Now that it’s over, my picture didn’t even place in the top twenty at that Delaware River photo contest I entered two weeks ago. The top vote-getter got 533. Number twenty had 14. My photo got 9.
Thanks so much to all my friends and associates who had the decency to place their ballot for my picture. To the rest, which is the vast majority of followers, well, I’ll be nice and keep my trap shut. Some things are better off left unsaid.
I did enough begging on Social Media, hoping that at least ten percent of those claiming to follow me on the various platforms would vote. That would have placed me in the top three, considering the third-place winner had 135.
I’ll not enter one of those photo contests anymore that declare a winner by how many votes are cast for a particular entry. That’s more like a popularity contest than an actual representation of talent, in my humble opinion. It’s rather amateurish, cliquish; or shall I say, high-school like, which leaves me feeling hurt and disgruntled.
Been going through some photos to enter in my next contest endeavor, which is being held by the National Wildlife Federation. It’s a professionally run affair, unlike the last one in which I participated.
In this competition, photographs are judged on originality, technical excellence, composition, overall impact and artistic merit. Judges include National Wildlife magazine’s editorial director, design director, photography consultant, and other staff members of National Wildlife experienced in photo selection; so maybe I’ll have a better chance than relying on my friends and followers.
“If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all,” as the line from the song goes. My dad used to tell me my luck was so bad, I’d get caught spitting on the wrong side of the street, whatever that meant.
I’ve thrown out three Publishers Clearing House (PCH) Sweepstakes envelops today, received Thursday, Friday and Saturday respectively. The Prize Patrol didn’t show up yesterday with my big check for winning the “$5,000.00 Per Week Forever” contest, for which I had sent back at least forty some-odd entries in hope of winning.
No more glue will reside on my tongue from licking any more labels to stamp onto their official entry forms. I’ve had it!
For every entry sent, PCH sends back at least two more. We’ll see how long that lasts after my sending them to the trash.
That’s like donating to the March of Dimes, AARP, St. Jude Children’s Hospital, The Red Cross, DAV, Boy’s Town, the USO, American Cancer Society, Easter Seals, Defenders of Wildlife, etc. They’re all fine organizations, to whom I’ve sent donations during the last several months.
Every one of them sends back a letter saying thanks, but they ask for more money; and the charities turn into pests. Money doesn’t grow on trees, another one of my dad’s favorite sayings. That one I understand.
I’ve got enough greeting cards for all occasions, sent to me with their requests for moola, along with return-address labels to last me for the next two decades, not to mention pens, and note pads each with only five sheets of monogrammed paper. Every room in my apartment has at least one of their sent calendars, the surplus of which has ended up decorating the refuse bin.
After I donated to the March of Dimes, they sent me a dime a week later, requesting I send it back to them with another donation. I sent the dime back, but that’s all they got. Talk about being greedy. Give me a break!
I had bought some old coins through Publishers Clearing House, selecting them from one of their bric-a-brac offerings included with the sweepstakes’ entry forms. Now, I’m getting junk mail from every mint in the US, canvassing gold and silver coinage for sale, as if I’m a serious, rich numismatist.
“Dear Friend,” is how they start off their spiel.
“You’re not my friend,” says me, and right into the garbage bin goes their advertisements. I never met these people, and right away they are asking for money. They can kiss my ever-loving you know what!
My 500-word quota for the week—and then some—has been met. Thanks, for stopping in with your continued support, and for allowing me another tirade.