Love Your Background in Java/Cloud Tech—Are You OK?


I’ve attempted to reach you, but I have had no success. Either you’ve been bitten by a zombie or you’re hiding in a bunker. If you have been bitten by a zombie, my deepest sympathy goes out to your family members.

I hate to keep bugging you, but I do want to express my desire to chat with you more about whether or not our Senior Software Engineer role may be a fit. If you’re still alive, one of the following is more likely to have happened:

_____ Yes, I’ve been bitten by zombies. Please send the antidote.

_____ No, I haven’t been bitten by zombies, but you may wish I had been because I’m not interested. Sorry, it’s everyone for themselves. (I appreciate the candor. I can handle it.)

_____ Yes, I’ve been infected by the Cordyceps Virus and I’d love to pick your brain…

_____ Yes, I have some interest in learning more about the Senior Software Engineer role. Sure let’s chat.



View Chad’s LinkedIn profile

You are receiving InMail notification emails. Unsubscribe
If you need assistance or have questions, please contact LinkedIn Customer Service.

6 Easy Steps to Publishing the Perfect First Post for the Blog You’ll Abandon Next Month

Congratulations on your blog idea! Now you’ve made a WordPress account and reviewed every setting. You’ve bought a domain, set up Google AdSense, a Twitter account, and a YouTube channel, installed all the plugins you’ll need, and picked a theme that really whipped your brand into shape. You’ll be basking in that minor internet celebrity status and telling your boss to take a hike in no time.

But there’s one last thing: The First Post. Even though you’re expressing your opinions to nobody yet, it’s also the first thing everyone will see, out there for anyone to read at a moment’s impulse. You’d better make a captivating first impression. Your career is riding on this.

Here are six steps to make sure your first post sets you up for all that sweet blog traffic.

1. Make sure your readers understand that this is the first post on a blog.

Don’t just jump into your content yet. Your readers want to see behind the scenes. Start from the beginning, with how you decided to start a blog, and go from there.

2. Tell us about the subject of your blog.

Remember that idea you had? Now’s the time. Unleash that sucker on the world! This will be the ticket out of office work for sure.

3. Schedule the post.

Not so fast on that Publish button! Schedule the launch of your new blog for tomorrow at noon. You can’t post immediately after you finish writing it, it’s 1:30am. Nobody’s awake! They all have work tomorrow, and so do you.

4. Add a countdown clock to the big launch.

Everybody loves a good launch. Build a landing page, and add a countdown timer to build excitement. You can do it with some free JavaScript from this Stack Overflow post: The simplest possible JavaScript countdown timer? [closed]

5. Post about it on Facebook.

Your friends and family will click on anything you make, so that should be some easy readership right there. Go for it.

6. Promise to update regularly.

Tell your readers when to come back for fresh content! You should be updating weekly, at least. Daily would be better, and if you spit out a dozen posts in the first 48 hours of being live, that momentum might just last you for the rest of the month.

Difficult Gifts

I have to confess that this whole week I was pretty snobby about when I entered scenes and who I’d play with. My 301 class is amazing and I love improvising with them, but some of the open workshops and jams I went to have a much more mixed crowd. Many of them are just trying it for the first time, and lately I’ve avoided playing with them.

I’m not proud of that. Not only was I there myself less than six months ago (and it’s not like every scene I do now is some groundbreaking revolution in the performing arts either) but I actually think they’re the ones who are going to help me get better at this.

Part of improv is making others look good. “When you make others look good, you look good.” But if people get better at things by practicing pushing themselves with bigger challenges, then it’d make sense that you get better at improv when it’s more challenging to make your scene partner look good.

And really, if you’re actively listening and giving your scene partner the benefit of the doubt, there’s plenty to unpack in bad improv and terrible offers. Maybe your scene partner is nervous. You have the option to throw them under the bus by acknowledging the performer’s nerves, or to make them look good by accepting that part of the offer too. Their character is nervous, and the performer is just doing an amazing job of portraying that.

When your scene partner stops in the middle of a line to tell the audience “I don’t know…” keep your filter up and hear it from the perspective of your character. This is just a person who’s nervous and doesn’t know.

When they panic and turn to shock comedy in the middle of a classroom scene, that’s fine, it really happened in this world. Your character is shocked, because that’s what they were going for. Cut to the PTA meeting where the parents are demanding that they be reprimanded for the outburst. Cut to the playground where the kids are practicing all these fun words they just learned.

Even if they totally freeze up, that’s a lot. Characters freeze up sometimes too. Maybe this is just someone who needs a pat on the back and a little support from a friend.

I think truly committing means being able to handle a scene partner who’s fumbling, not only without breaking your own character, but by learning to spin what they do into the reality yourself. When their nervousness or panic comes through, listen to it through the lens of your character. There’s plenty to work with if you accept it. The show must go on. Don’t let someone else drag you out of the reality you’re building.

Good improvisers are really easy to play with, and are great for helping beginners learn what they’re supposed to be doing and gain some confidence. But it doesn’t take long before it becomes tough to even gauge your own skill level when you’re performing with people who are better at it than you are. You do a good scene and walk away feeling like “this is easy, I can do anything” because they’re good at making you look good. That’s the point.

If I’m never challenged, am I actually improving? Having good scenes with other good improvisers only means that someone there brought the good stuff, but it doesn’t tell me much about my own contributions. On the other hand, if I can share a stage with a brand new improviser, or someone who consistently forgets everything they know as soon as the lights come up, and we can still have entertaining scenes, isn’t that more meaningful feedback?

From Improv4Humans – Ask the UCB: Playing Gay Improv Characters

From Improv4Humans:

In this bonus Ask the UCB episode, Matt Besser, Seth Morris, Eugene Cordero, and Will Hines discuss playing gay improv characters and improvising with what you know.

This reminds me of one of my favorite scenes from last weekend. We were doing a series of two-person scenes where each of us gets an emotion-related suggestion that the other doesn’t know. The suggestion that I got was sappy romance, and I gather that the emotion my scene partner got was some kind of fear.

The scene involved my character pleading for his partner to come around to my side of a subway platform so that we could be together. We found a game where he would confess to something terrible, I would try to forgive him, and then he’d freak out thinking I was just messing with his head before confessing to something even worse. Repeat.

I say he because my scene partner himself was male, and nothing about his offer specifically said otherwise about his character. So I went with the least surprising option. At some point I think I named him Jimmy.

I don’t think my scene partner ever specifically identified my character’s name or gender, because it was never really important. His character was focused on his own past actions, and my character was focused on him, so that’s how we identified each other. Maybe half the audience thought we were a gay couple, and the other half thought I was playing a woman in that scene. If he’d specified something one way or another, then it’s my job to take that on, but until then, the audience gets to fill in the blanks with what they want to get out of the scene.

In this case it just never became important to answer that question, and that strikes me as a good thing.

Playing the Straight Man

Last weekend I spent a bunch of time playing with silence when opening a scene. The thought was that if I’m patient with the entrance, rather than jumping straight into dialogue, it gives me time to observe my scene partner(s) and discover an idea that really fits with what we’re already doing, so there’s almost no work at all to embody that fact. We’re already there.

Also, suspense is fun.

TJ Jagodowski and Dave Pasquesi (of TJ & Dave) inspired me to try it. I’ve probably watched this video a dozen times at this point.

During the YAP workshop we did a fun exercise: Start a scene with the absolute worst opening line you can think of. These are the kinds of lines that give your scene partner nothing to work with. They’re not awful because they make you feel uncomfortable, they’re awful because they make you feel nothing. They’re boring, and they don’t contribute to a story.

One scene partner gave me a perfectly terrible opener:

Him: What did you say?

The only thing there is that we had been talking. There’s no relationship, no setting, no activity, nothing. He might as well have said “no, you open the scene.”

I didn’t say anything right away, and stared at him. Giving myself a second before I jumped in let me find something in his face that suggested that this wasn’t a happy conversation. I think the rest of the class picked up on it too, because they laughed. There I discovered that the silence was actually my character staring at him in outraged disbelief.

Me, shouting: Are you deaf? Did I stutter? I said get the fuck out!

And then we yelled at each other for 30 seconds in front of a bunch of strangers. It was great fun, and I highly recommend it if you find the opportunity.

When it was my turn to open, I went with this:

Me: Looks like it’s gonna rain.

Great. Let’s talk about mildly inclement weather. That will be interesting to watch.

Him, deeply concerned: Yeah… I see you out here a lot. Do you have a place to stay?

Oof. I didn’t think I was homeless when I stepped out, but I sure was after he said that. Now we have a scene worth watching. It ended up being a really sweet moment between a lonely homeless guy who just wants a break, and a genuinely caring person who’s “trying to be a better Christian” offering him the guest bed for a while.

A lot of improvisers had a lot of great scenes during that exercise, and they all highlighted that you don’t always need to start at the most interesting place. I suppose you should probably be ending at the most interesting place and building to it along the way. A bad opening doesn’t mean the scene is dead, and a slow one doesn’t mean it’s boring. It’s just one thing that gets followed by everything after it.

This week I want to continue the same idea throughout the rest of the scene. Silence, patience, and letting it move forward at whatever honest pace it feels like it should move. If I’m flustered and yelling, that’s fun to watch, but if I have nothing to say, that’s really ok too, because my character doesn’t really have to have anything to say either. I don’t have to force it. Let the audience wonder for a moment what’s going to happen next while we take whatever time it takes to discover it.

It’s hard to come up with clever ideas. Some people are really good at it, and can push scenes into some really funny places. I’m not that much of a big loud goofball, but I love people who are. I have a bias toward things that are practical. I tend to look for truth first, and jokes if I get around to it. I think I can contribute more to a scene by embracing that, and playing a better straight man.

At some point that will be something to work on, because I think it’ll help me a lot with short-form improv. But for now, this is good, if I own it.

…And Scene.

Life and Improv

At some point last summer I was reading an article somewhere out in the depths of the internet that put an idea into my head. The article was about social anxiety, and was written by somebody who, like me, does stuff in an office for money sometimes. The idea that really stuck with me went something like this:

No matter what happens at work, nothing in the office can approach the weirdness of the stuff I do in improv class.

I’ve had my own share of social anxiety in the past, and will probably have more to some degree in the future. It usually goes something like this:

  • Everybody else in this Chipotle just noticed that I dropped a wad of guacamole out of my burrito like a neanderthal.
  • I’ll just pick it up with my fingers.
  • I regret doing that.
  • Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh…!

Well the thought of trying improv stuck, and after some encouragement from a close friend, I signed up for Improv 101 at ImprovBoston. I didn’t know anything at all about the school or the people there, and had never been to a comedy show in my life. The only thing I knew about improv was watching Who’s Line is it Anyway? and a single (terrible) scene I did once at a college party with the same friend who encouraged me to try this in the first place. (I played a nonspecifically disturbed guy buying weird porn. Yeah.)

So I walked into the first class with no idea what to expect.

I probably looked something like this.
Or maybe that’s just how I think I looked.
Or maybe aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh…!

The first class went well, and the environment was a very welcoming introduction to improv. At the end of each level, ImprovBoston runs a student showcase performance, and I enjoyed that enough to sign up for the second level.

Improv 201 was a very encouraging next step, and I felt more and more comfortable each time I practiced or performed. But it was the second student show that hooked me hard.

Really hard.

Nonspecifically disturbed guy buying weird porn hard.


Cut to a month later. I showed up for my first Improv 301 class in the morning, and hung out between the theater and reading at Starbucks for the rest of the day. I’d picked up Improvisation at the Speed of Life the night before, and I think something about the first couple chapters flipped some switch in part of my brain, because playing scenes felt completely different. My scenes all day felt strong and important and worth watching. Not every single one, but it was a lot better than the crapshoot I felt on stage previously. And furthermore, I found those ideas carrying over to the chitchat with other people in the theater. (They’re all incredibly friendly and supportive, by the way, so that helped too.)

Respect and support your scene partner. Listen actively. Be in the moment. Trust your instincts. All things I’ve heard in my previous classes and as vague life advice in the past, but that day I felt like I finally had a handle on what that actually means in practical terms, and what happens when you do it, both on stage and off. It’s a small step, but it still feels like a deeply meaningful one in the right direction.

That’s why I’m starting this blog. My name is Sean Edwards, and I’m really excited to be learning improvisational comedy and applying it to life outside the theater, and I’ll do my best to share with you the things I’m doing along on the way.

If you’re interested in this (or not), please leave a comment and tell me why. If you have questions, I’m happy to answer them if I can, or I’ll try to find out myself if I can’t. And if you’re an improvisor or otherwise living person yourself, I welcome any advice or experiences you might feel compelled to share. Otherwise, I hope you’ll still find something good in this as I document my ongoing process of getting better at making it up as I go along.

…And Scene.

Your New Engineer is Working Too Many Hours

Here’s a scenario: You’re an engineering manager, and you’ve just hired a new junior developer or three, fresh out of college.
They aren’t producing much yet, but you know that’s ok.
They’re right out of college, after all.
It takes some time for new graduates to be productive the way you expect other engineers to be productive.

They don’t know that yet.

Consider the possibility that they aren’t working late because they’re ruthless and dedicated workers who only need exposure to your wisdom and experience to become a smashing success.
They’re working late because they’re worried that they’re not meeting expectations.
They know what everyone around them is producing, and they know they aren’t keeping up with that pace.
They’re trying to compensate with time.

You could let them do that until they burn out. But you could also tell them it’s almost 6:00 and they should go home.