Dear Mom,

Dear Mom,
Thanks for lugging me around abdominally for 270 days. I can't imagine that being a barrel of laughs.
Love,
Old Lady

Dear Friends,

Dear Friends,
Thank you for coming to my (surprise!) birthday get together. I really was surprised (as Joe articulated), and absolutely appreciate you taking the time from your (crazy!) schedules to come celebrate with me.
I'm really sorry I was late. In my defence, I didn't know I was late for anything. I'm also sorry that I was somewhat out of sorts, causing me to tell an elaborate story twice within ten minutes. In my defence, it was (almost!) my birthday.
Thanks for making my day great,
Ange

P.S. Happy Birthday, Rick!

Dear Professor S,

Dear Professor S,
I can't understand anything you say. Your assigned readings seem inconsequential. Please don't fail me.
Academically Yours,
An English Speaking Student

Dear Petting Farm Visitors,

Dear Petting Farm Visitors,
The following questions will make you sound stupid, no matter what:

1. What's that? (While pointing at the cow)
2. What's that? (While pointing at the sheep)
3. What's that? (While pointing at the rabbits)

Good Luck,
Farm Attendant

Dear United States Postal Service,

Dear United States Postal Service,

Recently, I mailed a rather fat envelope. For good measure, I affixed two stamps to the upper right hand corner to assure its delivery to my desired location. I underestimated the aforementioned fatness, apparently, as said envelope was returned to me today, with a large stamp alerting me "postage due."
This educational trip to the mailbox made me realize two very important things, and they are as follows.

1. The USPS deserves some serious royalties.
2. I'm never buying a stamp again!!

Your policy of returning parcels with insufficient postage, while considerate, is asking for trouble. From now on, I'm going to send my letters, sans postage, with the desired address both front and center on the envelope AND in the return address corner.

SUCKERS!
Signed,
The Mail Maniac

Dear Angela,

Dear eight year old Angela,
You are not going to marry your dad. It wouldn't have worked out anyway, as he already has your mom. I'm sorry.
Love, Angela

Dear twelve year old Angela,
You are not going to marry Yale Hamrick. It wouldn't have worked out anyway, as he never really knew who you were, and you never had a class together after eighth grade. I'm sorry.
Love, Angela

Dear fifteen year old Angela,
You are not going to marry Jonny Lang. It wouldn't have worked out anyway, as he is a world famous guitar player, and quite beyond your reach. I'm sorry.
Love, Angela

Dear seventeen year old Angela,
You are going to marry Joe Vann. Don't do anything stupid like break up with him out of teenage frustration or argue about things that don't matter. Tread carefully and take care of him. CONGRATULATIONS!
Love, Angela

Dear Americans,

Dear Americans,
Contrary to popular belief, today is not about iconographic symbols like our flag or George Washington. Today is about bucking the system, and rallying together to kick ass and get what we want. Perhaps this is selfish, but I digress.

I challenge you today: instead of pledging allegiance to our flag, pledge allegiance to the idea of raising your voice, organizing to fight for what is right, and leaving a just legacy to our children.

Help your neighbor with their chores, and when you are finished, write a letter to your congressman. Tell them you want everyone who lives under the stars and stripes to be able to receive medical attention.

Go to your bar-b-q. Recycle your beer bottles.

Turn down Lee Greenwood and crank up Rage Against the Machine.

Love,
A Patriot

Ms.Voorhies,

Ms.Voorhies,
You may not remember me. I was in your 11th grade Algebra 2 class in 2000. I wanted to let you know that I finally figured out all of those weird concepts you kept trying to tell us about combining like terms and distributing. While comtemplating mathmatics, I devised this equation that makes relaxation possible. Feel free to submit it to a math journal and make millions, I don't with to pursue publication.


guinness+pub-work = 4(friends+music)
_________________________
thursday

on "spunk"

Someone named Don said that I'm worth shooting. I have no idea who he is or even if I care what he thinks, but somehow, this makes me very, very happy.

Dear Robert McEvily,

Dear Robert McEvily,
Thanks so much for accepting my submission. I look forward to joining the Six Sentences crew on 5/14/07!
Sincerely,
Newbie

Dear Lindsay B,

Dear Lindsay B,
Today you are 25. Twenty-five years ago today you made your way onto the scene, a little too early and a little too small. (Don't worry about arriving too early, by the way, forget about it. You have more than made up for it by being late to almost everything else between then and now.) Though I was not present, I know that your arrival was marked with joy and fanfare, as we first born are blessed with both.
Lindsay, it would be neat if we had an anniversary. If we did, we could celebrate our friendship with margaritas and an X-files marathon, all while play hand slap games on the porch. I would tell you that there was no Santa Clause, and you would explain sex to me. After, we would ride our bikes around the block to the lighthouse and then climb it. The last one to the top of the lighthouse would have to to forfeit shuffling privileges for the next ten games of speed, while the winner would get the big couch to sleep on that night.
Because 6 year olds are not overly handy about jotting down dates, however, we do not have an anniversary. With this in mind, please allow me to extend my tribute to our friendship on the anniversary of yourself.
Here's to you, Lindsay. I love you.
Your friend (for life!),
Rocker Barbie

P.S. Do you remember a couple years ago when we went Christmas shopping together? That was, seriously, the best time I have ever had shopping. Hands down. End of story. The best.

Dear Jason Jackson,

Dear Jason Jackson,
I think about you on Valentine's Day. Not all day, and I don't get emotional or anything, just a little bothered. A little bothered at myself, feeling a slight twinge of regret in my stomach, thinking about how I was mean. In addition to Valentine's day this year, I thought of you today as well, as I pulled a card out of a shoebox under my bed.

Not many girls can say they were sent rather expensive looking flowers via FTD in 8th grade. I can, though! I was surprised and thankful. If I were the only one who knew I had received them, and I had lived in a fairly reasonable household or had friends who accepted you, I would have probably walked over to your house as soon as they came and said thanks, or at least waved at the bus stop the next day. But those were not the circumstances. Instead of thinking the gesture was cute and juvenile, my parents wanted to know if I knew you had sent them, WHAT I HAD DONE to make you think you should send them, and reminded me about twenty times that I was not old enough to date and that I should not expect my telephone habits to change, just because I had an "admirer." My friend thought of you as nothing more than a (I’m sorry) fat troublemaker. My opinion of you was shaped by this.

Today I was looking for a photograph, but all was forgotten as I opened the card, dated exactly one year after the flowers were sent. Both the handwriting and spelling were atrocious, but the words made me smile. "I know they say third times a charm. So this will be the last time I ask. Will you go out with me. Tell me if you said yes tomorrow at the bus stop. If you say nothing, I will understand."

I'm not trying to make excuses for how I reacted, which was horrible. Originally, I told everyone about the flowers, because I thought it was sweet. The general reaction, however, was to laugh at your desperate attempt, because it seemed quite obvious to everyone else that I would never want to have anything to do with you. When these things were said, I was immediately sorry I had shared our secret, but felt I had little choice but to laugh along with everyone else. I never spoke with you, despite the fact that we walked a whole block down the same sidewalk at the same time each day. I ignored you, afraid that if someone saw us talking and remembered your gift, they would assume that I liked you. This liking, as I recall would have been a great offence, punishable by being ostracized.

The card that followed the following year, left in the handle of my screen door, was opened and then filed quietly into the shoebox it remains in.

Jason, please know that if those flowers came today, I would call you on the telephone and tell you how lovely they are. I would thank you for thinking of me, and ask you how you are. I would send you a thank-you note in the mail, with a smiley face sticker affixed to the envelope. I would appreciate them, and treat their giver with respect.

If you remember me at all, you probably associate me with rejection and rudeness. I am sorry for this, as I remember you as someone thoughtful and non-abrasive. After all, "if I said nothing, you would understand."

I am sorry,
Your old neighbor

Dear Kurt Vonnegut,

Dear Kurt Vonnegut,
Last night while in bed, someone who loves me sent me a text message to let me know you had passed away. I read it, rolled over to burry my face in pillow, and willed myself not to cry. It was hard, but I succeeded. Putting my energy into a more fruitful activity, I began to think instead. I thought about how you had influenced me to write, question, and learn. I thought about copies of your paperbacks on my self and how I had acquired them, of the best “Vonnegut conversation” I had ever participated in, about the (timely) Rolling Stone article that someone had just written about you, about your dead wives, your long life, your insistence upon realism (the state of mind, not the movement), and WWII. I thought about the American education system, high school English curriculum, 70’s college students, photos of you at your desk, how a generation can idolize someone while their progeny underrates them, and about how I should have probably chosen Slaughter house Five to construct my instructional unit on, instead of Catcher in the Rye.


Finally, I wondered if George W. Bush had killed you. Not in the actual sense, though I would not put it past him to justify murdering someone, but in the sense that, perhaps, you could not exist in a world that he controlled for one second longer. That if, perhaps, had he only seen one term, you would have been with us until you were 105. I couldn’t help but think that maybe your well-articulated idealism (based in a lifetime of very real experiences) could no longer function in the society in which you lived, and so your body had no choice but to shut down. This saddens me deeply.


Mr. Vonnegut, you will be missed, remembered, and read. Less frequently, but more importantly, you will be understood, and those you have inspired will put your ideas into action. It is this legacy that I thank you for.


Your Friend,
A Woman Without A Country

Dear Cardinal Edward Egan and Members of the Catholic League,

Dear Cardinal Edward Egan and Members of the Catholic League,
Please consider the following:
1)Individuals who were crucified under Roman order were not given the dignity of clothing.
2)Less than a year ago, you condemned Muslims who made death threats regarding an unfavorable depiction of their prophet.
3)God made chocolate, just like he made stone.
4)I can see why you would be outraged, because it is totally weird and against Christian tradition to eat or drink anything that represents Jesus.

Given that the the preceding details and your current stance do not exactly line up, one can not help but to ask themselves....would this be a controversy if the artist had used, say, white chocolate?

I'm just sayin',
Easter candy fan

Article Referenced:
http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/ap/nation/4675471.html

to boldly go where no teacher has gone before...

"If you split your infinitives, I will split your heads."
-My good friend Serge, on classroom management

the arbitrary entry from university land

So, I sort of went back and forth about this. Should I save each of the letters I want to write as drafts and tackle them when I'm not reading, writing, studying, working or teaching? Or, should I just communicate them in an unoriginal haphazard list that does not give you the benefit of understanding my reasoning?
The list won. I will address them in descending length order.
So:

1. There is something decisively perverted about purity balls.
-A. When I was 14, talking to my Dad about sex was right up there with stabbing myself in the chest. When I was 17, we had moved beyond that, and our shared thoughts about sex were composed of an understanding that if Joe was ever in my room someone would die. Now that we are both adults, we are far too mature for such things, and communicate about sex the way any father and daughter should: change the subject when it comes up and fumble for the remote when something gets too steamy on TV.
-B. With the aforementioned in mind, I find it screwed up to have an 11 year old devote a whole night to NOT having sex. And, if it is the case that they are shielding the daughter from what the symbolism means and it is more for the father, he could just take her bowling or something. I find the whole thing to be an event where a father gets together with a bunch of guys from church to show off that he owns his daughter's body (for now.) Don't even get me started on the T-Shirts. *


2. There is an appliance at my house that is totally underrated. It's called a WaterPick, and the one we have is way older than I am. I will overlook the fact that it is yellow and at one time was probably white. I will take solace in the fact that it was been thoroughly cleaned a million times, and, in my mind, is as good as the day it was new. If you have never experienced the wonderful goodness of warm water and mouthwash shooting at your teeth at 10 miles per hour, you have no idea what you are missing. If you have the means, I highly recommendpicking one up. The proper name for it is a Personal Oral Irrigator, which I'm glad is not printed on mine anywhere, or I would have never used it.


3. There is one thing Canadians do way better than us. They say "washroom" instead of "bathroom."


4. Ever wonder what was happening at the teachers lounge while you were at lunch? Now I know. It was the same thing you were doing at lunch: talking trash about your classmates. And yes, they use the same language. This is not a judgement call. Just a fact.


5. It makes no sense whatsoever to suspend a student for skipping. Try to add that one up.
-A. If you agree with me on this, do not voice this opinion at the aforementioned teacher's lounge. You will be shut down.

Spring, come quickly

At the risk of sounding too American, or too male, for that matter, I would like to share with you the two things that make Michigan winters worth living through:

Bell's Oberon

and

Tiger's Baseball


Belle's will resume brewing Oberon on the first of April, while Opening Day is the second. Come quickly, April, spare me the rest of evil March!



An excerpt from a conversation with my cousin, about the Zumaya situation:
hippieange83: right. but if you had a million dollar contract, and the WORLD SERIES rested on your wrist, you would probably give it a rest, right?
MaGicMan23: yes
MaGicMan23: or just use some bengay and not be a baby
MaGicMan23: i mean i can play guitar hero for hours and then still through a balled up hot pocket napkin into the trash can from across the room at like 5 miles an hour

Dear Professor Shelly,

Dear Professor Shelly,
The paper that you will receive from me tonight will be pure and utter crap. I can tell you this much already because it is due at 6pm and it is now 3:25. You are correct in your probable assumption that it is not yet started.
This illustrates not only laziness and exhaustion, but also complete stupidity on my part. You see, I need to pull my Social Studies GPA up 3 three tenths of a point this semester in order for me to student teach in September, and generally get my life out of the crapper. This will not happen unless I receive an A in your class. Even now, as I type this, the time ticks away, and I am no closer to beginning the paper than the moment before. I keep telling myself that I can complete four pages in a little over two hours, so there is no need to worry. If this were the case, why didn't I take two hours last night to complete them? At the time, sleep seemed much more important.
You may wonder what possesses me to make such stupid decisions, and how else I spent my time. I can tell you that I have no reasons or reward to show for my disgraceful procrastination.
In all of your years of teaching, I'm sure this paper will be the jewel in the Crap Crown of Academics.
Congratulations on being the recipient.
Later,
Sorry Student

Dear Chris Sligh,

Dear Chris Sligh,
If I decide to use my anytime minutes to cast useless votes for a time wasting television program, they will be for you.
You are welcome,
Couch Potato

Things to Do...

If you are me, you should do this stuff soon:
1)Take 75 million blankets on your floor to the laundrymat
2)Get Geary to sign elegibility form
3)Contact Sanjian about 339 grade? Repeat?
4)Make appt, ask Carolyn if I can wait till end of semester to calculate G.P.A.
5)if not, cry
6)write "expericence" paper for Spitzberg, TONIGHT!!!
7)make a point to never sit next to poopy smelling guy in computer lab ever again
8)make sure poopy guy is gone before typing about him
9)Iron for practicum Wed.
10)call Mr.P about day off for Flogging Molly
11)look recipies: what goes with cajun salmon that is not mashed potatoes or green bean cassarole?
12)Do READING JOURNALS! DUE NEXT THURSDAY!
13)Begin Units. I mean, seriously start them. No. Or you are going to want to kill yourself in about three weeks.
14) catch up on your stupid bills, your fiscally irresponsable waste of space!