To: The staff of The Downer

From:David Sellers Ceo: The Downer

   It has come to the attention of upper magement that the editor, Linda Kamp, has been making the work environment in the offices tense.  Please be aware that we sympathize with all of you.  We too have seen Ms. Kamp's unusual behavior.

   We have decided to release information to you all that is not to be mentioned, but may be discussed in e-mails.  Ms. Kamp was originally a vice president of our little company.  She has worked for us for thirteen years and has done the opposite of what most do when they enter a career.  She has started at the top and is working her way down.

   Ms. Kamp started with us as a vice president.  She came to us from a magazine ironically called Insane.  She started as a great employee, but after six months she started to display signs of incompetence.  We tried to accomodate her odd behavior until she request a leave of absence for an entire month claiming her eyes were going to be removed by Alfred Hitchcock who was going to use them in a movie because he needed "realism."  She requested a month so she could heal when they put them back in.  It turned out Mr. Hitchcock died suddenly the day of shooting so she went on a Tony Robbins retreat instead.

   We did not let her go because of cons istent lawsuits at the time.  So we made her another VP's Personal assistant.  This worked for a period of one month.  At the end of that time Ms. Kamp was demoted to staff writer because of her odd behavior with VP David Kale's cat.  The cat apparently to this day hides in corners when it sees nail clippers.  

   Ms. Kamp then became a staff writer.  She was constantly getting facts wrong and misquoting others.  She wrote a story about the over population of birds in the area and even interviewed the mayor on the subject.  Before the story was run the editor at that time showed us her story.  It seemed to be a good story until she mentioned her interview with the mayor.  It read as follows:

Q:What do you plan on doing about the bird over population?

A: I plan to have a team of zooligists research the subject.

Q: Interesting.  Are you aware that birds in this part of the world are in fact posessed by Beelzebub the demon?

A: ...No.  

Q: Also interesting.  Do you have anything further to add?

A: Yes, I am an empty shell of a person because of the science experiments done on me by the aliens.  Yet I must keep my strength up for my baby.  Sometimes I wish I was a woman.

Q:  Me too."

   When we questioned Ms. Kamp she said he told her his last statement with his eyes.  The next day the editor quit when we refused to fire Ms. Kamp.  We refused because Ms Kamp supposedly told another co-worker she would fall on a fire place poker if she was fired.  We feared for her safety and gave her a job we felt where she would do the least amount of damage.  We gave her the position of Editor that day.

   We believe that as long as Ms. Kamp has no connection to the public she will be fine.  We know that she has a spot for the editor in the magazine, but the public seems to think she is funny and her column "Editors Killing Kitties" has become one of our most popular columns. 

   We have decided after much deliberation that Ms. Kamp will work at home.  This will take effect in one month.  Until then we urge the staff to think of her as a multi-personalitied sister that no one is to mention.  We hope this letter helps ease your pain. 

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;David Sellers

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;  CEO, The Downer 

    & nbsp;  

Sorry fellow bloggers.  I've been moving.  I now live in albuquerque!  Booyaa!  I got some new stories and I'm gonna start telling fictional ones too!  So on with the show!

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing this letter to the upper management staff of The Downer Magazine.  My name is Steven Feffer and I have worked for The Downer for six months now.  My letter is in regards to our supervising editor Ms. Kamp and the effect she has had on our staff.  Ms. Kamp makes our work environment tense, hostile, and complicated.  I and the other writers on staff here at The Downer have compiled instances in which our job is hard to accomplish due to Ms. Kamp.

May 1st 10am:  When arriving to work Ms. Kamp has the entire staff reciting the pledge of alliegance in the court yard to an empty flag pole.  When everyone is finished she bursts into tears.

May 3rd  1pm:  When handing in a story Ms. Kamp tells Sally Tems to put it in her office.  Upon entering Ms. Tems finds a copy of Mein Kampf.

June 4th 3pm:  Ms. Kamp invites staff writer James Blare into her office.  When he comes out ten minutes later he is crying and keeps saying he will "Not eat the little kitties."

June 7th 9am:  Ms. Kamp mistakenly says, "Heil look into it."

June 20th, 29th July 2nd, 8th, and present: Ms. Kamp is seen coersing with "el diablo" by janitor Jose Chavez.

August 15th 2:15pm:  Ms. Kamp comes to work with a black cat.  She takes the animal into her office and closes the blinds.  Two hours later she emerges with a small cooler.  The cat is never seen again.  In her office there is a small red stain next to the tarot cards on her desk.

August 20th 2:15pm:  When interviewing a possible writer Ms. Kamp asks if she is or ever has been sympathetic to the communist party.

Sept 2nd: Ms. Kamp forces everyone to raise their hands, wiggle their fingers and say lee lee lee repeatedly when she enters the room.

Sept 5th:  When asked what she does for fun outside of work Ms. Kamp says she likes to sew confederate flags.  Everyone laughs. She does not.

Sept 23rd:  Ms. Kamp screams at the assistant editor accusing him of putting the devils in her after he invites her to church.

Oct 1st:  Ms. Kamp has her wiccan sister teach us how to cast spells for halloween.  Both speak to each other in what we gather to be german.

Oct 10th:  Ms. Kamp arrives to work, hands out cigars, and tells everyone she is a father.  She later yells at two clerks when they smoke the cigars saying she would never hand out cigars at work.  The rest of the day she asks an imaginary man named Kevin when making a decision.

Oct 21st-29th: Ms. Kamp goes on vacation but constantly stops by work.  She gives one of the mail people twenty bucks to see if we're "Getting ready to strike."  She constantly sits outside the building in her car with binoculars watching the office.  When a writer waves to her she slaps her self in the face and drives off at great speed.   

These are only a few instances in which Ms. Kamp has made our work environment umbearable.  She has been known to twitch when someone says the word "pickles."  She also grabs her right hand after only a few moments of waving.  We think she is keeping her self from heiling. 

We ask that our letter will not fall on deaf ears 

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;    Steven Feffer

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;Staff Writer

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;    The Downer 

I'm gonna be moving in the next couple of days so I won't be writing on my blog for a while, but before I go I'd like to share another ninety percent.

I'm asked often why I resent ever being a child.  Well if you like mediocrity then read on.  I grew up in a loving christian home.  My parents loved me and I was close to all my brothers and sisters.  I was homeschooled most of my life witht the exception of first and fourth grade.  I have more memories of torture in school than the loneliness of being homeschooled.

When I was put in first grade I was already thinking too much.  I was a mediocre reader and not good at much else.  This was not my parents fault.  My mother tried to teach me to read many times to no avail.  When I was in first grade my teacher Mrs. Grey would always demean my inability to read instead of encourage me.  I can still hear her hoarse voice telling me, "Do you know why my voice sounds like this?  Because I'm always yelling at you kids that's why!"

I had an especially hard time with the word "violet."  To this day I'm almost brought to tears to think of that word.  I was reading in a group with the teacher.  We all had to read a specific part.  I was looking over my reading material again and realized I could not recognize one word.  I tried desperately to read the word but I just could not understand it.  When it came to my part I read as far as I could.  I got to this word of satan and could not read it.  To my dismay my teacher began to tell me that I must not be very smart because I couldn't read the word "violet."  The class didn't laugh.  They instead stared at me like I should be put in "special classes."  I began to cry and was not consoled.  I was sent to my seat and stayed ther for the rest of the day.

Recess was a mixture of being made fun of, beaten, or chased because I talked to myself.  I had one friend named Brian.  He didn't really count as he was just the one everybody knew.  I went to his house once but I could tell he didn't see me different as anyone else.  I was merely one of the hundreds of kids he knew.  Anyway, I had my nose broken twice in one year both of which incidents I don't remember.  I was always alone or subject to pain. 

My parents caught on that I was not happy when on parents day my mother came to my class.  I hung all over her.  When the mother left after lunch I was terrified.  I wailed and screamed.  I watched my mother get in her car and leave while my teacher held me back.  My mother began to cry when she left.  My only hope was leaving.  I felt like I had done something wrong.  What had I done to deserve this hell that I was at.  I feel stupid being on the verge of tears as I write this but I was miserable.

I was pulled out a few months later when my dad found out I was getting C's and might be held back a grade.  My parents were furious!  I was taken out of school and homeschooled.  I homeschooled the rest of my life except for a stint in fourth grade which was much like first.  I was ignored, hated, and considered dumb.  I had one friend who had asthma.  He was my only friend.

The rest of my child hood life was spent trying to make up for first grade.  I was put in soccer.  I liked playing but was once again ignored or disliked.  I decided no one would like me when I was put on a varsity soccer team for a private school.  I was in seventh grade and was playing with seniors.  At first I seemed to be tolerated, but soon I was an embarassment.  I left the team after being threatened by a team mate for telling his girlfreind she looked pretty with her hair down.

I didn't know she was his girlfriend.  I was having a good day that day and decided to give someone a compliment.  I chose the wrong person.  I hated everyone on that team, including the volleyball team.  They were the worst girls in the world. 

After giving up on being accepted I turned back to school.  When I was sixteen I had my high school diploma.  Take that Mrs. Grey!  When I was going to start college I started to have panic attacks.  I was terrified. I knew I was going to be hated.  I would have dreams where I was being taught calculus by Mrs. Grey.  She would call on me everytime I got lost just to tell me I was dumb.  Then the whole class would whisper to each other at my stupidity.

College was the best thing that happened to me.  I was ignored at first but my cousin ricky was there and some others i knew.  Eventually I was on the deans list. 

My stigma about school was broken when a girl in one of my math classes told me,  "The other day when you asked the teacher if you could leave cause you already knew how to do all that math my friend told me, 'We should sit next to him.'"  I felt pretty good about this.  Eventually I wrote an explanation for why the square root of 2 is irrational.  Any high level math person could tell you what that is.  But my explanation was read at a national conferece!  That really broke my educational block.

I'm not done with college yet but I look forward to finishing my education.  I still regret being a child, not because I had a terrible childhood but because I feel I was too weak as a child.  Oh well, life goes on!  90%   

My blog is mostly dedicated to funny thoughts or experiences.  I was writing today about an incident when i wore my underwear backward and inside out at work without knowing it.  Half way through the story i wanted to write about something serious.

My grandfather has prostate cancer.

My other grandfather died of colon cancer before I was born.

Death is a subject that haunts and looms over everyone.  When the sun sets what is anything worth?  I could die tomorrow.  I could... die... tomorrow.  I'm closing on a house with my wife, but she is sick.

The BTK killer is everywhere on TV.  He killed.  He took the life of another like he was putting an animal down after not being adopted.  Contemplation is a fatal idea.  I could've died many times in my life.  I could have fallen out of a tree, been raped and murdered as a child, fallen on a chard of glass, anything.  I'm not afraid to die.  I fear being alone.  I fear not having anyone.  I fear my wife's death more than my own.

I can take the criticism of others but not my own.  I have so many problems but there is some kind of peace that I get when I pray.  When I ask love himself what to do I feel better.

I pray for this world that it dies peacefully.

My favorite snack is the wonderful ice cream sandwich.  I love the vanilla between two pieces of chocolate.  I could eat them all day.  I am indeed an icream sandwich lover, but unfortunately ice cream sandwiches don't feel the same way.  This 90% is dedicated to my almost fatal love of the ice cream sandwich.

When I moved out of my parents house I began to eat all the things I never could.  I ate captain crunch, red meat, and, my favorite, ice cream sandwiches.  I would eat a box at a time of those delicious morsels.  My friends would make fun of my desire for them. 

I always got the same brand until one night when my brand was all out.  So I grabbed what I thought to be the next best thing.  I went home, gobbled down the box of Blue Bunny Ice Cream Sandwiches, and went to sleep.

The next morning I noticed a hive on my arm.  I had never experienced hives before so I ignored it.  As the day went on more of these little bumps appeared all over my body.  I wondered if I had eaten anything out of the ordinary.  I couldn't think of anything and th rew back another Blue Bunny Sandwich. 

The next day it was worse.  I was walking home with a pizza I had just ordered.  I lived about a block away so it didn't mean much to walk.  I got a little hungry so I decided to eat a slice as I rounded the corner behind a small shopping center.  I took a bite and continued to walk.  This was the moment that Brutus of an Ice Cream sandwich, that Judas of an ally, decided to betray me.  My throat closed at the same moment I tried to swallow.

I made it a point not to drop the pizza while I was cholking.  Oh man!  I thought to myself.  My throat was not letting go of it's captive.  I became aware of the fact I couldn't get air in or out of my lungs.  I got a little scared.  I decided to stay calm and see if it would pass.  I waited a few seconds which felt like an eternity.

I put the pizza down and began to stagger around for options.  There was nothing around me that could aid.  I tried the heimlech on myself but it didn't work.  It only added neausea to my pain.  I stood still for a second and decided to wait.  It suddenly hit me,  I'm gonna die.  It didn't hit me like a panic or anything.  It was more like a statement with no emotion. I am going to die. 

I began to think of being in heaven and asking some martyr how he died.  He would tell me of how he was saving a band of orphans out of inquisition europe and was captured.  He would tell me of how they tortured him day and night and he would never give in, or recant his faith.  He would tell me they burned him at the stake as he sang hyms of forgiveness and freedom.  Then he would ask me how I came to be a patron of heaven.  I would answer,  "I died cholking on a piece of pizza in an alley.  I had an allergic reaction to something and...  tragic.  Very tragic."

I became consumed with rage.  I was not going face that martyr today!  I jumped up with new vigour.  I ran around the corner and found a rounded pole like you see in front of a supermarket.  I lunged my diaphragm on it.  Nothing.  I did it again and felt my throat loosen a bit.  I harrassed the pole a few more times until that glorious moment.  A piece of pizza flew from my mouth and on to the pavement.  I jumped for joy after I caught my breath. 

I picked up the pizza and walked home.  I ate another piece.  When I walked in the door I immediately grabbed an ice cream sandwich to celebrate my new found life.  As I did I had an itch on my face.  The hives had spread to my cheeks.  Suddenly I knew who had set me up.  I remembered having an allergic reaction to a specific kind of fudge when I was little.  I looked at the ice cream sandwich in my hand and snickered.  You think your so smart don't you?  I thought to the betrayer.  I opened the wrapping and pretended to get ready for a bite when I threw it in the trash!  Ha ha!  That'll show you!  I can't remember if I said that out loud or not.  I grabbed the box, opened every poison, and threw them in the trash. 

I went to the doctor and sure enough it was the ice cream sandwiches.  they gave me a shot and some pills.  I still love ice cream sandwiches, but only a specific brand.  I still carry the scars though.  Oh yes, I carry the scars...  90% 

10 years ago:  Being pathetic and having no friends.  Actually i don't remember.

5 years ago:  Wishing I had a job, and still no friends.

1 year ago:  Meet my wife.  My family leaves the state.

Yesterday:  stayed at home and hung out with my wife when she got home.

Today:  Went to albuquerque. 

Tomorrow:  Getting a new house.

5 snacks i enjoy:

1.  sunflower seeds

2.  icecream sandwiches

3.  sundae bars

4.  toast

5.  anything else with icecream

Songs I know all the words to:

1.  Guerro- Beck

2.  the scientist-  Coldplay

3.  in my place-  Coldplay

4.  I can only imagine-  Mercy Me

5.  Lost your trust-  Of course...Coldplay

things i would do with $100,000:

1.  Pay off debt

2.  Get a better car

3.  Give to cancer foundations  Colon and prostate especially.

4.  Buy my wife nice things.

5.  Make a movie.

locations I'd run away to.:

1.  New Zealand

2.  New Zealand

3.  New Zealand

4.  Scotland

5.  Puerto Rico

bad habits:

1.  bite my nails

2.  easily distracted

3.  not easily motivated

4.  lazy

5.  uncaring

things I like doing:

1.  looking for god.

2.  Hanging out with my wife

3.  thinking up stories

4.  sleeping

5.  watching tv

things i won't wear

1. a thong

2.  A bra

3.  a skirt

4.  leggings

5.  Any type of flared pant

TV shows i like:

1.  Blow out

2.  Late night w/ Conan O'Brien

3.  documentaries

4.  inside the actors studio

5.  Dog the bounty hunter

movies i like:

1.batman begins

2.  Red Dragon

3.  unforgiven

4.  Lilies of the field

5.  Jurassic park

famous people I'd like to meet

1.  Jerry O'Connel

2.  Jonathan Antin

3.  Steven Spielberg

4.  M.  Night Shymalan

5.  Tom Cruise

biggest joys at the moment

1.  MY WIFE!

2.  My house

3.  writing

4.  sleeping

5.  living

favorite toys:

1.  my wife 

2.  computer

3.  tv

4.  house

5.  tblog

and that's that. 

If ever you get the chance to go to college then do it.  There is no other experience like it.  I was thinking about all of the teachers I've had over the years.  All I can do is laugh at most of them.

The first college teacher I can remember off hand was Mr. Severinghaus.  He was a master of the english language.  He would tell us not to get too wordy in our essays.  Yet, he knew the entire english language, and he was never suprised to hear a big word. 

Although he was one of the best teachers I've ever had he didn't look like a conventional teacher.  He was a hermit unless he was in the classroom.  He would sit on the desk with his ankles together and swing them back and forth under it.  He had thin hair on top of his lightbulb shaped head.  His hair line was far back creating a large forehead that klingon makeup people would love to get their hands on.  He was thin with surfer/smoker skin.  I could never tell.  He would sit with a coffee in one hand, and a piece of chalk in the other.  He would hold the chalk like a cigarette between his fingers.

My fondest memory of him was an afternoon like no other.  It had been raining when Severinghaus stormed in sopping wet.  He put down his books closed the door(which he never did), and wrote the word "confidential" on the chalkboard.

     "Can anybody tell me what this word means?"  He said with his teeth never touching.  We all sat in silence.  We could never tell when Severinghaus would go fishing for an idiot.  He would start off by asking a simple question.  When he got an answer he'd explain how it was all wrong.  This experience resembled a fisherman who when he caught a fish didn't kill it or let it go.  Instead, he would slap it around and make fun of it for getting caught.  "This word means that everything we're going to talk about today will not be taken outside this room."  Silence.  "Ok?"  Nodding.   "Ok... Does anyone know why pot is so freaking expensive?!  When I was you people's age I could get an entire ziplock bag full of weed for only ten bucks!  Now...Well now it's outrageous!"

     "How big a ziplock bag?"  Someone in the back asked.

     "A freezer bag full to the brim!"

     "Wow!  I wish I could get mine for ten bucks."  A girl passed to my right.

I knew from this moment on that Severinghaus' class would be my favorite.  He proved in five minutes that he was cool.  Not because he was talking about weed, but because he was confiding in us.  He wanted to know how we felt about things.  He did this all semester.  He would walk in and pose a weird question like, "Why do people have a fascination with Hannibal Lecter?"  The entire class period would be devoted to this question. 

I don't even remember writing a paper for his class until the end.  I wrote a ten page paper on cloning.  He gave it a B+.  I was just happy I passed the class.

I saw him a few terms later when my sister had started school in his english class.  I was sixteen when I started college and so was she.  I stopped him in the hall to talk about my sister.  He told me she was smart but young.  She, as I had, intimidated him.  Our youth made us vulnerable in his eyes because we didn't have much experience to base everyone's opinions off of.  I finished my conversation with him and turned to leave when he asked,

     "John, what grade did I give you in my class?  Overall?"

     "Oh, um, a B+." 

Severinghaus looked at the floor a moment and replied.

     "Oh...sorry."  He looked me in the eye for a brief second and walked away.  So this blog goes out to Mr. Severinghaus at UNM-valencia campus.  Thanks!  I needed the push.    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;      -90%

I got alot of positive messages about my list.  The one everyone seemed to like the most was about my brother.  that got me thinking about my little chum.  So I'm going to write ninety percent about charlie.  My little brother.

My brother is a kind loving person who would apologize to a wall if he ran into it.  He is being raised like none of us have.  He is the youngest so he never had to make all the mistakes I made.  He just has to sit back and watch the stupidity.  Yet, he always manages to find more and more things I missed.  Like peeing on your sisters hair.

I don't remember alot about that incident.  I remember doing something in my room and hearing a scream.  I ran into the living room in time to see my sister Katherine running to the bathroom swatting at her hair as if it was on fire, and my brother with his pants down in front of the couch.  He was very little then and looked like budda with his little pot belly.  He looked confused.  He kept looking at the couch then at the bathroom where my other two sisters had gathered to wash Katherines hair.  Everyone was angry accept Charlie and I.  Neither of us knew what had happened.

     "What's going on?"  My mother boomed.

     "Charlie peed on my hair!"  Katherine screamed from the bathroom.  At this comment Charlie resembled a drunk who had been told he'd killed someone after blacking out.  He looked shocked and almost outraged.  "He had finished his nap and was gonna sit down on the couch, but i remembered he has to go to the bathroom after he wakes up.  So I told him to go pee.  I was letting my hair dry so I layed on the couch with my hair on the other cushion and he dropped his pants and peed on my hair!"  Katherine was explaining all of this like a fender bender.  She would stop to think every once in a while to calculate what she actually remembered.

     "Charlie did you do that?"  My mother asked.

     "I...I..."  He began to cry, "I don' know. I don' amember."  My mother picked him up and consoled him.  Katherine saw that Charlie was being comforted and she was furious!  She also began to cry.  Which made my little sister Jessica cry.  Jessica was also very little and would always take advantage of situations like this.  She was a ham.  the situation didn't even have to be about her and she bring herself into it.

     "Why are you crying?"  My mother asked Jessica.

     "I...I...love you."  She wailed as she ran to my mothers leg.  My mom tried to stay in a nurturing mood but she laughed to herself.  Soon Charlie, Katherine, and Jessica were all huddled around my mother on the couch.  She had her arms around all of them. 

     "I just wanted to dry my hair."  Katherine whimpered.

     "I sorry.  I was sleepeen."  Charlie whined.

     "And I... I hurt my finger yesterday."  Jessica sobbed.

Carolyn and I didn't buy it.  We ignored it and let them get pampered.  That's all that happened.  90%!

well my wife put me on a list where i have to write out five things i miss about childhood.  Actually even though i talk alot about my child hood i miss nothing.  I actually resent ever being a child, but for my wife i will write five things i REMEMBER about childhood.

1. My brother peeing on my sisters hair.

2. The look on my dads face when pulled a tommy boy and ripped my truck door off by driving backwards into a gas pump.

3. The sound of my moms fingers on a computer keyboard.  She would try to multitask but it never worked.  She would look at you as she typed giving you the illusion that she was listening and I have no doubt she tried.  She would always have the look of a dog who has seen it's master do something weird.

4. Our dog alex.  That I will miss.  She was the best animal friend I've ever had.

5. Jumping on the trampoline thinking up movie ideas.  I would jump for hours.  Once the matrix came out it went to days on end.

i don't know five people who have a blog so i won't write any.  I also don't remember the original list i was on.  It's two in the morning and i'm not gonna go looking for it either.  Oh well...90%

Once again I was thinking.  I was thinking of all the jobs I've had in my short life and I remembered my second job.

I had been working at a fast food place called Sonic for six months.  I was sixteen.  Although I could see myself climbing the fast food latter to my ultimate dream of manager I decided I needed a hyatus from such grandeur.  I began to look for jobs that suited me.  I applied at wal mart, IGA, and all the other supermarkets around and got no call backs. 

One day I was thinking of my cousin Simon who worked on a ranch.  He seemed to like animals, and was studying to be a biologist.  I realiz ed there were alot of feed stores around our area, and decided to apply at one of them.  It was more of a joke in my mind than a possibility. 

I walked into Arroyo Feed Co. slightly uncomfortable.  I was completely out of my element.  The building looked like an abandoned warehouse with an old west looking wooden house attached to one end.  The house was an ugly blood red and the warehouse was pee yellow.  I walked on to the porch of the house and stepped inside to find a gorgeous middle aged woman named Ginger (She would later tell me she resented her parents for giving her a hookers name.).  She had short blond hair, glasses, wore tight wrangler jeans, and a sweater with some kind of southwestern pattern on it.

She told me they weren't hiring, but gave me an application anyway.  I filled it out and left.  I waited three weeks for any type of job to come through, but somehow I felt like God himself was telling me I'd be working at arroyo feed.  I was hired at the end of the third week to my shagrin.My first day Ginger showed me how to feed and water the animals which were 95 percent birds.  

There was a large cage filled with peacocks, guineas, and other small expensive birds.  The cage was covered with some kind of black plastic material.  It was about eight feet high, twelve feet across, and fifteen feet lo ng.  There were numerous two by four boards spanning the width of the cage so the birds could perch on them.  The boards had been rained on so many times they were like rubber.  Every time a bird would perch on them no matter the size the board would give a little.  I hated that cage because the peacocks were fiercly territorial.

My second day on the job I entered the cage wearing a bright green soccer jersey.  I was unaware that peacocks are attracted to bright colors.  I entered the huge cage cautiously keeping in mind that my new boss told me the peacocks jumped on people. I kept them in view as I filled there water bowls close to the cage door.  I would spray water at them if they came near.  I exited the cage, and had turned off the water when I noticed I had missed a water bowl at the far corner of the cage.

I once again entered the cage cautiously with the hose kinked.  I walked backwards to the far corner slowly with the peacocks in front of me.  They looked amused at my fear like a new prision inmate being sized up by the convicts.  Their dark eyes saying, "Turn your back on me boy.  I dare you."  I hit my back on many two by fours on my way to the back.  They gave when I bumped into them.  I finally made it to the back of the cage, and started to fill the water bowl behind me.

The peacocks looked as if they were getting calmer with my presence.  The largest male was now looking at me with more curiosity.  I was just an odd shaped tree.  Suddenly, I heard a noise behind me.  I ignored it at first, but it soon started squawking at me.  I turned slowly to see what it was.  Before I had turned my head all the way around it sprang forth from behind me.  I turned my whole body toward it in a fright.  It was just a frightened chicken.  When I turned to see where the peacocks were I felt a sudden weight on my back I hadn't noticed before.

I turned my head slowly.  The peacocks dark black eyes were inspecting me.  I felt like a person on Jurassic Park who turned just in time to see their predator looking at them like, "Gottcha!"  I could hear a small child screaming.  I realized it was me.  The bird opened it's wings and tail feathers to balance itself on my back.  This only scared me more. I sat for another split second to see what it was going to do next.  It pulled it's head back to, what I thought was, strike. 

I dropped the hose, and it sprayed both of us.  The peacock let out a squawk that, in my mind, sounded like a lions roar.  That was it.  I bolted toward the cage door.  Unfortunately , I didn't think about the obstical course of rubber boards in my way.  I was still screaming from the bird when I hit my forehead dead center on one of the boards.  It didn't give this time, but instead rattled aginst my forehead like a rubberband.  The quick stop launched the peacock over my head and into the other peacocks.  All the birds in the cage went nuts! 

I made my way through the obstical course and got to the door.  I slammed it shut. the birds were still flying around and squawking in fear.  I sat on the ground with a new set of goose eggs on my forehead and wet clothing.

I walked inside hoping no one would notice, but my boss did.  When i told her what happened she laughed at me.  Oh well, another ninety percent. 

I've been thinking that my blog name doesn't make much sense since I posted my picture.  Let me explain.  I am a little bit of every ethnic group there is except asian, and I'm not even positive about that.  My main four parts consist of puerto rican, english, native american, and hispanic.  With a little bit of everything else thrown into the mix.

I chose my blog name based on an old school house rock song called "The Great American Melting Pot."  I know the term oreo is normally used as a racial slur for one of my great grandparents who was half black and half white, but I see this term in a broader spectrum.  A little bit of every thing thrown into the mix to make a cookie.  This cookie is what I affectionately call myself.  American oreo! 

So there it is.  I am an american oreo.  So many ethnic backgrounds and cultures that I can't keep up with all of them.  So like most children these days I pick and choose the culture I wish to be a part of.  Unless my religious beliefs dictate that for me. I like culture but the one thing I hate is the culture I have become a part of...pop culture.

Pop culture is a curse.  Everyday I find myself watching vh1 so that people can make fun of this week.  While I sit eating a bowl of cheerios waiting to see if Michaels Jackson is goin to the pen so I can finally sleep at night.    They rant and rave about how stupid this style was and how funny that was.  They try to bring nostalgia back with a laugh, but the joke is old already.  I wonder if the people on those shows realize that they will one day be on a show similar to theirs only to be made fun of.

     "Remember I love the nineties, Or best week ever, or inside the music?"  We'll say on I love the new millenium.  Their own jokes will be used against them by children who were just flipping through the channels trying to learn how to become a part of... pop culture.

Pop culture seems to make fun of itself year after year.  No one remembers the greeks for their designers.  No one remembered Alexander the Great for what he wore to his innauguration at&nbs p;the "Conquers of the World" gala!  That's right I used the word "gala!"

Oh well just junk that's been on my mind. I better go before I miss the surreal life!   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;    -John-Eric  

I was thinking about my new wife the other day and what it took for us to get together.  Most of our getting together will be forgotten by me unfortunately.  Like my dad says "I slept since then."  So let me delve into another ninety percent.

     My wife was my first and last girlfriend.  I had never gone farther than hating a girl to show her I liked her.  My wife was a veteran of the dating game. This relationship wasn't very serious in her opinion.  I had only kissed one girl in my life and that was a regretable experience.

     I suckered some poor girl into kissing me when I was thirteen.  I was, of course, young and stupid and saw the girl as more of an experiment than someone I liked.  I kissed her in front of a church.  I remembered thinking the man in the moon had the same look on his face that i had on mine.  We both had a look of being let down on our faces. 

I wasn't at all impressed with kissing.  I hoped my future wife wouldn't want to do it.  All that changed when I met my wife.  I found new vigour in kissing.  Although our first kiss was like trying to drink from a trick dribble cup.  She still said,  "You're good at that."

We continued to kiss when we were alone.  We were cautious of other kiss fearing people who wouldn't appreciate our affection.  Unfortunately,  that soon ended.  Eventually we didn't care where we were kissing.  It was as if something would come over us and we'd be crazy for it.  We were crazy about each other why not kiss in public?  The answer was in the form of a mini mall.

Lisa and I had just finished shopping.  We were getting in the car when she grabbed me by the collar and started making out with me!  We had kissed, but we had never gone all the way to making out.  I found this spontaneous yet frightening.  I decided to throw caution to the wind and kiss back.  I started to think of how I was growing to enjoy kissing more than ever before.  I pondered why this could be as I got more and more passionate.  As she began to kiss my neck I realized why.  I was deeply in love.  I had gotten to the point where i craved this girl.  I even enjoyed when she was mad at me.  I was suddenly struck with emotion.  That is until I saw the look on that little girl's face.

In the small throws of passion we were unaware of a mother and her two children getting in to their van in the space next to us.  When I opened my eyes I saw the same look on all of their faces.  It was a look I myself had made when I saw an elephant giving birth on national geographic.  They looked disgusted, fascinated, and unwilling to look away even though better judgement said to.  

They weren't even moving.  All of them were completely still.  The mother with her key half way in the drivers side door just staring.  Her son was pointing at his nose.  I figured he was in the middle of a good pick when he saw a scene out of 7th Heaven played out in front of him.  I'd of forgotten to pick my nose too.  The one look I won't forget was given to us by the little girl.  She looked like the morton salt girl and couldn't of been more than ten.  She looked like she had bitten into a lemon but was slightly distracted from it's bitterness.

After a moment of awkwardness, where Lisa and I also froze, time decided to end the joke.  I wrenched away from Lisa which she did in turn.  The mother closed her sons eyes and opened the sliding back door as fast as she could.  The boy shoved his finger in his nose so fast and so hard he winced in pain.  He jumped in the car as if he was being chased by the make out monster.  The mother got in the van, but was unaware of her daughter watching national geographic.  She yelled something at her and the girl hopped in the car.When they had left the damage had already been done. 

To this day I can't kiss my wife in public.  I'll grab her around the waist in a department store, and lean in to kiss her.  We close our eyes as our love bring our lips closer and both see the same thing...  A large african elephant giving birth.  I even had a dream once that we were kissing in church and a herd of pregnant elephants stormed in and were dropping babies left and right as we made out.  

I'm gonna miss leaving caution to the wind like we once did.  Yet I like the idea of affection being intimate.  I like the idea of kissing being something only the two of us can enjoy.  God, I love my wife!

Well that's the other ninety percent...John-Eric

     Hi.  My name is John-Eric.  I was thinking last night of all the thoughts a person has only about ten percent if not less will be remembered.  This thought scared the heck out of me!  So I asked my wife what I should do about it, and she said to get a blog.  I told her I haven't spoken slang in years.  She took me to the computer, and here I am.  So my blog is devoted to the other ninety percent of thoughts that will be forgotten.

     I was thinking about a  moment in my life today that I couldn't stop thinking about.  When I was in my early teens my dad loved to collect chess sets from exotic places.  He had alot but his favorite was a chess set from Mexico.  It had aztec figures made of some stone that was very fragile.  The board itself was very heavy and had some type of fake moss carved on it.  You could only tell that it was moss because it looked like it had been colored green with a crayola marker.

    & nbsp; "You have to ask me every time you play with this chess set."  My dad would tell us.  He would stare at us afterward. I guess he hoped that after he stopped caring that the chess set existed we'd still remember the stare of seriousness that told us not to play with it.  Unfortunately, after a month my dad didn't care if it was dangled off a cliff.  It even made an appearance on the dining room table. (The most dangerous place in the house!)  We were aware, however, that if we ever broke the chess set or any of it's members... Pain.

     One day, my brother, Charlie was playing with my sister when he broke a rook.  He was seven at the time and decided our Dad never played any way so he'd just glue it together.  Well he was wrong.  My dad was playing my sister and he noticed she kept holding the rook funny.  He asked her about it.  She told him it was broken, but she didn't know who did it.  He fumed, but he shockingly let it go!

     A couple of weeks later Charlie broke the other rook.  I didn't know how he could of decapitated two aztec warriors just by picking them up, but that's what he claimed.  I looked at the green, loincloth clad, aztec in my brothers pudgy little hands and proceeded to do what any person appreciating the situation would do...  I made him feel like crap.  I told him that one broken piece was forgivable maybe even forgettable, but two broken pieces was guillotine worthy in our fathers book.  He looked at me like I had smothered a kitten in front of him.  His eyes became wide open from disbelief in my gory details as to what our father was going to do to him.  His mouth was small and slightly open like he was getting ready to kiss the grim reaper.  He began to whimper.  This annoyed me so I stopped taunting him, but to my shark sisters this was blood in the water.

     "Oh man!  Dad's gonna kill you!  No I'm serious!  He's gonna eat you alive for this!"  Said my sister Katherine through her laughter.  My sister Carolyn just screamed at him.  No one could make out what she was saying but she was mad! As she saw it somehow she was blamed for everything, and this was gonna be straw that finally broke the camels back!  She went to her room to pack because apparently she was gonna be kicked out on the street for this one. 

    & nbsp; After everybody calmed down my brother decided to glue together this r ook also.  When he finished I looked at the rook.  It looked as if it's throat had been slit all the way around and clear goo was now coming from its much longer neck.  My brother decided he didn't want this one to be noticed for falling apart like the other one did.  I guess at the age of five he didn't think that glue pouring from the aztec's neck wo uld be conspicuous, but as long as it's head didn't come off he was safe.  Unusually, he was right.  My dad never noticed the frankenstein aztec standing at the corner of his chess table.  None of us noticed...until Charlie p layed my dad.

    & nbsp; My dad and Charlie had decided to play chess one afternoon.  He picked the aztec set.  Everyone had forgotten about the defunct rookuntil they  sat down to play.  My brother refused to move his rookuntil my dad had it in check.  There was a moment of silence.  My dad was becoming suspicious.  Charlie put his little fingers on the aztecs head and lifted.  He put the rook on the same spot as a knight and took the knight.  

     "That was a good move, but, unfortunately, you can only take another players knight if your rook is in one piece."  My dad said calmly looking at the rook who's head had taken the knight, but who's body was still at home.  "John-Eric can you come here for a second?"  I got up from the couch and walked into the den of uncertainty.  Charlie sat still as if he was a rabbit trying to go unnoticed by a predator.  My hand s began to sweat and i felt as if i was walking into a trap.  I was.  "John-Eric I want you to do something for me.  I want you to pee on this here chess set seeing as it's your turn to desecrate it!"  My dad said each sentence getting an octave higher.  He began my name calmly but worked his screaming up so that by the time he got to the word desecrate he was in full yell.

     "Dad I don't wanna pee on your chess set."  I said like a five year old.

     "Go ahead i won't be mad.  No one has respect for my things anyway why should i be mad?"

    & nbsp;"Dad i don't wanna pee on it."

     "Go ahead pee on it."

     "No dad... I don't ... wanna-"

     "Pee on it."

     "Dad i didn't break-"

     "I want you... to pee... on this chess set right now or I will GROUND YOU FOR A MONTH!"  My dad said calmly but ending in fury.  I unzipped my pants a little.

     " What are you doing?!"  He shouted.  "Why would you do that?"

I was obviously confused.

     "You said you'd ground me if I didn't-"

     "You're killing me!  You're all killing me!"  He said stomping to his room.

     I don't know why I've been thinking about this moment in my life lately, but i don't want to forget it either.  Why this stupid story you ask?  Because it's all about the other ninety percent.

    & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;         & nbsp;   &n bsp;   &nb sp;   &nbs p;     ;   -John-Eric