My Phone Really Hates Me

So I recently told you guys about that time I thought I lost my Phone and blamed it on my Jacket pockets. I was wrong my pockets were innocent, it turns out my phone hates me. It keeps dropping Mom’s calls or going straight to voicemail and when I finally got through to Mom it sounded like she was abducted by aliens. The worst part was when I tried to text mom thank you I ended up with “thighight” which isn’t even a word. Then instead of deleting this my phone sent it any way so from this point on my phone and I are at war.

Peppermint and sweater vests

So have you ever sat back and wondered what do sweater vests and peppermints have in common? Probably not but I have and so I will now tell you all about there similarities. This is a post I’ve been meaning to write for a while. First, similarity is you generally only see peppermints and sweater vests around Christmastime. Second, both peppermints and sweater vests are generally colorful. Most importantly, both peppermints and sweater vests make me happier. I am easily 15% happier when wearing a sweater vest or when eating peppermint. If I combine the two and eat a peppermint and wear a sweater vest I will be at least 30% happier.

I have too many pockets

Today when I got out of school, I tried to call Mom, but I couldn’t. Not for any really good reason like I was fighting jaguars or diffusing a bomb. No, I couldn’t call Mom because I had lost my phone. I spent the next 5 minutes retracing my steps, until I suddenly noticed a bulge  in one of my less used jacket pockets. It was my phone. That was when I came to the conclusion I had too many pockets.

Food for the Thought?

So, if something really profound is food for the thought, then is something really stupid poison for the thought? Or, maybe it’s just bad for you food for the thought. Maybe things that are really intelligent are organic food for the thought, and regular things that make you think are normal food for the thought and this post is just junk food for the thought.

Second First Blog post

Hello everyone it’s Jonathan again. Now you may have noticed a blog post came out entitled my first blog post. The only problem with this is that post was the second post of mine to come out on the blog. The reason for this is quite simple I wrote the post entitled my first post scheduled it and then later wrote another post that I scheduled to come out before my first post.  Why did I do this? Maybe I merely forgot about when I had scheduled my first post to come out and it was all a giant accident or maybe it was a plot to get two posts out of one. Either way I feel really silly.

My first blog post/ My brother’s mask

Hello everyone my name is Jonathan and this is my very first blog post ( cue trumpet fanfare). It is a story I wrote for my college composition class at Polk State about a time we were left at home alone when we were younger.  Enjoy.

The Whole Story

“Hey, can someone get me some markers?” Mom called out one mid-summer afternoon about seven years ago.

“Sure, do you mind grabbing your markers, Joseph?” responded my oldest brother Nicholas.

Joseph, my thin olive-skinned older brother, hurriedly pushed his chair back from the oval mahogany table, then dashed off towards the upstairs.

“What’s taking him so long?” Mom asked after a few minutes.

“He keeps the markers in that little plastic safe and sometimes the lock gets stuck.”

“Wait, why does Joseph keep his markers in a safe?”

“Well once while you were gone, the little ones got into the markers and drew on themselves a little,” responded Nicholas

“Oh. You know, if you boys had been paying more attention, then the little ones wouldn’t havebeen able to draw on themselves.” That was all my mother had to say on the subject. Maybe that is because Nicholas did not tell her the whole story.

Mom and Dad had left the house, and we had just finished eating lunch. We did not use the dishwasher in our house, as it had a tendency to backup and fill with a dirty gray water, half-rotten vegetables and eggshells. To avoid this problem, we washed the dishes by hand. Amid the clinking sound of dishes bumping against each other, I could hear Nicholas and Stephen, the third oldest, working and laughing while Joseph played the video game. Nicholas told us that we would rotate through turns on the video game, and we all decided Joseph’s turn was first. While Nicholas was wiping the white laminate countertops, Stephen and I finished up drying the sparkling clean plates and silverware. All the while, I could hear the sounds of the video game punctuated by the occasional grunt from Joseph.

The video game was a relatively new item in our house. Mom and Dad had purchased it as a surprise gift. Like many privileges in our house, the video game came with certain rules : It couldn’t interfere with work, we could play for only fifteen minutes at a time, we had to ask mom before we played, and if Mom and Dad were gone we had to be watching our younger siblings at all times. When Mom and Dad were gone, these rules weren’t as well enforced as they should have been. In other words, we should have waited until the dishes were completely finished before we started playing the video game. As it was, the dishes became increasingly difficult to focus on.

After the wiping and drying were finished, I was left to sweep the floor while the other boys followed the siren call of the video game. I didn’t sweep the floor. Instead, I too was slowly drawn in by the video game’s hypnotic qualities. Like a rabbit mesmerized by a stoat, I was frozen staring at the TV. However, I had not completely forgotten about the kitchen. As I felt the broom slowly grow warm in my hands, I would suddenly jerk awake and wrench myself free from the video game’s grasp. After a few half-hearted brushes of the broom, I quickly returned to the front room sucked in by the mindless black hole of lights and sounds.

Suddenly, Nathaniel’s high-pitched voice piped up, “Look, we made masks!”

We all looked up, and in that moment the video game was forgotten. The warm, contented feeling left me, replaced immediately by a feeling of absolute terror combined with impending doom. My stomach tied itself into several knots, which must have rather inconvenienced the butterflies that had taken up residence within. The reason for my emotional disturbance was simple. Nathaniel had drawn intricate tribal-like masks directly on the little ones’ faces with the markers Joseph kept upstairs. Nathaniel had even made gloves for himself. Oh, and the markers, they weren’t washable. For a brief moment we sat there stunned. Then Nicholas issued marching orders.

“Joseph and Stephen, grab three hot soapy cloths and some water, and start scrubbing the little ones’ faces. Joseph, you clean Nathaniel’s face, Stephen; you clean Christopher; I’ll clean Anne’s face; and Jonathan, sweep the kitchen floor.”

While I hurriedly swept the floor, I could hear the low rumble of Joseph’s voice as he growled at Nathaniel. My broom made a swoosh sound as I kicked my sweeping into high gear. I could still hear the sounds of the little ones being cleaned. I could hear the sounds of Nathaniel’s indignant protest as Joseph growled and grumbled. I heard Anne’s occasional whimper immediately followed by Nicholas shushing her. Christopher endured his scrubbing with all the silence a two-year-old boy can muster. As I swept I thought about the day’s events, I recognized how lucky we were that the little ones hadn’t hurt themselves, I thought about how much trouble we would be in if Mom and Dad found out, and, most importantly, I wondered if I would get a turn on the video game. The feeling of impending doom never came to fruition because we managed to scrub every bit of that unwashable marker off of the little ones’ faces and hands before Mom and Dad came home. Because we cleaned up the marker before they came home, my parents did not know the story, at least not until we told them. We did not tell them the full story for seven years. By that time, we were sure there was no chance we would get in trouble.

It has been ten years since that day, and the story has become just another family story that gets told every so often. Invariably someone makes the point that we should have been paying better attention. For several years that story served to remind me to pay attention. Even now that story still keeps me alert and aware. Its ability to influence me lies less in what did happen but rather what might have happened. When I think back on it, I marvel at how lucky we were that nothing worse happened.

I never did get my video game turn that day.

Blogging

One of the first things I see when I log into WordPress is this little box that says Quick draft. Inside that box are the words What’s on your mind. I was thinking about this and I realized what’s on my mind is always blogging. When I’m on WordPress I always have blogging on my mind. So in answer to your question WordPress: Blogging, always blogging

Opossum VS. Possum

The answer to the question I never knew existed.

 

Have you ever seen a small rodent like animal playing dead and wondered “is that a possum or an opossum?” Neither have I, quite frankly I didn’t even know that there was such a thing as an opossum until we made our fourth comic book. Turns out those funny rodents that play dead are  opossums and the differences don’t end there.

 

Opossums Possums
Habitat in colder climates like North America Habitat in subtropics primarily Australia
Omnivorous Mostly herbivorous, rarely omnivorous
Hairless tail functions as a

fifth hand

Bushy tail helps to balance

possum

Thumb-like toes on all feet Thumb-like toes on back

feet only

Play dead Don’t play dead
Long faces with elongated snout Flat, round faces
Lifespan of 2 to 4 years Lifespan of 6 years
Gray or white fur Tan to brown fur

 

 

This whole confusing situation started when a gentleman named Sir Joseph Banks saw the possum in Australia and assumed it was in the same immediate family as the opossum. Little did he know that the two species’ only similarity is that they’re both small rodent like marsupials.