julius Caesar. The Roman general, statesman, and dictator was assassinated on the Ides of March (a.k.a. March 15th), a mere two days before the traditional date of Patrick’s demise. These two historical figures have more in common than just the temporal proximity of the days on which they died.

First of all, consider the misconceptions about the history of each man. Caesar, for example, is supposed to have said “Et tu, Brute?” (“And you, Brutus?”) to Marcus Junius Brutus as the tyrannicide came at him with a dagger. The truth of the matter is that Shakespeare invented this detail. Most extant ancient sources (viz. Suetonius and Plutarch) indicate that Caesar either said nothing at all, choosing instead to pull his toga over his head as he lay dying, or that he said to Brutus in ancient Greek, “καὶ σύ, τέκνον;” which means, “You as well, child?”.

Another interesting biographical detail common to these men was that they were both kidnapped by pirates in their younger days. Patrick was nabbed by a bunch of Irish raiders, who carried him back to Ireland to tend sheep on the slopes of Slemish, a volcanic mountain in what is now County Antrim. Patrick’s reaction to this abduction was to find God, escape to Roman-controlled Britain, and then ultimately to return to Ireland to spread the Gospel and convert the Irish pagans to Christianity (as the story goes). Caesar also had the unfortunate experience of being taken by seafaring marauders, but his reaction to this turn of events was quite different from Patrick’s—and, I’d say, illustrative of the differences between their respective characters.

As the son of a Christian deacon in Roman Britain, Patrick was most useful to the Irish raiders as an enslaved shepherd. Caesar, on the other hand, was from an ancient Patrician family at Rome and would have been worth a princely ransom to any outlaws intent on capturing him. Thus, given the opportunity, a band of pirates in the Aegean Sea waylaid the young Caesar, who was then only just beginning his storied military and political career. For his part, Caesar maintained pride and dignity throughout the ordeal, even going so far as to suggest that the pirates raise the ransom they demanded from 20 to 50 silver talents as a measure of his value as a Roman noble.

While he was held captive, Caesar treated the pirates as genially as one could expect under the circumstances, but he also consistently guaranteed that after regaining his freedom, he would return and crucify all of them. The pirates are said to have laughed at this, but Caesar was quite true to his word: he raised a force, tracked the pirates down, and executed them just as he said he would. As a gesture of mercy, he had their throats cut before they were crucified so as to spare them the agony of lingering on their crosses. Cheerful stuff, right? Nobody ever accused Caesar of being a softy.

So there you have it, this month’s unsolicited history lesson. Feel free to email me at bmagee@hodgsonconsult.com if you’d like me to bore you to death with more ancient history; I would be happy to oblige!

When I read this article, I was struck especially by a quotation from Ric Rhinehart, executive director of the Specialty Coffee Association of America: “Americans under the age of 40 are thinking about coffee pricing in cups . . . If you asked my mother how much coffee cost, she would have told you that the red can was $5.25 a pound and the blue can was $4.25. If you ask people in their 20s and 30s, they’ll say coffee is $1.75 to $3.75 a cup.” The proliferation of chains like Starbucks coupled with the ready availability of decent coffee from places like McDonald’s and Dunkin’ Donuts has, I’m sure, helped to make this a reality; however, other factors must also be at play.

Why indeed the partial shift in emphasis from coffee can to coffee cup? As I see it, the change has occurred for two significant reasons, both of which I will discuss in the context of a typical work environment: (1) Convenience—who has the time to brew a pot of drip coffee anymore? (2) Diversity of tastes—one employee likes cloyingly sweet hazelnut coffee; another enjoys the rich, dark brew of a fine French roast.

As you may have inferred, I do not enjoy heavily sugared, creamy coffee—the taste of such a drink reminds me more of a dessert than a morning pick-me-up. I have found, however, that my preference for strong, black coffee is not widely shared in this office.

Before the advent of our blessed and wondrous Keurig, we used to brew drip coffee periodically throughout the day to satisfy our insatiable lust for caffeine. Some of us (I shan’t name names) used to insist on purchasing the heavily flavored coffees (Godiva caramel something-or-other, etc.) and, when preparing individual cups of java, tended to maintain an in-cup cream-to-coffee ratio of 1:1 or thereabouts. Even when all of us were drawing from the same massive container of Maxwell House, we could not seem to agree on the proper strength of the coffee: I wanted viscous, caffeinated sludge to drink; others preferred vaguely coffee-flavored water. I won’t even begin to address the problem of the tea-drinkers.

The perfect solution to the issues mentioned above was to acquire a means of making individual cups of coffee to suit personal tastes without preventing others from having similarly customized beverages—enter the Keurig. While it remains significantly more cost-effective to brew coffee the old-fashioned way, I think the convenience and variety offered by the single-serve brewer is well worth the higher price tag. I can have my French roast; Stacy can drink her saccharine, coffee-like stuff; and Vlad can have his antioxidant-rich green tea. Problem solved, right?

In the interest of making this a slightly more scientific piece, I’d like to solicit your opinions on the matter of coffee in the office. Do you favor single-serve coffee, or do you maintain a preference for the traditional drip coffee brewer? Are there viable alternatives I haven’t yet considered (e.g. French press coffee)? While I await feedback, I’m going to go concoct another potent caffeine infusion for myself.

As you can see, Vlad has written this very tongue-in-cheek sentence using almost entirely what he and I would both consider incredibly trite vocabulary, yet these words seem to comprise the majority of expressions in business writing today.[†] At this point, you might be thinking, “What’s so bad about this stuff?” My response would be that this lingo is rotten precisely because it’s aimed at creating needlessly complicated, oblique ways to express simple, easily understood concepts. Bland expressions can cause eyes to glaze over and minds to wander, thus defeating the primary purpose of language: communication.

Unfortunately, this sort of diction isn’t confined to internal discussions about “marketing initiatives” or the like, wherein only one’s coworkers are made to suffer; it has crept into the “public-facing” (another cringe-worthy term) areas of our businesses as well. Entrepreneur Jason Fried explains the problem: “Years of language dilution by lawyers, marketers, executives, and HR departments have turned the powerful, descriptive sentence into an empty vessel optimized for buzzwords, jargon, and vapid expressions.” Alas, it remains far easier to pull out a stock expression thoughtlessly than to consider an idea carefully before expressing it.

Due to my own fastidious nature as a writer, I’m acutely—maybe painfully—aware of how this sort of terminology has been insinuating itself into my own vocabulary. I’ve attempted to stem the tide a bit by taking great pains to bring variety to my writing, even at the cost of sounding like a pretentious, ivory tower academic.[‡] Nevertheless, when one’s work environment is suffused with this dreadful commercial cant, it’s nigh impossible to avoid the temptation to describe what I’m doing right now as “content creation” instead of “writing.”

At first glance, it may seem that there’s no escaping the insipid nonsense that is modern business writing, but don’t despair! For those of us who are aware of the problem at hand, there is a ready solution available in the form of a website that translates esoteric or stale terminology into more comprehensible language. One of my favorite examples from this site is the definition for the term “content,” a word that I use without irony on a daily basis: content is “undifferentiated sludge created to spackle over business problems. Often comes in buckets. Also, articles, videos, or images.” Brilliant stuff.

The above website (the title of which, while apropos, I’ve omitted from this piece for the sake of decorum) should be an excellent resource for anyone revamping his or her company’s marketing copy. The site is wonderful for the same reason that all high-quality satire is wonderful: it holds up a mirror to our society and forces us to come to terms with the blemishes we might otherwise ignore. The best kind of satire is funny without sacrificing its message, because the ultimate goal is to effect a change.

It’s possible that the creators of this dictionary of bad business vocabulary were inspired by American journalist and author Ambrose Bierce. This Civil War veteran was a lifelong cynic, endowed with such a caustic wit that he was dubbed “Bitter Bierce” by contemporaries. One of Bierce’s most famous contributions to the corpus of American literature is The Devil’s Dictionary, a collection of sarcastic definitions for commonly used words (well, they were commonly used words in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries). As “economy” currently seems to be the most overused word in modern American political discourse, I’ll share Bierce’s lexicographical entry on that term:

ECONOMY, n. Purchasing the barrel of whiskey that you do not need for the price of the cow that you cannot afford.

I should be clear in writing this piece that I am just as guilty of using bad business language as anyone else. Likewise, any ridicule implied herein is directed as much at me as at anyone else in this world of “pain points” and “social media gurus.” I’ve long been a proponent of self-effacing humor, especially if it leads to positive developments. From this point forth, I’m going to take upon myself the challenge of writing vibrant prose without sacrificing effectiveness—I invite you to join me in what I hope will not amount to yet another exercise in futility.

Of course, this cosmetic change is merely palliative: it doesn’t address the root cause, which is the stability of the code underlying the system. Researchers at NICTA, Australia’s national IT research center, have been making some headway into developing “crash-proof” code, which just might obviate the need for a BSoD in future versions of Windows. I’m sure the success of those efforts would be more beneficial than any attempts to mollify frustrated users with one of these →

If Microsoft’s goal is to distract people from their anger, I have a few suggestions that might be useful. Since it seems that even ATMs aren’t immune to these difficulties, what about an error screen lifted directly from Bret Easton Ellis’s masterpiece of 1980s greed and excess, American Psycho? I’m referring to the occasion when a cash machine offers a simple, direct command to the novel’s protagonist, Patrick Bateman: “FEED ME A STRAY CAT.” If you like the simplicity of the American Psycho error screen but are put off by the insanity and implied feline cruelty, consider instead the elegant Venture Bros. solution: the “PROBLEM” light.

Maybe after they’ve sorted out this BSoD business, Microsoft can tackle the bane of all Xbox 360 players: the “Red Ring of Death.” I know a few console gamers in this office who’d be pleased as punch with that sort of improvement.

In the 21st century, it really is inexcusable for so many innocent people to suffer because of a lack of basic necessities, especially when we enjoy such a superabundance of food and clean water in this country. The Washington Post  has compiled a list of relief organizations in need of donations and other assistance; please click the link below to find out how you can help save lives in the affected countries.

Famine in Somalia: How to Help

First, some background. A couple of months ago, I read an article discussing how a social gaming company had recently raised a whopping $85 million of venture capital, which was to be spent primarily on expanding the company’s presence in Asia. The company in question, Kabam, was originally founded as “Watercooler” in 2006 and launched its first foray into social gaming in 2009 with the “acclaimed” Kingdoms of Camelot. At this point, you might be wondering what distinguishes Kabam from a company like Zynga, for example.

As you are likely aware, Zynga is the company that inflicted FarmVille upon the world, much to the delight of bored stay-at-home parents and indolent administrative assistants everywhere. It offers players the opportunity to perform such thrilling virtual activities as planting crops, buying sheep, planting more crops, buying chickens, purchasing lawn gnomes (to enhance the aesthetic appeal of one’s estate), and harassing Facebook friends with “gifts.” Oh, and of course, you can buy “farm coins” (the in-game currency) with real money, the sort of stuff that one might use to pay rent or purchase groceries.

Shockingly, there are few true “gamers” who play FarmVille regularly. As Mashable’s Ben Parr mentions in his article on Kabam, these hardcore gamers prefer instead to spend their time playing games like Call of Duty, BioShock, and Halo—titles that offer far more explosions and carnage than the typical, cutesy FarmVille homestead. This is where Kabam comes in: why not offer these enthusiasts a Facebook game more in line with their gaming preferences?

Clearly there are people in this world who believe that Kabam’s approach to social gaming has a great deal of promise. I don’t disagree that these games (Kingdoms of Camelot, Glory of Rome, Global Warfare, and Dragons of Atlantis—various re-skinned versions of what is essentially the same game) will be profitable for the company and will draw a large number of players; nevertheless, I want no further part in such time-wasters. I’ve had my taste of the soul-crushingly addictive yet ultimately unsatisfying Glory of Rome, and I have learned my lesson. I think I’d be better off cultivating a serious crystal meth habit.

I can’t say I wasn’t warned about what lay in store for me with Glory of Rome. My esteemed coworker, Bryan Scott, had played games like this in the past (e.g. Travian, an online multiplayer strategy game). Despite his wife’s vociferous objections (she remembered all the interruptions to the normal conduct of their day-to-day lives: “Can I borrow your phone? I need to check my Travian.”), Bryan agreed to aid me in my quest to play and then review Glory of Rome.[‡] Before agreeing, however, he offered this tersely phrased warning, which encapsulates all that I could possibly say about Glory of Rome: “Games like this come with all the addictive aspects of video games yet few, if any, of the enjoyable aspects.” In other words, these games are not actually fun.

Now, the gameplay. The apparent aim of Glory of Rome is to accrue as many points as possible (called “glory” in the game) by leveling up your character, building a greater quantity of buildings, founding new settlements, training more units (legionaries, centurions, ballistae, etc.), and upgrading the existing edifices in your virtual coloniae. As your glory goes up, so increases your character’s level and therefore your visibility to other players, both hostile and friendly. In order to construct buildings and train units, you need to harvest resources (food, lumber, stone, and iron) and collect silver by taxing your populace.

As this is a massively multiplayer online (MMO) game, you may join alliances with other players (more on that later), and you can wage “war” against other people. Unfortunately, there are some serious drawbacks to making sorties against your foes. The most you can expect from a raid is to defeat your opponent and pillage whatever resources he or she has left unprotected by a storehouse (the building which protects resources from being plundered). In many cases, you will not even get to kill your enemy’s troops during an attack, because the game allows players to hide their forces in the sanctuary of each colony’s temple, keeping them safe from all incursions. Here’s the best part: every unit you lose in a raid—successful or unsuccessful—actually decreases your overall glory. Clearly, the upshot of this is that it’s most effective to sit comfortably behind your walls, building units yet never sending them onto the field of battle.

Bryan and I noted the above defects in the game design rather early on in the process, but we were already thoroughly ensnared.[§] Compared to some of the other aspects of the game, the problem with accumulation of glory was a minor issue. In order to found a second city, you have to add at least five “cohorts,” who are Facebook friends of yours also playing Glory of Rome. If you wish to gain cohorts, you have to pester your friends with annoying electronic invitations, possibly accompanied by some real-life groveling.

I should also mention that many of the higher level buildings, units, and tech tree upgrades in the game take an excruciatingly long time to complete (we’re talking days and days here), and the only way to speed up or improve the process is by using special items (e.g. the “Patrician’s Sundial” or “Pluto’s Blessing”). “Where does one obtain these items,” you ask? Well, you can get one of them randomly each day via what they call “Fortuna’s Gamble,” but this doesn’t provide the really excellent items. To get the good stuff, you need to use the other in-game currency: gold. As far as I can tell, the only ways to get gold are to sign up for some sponsored commercial offer or to buy it with Facebook credits or actual currency. Either way, you’re going to end up paying real money to construct a virtual building in an imaginary Roman colony that exists only on Kabam’s servers.

These Kabam games make money using the same microtransaction model that seems to work so well for games like Lord of the Rings Online (LOTRO). Players purchase an intermediary currency (e.g. Turbine Points in LOTRO or gold in Glory of Rome) and use that to buy in-game items or power-ups. Intermediaries are acquired in quantities small enough for the cost to be negligible in the eyes of the average player, but I’m sure we’re all aware that $10 or $20 here and there can very quickly add up.

So here we are, playing a game the primary aims of which seem to be either to encourage incredibly selective attacks against your foes (“Destroy no buildings! Don’t search the temple!”) or to force you to hassle your friends until they join in your folly—more players means more suckers to shell out their meager allowances for gold and power-up packages (called “chests” in the game). This brings me to another interesting point: I used the word “allowance” deliberately, because most of the players of this game are either actual children, or they merely possess the temperament and linguistic abilities of a bunch of dimwitted 7^th graders.

Bryan and I found ourselves surrounded by these individuals after we joined a rather powerful alliance known as “Imperialis Roma 2” (much to our disappointment, “R0cK$taRz” was already at capacity). What an excellent decision that was! The alliance chat window provided a constant stream of such edifying messages as these: “wtf lol the sons of mars r attack my coloneez! LOL” and “we mak there guys join uz or we farm them!” The majority of messages from the chancellor and vice chancellors of our alliance consisted of importunate appeals written entirely in capital letters, as if somehow the world would implode if we didn’t drop everything and comply.

At one point, our fearless leaders believed they had been robbed of a prize (free gold, to be specific), which had been offered by Kabam to the alliance boasting the highest collective glory on a specific date. In a petulant fit of apoplexy to rival the best work of any toddler, our noble chancellor et al. demanded (in all caps, of course) that the loyal members of our alliance join them in a new alliance, arrayed in protest against the tyrannical policies of Kabam. Yep.

Despite all the ridiculousness described above, I could not tear myself away from my little Roman coloniae. I kept telling myself that I just had to upgrade my forum and barracks, that I needed just 3,000 more legionaries. The building of cities and armies became the end in and of itself, and I cared not what other players were doing. I knew I had a problem when I was on vacation in Paris, and I found myself sneaking a few minutes of Glory of Rome while my girlfriend was in the shower. A week or so after my return from France, I finally managed to pull the plug. No more RomeVille—yes, RomeVille! This game ended up being nothing more than FarmVille in Caesar’s clothing, a treacherous monster bent on entrapping unsuspecting nerdy Korean kids and 29-year-old American classicists/web tech bloggers.

So there you have it, my review of RomeVille. I write this not as a bitterly disappointed serious gamer, but rather as a gaming dilettante who wishes he had more time for such activities. Don’t get me wrong; video games are great. I spent many a blissful hour playing classic console titles like Super Mario Bros. 3, Sonic the Hedgehog, and Mega Man II. I’ve even enjoyed playing modern games like the aforementioned Halo series or the zombie shooter, Left for Dead. My final recommendation would be that you spend your precious time on worthwhile leisure activities like the above console games or LOTRO. FarmVille, RomeVille, CamelotVille, DragonVille—all of them will ultimately leave you feeling like the Tasmanian Devil at a salad bar: empty, unfulfilled, and yearning for MOAR.

[†] At this point in the narrative, I had originally intended to make a reference to the opening of “Pandora’s Jar” (yes, it’s a jar, not a box); however, I thought better of it during the editorial process. Being of such a persnickety nature wherein etymology and diction are concerned, there was no way I could use the more common albeit erroneous “Pandora’s Box” in lieu of the correct expression. All the same, I thought I should avoid a lengthy explanation of the manner in which Erasmus of Rotterdam, the venerable Dutch Renaissance humanist, confused the Greek words πίθος (jar) and πύξος/πυξίς (box) when translating the poet Hesiod’s Theogony and Works and Days, thereby giving rise to the expression we know today. Instead of ruining the flow of my writing with such an excursus, I elected instead to indulge in this David Foster Wallace-esque footnote. Big Gulps, huh? Alright . . . Well, see ya later!

[‡] I am a classicist by training and a former high school Latin teacher, hence my fascination with all things Greco-Roman.

[§] I’m sure the folks at Kabam actually designed the game this way on purpose so that no one’s settlement could be sacked or taken over completely. If that were possible, people would surely stop playing the game, which might have an adverse effect on revenue. I don’t know; I’m not a scientist.

I’m exceedingly glad to report that no such task befell us this year. Most Hodgson volunteers (including yours truly) spent the morning whitewashing the inside of a dilapidated barn on the premises. Thankfully, I arrived late enough in the morning to miss the part where everyone manually moved all the tools and heavy equipment—as well as associated cobwebs and sloughed-off snake skins—out of the barn. I walked through the door just in time to receive a paint brush and these detailed instructions: “Paint the brown parts; don’t paint the parts that are already white.”

As we got to work, I decided to launch a salvo of “Tom Sawyer whitewashing Aunt Polly’s fence” jokes. Sadly, my initial attempt at humor fell on deaf ears; I imagine that most of my colleagues are either too European (I’m looking at you, Vlad and Yasha) or too unconcerned with literature to appreciate a reference to that classic of American fiction. Maybe they thought I was talking about the Rush song inspired by Mark Twain’s hero—who knows? At any rate, it didn’t take long for the others to join in the jocularity. As is often the case, the humor descended at times into ribaldry and innuendo, but the colorful banter certainly helped pass the time until the work was finished.

Our collective painting efforts seemed to pay off: the barn looked a great deal whiter than when we had started, which I guess was the point. Even more importantly, the whitewashing chore occupied the vast majority of the time allocated for manual labor, although I did have to spend a few minutes hauling logs in a wheelbarrow and stacking them. This would not have been altogether unpleasant, but for that fact that the logs had originated near some maniac using a chainsaw to attack a dead tree with such zeal that I thought he was Leatherface, sans mask. I’m grateful I didn’t have to risk limb truncation by hanging around that guy for too long.

After the work was done, we gorged ourselves on some delicious barbecued chicken, along with the requisite side dishes and dessert fare. The highlight of the day for most of us was seeing our fearless leader, Matt Hodgson, don a replica of an iron collar once used to deter enslaved people from fleeing to freedom. Tony Cohen, Director of the Menare Foundation, had also used this demonstration last year to provide us with a vivid image of the sort of horrible things perpetrated while slavery still existed in the US.

I’d say we all learned something from the experience, and I certainly hope we’ll be able to come back next year to lend the sweat of our brows to the maintenance efforts at Button Farm. When we do return, I’m going to offer my idea for the Fourth Annual Volunteering for Business Day: we should build, operate, and sample the produce of an old-fashioned moonshine still. Seems like a great idea to me, but I doubt the Department of Liquor Control would appreciate it.

If you’re interested in learning more about how everything went down, there are plenty of photos available on Hodgson’s Facebook page. Do check them out, and leave a couple choice comments while you’re at it. Jokes about Hodgson employees are not only tolerated, but encouraged.

Rather than weary you with the details of the intensive training regimen common to many of the more energetic runners (booooooring!), I’ll share with you the tale of my own involvement in the race. Our story begins with Hodgson developer Jake Portnoy goading me into signing up, probably by questioning my masculinity and/or my ability to wake up at 8 AM on a Saturday after a typical night of revelry. Needless to say, his appeals to my competitive nature were quite effective in shaming me into participation. Despite the fact that I had scarcely run a block in the past several years, I resolved to join some of my coworkers in their rigorous post-work training sessions. At last, I had found the catalyst I needed to get myself into fighting shape!

As it turns out, my resolve to run was not nearly strong enough to resist the allure of . . . well, not running. I skipped most of the training, proffering a valid excuse each time: “I have to finish writing this proposal,” “I need to go grocery shopping after work,” “Gotta do laundry,” etc. When the week of the race arrived, I realized I hadn’t trained a lick for the 3.1 miles I was supposed to run on Saturday. Panic set in. In a last ditch effort to prepare myself for the arduous task before me, I joined the others on Wednesday as they headed to Chevy Chase for a trial run on the course.

Although this little practice session left me praying for the sweet release of death, I was pleased that I managed to run the entire way without stopping. My sense of satisfaction soon turned into intense muscular pain; I was moving with the gracefulness of an arthritic octogenarian. Not great if you’re planning on running again in a day or two, but whatever.

Saturday morning was colder than I would have liked (temperatures in the lower 40s), and the ground was sodden from recent torrential downpours. I knew my lower legs were bound to end up caked in muck by the end of the run; all the same, I donned my Hodgson colors and joined my coworkers in their casual pre-race banter. As we started out of the gate, I decided I would try to pace myself off developer Bryan Scott—if I could hang with a guy who’d been in the Marines for several years, I’d probably feel pretty good about myself when all was said and done.

After we had rounded the first few bends in the course and entered the narrow woodland path (which, at this point, was basically a muddy quagmire), a number of questions began popping into my head: Why did I drink milk with breakfast this morning? Why didn’t I walk the one-mile course with Kevin and James? Was that a 12-year-old girl who just passed me? Will anyone notice if I drop dead from exhaustion? As I pondered these questions and attempted to keep my footing on the muddy, crowded trail, I hit the midpoint of the course and turned to follow the rest of the runners back to the finish line.

I’m sure a lot of things happened during the latter half of the race (e.g. Matt Hodgson passed me and offered what I’m going to assume were encouraging words to spur me on), but I was far too fixated on my labored breathing to take much note. When my heart rate had returned to a somewhat normal level, I noticed that I had finished 58^th out of 141 with a time of 27:36, which was satisfying enough for a sluggard like me. I hear there’s another 5K in the fall. I can’t wait.

Oh, of course, I’m sure you’re still wondering how much money was raised, how the others fared, etc. Full results are available on A Wider Circle’s website, and you can check out Hodgson’s Facebook page to see some photos that were taken right after the race. I think we look pretty good for a group of exhausted runners, don’t you? Please don’t be alarmed by my pallor—that’s actually my normal skin tone.

Living Social incentivizes users to tell others about what they’ve found by giving the deal to the original user for free if at least 3 friends purchase the deal as well. Similarly, Groupon doesn’t activate a deal until a minimum number of users purchase it—this drives users to share the deal on social media sites to get the word out to as many friends as possible.

The growing success of this business model has sparked the interest of behemoths like Amazon.com, which recently invested $175 million dollars in Living Social. Businesses have had so much success marketing to new customers that an important question has been raised: can this largely B2C-focused model be fine-tuned for the B2B market?

Fastcompany.com reports that Illinois-based IT Consulting Firm Ajilitee is testing the waters in the realm of B2B deals; they posted a deal on Groupon Stores promising $25,000 worth of IT consulting services for a mere $12,500. Of course, this deal is not something the average coed would tweet to her sorority sisters (unless she were worried their website was being hacked by an evil fraternity down the road . . .), but it might be something the student’s mother would be interested in posting to her LinkedIn wall or mentioning to one of her colleagues. As it turns out, no one actually purchased the deal, but Ajilitee did report they were pleased by the interest from the media (nothing wrong with a little brand exposure, right?).

This Ajilitee deal proves that it’s not only revenue from the deal itself that can make the opportunity to advertise on Groupon or Living Social worthwhile—it’s the exposure, the buzz that builds around the deal that may in turn help attract new customers. GrouponWorks, Groupon’s site for businesses, describes the opportunity as “efficient, measurable marketing” and “big exposure, bigger word of mouth.” The opportunity to generate buzz is valuable to any type of business, whether it be a new bakery, a software start-up, or a large IT consulting firm.

The crux of the issue pertains to demographics: are there enough key stakeholders and decision makers in the million-strong pool of Groupon and Living Social members to make a B2B deal successful? Surely, plenty of executives enjoy trying new restaurants and salons and may already be Groupon or Living Social members. But would an increased interest in B2B-focused deals attract more business-oriented subscribers?

Clearly, this idea is in its infancy, but it’s certainly something that will continue to evolve over the coming months. Who knows? B2B Groupon deals could represent a valuable opportunity for your company. While it’s true that no one bought Ajilitee’s deal, they may very well have paved the way for other companies to attract new clients and to build potentially long-lasting business relationships.

[†] Editor’s Note: LOL married people don’t go on dates!