Guest Post today on Clark Kent's Lunchbox

This will probably be my last post before the move this weekend (unless I start getting itchy to share the emotional ups and downs of ferrying boxes back and forth and back and forth and back and forth -- no?), but it's one I'm excited about.  I'm guest posting today over on Clark Kent's Lunchbox, home of Ron Mattocks, one of the Big Dogs in the world of Dad Blogs.  Every time I read something on his site, I end up staring at my screen and saying: "Dude.  That's absolutely true."

Seriously. Out loud.  Every time.

Check out his site.  He's a freelance writer.  He's a father of five.  He was in the military.  His book "Sugar Milk: What One Dad Drinks When He Can't Afford Vodka" has gotten all kinds of great reviews.  Plus, he's a superhero.  And today, he was kind enough to post my thoughts on the unique struggle of raising a girl, without raising a Girly Girl.  Thanks, Ron.

You can find the post here:
Dawn of the Girly Girls

I Dropped the Ball on Comic-Con Documentation, But My Friend Didn't.

Here's the what -- my camera experienced technical difficulties at Comic-Con last Saturday.  And my phone pics are just plain bad.   As a result, I failed to deliver on my promise to put up some fun shots of the geektastic glory that was, well, EVERYWHERE downtown over the weekend.

Plus, as readers know, we're moving this week and it's all kinds o' crazy on this end.

So I'm posting a link to my friend Heather's blog -- Heather has been one of my Comic-Con Buddies for the last six years at least, and she always gets better shots anyway.  Plus she's funny.  So click on the link below to sample some of the wondrous weirdness that took place at the San Diego Convention Center.

Spoiler: My favorite shot is the 6-year-old girl in the Princess Vader costume:

The Dark Side never looked cuter.

Now go see some more here:

"Things I Learned at Comic-Con 2010"  by Heather Awesome

Seven Days

Countdown to the move: seven days.

Now that the heated adrenalin rush of Comic-Con has ended, I have to bring my focus back to a world where you don't have superheroes wandering by every ten minutes, talking on cell phones; where a dead ringer for Catwoman won't flirt with you when you ask to take her picture, where you don't hear convention hall staffers shout, "PLEASE MAKE WAY FOR THE ZOMBIES."

Geez, the real world sucks.

I, a mortal man without super powers (at least ones I can admit to having without jeopardizing National Security), have to lift a lot of boxes this week.  We're moving to our new house on Sunday, and we're... mostly on track with the packing.  We're not moving far from our present location, so it's going to a lot less chaotic than it could've been.  All things considered, this transition will have been a pretty smooth one when Saucy and I look back on it.  The sale of our current house went smoothly, escrow came and went without incident, and everything is on track.  We've been loading up boxes for the past two weeks, and it looks like I'll be able to transport a lot of our stuff to the new digs this week before the actual moving guys come with the big truck.  We'll be completely outta here in one week.

Now comes the hard part.  Adapting.

I'll freely admit that I'm not great with change.  If Change had a Facebook page, I would not so much be a "fan."  I would not accept Change's Friend request.  In general, I believe that Change can kiss my ass and leave me alone.  

Just one of my several character flaws, thanks.

I know Change is good.  It's important.  I don't like the idea of stagnating in one place forever, and getting so rooted in a situation that you lose the ability to imagine what any other life might be like.  And again, this change isn't as huge as it could be.  We've lived in our current house for six years, not sixty.  And we're moving two neighborhoods away.  Saucy and my work commutes will be virtually unchanged.  Mini-Pirate will be at a new school (more on that later), but that was going to happen anyway.  Plus, her new school is close to her old school.  She and I will be taking almost the same route every morning.  And while I'm sure we'll get some high drama this week once Mini-P stops living in denial and realizes this move is actually happening, she'll adapt quickly.  Kids do that.  

When I talked about moving in a recent post, a lot of readers told me about how they moved around a lot as kids; one person described living in six houses in six years.  None of you particularly loved it at the time, but you pointed how it wasn't traumatic in retrospect.  I liked your stories.  You are clearly Happy and Well-Adjusted People now.

And I think that's awesome.

But at the moment, I'm still wandering around our house (which I really should stop calling "our house") and looking at, yes, the marks we drew in the kitchen doorway, measuring Mini-Pirate's height over the past six years.  (Man, our kid's shorty.  It's like she's been drinking coffee since she was a fetus.)  

I'm looking at the corner of our living room where we always put the Christmas tree, a perfect spot where two windows meet, making brightly colored lights reflect and bounce everywhere.

I'm looking at Mini-Pirate's room, with its walk-closet where the kid once dragged in all of her pillows and blankets to set up her own reading nook when she was six.  

I'm going outside and looking up at the gigantic pitaspora tree in the backyard that unleashed the most fragrant, intoxicating scent every April to tell us Spring had arrived, and that shaded our deck on hot July afternoons.   

I'm walking around in our big backyard, which we filled with kids and adults for several raucous Halloween parties -- pirate, zombies and mini-Jedis rampaging around, screaming with delight when they bumped into each other in the dark.

Memory stacked on memory stacked on memory. How can so much have happened in just six years?   I walk around and it occurs to me that SaucyWench made it very beautiful.  And I know she'll do the same with our new house.  It's a nice place, in a nice neighborhood.  House will become Home quickly.

I picked up Mini-P from a recent playdate, and was told by her friend's mom that my daughter had talked about the move with her.  

"So what do you think of the new house?" the mom asked.  "I've driven by it and it looks very nice."

"I guess it is," Mini-P said morosely.  "But I don't want to move."

"I can understand that."

"But it's ok," my daughter said after a beat.  "The bathtub is purple and my room will be perfect for a sleepover."

See?  Adapting. 

I'll adapt too, of course.  I'm just not quite there yet.  Give me seven more days.

Suit Up, Geeks. It's time for Comic-Con.

First off: if you go to Dad Revolution, you'll find my first post as a contributor to the site. They're great guys. Go and read their stuff. I'll be posting there every couple of weeks, and I'm psyched about it.

And now for some geekworthy goodness.

I've written about my love of Comic-Con before. For cave dwellers who don't know what it is:

Comic-Con started out as an actual gathering of comic book lovers, back in 1970. I don't know the whole story, but legend has it that in the beginning, the event was literally something like twenty dudes with bad sideburns in a basement, arguing over who would win in a fight: Superman, or The Hulk.

At least, that's what I imagine.

It's grown into this gargantuan pop culture tumor that threatens to crack the foundations of the San Diego Convention Center every summer, abig pulsing mass comprised of a) fans of stuff, and b) marketers of stuff. While there's still a big component of the event that's still about comic books, it's morphed into so much more than that -- some say inappropriately so. The mainstream entertainment industry has definitely taken over the entire enterprise, like Godzilla tromping all over Tokyo. There's a lot of marketing/merchandising/mayhem surround upcoming big-budget movie tentpoles as studios send actors and producers down from Hollywood to sit on a panel and smile and wave and answer audience questions. They trot out cool stuff for fans to geek out over -- for example, yesterday was the big conference kick-off, and apparently it was the big Tron Day, heralding Disney's upcoming sequel to the 1982 film that was a total classic -- if you were 12 back then and saved up all your quarters for Saturday trips to Aladdin's Castle arcade at the Crossroads mall in Boulder, Colorado (ahem). There was a big forum with stars from the film, movie clips, and at some point they trotted out a big money prop: one of the shinyfancy light cycles in the movie.

*geek drool*

I go every year with a couple good friends. We've made it a tradition. We drive down early, commune with nerds, and embrace own own nerdhood as we browse around the main convention floor looking at the colorful splendor: people in costumes, great toys, funky independent comic booths, and the occasional celebrity sighting. (Last year, we literally bumped into Joss Whedon. Who, I have to admit, is pretty much my Elvis. It was completely awesome. I would've said hi to him, but I was too nervous and afraid I'd throw up on his Converse All-stars.)

When non-geek friends of mine learn that I love attending Comic-Con, they always have a lot of questions. So I thought I'd answer them all at once here:

1) No, I do not wear a costume. Not even as a pirate. I love the convention goers who dress up, because they have the passtion to do the shit up right: they spare no expense, and they're all about the details. They don't dress up as, say, Random Star Trek Crew Member. -- they dress up as Ensign JimBob SpacePants from Original Series Episode #45, who never speaks a line but has a brave moment during the third act when he points his phaser at a Reptile Creature just before he's tragically pushed into a toxic tarpit. They're that specific. Any costume I would come up with would just be shameful by comparison. Plus, I'd feel way too silly.

2) No, I don't stand 3 hours in line for anything anymore. My friends and I used to pick one at the start of the day and plan around it, but we're a little too old now, and we don't have the patience anymore. The last panel we attended was one for Lost a couple years ago, mainly because we were frustrated with the show and wanted ANSWERS, DAMMIT.

3) Yes, it's always incredibly crowded. You just have to make your peace with it. You're going to get geeksweat all over you. You may very well leave the event smelling like pizza and basement. Accept.

4) Yes, I have my geek passions.  Like all geeks, closeted or not.  I know my Star Wars better than I know my Star Trek. I favor my DC over my Marvel, and have my favorite superheroes. If there's one category in Geek Jeopardy I could probably sweep, it would be Whedon Potpourri with an emphasis on Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

5) Yes, there are many, many Slave Leias walking around in costume. Some of them wear it well. Not all.

6) No, I have never asked my wife to wear said Leia costume. But how awesome would that be.

7) Yes, she is embarrassed by this entire post.  Yet loves me anyway.

I'll take my camera, and see what great photos I can take -- I tend to suck at capturing great moments, but if there's one event that requires a lot of documentation, it's this one.

So stay tuned.  And in the meantime, go over to Dad Revolution and meet the boys.

Dude.  I have no idea where I parked.

RTT: Birthday Wrap-Up, Mel Gibson, and Geek Love

I’m going to be a bit extra post-tastic this week, just because there’s a lot going on.  Prepare for some Randomness as part of Random Tuesday Thoughts (then go to The Un Mom to see more Randoming by others).

1)  40th Birthday Wrap-Up
It was great birthday.  And when I say great, I mean uneventful, which is just how I like ‘em.  Had beers with good buddies the night before.   Had a nice lazy morning with Saucy and the Mini-Pirate the day of,  followed by a viewing of Inception with a friend (thumbs up, mostly -- great plot, great visuals, average character development), and finally, a nice cozy dinner with SaucyWench at a great harborside restaurant with a killer view of the San Diego skyline.

We didn't take this picture ourselves - but this was our view, only more sunsetty.

One particular highlight: As a present, Saucy had sat down with Mini-P and proposed they collaborate on a list of 40 things they like about me.  (40 for a 40-year-old, get it?)  They took turns adding items, which turned out incredibly sweet.  And not diminished by the fact that they were only able to make it to 25.  Saucy explained that it was because Mini-P started to get whiny about the amount of brainstorming required.  No worries. 

Saucy’s contributions to the list were unnecessarily generous.  (Apparently she still thinks I'm funny and cute, and she still admires my ability to quote "Young Frankenstein" in its entirety, word for word.)  Mini-Pirate’s part of the list was also nice, but very different.  Her favorite things about me? 

"#3:  He likes superheroes."

"#7:  He lets me play with his earlobes, which are surprisingly large."

"#13:  He's not very good at slapjack, so I always beat him."

I'll take it.  Collectively, the whole list was very nice.  And yes, I am a lucky man.

2)  I wish I was Mel Gibson.

Don't you?  Think about it.

Wouldn’t it be great to walk around in the world absolutely convinced that every single person you meet should be catering to your needs, providing you with oral sex whenever you snap your fingers, and ignoring your crazy screaming racist rants, because of your specialness?  Just imagine – how happy would you be if you were a complete narcissist?  I mean, right down to your DNA?  Sure, you’d be an asshole, but you wouldn’t care!  I so want to be an asshole and not care!  What would you ask for?  What would you demand if you didn’t believe the people around you were human beings?  

It would be so cool.  I mean, yeah, civilization as we know it would clearly break down if we were all walking around with God Complexes... we'd all end up as primitive animals in a chaotic feral wilderness state, rampaging around and demanding blowjobs from each other all the time, but for a little while it would be pretty fun.

3)  What Geeks do at the Beach

Most people build sand castles.  What did Mini-P and I create when we went to the beach last week?

Mos Eisley Space Port.  You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.

You recognized it right away, didn't you?  Star Wars?  Don't lie.

This was just a way for me to get my geek enthusiasm going for Comic-Con, which comes to San Diego this weekend.  It’s crazy, obnoxious, geeksweaty fun -- and I go with a couple of friends every year.  I'll save my Nerd Fanboyish soliloquy for later this week.  But expect awesomeness.

4)  Dad Revolution

Starting this Friday, I’ll be contributing to the site Dad Revolution, a collective of great dads from all over the place, who bring their blogging talents to the same table.  Should be cool.  I’ll keep you posted.

And that's a wrap on today's Random.  Next up:  Comic-Con Madness.  Stay tuned.

Why Guilt Rocks.

The Mini-Pirate has a Nintendo DS (a compact and stylish Game Boy, for my Amish readers). Saucy and I vacillated last Christmas about buying it for her, but caved in the end. The little handheld game unit looked so small and harmless. It was pink. If regulated carefully, we agreed, the little video game unit probably wouldn't melt her brain or shave points off her I.Q.

We're careful about how much she plays, very strict with time limits. We've been a little lax about it over the summer, but in general, she gets one hour with the DS in the afternoons. Which she always tries to prolong. She'll ask for a few more minutes, or to just finish off this last level pleeeaassssssse, Daddy Daddy Daddy.

Big Mean Daddy says NO. Big Mean Daddy enjoys wielding power.

Yesterday, after Mini-P had played for her allotted video game time, helping Mario squash a sizable army of koopas and make Evil Bowser beg for the sweet release of death, I told her to shut the game off and plug it back in for recharging. Which she did without protest. It was a beautiful afternoon, so I decided to put on my shoes and go for a run. When I left the house, Saucy was in our front room reading, and Mini-P was sprawled on the floor of the TV room with an activity book.  All was right with the world.  Peace and harmony throughout the land.

When I returned forty minutes later, something had changed. I felt it as soon as I crossed the threshold. There was tension. Saucy and Mini-P were still in their separate rooms where I'd left them, but I felt a discernable shift in the atmosphere.

I went into the living room. "What happened?" I asked.

"After you left," Saucy said with a sigh, "I went into the other room, and she'd sneaked the DS out and was playing it again."

My mind reeled. Impossible. After we'd told her not to? No. After explaining the absolute sanctity of our rules? After my own lengthy speech to her on a recent car trip about how TRUST IS THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF ANY RELATIONSHIP AND THAT WITHOUT TRUST THERE IS NOTHING BUT DESOLATION AND SORROW AND CHILDREN WHO BETRAY THEIR PARENTS' TRUST ARE MISERABLE FOREVER AND OFTEN END UP LIVING IN ORPHANAGES??

Unthinkable.

"Rotten kid!" I said, shocked.  Saucy agreed.  The child was rotten.  Not to mention brazen.

"I took her DS and games and put them in our room," she said.

"Did she get why?" I asked. The Mini-Pirate has been known to possess tunnel-vision when it comes to the oppression she feels she experiences in our household.

"Hard to say," Saucy said. "I can't tell if she feels bad, or if she's just pouting."

I didn't feel the need to confront Mini-P about it, since Saucy had already gone all Bad Cop on her. I barely mentioned it:

"So. Played your DS behind our backs, I hear."

"Hrmfgmf," she replied, eyes down in her activity book, refusing to look up at me.  Nothing more.  The kid remained quiet about it during dinner, and through the evening bedtime rituals. Hard to tell what she was thinking.  Our goodnight kisses that night were cursory.

Let's face it -- this was not a felony. As she grows older, I can pretty much guarantee that she'll commit bigger crimes. I'm not saying she'll start stealing cars in middle school, but I can picture her looking at another kid's answers on a math test if the stakes are high, or sliding a pack of gum into her pocket at 7-11. This, this Nintendo Scandal, was obviously a minor offense. Hardly worth sending her into the hole.  Then again, these little situations form a foundation for how kids will act when faced with bigger choices. Obey your parents or not? Tell the truth about your actions or not?

About an hour after Mini-P's bedtime, I walked past her room and saw a basket of plastic flowers carefully arranged on the floor outside her door.  Along with this note:

What You've Missed -- The Summer So Far

Since we're right at the zenith of the season, I thought I'd provide a quick overview of the Pirate Family's summer highlights so far.  It's been an incredibly action-packed couple of months!  Oh, the things we've seen and done!

We've gone hiking ten minutes away from our house, and communed with fake bronze wildlife!

Child!  Don't taunt the fake mountain lion!

We drove ten more minutes and went to the beach!  Twice!

Jump!  Jump for your life!

We discovered that our underwear fits perfectly... ON OUR HEADS!

I'm totally going to start teaching like this.

That's... well, that's mostly it.  We've done some other stuff too, but I forgot to bring my camera to that stuff.

This is the first year that SaucyWench and I decided not to load the kid's summer with Day Camps.  In the past, we've managed to sign her up for several: Theatre Camp, Art and Crafts Camp, Superhero (hell yea!) Camp.  This time around, though we're scaling way back.  Partially because of the funds, but also because of my guilt.  At some point last summer, I started to feel like all I was doing was ferrying her around to babysitters in the form of teenage "counselors" who'd received a week's training in how to play variations of Duck Duck Goose, as well as how to stop kids from licking each other after lunch.

I mean, she does usually have a good time when she goes to these week-long themed extravaganzas, and it's always good when she can be around more kids, since she's an only child and all.  But let's face it -- even though I have work to do over the summer, I'm a Stay-At-Home Dad until the Fall semester starts.  Shouldn't I be doing fun stuff with her?  Should I be the one to teach her how to paper mâché her eye shut, instead of some part-time counselor?  This is, after all quality Dad-Daughter time, not to be squandered.

And there's also the other important point that Saucy continues to reiterate to me every year, which I always agree with but never seem to really get:  it's good for kids to be bored during the summer.  Boredom stokes the imagination.  Boredom is what will drive a kid to pick up a book, or a crayon during a lazy July afternoon.  Boredom begets all the best backyard games with made-up rules.  I need to remind myself that last Summer, sheer boredom led to this:

This:

And this:

Random Tuesday Thoughts: Student Email Results, Selling Our Stuff, and Non-Thoughts on Turning 40

I’ve been in a bit of a funk, a mood, a malaise, lately.  That’s right.  Malaise.  That’s a word I'm proud to trot out at keggers.

Writing always suffers during Malaises (?), which makes this a perfect time to kick-start a benchmark that the Wondrous Keely aka The Un Mom started:  Random Tuesday Thoughts.  After you peruse, click the button to visit The Un Mom and her motley crew of fellow Randomizers.

1)  You’re Hired.  You Can Have My Office.

I asked, and you gave.  I showed you an email from a student who tried to weasel a better grade out of me two months after the semester had ended, and when I asked what you would do, you people gave with both hands.  I would be completely happy handing my job off to all of you who replied.  You showed that you, like me, are fans of The ToughLove.  You all agreed that the student, Tyler FakeName, was nuts and/or completely high to try and get me to raise his grade from a B to an A, just because his GPA was so low that he was in danger of flunking out (a semester before his anticipated graduation). 

I don’t know what grand conclusion to draw from that student’s attempt.  What non-teachers might not realize is that we get those types of emails a lot.  Several of my teacherly friends and I have talked about the various ways students tried to get better grades after the fact:  The Plea.  The Threat.  The Ass Kiss.  The Flirt Your Way to an A.  They're all becoming increasingly common.  Know what’s becoming less common?  Working hard to earn the grade you want.  I will speak for many teachers and say that an more and more students want (dare I say, expect) their grade to be the result of some sort of transactional bargaining.   It's like they're all used car salesmen who smell like beer and desperation.  Yes, we all do have good, hardworking students too.  But those guys aren't fun to write about.

2)  Fifty Cents, Or Best Offer.

To prep for our move at the end of the month, Saucy and I had a yard sale last weekend, to help clear out the six years' worth of crap that had accumulated in our personal landfill garage.  We quickly discovered that, while we both had goals for the sale, we were at cross-purposes.   

Sentimentality wasn’t the issue.  There was nothing in there that one of us wanted to keep and the other wanted to sell.  (Other than my guitar.  Which I’m keeping.  Because I still might learn how to play it someday.  And then form my own band.  It could still happen.)  No, it wasn’t about what to keep and what to let go.

The day before the sale, we were rummaging around in our garage, getting everything organized.

“Check this out,” I said, holding up a framed black and white print of a some old building.  “This is really nice, and the frame's in great shape.  I say we sell it for fifteen bucks.”

Saucy gave it a look.  Her eyebrow raised.  “I’m selling that for a dollar.”

“What?  No way.  This is nice.  Someone will pay good money for this.”

“One dollar.  Or best offer.”

“Well…” I trailed off and looked around.  “How about this?”  I held up a gigantic snow globe, a gift from Saucy’s parents, depicting the Last Supper.  (Seriously.)  We'd never taken it out of its box.  It’s truly awful.  “Some collector will love this," I said.  And it’s in mint condition.  Thirty bucks.”

“Fifty cents.”

“No!  Fifty cents?  No way!”

“Or best offer.”

“Babe, we need to think like salespeople here.  People who see this on the Home Shopping Network would pay at least twenty bones for this baby.”

Saucy stood up from the stack of wicker baskets she was sorting through.  (We have like 3,573 wicker baskets in various sizes.  I have no idea where they came from or why we have them.  I suspect that a few of the bigger ones have mated in our garage and birthed several litters of the smaller ones.)

"Honey," she said, "Making money is not the issue here.  We need to get.  Rid.  Of.  This.  Shit.  If I have to, I’ll start giving stuff away for free.”

I got surly.  I was convinced that with a little strategic pricing, we could make enough money to pay for Mini-Pirate's first few years of college.   I started to protest, until she said, “You want me to put a price sticker on that guitar?”

I shut up. 

In the end, we both won.  Saucy watched as our garage slowly emptied, and when the day was done, we made $107.  And she was right.  We now have less stuff to pack.

3)  Mini-Pirate’s Lament

The kid hasn’t been handling the whole concept of moving very well.  There have been several rounds of tears, sullenness, passionate soliloquies about how she shall nary find happiness again, in any other house.   Unfortunately, this house has been sold, and we’re moving to our new one in about three weeks.  It’s in the same city, and in fact isn’t very far from this one.  Still.  Big-time drama happening from the Mini-P.  I get it.   It’s going to be hard to move – I’ve already written (here) about how tough it will be for me, even though we’re doing it for several great reasons.

I was worrying about Mini-P’s transition, until I realized the key to making it easier.

Yesterday, we were in the car, talking about the move.

“I don’t want to move,” she said yet again.  “I hate everything about moving.”

I nodded, unsure how to break this endless Cycle of Melodrama. 

And then I remembered something really important:  the kid is 8-years-old.

“Hey,” I said, “guess what.”

“What.”  Said the short grumpy miniature pirate.

“Did I tell you about your bathroom in the new house?”

“No.”

“I didn’t?  I can’t believe I didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”  I could hear her trying not to sound curious.

“That’s so funny that I never mentioned this thing about your bathroom.”

“Tell me!”

“It’s just that your bathroom… has… a… purple bathtub!!!”

“NO WAY!”  She shouted for joy.  “It seriously has a purple bathtub?  That’s AWESOME!”

Yes.  Yes it is awesome.

4)  Turning 40.  SWEET.

I’m turning 40 on Friday.  I may or may not have a lot to say about it this week.  I wasn’t particularly relishing the prospect, but I think I’ve mostly come to terms with it.  Partially because a lot of my friends and loved ones have already hit the 40 mark, and oddly enough, have zero patience for any self-pitying I might attempt.  The phrase “Get Over Yourself” has been lovingly presented to me more than a couple times over the last month.  I’m choosing to get the message, and I think I'm fine with it.  I still want to get a tattoo to mark the occasion, though.  Still trying to decide what I want.

And that’s all the randoming that’s fit to blog today.  Now click on the link below and go bask in more randomness, courtesy of The Un Mom.

"Dear Professor..."

Hey, Didactic Readers!  Let's play a game!

Imagine you're a college English teacher. To put yourself in the mindset, feel free to engage in any character-establishing exercise you choose.  Perhaps start by envisioning the right educational environment.  Imagine yourself in a linoleum and formica box cozy office setting, nestled within an ivy-covered building, a bastion of sophisticated intellectualizing, a sanctuary for enthusiastic, rapier-sharp dialogue that crackles between teacher and student.  What the hell -- go ahead and give yourself a view too, of grassy knolls where students stroll between shady trees, carrying heavy books about Philosophy.  You're there to pick up a few items for the summer, and you've paused to sit, gaze out your window, and contemplate the great great great attitudes of the students you finished teaching just two months ago.

Bing!  You've just received an email.   Go ahead and open it.

Dear Professor,

I know the semester has been over for several weeks now and I hope you are having a wonderful summer with your family! You deserve a nice break from all us students haha!

I wanted to tell you that I enjoyed your class so much this Spring semester and thank you for everything! I saw on my transcript that I received a B and would like to discuss it with you. As you know I was an active member of your class every session for the most part. I was only late and absent during that situation in April that I talked to you about before (I won't bore you by explaining the details again here!) Plus I rewrote every assignment when you told me to and never used my cell phone in class after the first week when you told us how you felt about that.

Plus after that, you should know that if I don't get an A in your class I will be on probation and probably be kicked out of school after an incident that isn't worth describing in this email.

I am very devoted to school because of teachers like you and hope that you can find it in your heart to raise my grade from a B to an A (An A- will not be enough to lift my GPA up to passing.)

Thank you for your prompt response and I know you will do the right thing since I need to graduate in December.

Sincerely,

Tyler FakeName

Now your turn!  You tell me -- what do you say to this student?  Write your response to Tyler FakeName below.   You tell me what you'd say, and then I'll tell you what mine was.   Best response gets a really cool imaginary prize that I made up!  Maybe a unicorn with excellent verbal skills who can grade papers and run errands for you!  Then, we'll discuss what we've learned about the nature of college students today!!!  Fun!!!

America Goes Balls Out

I love America. Big fan. I support patriotism, freedom, democracy, baseball, movies with big-ass special effects, explosions so hot they melt your eyebrows off, beer, football season, iPhones, childhood obesity, Willie Nelson, Hooters waitresses, G.I. Joe, Oprah, Starbuck's, Bugs Bunny, standardized test scores, ESPN, Lohans, and deep-fried twinkies. All good. Go America. F*%k yea. That's right, America has given the world a lot.

But more than all that -- I realize when I drive around our freeways that what America has really given us is this:

And then I look closer and realize that America is also the country that came up with the idea to slap on a pair of these:

And then, I discover that what we Americans really like to do is show off a pair that looks like this:

Now THAT'S America, baby. Apparently.

Happy Fourth of July!