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The JackB

"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx

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Writing

What Is The Proper Length For A Blog Post

April 11, 2016 by Jack Steiner 8 Comments

My favorite posts are raw and authentic. They are the ones where we don’t hold anything back, pieces where you place raw emotion upon the page and say ‘this is me.’

I have one of those floating around inside my head, a post that is intimate, personal and painful but I haven’t figured out yet if I am going to publish it publicly.

But I’ll write it down and put it upon paper because that will help provide clarity and understanding and maybe it will illuminate the path I need to walk upon to get to the other side.

Sometimes the way forward requires looking back so you can see where you have been.

In the interim I’ll share a piece I wrote a few years back that people still talk about because it is timeless.

whytowrite

The Proper Length Of a Blog Post

She accused me of plagiarism and gave me 12 ‘F’s. Don’t ask me to try and explain how I received those 12 failing marks on one paper because I can’t tell you.

It happened twenty-six years ago and I simply don’t remember what sort of cockamamie grading system she had in place. I remember her black wig and how she liked to eat raw sticks of butter.

And I remember how she told me that my writing was inferior. It made me angry but I didn’t let that stop me. When she refused to listen to me and insisted that I had cheated on my paper I decided that she was unhinged.

Of course that was before I noticed the wig and sticks of butter. When you are a 17  year-old boy you tend not to notice that kind of stuff because you are too busy trying to look cool in front of the girls.

I don’t know that I ever managed to pull off cool, but I think it is fair to say that I learned how to write. That is assuming that you accept her insistence that my writing was inferior.

I suppose it is possible that it was, but I doubt it. Since I don’t have any of the papers I wrote for that class you’ll have to decide if you accept her word or mine.

Writing Isn’t About Limits

Every week I try to participate in several different online writing groups. Some of these groups provide writing prompts for us to write about. In addition to a topic they usually provide a word count and ask that we not exceed it.

I hate word counts. I don’t like limits. Writing isn’t about limits.

Writing is about telling a story. It is about using words to paint a picture inside the minds of the readers.

Word counts create limits that impact the tales that must be told.

Don’t limit yourself. Don’t let your stories be ripped apart, shredded and destroyed by the limits of length. A tale must be as long as it needs to be to be told.

Tighten Your Tale

A while back someone told me that word counts were a good way to instill discipline in our writing. They said we should limit our words to only those we require to tell the tales that must be told.

My response was that “brevity can bite me.”

That is because my stories are going to be as long as they need to be. I wish that I had told the Butter Eater to adjust her wig and suck on another salty stick. She wasn’t supposed to try to crush the imaginations and dreams of her students.

Don’t get me wrong because she didn’t crush mine. She lit a fire under my ass and made me want to prove her wrong. But that is neither here nor there.

When you are telling the tales that must be told you need to just write. You need to put pen to paper or fingertip to keyboard and let the words flow forth. Write first and edit later.

Word counts cause confusion because they create a condition in which you let your internal editor take creative control. Don’t do that. Write with reckless abandon and use as many words as you need.

I am not repetitive because I am forgetful. I am repetitive because it is necessary.

Tell A Story

A story has a beginning, a middle and an end. Every story you write needs those three things. Go read It Was Logical and you’ll find them there waiting for your visit.

Word counts are for bad stories. Word counts are for worriers who wonder how they are going to read 100 papers. Word counts are for very specific papers and purposes but they should only be used as guidelines and not as law.

Learn how to tell the tales that must be told with talent and you won’t ever have to worry about a word count again.

And now if you will excuse me I am going to start stretching because in a moment I am going to be chased by a thousand angry editors. So I am going to run and lead them on a merry chase hither and thither.

Once they are exhausted and worn out from our time on the road I shall sit down and let them know that I believe in brevity. I will tell them that we should all work on tightening our tales and using fewer words to tell them.

But it should only be done after we have spit out how ever many words it takes to tell the tales that must be told.

Just write my friends without wonder or worry. Just write without regard for word count, editors or readers because when you do that your passion will come out and your personality will prevail.

Success shall be ours.

P.S.  Don’t forget to take a gander at A Confession About The Secrets We Share.

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Filed Under: Blogging, Writing

There Is A Rhythm To Writing

March 22, 2016 by Jack Steiner 2 Comments

There is a rhythm to writing, a beat I follow that helps me keep pace with the words flowing through my head.

I can’t tell you if music is my muse or if my muse uses music to move me because I lost my perspective on that so long ago I cannot remember what life was like before it.

There was a time when that would have bothered me more than I can say, when I would have been ashamed to admit weakness.

But that time is past and now I use these pages to chronicle the moments of strength and fear and don’t give a damn what is seen or taken from what is laid down upon them.

There isn’t time to worry about it, life moves far too quickly for the frivolity of my ego or yours.

whytowrite

Florence is singing Shake It Out and my head is nodding along with the music because this resonates with me.

The demons that live inside have sprung free from their cages and I don’t care because I am done listening to their whispers and it is time to confront every last one of those motherfuckers and do battle.

Picture the Wild Rumpus in Where The Wild Things are and maybe you’ll get some insight into what I see.

Maybe you’ll see me clad in nothing more than shorts running through the jungle with those beasts or circling a fire or maybe you’ll just see us wrestling because sometimes that is how boys work things out.

And though I am very much a man there is still a boy that lives inside and that dude needs to wrestle so he can work his shit out.

I Can Still Hear Music

Saw in my stats that someone read I Hear Music several times and smiled.

It is one of my favorite posts, liked writing it and it makes me smile for more than a few reasons. There are layers upon layers of life in it and it is part of a giant tapestry that tells one hell of a story.

I still hear music and the bells inside my head push me to take action.

Maybe those same bells are what pushed me to open the cages and go after the demons or maybe not.

Some people dance in the fire until they choose to step out of the flames.

****

Bowie is singing Life On Mars and I am tapping away at the keyboard smiling again because my jaw is no longer clenched and the anger and frustration I felt a few minutes before is fading away.

Writing is and has been my favorite therapy and the best moments for me always come from times like this where I write with reckless abandon and ignore the whispers in my head about whether this post will make people read more or run away.

The reason I have lasted as long as I have in this rat race is because I have focused on fun and the benefits it provides me knowing that if I am happy it will benefit the readers too.

Happy writers provide happy content and that makes for happy readers.

Ok, that is not entirely true you can be a miserable SOB and still put out some pretty damn good content.

But there is a balance between the two places that we can find.

It is not a static place, it is really more of a seesaw that moves from side to side but it does exist.

****

Bowie moves into Elvis singing If I Can Dream and my lip does that little curl thing The King did and I softly sing along with him.

In just a moment we’ll hit one of my favorite lines ever:

But as long as a man
Has the strength to dream
He can redeem his soul and fly

Write Like A Motherfucker

I might have to find another basketball game to play in because my regular one feels like it is dying.

Technically I have been playing with the same guys for about seven years now but the game isn’t quite the same anymore.

A bunch of the old guys have moved on and I am not especially fond of some of their replacements.

It is not that they are bad guys because for the most part they aren’t.

But they suck.

They haven’t any clue what they are doing out there and the game suffers because of it.

It bothers me because I want to keep getting better and my window for improvement is shrinking.

I can’t stop the clock and I can’t turn back time so I have to make the most of what I have got now and that might mean finding a new game with better players to challenge me.

A short while ago my son and I ran into one of the guys who used to play with us.

He looked at my son and said, “Your dad plays like a motherfucker. He plays so hard sometimes you think someone is testing him.”

As he walked away I looked at my son and told him I only know how to do things at two speeds, fast and slow.

******

And I know how to write like a motherfucker.

Can’t say every post I publish is great or even good but I know the only way to get better is to work hard.

I don’t have the same time constraints here as I do with physical activities.

Hell, it is an advantage to be pushing 50 in this world. I have a ton of life experience others don’t have.

Out on the court I know I can get three solid days of play per week out of my body, but only if I take a day off in between games.

I don’t have to worry about that here.

Here I just write.

Here I just push myself to follow that rhythm and keep its beat.

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Filed Under: Children, Writing

What Kind Of Writer Could You Be?

March 15, 2016 by Jack Steiner 4 Comments

They say sculptors can look at a block of stone or metal and visualize what that unfinished hunk of material can be.

I am told that painters can do that too, they can look at an empty canvas and see the picture they are going to paint before it is painted.

Ask me if I can do the same with my writing and I’ll say…sometimes.

The lack of a definitive answer isn’t because I can’t say yes or no because I can.

I can see and heard the stories inside my head long before they hit the page but the thing is, sometimes the characters force me to change directions so what I really have is a basic outline.

Think of it as a rough map with not much more detail than North, South, East and West plus a couple of other odds and ends.

aboutawriter

Steiner the Minor and I are playing Call Of Duty on the Xbox and my heart swells with pride because this boy of mine, this child is calling out orders and suggestions that make perfect sense.

He sees things I don’t and has ideas about how to handle the make-believe situations that don’t occur to me and I know that this kid is on track for something special.

“Dad, I’ll be the sniper. I’ll find a place to hide and pick them off one at a time. I am better at that than you are. You do a better job of wreaking destruction, go out and destroy.”

I smile and do as I am told.

The game is a pretty good example of how well we understand how to leverage our individual strengths and weaknesses.

But I don’t tell him I see an opportunity to use it as a teaching moment and insist that I take a turn at being the sniper.

“Dad, you were awesome. I can’t believe how patient you were.”

I tell him I like to take myself out of my comfort zone and push the limits by doing things I might not otherwise do.

His comment about patience is spot on, in this game I don’t like waiting. I want to push ahead and rain fire and destruction upon all that cross me.

I don’t spell out that it is a game and I don’t have to worry about trouble. There are infinite lives and it doesn’t matter what I do.

So I take my turn as sniper and demonstrate how I can adapt and adopt to anything I encounter. My focus can be absolute and I hope he takes this moment and integrates it into his own life.

My focus can be absolute and I hope he takes this moment and integrates it into his own life. It may be just a game, but maybe it can be something more too.

What Kind Of Writer Could You Be?

I don’t want to be the kind of writer who puts together meaningless expressions like my doppelganger shared like “Optimize and prioritize so that we can maximize.”

Granted that dude used those seven words as part of a post about writing and the importance of not being another member of the echo chamber.

He, I, we are in complete agreement about this.

The question isn’t what kind of writer am I now but what kind of writer can I be.

Old Jack Steiner’s tag line about being the original dad blogger was developed as a sarcastic reply to the dad blogger popularity contests of some years ago.

But I am not just a dad blogger.

I am more than that.

Not because there is anything wrong with being a dad blogger, it will always be part of the core but it is too small to define who and what I am now and will be.

I write about too many different things to limit myself and a guy like me is compelled not just to write, but to push, poke and prod.

It would be a mistake to imprison my mind in a cage I’ll never agree to live in.

Would You Recognize Me?

Many years ago I told The Shmata Queen that we had one of those rare connections where it would never be broken.

We could go for fifty years without speaking and pick up where we left off.

“My heart will always recognize yours.”

“How do you know that and how does it work?”

“I know things and you don’t really want me to prove it to you, do you.”

I share that moment with you because I have this funny feeling, this hope that one day someone will read my works and recognize me.

They’ll see more than words, they’ll see…me.

“Jack, we have something for you. We have a writing gig you can’t say no to you because you are the perfect person for it.”

And I’ll somehow know this is the click I have been waiting for and I’ll drop my guard and natural cynicism and walk towards the future.

But even though it might be a blank page I’ll move faster and faster towards that canvas because I can see the painting that doesn’t yet fill that empty canvas.

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Filed Under: Blogging, Children, Writing

Some Writers Ignore The Oscars

February 28, 2016 by Jack Steiner Leave a Comment

One day my books will be on a shelf like the one in the featured photo but I hope that if they look like they are worn it is not because of age but because of use.

You might wonder if this is connected to why I say some writers ignore the Oscars and I’ll nod my head and smile at you.

I’ll tell you about how I am listening to Carole King sing Home Again and say if you are very lucky you’ll have someone who doesn’t just listen, but hears that song with you.

There is something special, something magical about having that person who shares a song with you, doesn’t have to be one that anybody but you two can hear either.

The Reason I’m Not Watching The Oscars

It has nothing to do with politics or anything of import to anyone other than me.

The reason is I am ambivalent about most of the awards and am focused on doing what I can to make that dream I shared above into something more than just a dream.

That means I have to take the time to write and to do it when the words flow freely and when they don’t.

It means sometimes it is convenient and sometimes it is not. Success doesn’t come without some talent and some luck, but more than anything else it doesn’t come without hard work.

Put in the time, put in the effort and put in the hours and you position yourself for good things to come to you.

That is what I tell my kids, my friends and more importantly…myself.

The blog helps me provide proof of such things, if ever I doubt it I find evidence in posts like Who Knew That High School Would Be Connected To Retirement?

whytowrite

If we agree with King life becomes much easier and in my case I do, I write because it makes me happy.

It is the best way I know to figure out what I think, what I want, what I need and what I intend to do about it all.

When I flip through the pages and come across something like More Than Heaven Will Allow I smile because I see more than raw potential.

I see past and present moving to the future.

And I do that knowing some people will scratch their heads and wonder what the fuck I am talking about. Some will read these words and be infuriated for reasons they can’t figure out the same way others will be moved in a positive way.

Some will read these words and be infuriated for reasons they can’t figure out the same way others will be moved in a positive way.

That is the point, to move people, not just me, but you.

And to do so knowing full well that once you put your pen to paper and dump the contents of your head upon it you no longer have control of how your words will be interpreted and understood.

The funny thing about it is that your understanding can change too. Time, age and experiences impact it all.

It Doesn’t Matter If People Read

Carole has moved onto singing Tapestry and it occurs to me the first ten thousand times I heard this song I didn’t appreciate it.

I was too young, too this or too that.

But today, now, I am in a much different place and it touches me.

This is what my grandfather meant when he said you can’t screw an old head on young shoulders.

Life experiences make all the difference in how and why we appreciate or don’t appreciate some things.

An Intermission

It is why when my son asked me if I was going to do anything besides criticize him I laughed.

“Dad, it is not funny.”

“Sure it is, ask grandpa and he’ll tell you to suck it up the same way he told me to.”

“I don’t have to make the same mistakes you did.”

“No, you don’t. Be smarter than I was. Do a better job of managing expectations and don’t make me ask you 15 times to do what you already should have done.”

“Stop asking me.”

“I am not fucking around any longer. I am going to log into Verizon and turn off your phone. Then you can call grandpa and ask how I responded to that.”

“You didn’t have a cellphone. That is not a fair example.”

“Life isn’t fair. I love you which is why I am riding you about this. Get it done. Manage your time better. Be smarter than I was and you won’t hear from me about it.”

He glares at me, walks away and I know he is going to test me on this. I have to smile, because I would have done the same, but still I hope he proves me wrong.

End Of Intermission

There is always someone who knows better than you and I. Always a critic who will tell us how we should have done something and some of them might actually be right.

But then again they might not be.

We who wish to be taken seriously as writers can’t afford to worry about whether people will read our words.

We have to write. We have to write. We have to write.

Somewhere in between the periods and pauses we’ll look up and see someone has noticed our work.

Someone will respond and react.

That is my belief.

That is my approach.

Remember when I called myself a professional itinerant?

Well maybe that is tied into my having more adventures and experiences to write about. Maybe that is what I need to help push me into pulling out the write words.

Or maybe it is not.

Either way it doesn’t matter to me because I am going to write and write and write and rest assured that good things will come from that.

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Filed Under: Children, Writing

Sometimes Fear Is An Uninvited Guest

February 18, 2016 by Jack Steiner 4 Comments

Sometimes fear  is an uninvited guest.

He is a familiar stranger who lacks social graces and has no problem making himself comfortable without leave or invitation.

A man of ill repute who sometimes manages to stave off my best efforts to give him the bum’s rush and throw him bodily through the wall, door or window.

Whenever my children or someone has asked me to help them overcome a particular fear I have told them to shine a light on whatever dark corner their fear hides in so that it can be identified, explored and investigated.

I try to do the same but what frustrates me the most are the fears that don’t evaporate or shrivel in daylight.

Why?

Because those are the few that seem to have found my number, that know how to rattle my cage and ring my bell.
The ones that dare me to look them in the eye because they know I am uncertain of my ability to make them back down and go away.

Fears

It Is How Men Are Socialized

Many years ago at my father’s retirement party one of the men who worked with and for my father walked up to me to share some stories.

“Your father isn’t afraid of anyone or anything. I have never seen him back down or walk away from a challenge.

They tried to fire me and he saved my job. He told them to go fuck themselves and I will never forget that.

You have a great father. I shouldn’t tell you this, but he always tells us how smart you and your sisters are.”

I wasn’t surprised to hear about dad being fearless or that he had stood up for this man. It is and was who my father has always been.

My siblings and I never worried about whether the folks had our backs, it was never a question.

I wasn’t entirely surprised either to hear dad had said nice things about us, but I never expected this guy to describe dad as being effusive in his praise because even though he would say things, it was never as over-the-top as this man made it sound.

I didn’t think he was lying or trying to exaggerate either.

But something else stuck with me at that moment, the comment about dad being fearless.

Don’t know why, I just know a voice in my head said it is how men are socialized. Wasn’t a value judgment, didn’t think of it as being good or bad.

Just an observation.

Sometimes Fear Is An Uninvited Guest

Remember that post about The Stupidity Of A Smartphone?

Y0u know the one where I wrote about how I bought a new iPhone 6 Plus this week.

Well the wheels are turning inside the front and back of my head because I am uncertain about whether I made a mistake in buying the 16GB model instead of one with more memory.

I went into this purchase with my eyes wide open, knowing why I was doing what I did and feeling like I was making the best choice I could based upon the circumstances I was dealing with.

But there is this voice inside my head that won’t quite shut up, whispering about how good intentions don’t always lead to good outcomes.

And that little fucker has managed to barricade himself inside the came cabinet our minister of fear sometimes hangs out in.

The two of them are kicking back, drinking beer and engaging in general carousing. They are high-fiving each other and exchanging notes about how to pull my strings and make me dance like their little puppet.

What they don’t realize is I can see the collar around my neck and the chain they are using to pull.

I am working on getting my hands wrapped around it so that I can pull it out of their hands, just need to stretch a little farther.

Reality- Where Rubber Meets The Road

My doppleganger wrote a short story where he talked about cars outracing a train across the tracks.

He shared, “Only by grace does luck beat death” and we both smiled because when you look back at the stupidity of your youth that is what you do.

You smile because you recognize that sometimes luck plays as big a role in saving your ass as skill.

That is not the sort of fearlessness that the man described about my father because it was dumb and reckless and that is not how I see my father.

There might be moments in his personal history where the description would be accurate, but I am unaware of them.

His fearlessness has always been tempered by a tremendous responsibility and that is why I tend to doubt that he ever did anything quite so dumb.

But I, well, I don’t have that sort of record.

There a record of having done things that others wouldn’t do because I was young and dumb and convinced I could make it happen.

And there is a record of successful risk taking that I won’t label as being done as young and dumb because it happened when I was older.

They were measured risks. I didn’t walk blindly into them.

I surveyed the landscape, conducted as much research as I could do and then made the best decision and choices I could based upon limited information.

And that is precisely how my father taught me to do things, raised and socialized.

You see when I talk about the rubber meeting the road I’m referring to what we think and what is. Dad and I have talked about fear as both father and son and men.

What I know now is different from what I once knew and that is because of those discussions.

But what I really haven’t dug into with dad, what I haven’t delved into is a different sort of talk.

Probably because it takes time for people to really recognize and understand some things, or at least it did for me.

heartfears

I have very few regrets, but those I do are…large.

The lesson I learned is to do my best to be proactive and not reactive. I am doing my best to be the captain of my destiny and to steer my ship as best I can.

That is the best lesson I can give to my children.

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Filed Under: Children, Writing

Too Much Sex & Blogging

December 14, 2015 by Jack Steiner Leave a Comment

The last night of Chanukah has come and gone but unlike years past I didn’t have to spend hours assembling toys that make noise or stare angrily at relatives who gave my children far too many gifts.

Yeah, it was A Different Chanukah Celebration and but not one where I would automatically say You Know How The Story Ends because I am not the only person who took part in this one and the additional people all have their own tales to tell.

The children will always be a central part of my journey but my involvement in theirs changes as time goes by and as they grow more independent my role evolves.

And that aforementioned independence is the most rewarding and difficult part of it all because if parents do a proper job our kids reach a place where they don’t want us around the same way because they don’t need the same help.

Truth is, I am good with that.

Part of being a dad blogger is being able to respond to requests like You Should Blog About Raising Strong Daughters with tales and stories that illustrate that sort of success.

What Kind Of Blogger Are You Anyway?

Every few months someone asks me to define what kind of blogger I am and I ask them why it matters.

I am the kind of blogger that has a burning fire in his gut that never dies out. The guy who pushes every limit he comes up against and some he doesn’t.

The guy who sings along with Toby Keith and Sting when they perform I’m So Happy I Can’t Stop Crying and who takes the time to try and clean up the old clutter and crap that fills the pages of this joint.

Sometimes that takes me to old posts where we ask and answer if you can have too much sex.

Many of those old posts are littered with comments from people who once were daily readers and or bloggers themselves.

Sometimes I wonder where they went and if they are ok. Sometimes I click on their names to see if they are still writing and I discover a blog that hasn’t been updated in forever.

Kind of makes me feel like I am the Indiana Jones of the blogosphere, except I don’t write while wearing a Fedora, use a bullwhip to control unruly sentences or call myself Indiana.

Hell, no one calls me Indiana nor am I an archeologist, I am just a man with a keyboard and a willingness to write.

But I do have a sense of adventure, am not afraid of snakes and am willing to take big chances.

lonelyhouse

Big & Bolder Pictures

I moved from the previous theme because I wanted to use bigger and bolder pictures here.

Figured that if pictures are worth a thousand words I could draw upon some of those to tell a better story and to help create the picture I want to paint in your mind.

Haven’t always felt like I have done it as effectively as I would like to, but I am working on it. Speaking of working on things, I just figured out how to make an image in the post stretch across all the way from A to Z.

Now that I know how I’ll probably do it with some more frequency, see if it makes a difference in the experience you readers have.

Maybe it will make one or two more people decide to comment, maybe it won’t. But if you don’t try and you don’t ask you probably won’t get what you want.

Reminds me of a philosophical debate between want, need, deserve and get but I digress.

Linkbait Is Calorie & Guilt Free

Way back when we started the blog and wrote without thought or idea that others might choose to read these words there wasn’t any such thing as linkbait or at least I don’t remember it.

We weren’t being crushed by content or overwhelmed by the bells and whistles of the Internet and social media so we didn’t need to come up with goofy crap to try to get people to click on our links.

But there comes a revolution and it brings change with it so as the content tsunami bore down upon us I decided to have some fun with my headlines.

Some of it was my response to the gurus who claimed there was only one way to find success in the blogosphere and some of it is because it is fun writing silly headlines.

Blogs and bloggers who don’t have fun don’t last.

Dad Didn’t Get Any Chanukah Gifts

The kids noticed that I didn’t receive any Chanukah gifts and asked me if that upset me.

I told them I was fine and I am. Got a list of things I want but very few of those are things I need and I’ll wait to get them.

Did my best to turn it into a teaching moment too, because it is critical to understand the difference between want and need.

When Steiner the minor gave me some teenage lip I looked at him and said I want to eat pizza but I need to breathe.

As he scrunched up his face and tried to tell me that didn’t make sense I told him if you focus on figuring out what you need as much as we need to breathe it helps eliminate the non-essential items.

“Dad, that is kind of extreme, aren’t there better examples?”

“There might be, but my belly is full of steak and latkes, so I might not be giving you my ‘A’ game. Remind me to revisit this with you later or ask the Magic 8 Ball for some advice.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I have the only father in the world who can be so damn goofy.”

“Goofy is better than creepy, now scram. I need to grab five minutes of shut-eye.”

He smiles at me and tells me I am getting old, but he is wrong.

I am not getting older, I am just getting better. Hell, I am just getting started, I know how I want the story to end.

I may not have an exact map for how to get there, but I know what I want it to look like. Guess I’ll find out if I succeeded when I get there.

 

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