tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88401041029423206202024-02-06T20:06:17.624-08:00This And/Or ThatSean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-41927144067733374862021-07-20T09:54:00.001-07:002021-07-20T09:54:18.781-07:00Working TitleI woke up to help my 3 year old son go to the bathroom at about 2AM. Then I laid in bed for about an hour wide awake, uncomfortable, and anxious. Finally, I gave up and went to the living room, pulled out my laptop and scrolled through facebook without consuming any of what was there. <div><br /></div><div>Just scrolling. <div><br /></div><div>After plenty of that, I decided it would be a good opportunity to try my hand writing. What simultaneously feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago, I used to write obsessively. Now with two self-published books on my shelf, it's a thing I only talk about.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>I have a folder in my computer called "Books". In it was a few documents of various lengths ranging from five words to Six Thousand words. The six thousand word document was called working title. The name was vaguely familiar, but that's all.</div><div><br /></div><div>I opened it and started reading. 20ish minutes later I was about 9 pages in and I think I need to continue writing this book. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is about half of what I have already written. Let me know what you think.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Chapter One</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">We have to start somewhere</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">People live in all sorts of places and they always have. That is a fact. Some people live in large cities and when they look out their bedroom windows they see another person who lives in a large city looking out their bedroom window. Some people live in these very same cities and when they look out their bedroom windows they see the rooftops of other buildings full of people who, we can only guess, are also looking out their bedroom windows and thinking about how many people are really in this city and that in a city of this magnitude there really must be something more to do than look out your bedroom window. But who can afford it?</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Some people live in towns that are near these large cities. They don’t look out their bedroom windows. They would rather sit on their porches and look at their backyards. This is their domain and it stretches from this fence to that fence and from that fence to the street. They try to ignore the people on the other side of the fence but rarely can. You see, they have to see each other at the mailbox and at the bus stop where they pick up their kids in the afternoon.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">There are some people still that live in tiny places that people rarely visit because there are no cities or shopping centers in the places they live. Some of these people live on farms where they wake up early to feed the pigs, milk the cows, and shear the sheep. There are other tiny places where they don’t have farms and the people there live in small houses nestled in the forest. These people breathe fresh air, fish in streams, and live their whole lives away from all the hustle and every bit of bustle.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This is where our story starts. In a small house with a cobble stone walk and vines growing on the fence, lived a little boy named Oliver. Oliver had lived there since the day he was born, which was longer than he could remember. Sometimes he would try to remember. He would close his blue eyes as tightly as he could and run his hands through his almost always-messy brown hair grasp and pull. He thought that maybe if he pulled hard enough he would be able to remember being born, but he could never quite get there.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Every day when Oliver woke up he looked out his bedroom window. From there he could see his entire backyard and the beginning of the forest. All winter long when the trees had misplaced their leaves, Oliver would look through the woods and see his grandparent’s house. It looked so close in the winter, but because of the snow he couldn’t go there without a ride from his parents.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">In the spring when the trees found their leaves, Oliver would look out his bedroom window towards his grandparent’s house; he could only see a thick, dark forest. Their house seemed so far away, but every summer day just before lunch his grandma would say to her Saint Bernard, Leroy, “Go get Oliver.” A few minutes later, Leroy would emerge from the path through the woods and walk up the stone walkway that led to Oliver’s front door to bring him to lunch with grandma.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Through the woods Leroy and Oliver would walk, keeping each other company. Some days Oliver would have a lot to say to Leroy and other days they would walk silently through the woods listening to the breeze blow through the trees. Whether Oliver talked or not, Leroy didn’t say anything. He was just happy to walk with Oliver.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">On the day our story starts, Leroy and Oliver walked like they had every other summer day. On this particular day, Oliver was in his bedroom with the window open when Leroy emerged from the woods. Oliver liked to feel the morning breeze during the summer, so he always opened the window when he woke up in the morning.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>When he saw Leroy in the farthest north corner of his yard where the stone path met the dirt path that led to his grandma’s house, Oliver decided to jump out his bedroom window, which was only a small drop to the ground, and he ran to meet Leroy.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">While Oliver and Leroy made their way through the woods on this day, Oliver had a lot to say to Leroy. He talked about dinosaurs and that he recently learned that if you flew very far and unfathomably fast into space, there is a place that you could turn around and using a telescope better than any telescope in the world, look at the earth and see the dinosaurs walking around.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver talked until the path came to a slight bend where here was a large rock on the right side of the path, which Oliver had seen many times before. His dad said it was put there to mark the halfway point between his house and his grandma’s house. While he came closer to the halfway rock, Oliver noticed that there was a small over grown path that led into the woods. He squinted down the path wondering where it went. He didn’t stand there long before Leroy barked as if to say, “Your food is getting cold” and so Oliver continued on his way.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“There they are!” his grandma shouted out the kitchen window as Oliver and Leroy came out of the woods and into the yard. “Hurry inside. I made French toast,” she continued.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Mmmmmm! French toast is my favorite kind of toast!” Oliver exclaimed with excitement.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">His grandma had lived in that very same place her whole life, just like Oliver. The only difference was that she had lived a lot longer. His grandma was very old. If Oliver had to make a guess, he’d say she was probably 107 years old. Oliver was 7, and he was pretty sure that she was 100 when he was born, so the math works. Whatever her age was, she was definitely the most excellent cook Oliver had ever known. She could make grits, blueberry muffins (with real blueberries), tuna sandwiches, and every kind of pie.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When Oliver and Leroy got into the house, he gave his grandma a big hug like he always did. Looking through the doorway to the kitchen, Oliver could see the table set up for their meal. He knew which food was his because he always sat at the same place and always used the cup with Snoopy on it.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Let’s sit down and have a brunch lunch,” his grandma said. She was always excited to spend time with Oliver. He was the only grandchild she had and everyday she told him how lucky she felt that he lived so close by. Oliver didn’t know how to react to this, so he just always said yes.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">As they sat at the table Oliver asked, “Grandma, what’s brunch?”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Brunch is a meal that people eat sometimes that is a mix between breakfast and lunch. In fact, it is eaten sometime between breakfast and lunch.” She watched him to see if he was happy with her answer. He seemed to be. “This isn’t a real brunch though. We’re eating it at lunchtime.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver ate his food in silence while looking at the path through the woods back to his house. His grandma didn’t mind if he wasn’t good for conversation, but she still liked to talk.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Did you know that your dad helped me tap the maple trees for this syrup?”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Yes.” Oliver replied.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Those trees are old, they were old when I was your age, but they still make good maple syrup.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Yes.” Oliver replied as he took a bite of his French toast.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“What are you looking at?”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Just the woods.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">His grandma winked, “Oh, those woods are magic, aren’t they? I’ve lived here all my life, all 54 years, and I’ve seen places in those woods that no one sees anymore. When I was a little girl I would run and play in those woods every day.” She paused for a moment then quietly said, “I made some very good friends in those woods, and I miss them dearly.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Grandma, why can’t I play in the woods?” Oliver questioned. He asked this question often and his parents always gave him different answers. Sometimes they would say, “It’s too dangerous out there.” And other times they would say, “Those woods go on for miles and miles. You could get lost and then what? We are much happier to keep you close.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">His grandma’s answer was always the same; “People don’t belong in the woods anymore. We live in cities and towns. There are no shopping malls in the woods, so people have no place there anymore.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver ate the last bite of his French toast and washed it down with the last of his Snoopy cup orange juice and said, “Thanks for lunch, Grandma.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“You are very welcome, as always.” She replied as she picked up his dishes. “Would you like to help me work on my new puzzle? It’s a picture of all the cereal boxes that were around when your dad and aunts and uncles were kids. You know, Oliver, it seems so long ago but at the same time it feels like just yesterday. Time sure is a funny thing.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver agreed and they worked on the puzzle for about half an hour before Oliver decided that he really should probably be going. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the small trail with the large rock in front of it since he noticed it.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“I have to go, Grandma.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Okay.” She said, “You kids are just too busy these days.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Leroy was already waiting by the door while Oliver put on his favorite black Converse.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Your dad used to wear shoes just like that and I always had to stand by the door and wait while he tied them. Some things never do change, do they?”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver gave his grandma a big hug and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“I can’t wait. I love you.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“I love you, too.” Oliver said while running out the door and down the stairs with Leroy following closely behind.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver got tired and stopped running by the time the stone path in his grandma’s yard turned into the dirt path through the woods.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Don’t tell Grandma, Leroy, but I’m going to go into the woods after I get home and change into some long pants.” Oliver was wearing shorts that day to help him stay cool, but he knew that if he was going to go into the woods he would have to wear long pants to keep him safe from gross wood ticks and poison ivy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Those things seemed to be what his mom was most afraid of. Every time he played near the woods, his mom would say, “You need long pants or else you’ll get poison ivy” or “If you don’t wear long pants the wood ticks will climb right up your little leg hairs.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">As he came around the slight bend in the path where he could see the large rock that the small trail was behind, he squinted his eyes to focus on the area behind the rock. Coming closer to the rock he finally spotted the narrow trail leading off into the woods. It went east, as Oliver could best guess. It was right where he had seen it earlier in the day. Oliver stopped beside the rock and inched closer and closer to the side of the path, placing his hand on the rock to help his balance as he leaned forward. He could tell that the trail went straight for quite a long distance but then it seemed to turn. Which way it turned, Oliver couldn’t tell, but this intrigued him all the more and he couldn’t wait to come back with his long pants.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">As he leaned forward, Oliver felt a tug on his shirt pulling him back onto the clean wide path that lead him home. When he turned to look, he laughed, “Leroy, you’re going to rip my shirt. Mom would be so mad at you.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Leroy remained silent as they started back down the path towards home.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">As they emerged from the woods into Oliver’s back yard the dirt path once again turned into a smaller path to his house paved with stones in the ground. “See ya tomorrow, Leroy.” Oliver said as he ran towards the house. Leroy watched as Oliver vanished through the back door.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Welcome home.” Oliver’s mom said as he came through the back door that led directly into the kitchen. Oliver’s mom was tall and thin. She liked to run in the morning before anyone woke up and always wore a tank top and yoga pants. That day was no exception. “Did you have fun with Grandma?”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Yes, we had French Toast brunch.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“That sounds yummy.” She looked out the kitchen window. “Weird, Leroy is just sitting at the path.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver thought his mom was very pretty. She had long, straight light brown hair that had a small streak of white or gray hairs just above he right ear. Her eyes were green and they somehow seemed to know everything.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“You left your bedroom window open, again. You know I don’t like when you leave it open when you go to lunch. It get’s too hot outside in the afternoon for open windows.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“I know. I’m sorry. I just forgot.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“I know you did” she said “Can you go close it now and then I have a treat for you.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver loved treats so he ran abruptly towards his bedroom. When he got to the window, he peered outside at Leroy. “Go home, Leroy” he shouted out the window. Leroy didn’t move. “Weird dog.” Oliver groaned as he closed the window.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“And lock it!” His mom yelled from the kitchen.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“And lock it.” Oliver said to himself as he did just that. Before leaving his bedroom, Oliver changed out of his shorts and into his long pants.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Why did you change?” his mom asked as he came back into the kitchen.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“I want to play outside.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Okay. But first I’ve got a freezy pop for you.” Oliver’s mom did this thing with her voice where she started a sentence talking and by the end she was singing. Oliver thought it was funny.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Yay! Blue! Blue! Blue!” Oliver gleefully shouted as his mom started to ask what flavor he wanted.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Blue isn’t a flavor you silly boy,” she laughed. “The blue pops are,” she paused as she read the wrapper of the blue freezy pop in her hand. “It doesn’t say. I guess they’re just ‘Blue’ after all.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver got out the scissors and cut the top off of the freezy pop. His mom got out a pink freezy pop and sat down beside him on the back step.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“I guess Leroy finally went home.” His mom noticed.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“I guess.” Oliver replied. “I haven’t seen him sit there like that before.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Well, he is getting old. Sometimes old dogs do funny things.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Maybe he was taking a rest from having such a long walk.” Oliver speculated.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“That’s probably it.” His mom agreed.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“How did you meet dad?”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“How did that come up in you mind?”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“I was just thinking about it. I know that dad has lived here since he was born and I know that you lived in a different place before you met him. I don’t know the part where you guys met and you came here.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Well, my family lived in a suburb called Burnsville.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver touched her arm with his half eaten freezy pop. “What’s a suburb?”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“It’s a town that is right next to a big city. Burnsville is close to Minneapolis. We both went to college at the University of Utah. When we met, your dad thought I was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, and I thought your dad looked like a dweeb.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver laughed, dropping his freezy pop in the dirt next to the stairs. The melted freezy drained into the dirt. “There goes the best part,” Oliver sighed.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Do we need to get you a knew one?”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver looked up at the woods and said, “It’s okay. Keep telling your story about how dad looked like a dweeb.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Well, he asked me on a date a few days later. We went the Salt Lake City library. You can take the elevator to the roof and there are gardens and benches up there. We kept dating and I would always tell him that after college I was going to move back to Minnesota. But then we came here together to visit his parents and I just fell in love with this forest. It seems so magical. I know it’s mostly poison ivy and wood ticks, but sitting here with you looking at all of the trees is just so peaceful.” She looked at Oliver who was looking at the trees. “So after we got married, your grandparents gave us this house and they built the house that they live in now and the rest is history.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Sometime I want to see where you’re from.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“We’ll go there sometime soon. Time is a funny thing and it goes really fast when you aren’t looking. We came here ten years ago and I haven’t been back to visit since you were a baby.”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver stood up, “We just have to make a plan, right?”</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Right.” She said with a smile and Oliver ran to the garage to get his bike. His mom walked back into the kitchen thinking about her hometown and that she rarely thinks about it anymore.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Oliver rode his bike down the wide dirt path through the woods. When he came to the bend where the rock was finally visible, the woods looked different than they had before. He pedaled faster and skidded to a stop the rock dropping his bike upon his dismount.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">He walked from one side of the large rock to the other, scanning the forest floor. The right side of the rock surely had no Poison Ivy, but he was glad for his long pants anyway. He stepped off of the path for the first time in his short life and into the woods. Surprised that nothing happened, Oliver wondered why it was a rule that he stay on the path. He could still see the path so he wasn’t going to get lost. He took a second step rounding the rock. He had never seen the rock from the back. It surprisingly looked about the same.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">With his back to the rock he looked deeply into the woods. The small trail he had seen and studied for a short time twice that day was gone.</p></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span></div>Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-32813598784433027422015-11-25T15:33:00.001-08:002015-11-25T15:33:59.353-08:00Time TravelersIt's a fact of life that people will come and go from each of our lives. Many of these people arrive, stay a little, and leave without making too big of an impression on our lives. The harsh truth is that this is most of the people you will meet. People like Alex Harsh. I had to think for a while before I could remember his first name. The only reason he came up at all was because I wrote the word harsh and thought, "I knew someone with that last name. What was his name? He was a Boy Scout. Alex!" And with a quick search in Facebook, there he is! He looks the same, two kids, facial hair, AND five mutual friends! This is proof that he exists still or yet.<br />
<br />
There are other people who have come and gone from my life and changed me in a way that I can see with little to no reflection. Take Ryan Esser for instance. At the age of 13, Ryan taught me to look past a person's appearance and give them a second shot. I was trying to be a jocky prep kid in seventh grade and wouldn't let a skater punk talk to me without calling him a loser. This was exactly Ryan's first impression of me. He walked up to me in the hall of Waseca Middle School and said, "Hey aren't you Damien and Dustin's brother?" or something like that. To which I responded like an asshole and said, "der der der der der, loser." We were very good friends a few months later. Thinking back on that, I'm so insanely embarrassed. Ryan died a few years back just a few days before his 28th birthday. It was one of the hardest times of my life.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Cg8seKMqvmJua4F-_QH6LUNsQ83rgB9OC2Tpp4XU7N9Af1aUhJMl3OmD4Ihu4Z10nZ4BxIMQa70nszJy1ZNmg5Aa1BttFhAq49ettu9QmwRAWKX7rQcLg0v-nRcFXMA1cmP-j_qEXeIl/s1600/aliens.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Cg8seKMqvmJua4F-_QH6LUNsQ83rgB9OC2Tpp4XU7N9Af1aUhJMl3OmD4Ihu4Z10nZ4BxIMQa70nszJy1ZNmg5Aa1BttFhAq49ettu9QmwRAWKX7rQcLg0v-nRcFXMA1cmP-j_qEXeIl/s200/aliens.png" width="200" /></a><br />
There are other people who come into your life make and impression and then completely disappear. I call these people Time Travelers; mostly because I assume that they are actually time travelers. These people are much rarer than all other types of people. It is especially hard to disappear in these days with the internet and such, so the only possible explanations are Aliens or Time Travel. Saying that Aliens is the reason for these people is preposterous and so the only rational theory we are left with is Time Travel.<br />
<br />
Let me tell you a story about Max Trotter. I first met Max in 8th grade. He was unpredictable to say the least. At a school dance he may or may not have lit a fire in one of the bathrooms. I heard he did, but also I never saw any evidence that he did. There were a lot of stories about his past. He showed up suddenly and so there were bound to be. I heard once or twice that he was from Chicago and got in with a gang and moved to small town Minnesota to hide out because probably he killed a guy. I was usually a pretty good kid and his reckless demeanor always made me a little uneasy. Throughout my early teen years Max would disappear and then randomly show up somewhere around town or in my class halfway through a trimester. (We had a trimester system in my school as opposed to quarters or semesters. So it was cut into three terms. I digress.)<br />
<br />
The last time I ever saw Max Trotter was the perfect way to sum up everything I'm telling you about this guy probably from the future. Ryan Esser and I were cruising the mean streets of Waseca, MN when we saw a familiar face walking on the side of one of the main roads. You guessed it, Max Trotter. Naturally, we pulled over and he got in the back seat and sat right in the middle next to the boom box that was the car's stereo. He told us he needed to go to Vista Villa (The trailer park in Waseca). We started driving and Ryan asked Max where he had been. Max mostly shrugged off the question and reiterated that he needed to go to Vista Villa. A minute later Ryan had a knife to his neck and Max was saying just take me to Vista Villa. Where the hell does it look like we're going, was our general response. Somehow we got Max to calm down and put the knife away and we dropped him off at the trailer (Time Machine?) that he directed us to. We drove away and I never saw or heard from Max Trotter again.<br />
<br />
A simple search on Facebook give little more than his signature on a cliff metaphorically speaking.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_7Ke39nVoMLdszgzsj16jLJ4uhbngkOroYzg5yaN2E5XmmBTGXdoErF_Zyn3LEoHtEjfatIvD4oOcMvf60CgBl7abJlfOqzdRqeqwb69ELm3yvXYsLM8XwyeB09rx3NRxzHi0FZcoS2T/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-11-25+at+3.47.07+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_7Ke39nVoMLdszgzsj16jLJ4uhbngkOroYzg5yaN2E5XmmBTGXdoErF_Zyn3LEoHtEjfatIvD4oOcMvf60CgBl7abJlfOqzdRqeqwb69ELm3yvXYsLM8XwyeB09rx3NRxzHi0FZcoS2T/s320/Screen+Shot+2015-11-25+at+3.47.07+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-32344922626213034502014-02-11T11:14:00.002-08:002014-02-11T11:14:38.520-08:00Home Sick (What I Learned watching Yo Gabba Gabba)I stayed home from work today so I could rest and eat all the Chicken Noodle Soup. I've never called in sick before, so any time I've taken time off, there has been a reason so I didn't know what to expect. I had a Netflix movie to send back, so I did that. and walked in the road all the way to the mailbox and back so as to not get my shoes dirty.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNykOQumXI_B8b1CFjDWG3lkQmo4ykbSMuTBXuo2jtblmxWF_9d9mVg7hFnRk7mWewynA6fXaWdvLys3cO2y8pOYAkmgKeLV5oqrvpZpVGJbJ9hxz1mYAd1mnjb-Z3_9Uk8a5ZujM5c6g/s1600/costas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNykOQumXI_B8b1CFjDWG3lkQmo4ykbSMuTBXuo2jtblmxWF_9d9mVg7hFnRk7mWewynA6fXaWdvLys3cO2y8pOYAkmgKeLV5oqrvpZpVGJbJ9hxz1mYAd1mnjb-Z3_9Uk8a5ZujM5c6g/s1600/costas.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Gotcha!" -Matt Lauer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was also rude to Bob Costas because of his pink eye. Mostly because they just keep talking about it and no one will come out and say that he has pink eye. It's just an eye infection. We all know that Matt Lauer bare ass farted on his pillow. HA! Hilarious! Seriously, that's CLASSIC Matt Lauer.<br />
<br />
I did find out some things, one of which I kind of knew already, I just didn't know the extent of the severity of this issue. There is completely figuratively nothing on TV during the day! You know how Saturday TV is mostly golf and collage sports. Day time TV is a lot the same only it's The View, soap operas, and game shows. Regular people don't want anything to do with these things.<br />
<br />
I also learned that I don't know how to be at my house when my wife isn't. She's at work, like regular people and she's always home when I get home. so it's really rare that I have to deal with the house by myself. I don't know what I'm doing! I'm not very big so I can't make a shower take all that long. Then I put clothes on. Now what? I played a video game, that was boring.<br />
<br />
I next went to channels that I didn't know were there. Yo Gabba Gabba was on and I learned a few lessons that were really timely. They first taught me that the road is dangerous. It turns out that there are cars and trucks and that cars and trucks are dangerous. I had no idea! For now on I'll use the sidewalk for my walking and play.<br />
<br />
They also had a segment with a playground where all the kids took turns except for a gorilla who was really mean to everyone. Then one kid said that if the gorilla wants to be friends then he should be nice and take turns.<br />
<br />
Bob Costas, if you're reading this, I'm sorry that Matt Lauer doesn't know how to be nice and gave you Russian Pink Eye, which seems to be worse than regular America Pink Eye.<br />
<br />
Moral of the story, Don't play in the road and Matt Lauer is pretty not cool to his friends!Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-64272364714793194792013-12-29T21:39:00.002-08:002013-12-29T21:39:32.058-08:00Battling TechnologyMy mind has brought it to my attention that I have written nothing worth putting on a blog for sometime. When I say that there was nothing worth writing on a blog I also mean to say that I haven't written anything worth putting anywhere. Whether it's just that I'm bored, busy or dare I say suffering from a Writer's Disorder, I can't exactly tell, but I will say that it needs to end.<br />
<br />
About two weeks ago I noticed something that may hold the answer to my lack of creativity and thought. I had thirty seconds to myself in an elevator in the building I work in, and instead of allowing myself that thirty seconds alone with my mind, I turned on my iPad to play a game or look at something. It was suddenly clear to me why I hadn't written anything.<br />
<br />
There is little room for creative thinking when every second of your life is filled with something. I once used a lot of down time for reflection and thinking. It was in those times that I was able to find the inspiration I needed to story tell or share the inner workings of my mind. With that time being eaten by frivolous games and surfing the internet for anything that will entertain, there was no reflection and often there were no thoughts of any kind.<br />
<br />
I don't think that it's necessarily bad to have this technology and the world in your pocket, but I do know that it's harmful to our brains to no longer need to retain any knowledge, memory, or creative thought. We seem to be afraid to spend any time alone with our own thoughts and this actually worries me about the future of story telling.<br />
<br />
With the advent of this technology, we are already seeing the affects in the entertainment industry. Instead of new stories being told in the medium of motion picture, we are being given sequel after sequel, more and more books are being turned into movies, and movies from the past are being rehashed. Less and less books are being read, "reality" television is taking up more of the day with each season and the scripted shows are seemingly going the way of the movies.<br />
<br />
I've spent the last two weeks trying to remember to give myself some quiet time. Hopefully, I'll be writing often again very soon.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned.Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-29450188956104260822013-03-14T18:47:00.002-07:002013-03-14T18:47:53.925-07:00Now That I'm Pretty Grown UpI'm here today to make a proclamation. Are you ready for this? If not, you better damn get ready!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'm a grown ass man! I can grow a crazy beard.</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcqW3yP0aFceCJlamAYjlu0U9wRJ2zHVjoVrJOWhGZ4iWXW2ZGOkxkxkWGRyunm0GBDN6kt-6VhmVBWMID8IcQazgY7Aa-Zb0v49H8jeNJOB3l2ALCFelO_g7idR-4S9OyxXFWy3NnE2Cm/s1600/beardy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcqW3yP0aFceCJlamAYjlu0U9wRJ2zHVjoVrJOWhGZ4iWXW2ZGOkxkxkWGRyunm0GBDN6kt-6VhmVBWMID8IcQazgY7Aa-Zb0v49H8jeNJOB3l2ALCFelO_g7idR-4S9OyxXFWy3NnE2Cm/s320/beardy.jpg" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exhibit A</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Growing a beard doesn't make you a grown man though. I have two friends who had fuller beards than mine when they were in 8th grade. True Story.<br />
<br />
I also have a grown up career style job with benefits and opportunity for advancement. I've published multiple books. I have a auto loan and subsequent payment. I recently became a married man, I have a wife who enjoys my company, w<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rAReS2JnJ18" target="_blank">hich according to Alec Baldwin in The Departed means that people will like me more and know that I'm at the very least not gay</a>. I grill food for my little family on a charcoal grill.<br />
<br />
The point is, now that I'm a real life card (credebit?) carrying adult, I get the feeling that I have to change my habits to fit my new adult lifestyle.<br />
<br />
This is what I started doing this week to act more grown up:<br />
<br />
It came to my attention that I never know what's going on in the world, I assume do to the total lack of news I watch. It did make life interesting, never knowing what the weather would be like from day to day. All my coworkers were like meteorologists to me. They'd say something like, "Big storm tomorrow." And I'd be like, "Awww, Man!" NO LONGER!<br />
<br />
I decided that instead of waking up at 7AM and hurrying to get ready and 15 miles to work by 8AM, I should wake up at 6:30AM and watch the news. I could have planned ahead a little better though. It turns out that early Sunday morning was start of daylight savings time. So it was kind of like waking up at 5:30 not 6:30. It was difficult to getting started.<br />
<br />
But it's gotten a lot easier to wake up and it's really nice to be able to relax before I start my day and I at least know what the weather will be like that day.<br />
<br />
Moral of the story... I wish I could be an irresponsible kid, but I can't so I might as well embrace it.Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-70199803623962440062013-02-24T11:05:00.001-08:002013-02-24T11:05:49.656-08:00Kato Love ConfessionsIt's been a few years since I last had an address in Minnesota and it seems to me that nothing has changed in the city I once inhabited. I had become quite sure that there was no reason to look back besides seeing the weather on Facebook from Mark Tarello. Now I don't want anyone to think that I feel like I'm too cool for anything at all or that I don't care and often think about the family and friends I still have in the Land of 10,000 Lakes. The problem, if it is indeed a problem is that my life is just no longer there.<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago I started seeing people talking about something called Kato Love Confessions. Needless to say, I was intrigued. I was interested based on the name only because I knew that what the name was telling me is that these are confessions of love from Mankato Minnesota's finest residents. When I was finally guided to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/KatoLoveConfessions?fref=ts" target="_blank">KLC</a>, I clicked "Like" on the Facebook page. Why? I don't know. It just made sense at the time.<br />
<br />
Well, when I asked a dear friend named Whitney what KLC is, I was told that, "The greatest invention ever! Everyone is in love with Matt Buhlman!" This is probably why I "Liked" it. Matt Buhlman is real straight shooter. And I think everyone should love him.<br />
<br />
I was quickly sad that I ever clicked that Like button. You see, when I said that it is Love Confessions from Mankato's finest residents, what I meant was Minnesota State University - Mankato's Finest.<br />
<br />
This was at first terribly annoying, until I realized how amazing it really is. You see it is full of terribly creepy people with the worst grammar ever. It's hard for me to not correct them, but I have. I've done it a few times and I'm sure that they're going to kick me off soon. The point is, by Mankato's finest I mean...<br />
<br />
Well I don't want to be mean.Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-37511924578719354722013-01-28T19:53:00.001-08:002013-01-28T19:53:38.240-08:00One True Statement About Helicopters and A Bunch About EatingHelicopters are wicked cool.<br />
<br />
Eating is gross. I'm completely disgusted by seeing a person eat about once a day. I'm not sure exactly what needs to happen for me to be grossed out by eating; it certainly doesn't happen every time I witness the phenomenon. <br />
<br />
I've been grossed out by skinny people eating, average sized people eating, pleasantly plump people eating and huge greasy people eating. I've even been grossed out by myself eating. (Cottage Cheese is gross) So, it's not like the reason I'm grossed out really has anything to do with the person who's doing the a fore mentioned consumption of food.<br />
<br />
One thing that does remain consistent every time I find my self so entirely disgusted with the unrelenting face stuffing of the people in this world is when the food you eat must be held. Pizza. I'm often grossed out by the consumption of pizza. Not because I think pizza is gross, I love pizza, but because of anything I can even name. Just sometimes seeing the act of pizza eating really makes me want to yak! Not every time, or exclusively pizza. I was grossed out today at Five Guys Burgers and Fries, when I saw a regular looking guy eating a burger. I ate a similar burger five minutes later, but something about <i>that </i>guy and <i>that</i> burger made me want to puke.<br />
<br />
Like I said, this happens a lot and there's no real rhyme or reason to it. I'm not against food you hold, I'm not against holding food, but sometimes the planets go completely out of orbit and I want to puke at you eating. It's just the way it is.Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-33783031050796882132013-01-21T21:42:00.001-08:002013-01-21T21:42:12.304-08:00Frontrunner<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not a person who uses public transportation daily or
even monthly. I’m the type that drives my car and burns gas and puts just a
little bit of greenhouse gases in the air. The term “greenhouse gases” has
always seemed like a weird way to put it to me. I understand the reason for it,
trapping in heat, global warming, and another scientific term. The problem in
my head with greenhouse gases is obviously the greenhouse part. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I think of
greenhouses, I think roses and elementary school field trips. I think they
should call them something that brings terrible things to mind. 9/11 gases! Or
if that’s too soon, Pearl Harbor gases! Not the event, the movie.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyhow, I didn’t start writing about Pearl Harbor gases just
to abolish the term “Greenhouse Gases”, in fact, I’m not exactly sure how I got
on that subject in the first place. I’m writing about something much more
important.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m currently riding Utah’s Frontrunner. It’s a commuter
Train that runs north to south connecting the string of cities on either side
of SLC. It’s not peak hours but there are still enough people to give a person
plenty of chances to drop all the eaves possible. There’s also nearly every
demographic of white people who would ever be on public transportation. Boy
students, very Mormon girl students, an older guy who’s strangely balding and a
punk looking at baby pictures of some girl, pictures of a guy named Tom, and
like his favorite band, The Bouncing Souls.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This Punk guy is my kind of people. He has a black stocking
cap with patches for Subhumans and the Distillers that used to be t-shirts
sewed onto it with green thread. He’s pretty kick ass. He’s sharing music from
his phone with his riding mate who I can’t see without being obvious. Okay, I
was obvious. He’s a nerd punk for sure. I’m cool with that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is what I like about taking advantage of public
transportation alone, the people watching. When you’re with a person and
talking to them, you become part of the show and I feel like it’s a little
obnoxious at times. I try to talk softly and it’s stupid. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s a guy who walks up and down the aisle to make sure
we’re all safe. The thing is, he doesn’t look like he could save anyone. I want
Patrick Swayze on Roadhouse. Oh no crazy guy with a gun and a knife. In comes
Swayze to rip his throat out! With bare hands! <o:p></o:p></div>
Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-14128787927840835552013-01-18T20:49:00.000-08:002013-01-18T20:49:00.092-08:00Crying at Wal-Mart<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wrote an essay once for my first published book entitled “You’re
Actually Reading That!?” about how much it would suck to be a baby at a beach.
It’s a true classic, although there is definitely a great amount of bias to
that statement. I’m writing now because I thought about our lives as very young
people again today.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was enjoying some time at my local Wal-Mart in search of
things to get me through a terrible cold that I’m experiencing. I’m happy to announce
that I’ll be able to keep my fluids up thanks to the large amount of Gatorade,
Orange Juice, Chicken Broth, Milk, and flavor packets for my water. (Water is disgusting
on its own) Everyone knows that the establishment I visited is full of all kinds
of people who are fun to look at, but what I’m here to write about is only a
small group of those people; crying kids.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I made direct eye contact with a boy child who was sitting
in the perch that they make in shopping carts for kids. His parents were
standing at a Redbox which I’ve always thought of as the movie rental answer to
Netflix for people who feel bad about the destruction of the video store. That’s a whole other topic that I will leave
for another time… or maybe not. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back to the man child. (fragment.) I looked at this boy who was definitely
old enough to be self-aware and so I thought, “Are you embarrassed to be crying
loudly in public?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can understand. He was crammed into a seat with a wire
metal frame and only a thin plastic flap as a cushion. Then you get hauled
around Wal-Mart for an hour while your parents buy brussel sprouts. (Nothing
against brussel sprouts, but no 3 years old boy likes them) Then when you’ve
had enough of that, they pay, which takes forever, then they stop right at the
entrance with its door opening and closing to the winter and look for movies to
watch after you go to bed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yeah, I’d cry too! BUT I’d be embarrassed when some scruffy-faced
messy-haired sick guy makes eye contact with me.<o:p></o:p></div>
Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-3035543822719346192013-01-15T21:50:00.001-08:002013-01-15T21:50:56.105-08:00Me Man, Live DangerI'm an adult. I have an Adulty Marriage Certificate, an Adulty car payment, an Adulty career, and I eat candy in the morning... if I want. (Usually I don't want) (It makes me feel groggy later)<br />
<br />
My point is this:<br />
<br />
Now that I'm a real adult (adulthood starts at 18, that was about 11 years ago. I digress) I have to take things into my own hands. Last Saturday, I found myself desperately wanting to watch the TV. I have Satellite TV and it wasn't getting a signal, of course. So, seeing as I am in fact an adult man, I took it upon myself to fix the TV. My particular dish, as many others in the world, is on my roof. I don't have a ladder, and so I improvised. Retrieving a chair from my kitchen, I marched with a grand resolve out the back door and dropped the chair beside the lowest and only flat portion of my roof. I carefully removed the cover that my sister in law made for the chairs and threw it on the floor just inside my apartment.<br />
<br />
What happened next, I'm sure you already guessed was dangerous. I developed a talent of climbing up counters when I was a very young man, and although I haven't quite kept it up, the talent still lives in my blood, coursing through my body like a thing that travels through tiny tubes. (Oooo Like Red Blood Cells!) I climbed to the top of the chair and grabbed a particularly thick icicle. It broke, sending shards of ice into my face. I tried again and again until all of the icicles were gone. The blood born pathogen of a talent found its way to the courageous or stupid (you decide) part of my body causing me to "git-er-done" (yeah that happened). I jumped with all my might achieving my goal of getting the entire upper half of my body onto the roof and shimmying my way to safety. Oh yeah also there's a lot of snow and ice up there.<br />
<br />
then I had to walk up the snowy and icy roof to the satellite dish. It was completely clean, but still I rubbed it. Good luck? Maybe? then I rubbed all the other dishes on the roof of my apartment. Again... good luck? I almost fell three times and each time the movie "The Santa Clause" popped into my head.<br />
<br />
Getting down was dilemma all its own. The chair seemed scary so the plan I devised was much safer... or something.<br />
<br />
There are some old cable ... cables hanging from the roof on the other side of the low portion I climbed up. Yeah you know where this is going. I grabbed the end of one of them and just like Indiana Jones (also your 10 year old neighbor with a broken arm (I'm just guessing) I swung to my certain doom. I'm more like Indiana Jones than that stupid kid and my plan worked perfectly. So here I am, completely unscathed and happy to tell the tale.<br />
<br />
I'm sure you're wondering about the TV and if the good luck rubbing worked. Hell no! But the TV came back on a few hours later so all's well that ends well!Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-73372724719963259272012-08-14T04:00:00.003-07:002012-08-14T04:02:19.555-07:003 Hours EarlyI'm engaged! I have been for awhile now (1 month + 1 week). Her name is Ellen and she writes things here, <a href="http://elleohellen.blogspot.com/">http://elleohellen.blogspot.com/</a>. The point is not only that I'm an obvious expert at relationships and such, but that I'm also almost a grown up.<br />
<br />
About six hours ago I fell asleep watching Lonesome Dove, don't be judging it's an excellent film with an all-star cast! At about four in the AM, I woke up because I had to pee, I'm human, too. Usually when I wake up to pee I pull a Larry David, which is to not turn on any lights and just find my way to the toilet, sit on the seat and have at it.You see, if you keep all the lights off, you never fully wake up and are therefore so much closer to returning to your happy slumber.<br />
<br />
This time I turned on the lights, and as a result, am still awake an hour later. I didn't waste this time, though. Oh no. You see Ellen just moved in to our future first home and does not yet have some basic needs. Such as television, internet, utility bills in my name or air conditioning. Today I have to deal with these things. As I was contemplating this checklist of chores, I decided to do some research and got on my computer, which is the real reason that I'm still awake, although turning on the bathroom light didn't help.<br />
<br />
Moral of the story? I also use bathrooms for peeing, I like Lonesome Dove, Cable and Internet bundles are confusing, but I think I found the best one, and I have to wake up in two hours.<br />
<br />
PEACE!Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-77551020837441608882012-07-13T22:20:00.001-07:002012-07-13T22:20:50.794-07:00The Internet Isn't Just In Your Swimming Trunks Anymore!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a smart phone, be jealous. It uses the Android
Market, whatever that means. I have apps on it and I can surf the internets
from just about anywhere. It’s a phone, a computer, a calculator, a
calendar, an alarm clock, a map, a GPS
(which is better than a map), a music player, a camera, a dictionary, a book
and just about anything else you can think of. If the battery dies, I panic. If
I miss place it, I tear my house apart like Bilbo Baggins trying to find his
beloved ring. It’s with me all the time. This small, electronic device has
somehow become my best friend.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s think back just one year. One year ago I, like many of
you, had a cell phone. I could call people, text people, and take a very low
quality picture, and that’s about it. I didn’t have all the knowledge in the
world in my pocket all the time and I was happy. How was I happy without so
much? If you had asked me then, I’m sure I would have had an answer. But now,
so many months have past and I can’t recall how I lived my life without Facebook
at my fingertips.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can remember a time when I could sit at a restaurant with
friends and we would talk. We talked about all sorts of things. We made fun of
people, of ourselves and laughed. We had no interruptions, just good times. Now
when I go out with that same group of friends we still laugh at people, at
ourselves, and talk about music, but something has changed. Now we talk less.
We sit and look at our Facebook pages, take time out to check in on FourSquare
(speaking of which, I better check in; need those points for… something), or
Tweet a funny little quip (My most recent being, “I’m all grown up now” I know,
hilarious.) We suddenly stopped being best friends with each other, and became
slaves to our new best friend, our phones.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, I feel the need to turn my attention to dating and
social media. I’m not going to preach about internet dating or anything like that;
I just want to make a simple request. Please don’t text. It’s rude. Leave the
phone put away and have a real conversation. Start the date by saying, "You leave yours away and I’ll do
the same, deal?" Good, that’s all I wanted to say about dating and what not.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not trying to say that all this stuff is bad; I just
don’t think that’s true, but maybe next time we’re going out of our way to
spend time with other human beings, we should forget about our electronic best
friend and try having a real social experience, you might just remember how fun
real people are.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With that said, I’m going to go check my Facebook. Don’t
judge me, I never said I’m perfect. I’m a work in progress just like you.</div>Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-6998626254651823282012-05-25T16:33:00.001-07:002012-05-25T16:33:16.167-07:00Confessions: Staying Out Of TroubleI hold a title within my family that my siblings are not eager to relieve me of and considering that we are all grown, I'd say it's safe to say that I will always be the reigning Donner Family "Spank King".<br />
<br />
As controversial a topic as spanking is, it's important that as you read on, you remember that<br />
1) I was not abused as a child<br />
A) Spanking is not the same as abuse<br />
2) I don't care about controversy<br />
B) Or your opinions<br />
Now that we are passed that, I will continue with my story.<br />
<br />
I wasn't a problem child nor did I try to get into trouble. It's just that everything I did backfired, got someone hurt, was loud, made a mess, started a fight, broke the house, or was just annoying. I was always warned especially when it came to the annoyances. Anytime I did anything at all, someone would say, "Don't jump on the couch!", "Don't step on it, pick it up!", "Don't sing the "F word"!", or "Ouch! Don't leave "Legos" on the floor!" but I never listened and so I ended up over a knee with a hand cracking against my crack! This was common place in my young like. My own dear mother apologized in advance to my Kindergarten teacher for anything I would do at school.<br />
<br />
I have a brother who is seven years younger than me. By the time he was born I had been dubbed "Spank King" for a couple of years already. He was a strange child. He watched "Marty Stoffer's Wild America" and "The Lion King" all day, every day. He wouldn't watch anything else. Also I feel it fitting to mention that he didn't talk. He growled, roared, and went about on all fours. Early in his life, I saw in him an excellent scapegoat for anything I might do and decided my best option moving forward in life and keeping myself out of trouble would be to simply say, "Jeremiah did it".<br />
<br />
I planned and practiced when and just how I'd say it to make sure it was believable. Then the day came. I don't remember what I'd done or how long it took to be noticed but when the question, "who did this?" arose, I said simply, "Jeremiah did it" just as I had planned. Then I watched as Jeremiah took the licking that should have been mine.<br />
<br />
"Holy Crap!" I thought, "That actually worked!" I can remember multiple occasions that I was yelled at for saying Holy Crap! I thought I made it up AND that it was hilarious, so I didn't stop saying it.<br />
<br />
Jeremiah took the punishment perfectly, silently and like a man... cub. I, surprisingly, didn't feel the least bit bad about it either. "Why should I?", I thought. He was too young to remember it and I wasn't in any trouble!<br />
<br />
He never did take the title of "Spank King" but he did considerably decrease the rate at which I was spanked or otherwise punished.<br />
<br />
It wasn't until recently that I felt bad for my behavior and came clean. I sent Jeremiah a text message that said, "I used to blame stuff on you so I wouldn't get in trouble."<br />
<br />
His reply came swiftly. "I know. Douche."<br />
<br />
He said that he remembered getting in trouble and not remembering doing what he was punished for, but knowing that adults are smarter than kids, he decided he must have done it.<br />
<br />
To my parents: Regarding the slices in the brand new tent incident: I DID NOT DO THAT ONE! You were right to punish Jeremiah as you saw fit. That was one thing he really did, also it was the moment I realized that I should blame things on him!Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-67313710178946542592012-05-18T18:40:00.001-07:002012-05-18T18:40:45.180-07:00Me, Weather, Gas, and 9/11<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-URPJhC0Vns0/T7b5uHFZr7I/AAAAAAAAATg/YE-AiMsQrJ4/s1600/DSC_0308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-URPJhC0Vns0/T7b5uHFZr7I/AAAAAAAAATg/YE-AiMsQrJ4/s200/DSC_0308.jpg" width="153" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sean Donner (Me)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It has come to my attention that I’ve got some newer readers
who are not familiar with who I am. My name is Sean Donner of the Waseca, MN
Donners. I’m also claimed by any Donners in New Ulm, MN as well as some other
places in <st1:place w:st="on">Southern Minnesota</st1:place>. I like Punk
Rock, snakes, most other animals too, also most other music. I’m a fan of
intelligence and love making fun of people. I like to fix things, make people
laugh, and imagine things, which is part of why I write.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a brother who moved to <st1:city w:st="on">Phoenix</st1:city>,
<st1:state w:st="on">AZ</st1:state> (which stands for <st1:state w:st="on">Arizona</st1:state>). <st1:city w:st="on">Phoenix</st1:city>
is a great city and I love it, but moving from <st1:state w:st="on">Minnesota</st1:state>
to <st1:state w:st="on">Arizona</st1:state>
has got to be such a shock to your system. They are just two complete opposite
places. <st1:state w:st="on">Minnesota</st1:state>!
Land of 10,000 Lakes! Green… so green. Everything grows there. Dandelions just
shoot up in the middle of roads. That’s actually what the yellow lines are made
of, evenly spaced dandelions! Corn cobs are giant! Two feet long with a six
inch diameter. And each soy bean, not pod of beans, each individual bean grows
big enough to make an entire soy burger. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Winters are consistently -90 degrees. We got cold days at
school. Not snow days… <b>COLD</b> days!
The government steps in and says, “Guys, it’s ju… it’s just too cold.” Don’t
get me wrong, there’s still snow. You know how a lot of places get snow and
then by noon it’s gone and you can just go around in a light jacket and you’re
good? In <st1:state w:st="on">Minnesota</st1:state>,
once it snows, you have snow and it’s there. Hopefully it melts before next
winter. Winter sucks and so it feels like the longest season. Really, it’s
about three months just like the others but, you know what they say, time slows
when you’re slowly dying.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just when you think winter will never end will never end and
you will actually die, summer shows up and it’s instantly 90 degrees with 100%
humidity. There is literally one day between -90 and 90 and that day is
magical! That’s <st1:state w:st="on">Minnesota</st1:state>
for you though -90 and 90 with mosquitoes that will take one pound of flesh. In
the winter they say, “Don’t go outside, you freeze to death” and in the summer
they say, “Don’t go outside, you’ll be incinerated!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So my brother moved from <st1:state w:st="on">Minnesota</st1:state>
to <st1:state w:st="on">Arizona</st1:state> which is like moving from <st1:country-region w:st="on">Austria</st1:country-region> to the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Sahara</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Desert</st1:placetype></st1:place>.
One minute “the hills are alive with the sound of music” and the next
everything’s dead, you’re thirsty and everywhere you look there’s water only
you can’t get to it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sdb3ea5DL3w/T7b2EYcu8mI/AAAAAAAAATU/GOsq4z-sXns/s1600/man+cactus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sdb3ea5DL3w/T7b2EYcu8mI/AAAAAAAAATU/GOsq4z-sXns/s320/man+cactus.jpg" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It needs a cowboy hat!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><st1:state w:st="on">Arizona</st1:state>
is cool though. They have the greatest little lizards that scurry about. Scurry
is a great word, isn’t it? It’s one of those words that are reserved things based
upon their size. You will never hear someone say, “Look at that Elephant, how
it scurries about! How cute is that!?” Except that I just said it. My favorite
thing about <st1:state w:st="on">Arizona</st1:state>
is the “Man Cactus..s… Cacti” that are everywhere! They’re only in <st1:place w:st="on">Arizona</st1:place> though; they
live nowhere else which is amazing. You cross the border and there they are.
And they’re enormous! They are the cactus version of Red Wood trees! Or
skyscapers?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of my biggest pet peeves (which is a stupid… word?) is
when you’re talking about a place where the weather is always great and the
same, someone will, without exception, say, “I don’t know, I’d miss the
seasons.” They’ll say that as serious as they have ever been! “I’d miss the
seasons.” That’s ridiculous. It’s like saying, “I hate nice weather. I want to
be miserable for parts of the year.” No one says that!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In most parts of the world planning an outside activity is
scary. What if on that day it’s cold or raining or otherwise shitty? But in
these “season-less” places I could say, “Hey guys, let’s play kickball.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Okay” the guys will say, “when?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“December 21<sup>st</sup> two years from now” I’ll answer.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Oh perfect,” the guys will reply, “It’ll be nice out then!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In most places that conversation would go like this.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Hey guys, let’s play kickball.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Okay, when?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“In like two hours unless clouds gather together and say in
a thunderous voice, ‘I hate outdoor activities! Go inside and watch “Chips” or
“Who’s Line Is It Anyway?” reruns!’”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That’s it! Those are your choices. You might ask, “Night Court”?
“Cheers”? “Who’s The Boss”? No! Only “Who’s Line…” and “Chips”!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-du8alTJ8iPA/T7b2EK5_q-I/AAAAAAAAATM/mXnTIvNwQe8/s1600/grilling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-du8alTJ8iPA/T7b2EK5_q-I/AAAAAAAAATM/mXnTIvNwQe8/s200/grilling.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Spring is the best time in <st1:state w:st="on">Minnesota</st1:state>. Those two days in May between -90
and 90 with the side of 100% humidity. Everyone is so happy. There’s actually
no crime! Absolutely none! Just the sound of car stereos and the smell of
grilling. The whole state smells like grilled food and music is in the air.
People smile and say nice things to their otherwise despised neighbors while
they wash their cars and sip cold drinks in their front yards.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People love talking about the weather. Weather is the only
thing everyone has in common. You run into the guy down the street at the
grocery store and someone will eventually say, “Well, if this rain would let
up!” Another favorite is, “How about this weather!?” Also, “I don’t need
anymore of this damn snow to deal with!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People also love talking about gas prices. And everyone is
totally knowledgeable about why it is the price it is. “Well, the price per
barrel is down. It’s the lowest it’s been since 9/11.” Gasoline conversations
always include the catch phrase 9/11. Has ‘9/11’ been trademarked yet? I should
do that. I’d be a stickler about it, too. I’d eavesdrop on conversations and as
soon as someone says, “9/11 this” or “9/11 that” I’d swoop in with my documentation
and demand payment in full. I’m going to do that now!</span></div>Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-2553283447121051372012-05-09T17:00:00.001-07:002012-05-09T17:00:30.048-07:00Fast Food: A Scholarly Essay<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-px-Zkg3zeFM/T6r80qgd4AI/AAAAAAAAASw/oZdSuPAZYpc/s1600/food.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-px-Zkg3zeFM/T6r80qgd4AI/AAAAAAAAASw/oZdSuPAZYpc/s320/food.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did not take this picture.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm disgusting. I don't usually say that, but I'm just gross right now. I ate McDonald's. That's gross enough but I ate it in five minutes. Five minutes! Five Damn Minutes and I downed two cheeseburgers, a bunch of french fries and a Coke. The Coke wasn't even good. It was mixed wrong or something but I didn't care because I'm disgusting.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sadly, two hours ago I decided that I was going to eat healthier and cut back on soda. My resolve to become healthy lasted until I thought of McDonald's. One thought and of fast food and I was there. Almost as though the thought itself transported me to their drive-thru. Then I started eating, not happily either. I was angrily, sadly, almost embarrassingly shoveling that food down my gullet. I literally picked up the full french fry container and poured them into my mouth.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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The worst part of the whole thing was when I spilled ketchup from the cheeseburger on my shirt. Dead center. Plop! goes the ketchup. I looked at it and, without thought, scooped it up with the burger. Then when the burger was consumed, I licked my shirt, thus sealing my disgusting-ness forever.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It gets worse. Minutes after finishing this terrible meal, the fast food farts made their presence known with rotten smells and hilarious sounds. Fast Food farts smell different than normal farts. They're noticeably salty and greasy. If you put a box of greasy french fries, special sauce, hamburger patties, and a dozen month old eggs under a dumpster on the hottest day in Florida and left them there for a week, that's what fast food farts smell like. The smell takes away all of the humor the fart would otherwise have.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometime in our mid-twenties most of us reach a point where fast food generally becomes depressing.The problem is, like a hangover, it is forgotten until experienced again. On the outside, fast food conjures up memories of Kid's Meals with their toys and the excitement of going "out" to eat. Then, it just doesn't live up to our memories and instead takes away our self-esteem and makes us stink more than what is acceptable for even a zoo to stink. You go with the excitement of a child and end up fat, lethargic, stinky and hating yourself.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We all know it's true, but you and I also know that there's no way we'll ever stop eating fast food. It's addicting. It's our culture, and although everyone hates it, we will also always love it... </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
...Kind of like WalMart.<br /><br /></div>Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-1281845218007851162012-03-20T18:33:00.000-07:002012-03-20T18:33:36.528-07:00CampingNot long ago, I was reminiscing about the past. As a teenager I was a Skater/Punk. I hung out with other skateboarders, listened to punk music and "sang" in a punk band called Kaptain Kommunist. It was an epic adolescence. I grew up in a small town and for a long time, my only means of transportation was my skateboard. I would ride it across town everyday to go to work at <i>Dairy Queen. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
With this reminiscence came a longing to ride my skateboard. I still have one and I probably always will, although it spends its time in a closet gathering dust these days. And so, not too long ago I pulled the skateboard out and used it as a means of transportation.<br />
<br />
You know what? It sucked. In fact, it was the worst thing ever.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure why I thought of this today, but the why is not important. The fact of the matter is that I thought about it today and it somehow brought my mind on a journey which mysteriously ended at the subject of camping.<br />
<br />
I thought to myself, "Why do people like camping? Also, when did people start camping? There was a time when camping was just living. Your house was a tent and you lived there. Occasionally shit would get real and you'd be forced to back up your tent and whatever else you owned and find a new home.<br />
<br />
Then, one day a smart guy decided he hated living in tents and he sat down and thought up a solution. And shortly thereafter the first house was constructed. I'm sure there were naysayers, as there always are, but before you could sing <i>Alice's Restaurant </i>everyone on the block have built themselves a house and the invention spread from there.<br />
<br />
About ten years later a guy named Joe Campton reminisced, much like I did recently, about living in a tent. "Moving was so much easier back then" he thought. "I didn't like the Jones' and how they would show off their fancy camel, so I took down my tent and moved it over by the McCormick's. But now I have these walls and it's so hard to build a new house."<br />
<br />
What do you think old Joe did? That's right, he took his tent out of the storage closet and carried it out of town on the back of his practical camel. When he found a nice place by a stream and a tree, he set up his tent, rolled out his sleeping bag, and started cooking over a fire.<br />
<br />
Guess what? That's right, it sucked!<br />
<br />
That night Joe remembered that sleeping in a tent is basically just living in a sheet. It's cold, there are bugs, and also you don't have a house! The next morning Joe packed up his tent and went home. He was embarrassed that he'd been so foolish though, so when people asked him about his night in the tent, he lied.<br />
<br />
"It was the best!" he said enthusiastically. "You can go out there and forget about everything at home. You feel like you're one with nature! It's the best thing ever!"<br />
<br />
People are generally gullible and so they believed him and before you knew it, everyone was doing the same thing Joe Campton did. They went "Camping". They all hated it too, but because they thought they were supposed to like it, no one ever said anything. People are also very scared of being wrong, so they made themselves believe they were having fun feeling at one with nature.<br />
<br />
And so, from then until now people go camping. They go out in the wilderness, live in a sheet propped up by sticks with all the bugs and the cold wind and just like Joe Campton, they call it fun, and say they enjoy the feeling of being one with nature. They are all liars!Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-32676951942220520662012-03-19T16:46:00.000-07:002012-03-19T16:46:02.289-07:00One Thing I Shouldn't KnowWhen I was a very little boy, maybe in first grade, my dad worked with a guy named Bret. (Name been modified) Bret had two kids, Zak and Jacky, whom my mom babysat. (Their names are likewise modified) There aren't a lot of facts about these two kids. Zak's nose was always runny and he called my Gramma, Gramma, much to her displeasure. Jacky was pigeon-toed and always tripped over her own feet. Also it was annoying as hell when she cried. My younger brother and my cousin who were about the same age as Zak used to beat him up with sticks. It was a hard knock life for any child at my house twenty years ago, but no one had it worse off there than Zak. Sometimes I feel bad about it. But, what are you gonna do, we lived hard and we played hard.<br />
<br />
There was one time that they were worried because their mom and her boyfriend were late picking them up. My oldest brother told them that she was dead in a ditch. It made them cry, they had nightmares and my brother got in trouble. But it was worth it; we still laugh about "dead in a ditch"today. What else is there to say about those kids? We didn't much care for them. The really sad part is that they would bring us candy for every holiday and how did we repay them? We tormented their young minds and beat them with sticks. (We believed in paying it forward!)<br />
<br />
Why am I telling you all of these things?<br />
<br />
Today is Bret's birthday. Why do I know this? I wish I didn't. One day, some twenty years ago, he came to pick up his kids at the end of the day. I stood in the kitchen with him while he waited. He started talking to me and, without being too obvious, I did my best to talk down to him. I don't remember thinking too highly of him either. As we were talking he asked me when my birthday is.<br />
<br />
"March 20th" I answered.<br />
<br />
"Oh mine's March 19th" he replied, "So it's the day after yours."<br />
<br />
"You're an idiot." I didn't say that, but I thought it. "It's the day before mine" is what I actually said. Thinking back on it, I'm impressed with my self-control. I'm not sure I could have done so well today if faced with the same conversation.<br />
<br />
So, today is Bret's birthday. Happy Birthday, Bret... I guess. Twenty years later I still remember this fact. I wish I didn't.Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-52753473057669646662012-03-06T16:54:00.000-08:002012-03-06T16:54:19.467-08:00The Robotic Armageddon is at Hand<div class="MsoNormal">If there is one thing my best friends know for certain about me, it’s that I have no desire to ever be in outer space. If there are two things they know about me, it’s 1) That I have no desire to go to outer space, and 2) I’m terrified of Robots.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/hXrNCak63u0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now, I’m not terrified that they taught a machine to play the piano better than I ever will, or even that they taught him to dress so well. The issue here is that we all know that this was only the harmless looking beginning. Before you know it, he’ll get sick of playing that song and then, well, we all die.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/cFVlzUAZkHY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then, there are the sorts of robots who look like real people. This is the worst thing we could ever do! Now, when we see a cute little Asian girl, there’s no telling if she’s people. I can see it now. She starts dating some guy. He will eventually break up with her. He can’t figure out what it is about her, but something about the way she talks and the way she moves just seems… what’s the word… ROBOTIC! So her circuit board heart gets broken and, well, we all die!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Apple made Seri. Seri is part of the iPhone that knows everything. You can have conversations with her, she has a personality. She has intelligence. I’m positive that she’s self-aware. Hell, she has gender! She will probably be the one to tell the other robots to attack and then, well, we all die!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then there’s a company called Boston Dynamics. They are the literal incarnation of SKYNET from the Terminator movies. They are creating robots that terrify me more than any others. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There’s “Big Dog” who has learned to react and change his footing when forced sideways in order to keep from falling over.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/W1czBcnX1Ww?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">There’s “Cheetah” who runs 18 miles per hour. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/d2D71CveQwo?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">These robots are made to fight wars and there’s only one thing that can possibly come from this. Well, we all die!</div>Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-23310794036553851762012-02-28T19:47:00.000-08:002012-02-28T19:47:03.965-08:00ConfessionsEvery now and then I take time to reflect and reminisce about my past. I don't do this to better myself in any way. (it is my opinion that I'm pretty great just how I am) I also don't plan these reflections as though I have a standing appointment with myself. They happen randomly, like running into a long lost friend. Also like running into a long lost friend, it's often awkward.<br />
<br />
Although these reminiscence sessions place me in direct danger of embarrassment, I continue to allow them to occur for one simple reason: They are hilarious. At least I think so, and I'm quite sure that if you don't find them funny, they will at least be enlightening.<br />
<br />
So here's the deal, every time I realize something from my past that I find share-able and hilarious, I will write it on this blog and the title will be something like,<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>"Confessions: Letters in 1998"</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;">In 1998 I was a total lady's man... in my own world. Whether or not this was reflected in the real world or everyone else's worlds, I can't be certain, but for the sake of this story it's important that you understand that I <b>was</b> a lady's man.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I was fourteen years old and like most fourteen year old kids, I was experiencing some metamorphosis. Most of these "Power Ranger" type changes were very similar to most people. Also, they were usually disgusting; body odor, voice cracks, I started "growing" facial "hair". My fashion sense changed, as did my taste in music and many of my friends. Music is key to this story. I started listening to Punk Rock!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Back to the point of me being a total lady's man, Around that time I also discovered that girls thought I was cute. That's right, I used to be cute! It lasted about a month and it's been down hill ever since. I few of these girls who thought I was cute lived in other towns and we started writing letters back and forth. I guess you could say we were pen pals, but that sounds so dorky!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">There was one such girl in particular named Jessica. I met her at a church volleyball tournament. I had seen her at another church something or other a month or two before and thought she was cute, so I was totally excited when she wanted to get my address so she could write to me. (This was before most people had email... I'm old)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I was serious about my letters. I even had a binder with paper for the letters, stickers, envelopes, stamps and the addresses of the girls I was writing to. (I was cool) I wanted my letters to her to be as cute as I was back then so I spent a lot of time with them. Almost as much time as I spent in my bedroom listening to Slick Shoes, Blink 182, Nerf Herder, Homegrown and other awesome bands that I still listen to fourteen years later. Most of the songs were about girls so it worked well for me to think about Jessica and the other girls I wrote letters to. I remember for sure that Jessica got a lot punk quotes worked sneakily and unaccredited in probably all of her letters.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The point of this story is: I'm sorry Jessica, where ever you are today, your letters from Sean Donner were heavily plagiarized.</div>Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-45955773032649402592012-02-15T17:29:00.001-08:002012-02-15T17:31:29.457-08:00You Should Not Be Allowed To Drive<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nKVnNiMEfE0/Tzxb6QRQLNI/AAAAAAAAARY/8R4UQbzE5pA/s1600/20120215_100009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nKVnNiMEfE0/Tzxb6QRQLNI/AAAAAAAAARY/8R4UQbzE5pA/s640/20120215_100009.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-24644211557147929482012-02-11T09:13:00.000-08:002012-02-11T09:13:24.486-08:00Guys Think It's Funny; Girls Never WillThere are things in this world that the males of our human race will always think is funny, and ladies, you will never fully understand. It's not that we're stupid or that you're stupid; it's just something in the way we're all wired.<br />
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<b>Number 1: The Three Stooges</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.trb.com/media/alternatethumbnails/story/2010-09/199689440-15095336.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://media.trb.com/media/alternatethumbnails/story/2010-09/199689440-15095336.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a Copyrighted Image. I do not own it!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Now I know there's a few of you ladies reading this right now, saying to yourself, or if you're in the bathroom you're then saying it to every woman ever, "But Sean, I like the Three Stooges." To this I say simply, "No you don't."<br />
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I'm sure you've watched the show before, enjoyed it, and even maybe laughed, but I also know that you didn't laugh as hard, or as frequently, or with the utter glee as any man or boy would watching that same movie. And again, let me stress, I don't think there's anything wrong with you ladies or that there's anything wrong with us as men... in this situation; it's just the way it is.<br />
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I know that you're now waiting for an explanation from me as to why girls don't think The Three Stooges is funny. This is want I've come up with. Ready?<br />
<br />
I don't know!<br />
<br />
I'm sure there's a highly scientific explanation for this phenomenon. The problem with this, of course, is that it's highly scientific. Therefore, I'm not the guy to explain it. I'm only here to tell you the facts. And, ladies, the fact of the matter is you don't think The Three Stooges is funny.<br />
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<b>Number 2: Farts</b><br />
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</b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rQ39K2FRfyk/TzaT2IX5-6I/AAAAAAAAAQ0/7fDtYt3yYVc/s1600/fart.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rQ39K2FRfyk/TzaT2IX5-6I/AAAAAAAAAQ0/7fDtYt3yYVc/s200/fart.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also not my image.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I once wrote a essay about farts, trying to pin point exactly what is funny about them. I categorized them by them by name according to the sound they made. BERT, ERNIE, PAT, and JEFF. Bert is loud and in your face. Ernie is the type that squeaks out. Pat is short and quiet. Jeff is the covert fart, you probably won't even hear him, but you'll know when he's been there. There were also graphs detailing how long a fart will be funny based on it's smell. The problem with this essay is that I never actually pin pointed the reason farts are funny. I left the essay with the decision or realization that farts are not funny for one particular reason but for every reason they have to throw onto the table.<br />
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They make funny noises. They smell bad. They come from your butt! They are slightly taboo. There is also a warning I gave to all men then, and I likewise give it now: "The smell of a fart releases a chemical in the female brain which makes the said female instantly and violently angry. NEVER FART IN FRONT OF A GIRL!<br />
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Girls, again, you may think that because you laughed at a fart once means you think they are funny. I'm here to tell you that you're dreadfully wrong. You don't understand the humor of a fart and you never will. Don't get mad, it's not your fault, it's not my fault; it is nobodies fault.<br />
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<b>Number 3: Taking Pictures of Your Friends on the Toilet</b><br />
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</b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mSIX-eVb-M4/TzaWRehsKiI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/0Xli-Ii8oZM/s1600/toilet+bloom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mSIX-eVb-M4/TzaWRehsKiI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/0Xli-Ii8oZM/s200/toilet+bloom.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This IS my Image!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Bathroom doors come with locks. This is a fact, but the locks are not there for the purpose you might be assuming. There are locks on the doors of bathrooms to act as your last line of defense between you and a picture of you on the toilet. You may be thinking that the person who put the lock on the bathroom door is your friend, but they're not! They put that lock on that door as false security. You see, you lock the door thinking, "I'm Safe!" but all it takes to unlock that door from the outside is a screwdriver. They call it a "Safety Mechanism", but really it's just so your friends can be hilarious.<br />
<br />
Don't worry though, you'll think it's funny, too! You see it's a known fact that, although there may be a struggle of some sort, ALL guys think toilet pictures are funny. Don't believe me?<br />
<br />
Exhibit A.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dMyzNq2dtLo/TzahAgiRq9I/AAAAAAAAARE/39Ho5NwPwmI/s1600/DSC_0238.5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dMyzNq2dtLo/TzahAgiRq9I/AAAAAAAAARE/39Ho5NwPwmI/s200/DSC_0238.5.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-afoyDe4Pa88/TzahD8zCY4I/AAAAAAAAARM/80bjZvhBlu8/s1600/DSC_0239.5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-afoyDe4Pa88/TzahD8zCY4I/AAAAAAAAARM/80bjZvhBlu8/s200/DSC_0239.5.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-69224189144287448432012-01-28T09:11:00.000-08:002014-08-01T16:52:10.691-07:00UNLUCKY's First Review<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRLczzltbqfIR7EE9Mw7c2Ou9uiluvfyiLXzTkZMN8FsyOrXZerfSEK6HkZ01osf4X0bpMs09mVCRHVo088GrIHEaS86k507qW2YuVzcivicEJOmhiFZLYhv_ydVJaacgiOK0laUXThWt/s1600/unlucky.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRLczzltbqfIR7EE9Mw7c2Ou9uiluvfyiLXzTkZMN8FsyOrXZerfSEK6HkZ01osf4X0bpMs09mVCRHVo088GrIHEaS86k507qW2YuVzcivicEJOmhiFZLYhv_ydVJaacgiOK0laUXThWt/s1600/unlucky.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
It is difficult, sometimes, to properly review the work of a friend. There is always a concern at the back of your mind that you may either be: a) not critical enough, and make excuses for them just because you like them so much and don't want to look like a jerk, or b) overly critical, because your expectations match your regard for that person, and you will more than likely be let down because they weren't able to deliver.</div>
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Luckily for <em>Unlucky</em>, I didn't feel the nagging need to rewrite my friend's work, and it's easy, laid back style allowed me to read it for the fun piece of fiction it really is.</div>
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<em>Unlucky</em> does not pretend to be the next great American novel, but it certainly doesn't need to be. Initially the story falters as it attempts to set its tone, but once the reader recognizes the thought patterns of high school students, the way that they perceive their contained world as the absolute beginning and the end, as well as the way they build fantasies into the reality around them, this novel (novella?) becomes much easier to read.</div>
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Stepping into the setting of <em>Unlucky</em> is like simultaneously re-experiencing the past and finding yourself in some strange alternate reality. The hero of the story (as a hero he must be, considering the hero-journey he embarks on), despite all of his dopey charm and silliness, manages to pull the reader into his quest, absurd as it may seem. Riddled with the delicate nuances of teenage politics, as well as characters that are striving toward some sense of legitimacy with their observations, <em>Unlucky</em> is perhaps more genuine writing than many of the more acclaimed authors of today. I found myself laughing out loud as I followed Sean in his search for a stolen piece of Americana: A Britney Spears poster that he had found and taped above his locker. </div>
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There is nothing too profound about this work, but again, it never pretends to be profound, and it is that honesty that gives <em>Unlucky</em> its value and charm. Though I would have liked to have gotten to know some of the secondary characters better, they all are just that, secondary, revolving around the universe in this work that is Sean Donner. With some more cultivating, this piece could easily have become something like <em>The Big Lebowski</em>, but as it is, it's a joyful story with an almost fairy-tale like quality.</div>
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Jennifer Hughes</div>
Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-68373708876081176082012-01-18T16:46:00.000-08:002012-01-18T16:46:49.725-08:00I Met You OnceSometimes I come across as kind of a dick. Let me explain myself.<br />
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I might be in a situation when someone wants to introduce me to a person or I have to meet someone. This is all fine... unless I'm never going to see that person regularly. What I'm trying to say is that I don't like having acquaintances. Whenever you see that person again, all they have to talk about is whatever was going on in your life when you met them.<br />
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Let's pretend for a minute, that I've ever said a funny thing in my life. I know it's hard but try. (That's what she said) Let's pretend that when an acquaintance and I met, I said something funny or memorable about my crippling fear of spiders. This is all the acquaintance knows about me. So months or years later when we happen across each other again, acquaintance says something like, "Run into any spiders lately?" I don't remember our first conversation anymore; it's not that I'm mean or don't genuinely care about you, it's just that I have other things going on in my life; a lot of other things, actually.<br />
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It's just that conversations with acquaintances are always so awkward and I feel that they really much be awkward for both parties.<br />
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So you see, I'm not a total dick. I would just much rather be friends rather than acquaintances. Either that, or we can meet once and never cross paths again. It's all I'm asking.<br />
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Another thing I've noticed that's extremely awkward and therefore on the topic at hand, is elevators. Often times they are located in lobbies of buildings near a reception desk of some sort. So you walk into said lobby and what do you really have to say to the receptionist but "Hello." "How are you?" and "Have a good day"? Now granted sometimes you'll have to ask where something is or some other related question, but I'd venture to say that in most situations you're not going to have much of a conversation with this person.<br />
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So here's the awkward part. You walk into the lobby, say your hellos and how are yous while you're walking to the elevator. Then you push the button and wait in awkward silence for the elevator to make its way to you. I think elevators know this too, because they always seen to take longer when you find yourself in one such awkward situation.<br />
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Then when the doors finally to open, there's a single fat, hairy guy standing there, also going up seventy-five floors. So you walk in, because really, what else are you going to do? The elevator doors slowly close locking you in this small, cramped space with the largest man you've ever seen off a motorized cart at Walmart. Up you go in silence. It takes minutes you're sure and this guy is standing unreasonably close to you.<br />
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You try to think of something to say but all that comes to mind is, "This is the slowest elevator ever!" You can't say that, it will only make the situation worse, and so, the silence remains, until at last the doors open and you're finally free to go on your way making a mental note to take the stairs next time, it's more healthy anyway.Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-69428695856557012102012-01-15T13:16:00.000-08:002012-01-15T13:17:35.124-08:00In Preparation...On February 2, 2012 my first printed book will be available for you all to buy and read. With this date fast approaching, I found it to be a good idea to give the world a quick preview. It is the tale of a young man and his Britney Spears poster. Enjoy!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>UNLUCKY</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b></b></div>It would be a morning just like any other; nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just like every morning that came before, Sean was walking to his locker. The halls were crowded and he could hear bits of every conversation he passed. His schoolmates were sharing important stories from the night before, gossip about who had broken up with whom and who had hooked up with whom to get back at what’s his face for being such a douche. It all seemed unremarkable and forgettable, and that it was.<br />
As he neared his locker, Sean spotted something truly remarkable; a Britney Spears poster lay forsaken on the floor. It wasn't of high quality nor was it very large, but it was beautiful in its own way. His dark brown eyes widened and sparkled as he stared at the abandoned poster. Sean had been a Britney Spears fan since day one and seeing this poster forgotten on the floor filled his young heart with both sorrow and excitement; sorrow that someone had treated it so shamefully and excitement that he had found such a great treasure. It was a confusing time.<br />
So, he picked up the poster and carried it the rest of the way to his locker. Sean no longer heard the pointless stories of sleaze and infidelity; not even when they were about him. His mind was racked with the question of where his poster would be displayed. Upon arriving at his locker, he spied the perfect place in the wall between his locker and the ceiling. He decided that it would be best to carry his very non-athletic yet somehow all-American looking body on top of his locker and tape his newest obsession to the wall.<br />
Finishing his work, Sean looked down the hallway and saw the assistant principle, Mr. Dahline walking towards him. “Aw Snap!” Sean shouted as he quickly jumped off the locker. It was against the rules to climb on the lockers and Sean liked to appear to be an upstanding citizen of the school.<br />
“That’s just perfect.” Sean stated as Mr. Dahline walked by, “I’d do anything to make sure this poster stays here.”<br />
“Would you even go on an adventure through the stinky bog?” Reid questioned.<br />
Sean immediately stopped what he was doing, “What do you mean? You’re not planning on stealing my poster are you?” He paused and watched Reid closely as Reid struggled for something to say. When it was clear that Reid didn’t have the words, Sean went on, “That’s all the way on the other side of the school in the Agriculture wing. Why would it end up there?”<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, someone might take it. I mean, it is a poster of Britney Spears.” Collecting his thoughts Reid paused, “Umm… oh yeah. You never know, some farm kid might take it.”<br />
“Yeah, I guess. It seems really weird that you’d say that though. I hope for your sake that you don’t steal this poster. You remember how mad I was when you stole my Christina Aguilera poster; I put peanut butter in the door handles on your car, I completely colored your windshield in with green window paint, and lit a screeching fireworks bomb outside your house every night for a week. If you steal this poster, I’ll be even madder!” With that Sean closed his locker and went to class.<br />
Before lunch, Sean went to meet up with his friend Marcus. Walking through the halls of the high school was always an adventure. Between the new couples making out, the old couples breaking up, people talking about who’s dating whom and asking, “What does she see in him?” the high school hallway experience would lead anyone who doesn’t belong there to the brink of insanity, if not passed it. Today was no different and on top of all of that, Sean was worried about the safety and security of his Britney Spears poster. He also wondered why tons of people weren’t giving him compliments about his poster. If he would be honest with himself, this lack of attention hurt his feelings, but he didn’t let on and down the hall he went.<br />
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</b>Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8840104102942320620.post-28623697695207080192012-01-13T17:07:00.000-08:002012-01-13T17:07:58.691-08:00Thinking Of Something FunnyEveryday at work I have a lot of time with my thoughts. Believe it or not, being a Janitor doesn't take a lot of brain power. So I usually fill that time thinking about the characters in books I'm writing and how they'll react to the things I'm about to do to them. If I'm not thinking about that, I'm paying close attention to things around me, whether it be conversations people are having, strange things I notice throughout the day, or mother's rooms.<br />
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Today started no differently. I was going to clean shoe marks from the walls under desks in a whole bunch of offices, but then, life never let's you go a long with your plans, does it? You see, I was cleaning to the side of one such desk and reached over for a rag that I'd been using. Retrieving the rag and moving back to my starting position, I found the corner of the desk with the side of my head. Everything got blurry and I stumbled around a bit. The rest of the day was kind of a blur and now here I am at home wondering what happened to the day.<br />
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I'm sure there's a joke in there somewhere, but I'm not sure where it is. If you find it, please tell me.Sean Donnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08203534857757392802noreply@blogger.com1