toast:

really - toast

It's at the exact length, and exact shape, to make me look like the kid on the paint can (Dutch Boy).

I love the Dutch Boy cut! CUTE!

Not on me, though. It makes me look kind of moon-faced. The length ends at the exact wrong point.

Photographic evidence is required. I suspect The Boy is craxy.

I'm not sure I can be coerced into posting a picture of me looking like this.

toast

I like the idea of printing the headlines of the morning on someone's breakfast toast.

Ginger, I'm glad to hear that about the robo-voices, cause I thought it was a crip thing.

Okay, so one of my students came in to talk to me. Long story short, he thinks that one of his friends may be clinically depressed, and I tend to agree. I called special student services, who directed me to the counseling center (of course, they didn't have the number handy). I go to the counseling center to get the number and notice that they have a link "Referring Others", so I check it out. USELESS. It has things like:

Most often, the student will feel relieved that there is help available and will agree to make an appointment.

um, no. But, more importantly, it doesn't tell you what to do if the student is not "relieved". USELESS.

Someone talk me out of flying to LA in two weeks for the weekend.

Jet. Lag. And with the flying time, you'd spend about five waking hours out there.

Obviously your call, but... that's my take.

more importantly, it doesn't tell you what to do if the student is not "relieved".

There's only so much you can do for someone who needs help but doesn't want it. And "be a good friend" is too vague to be really good advice.

Adventures in Criminal Masterminds...The Early Years:

Emeline discovered Aims' Not-So-Secret Stash of Hershey's chocolate kisses (cleverly hidden on Aims' bedside table). I let her have one.

Five minutes later she's headed back upstairs. "Where are you going, Punk?" I ask, knowing full well what she intends.

"Oh, I'm just going to see what you have on your TV in your room," she answers. I follow her up.

"Daddy, stay downstairs," she says.

"I want to see what I have on my TV, too," I reply, disingenuous.

Frowning, she proceeds. Once upstairs, she glares at me then stomps over to our TV, determined to carry out the charade. As she turns it on to find "Scrubs" is on ("Daddy, it's one of your shows." "Is it? Who'da thunk?") I grab the chocolate kisses.

"Daddy, what are you doing?"

"Putting these away, Punk." I then go downstairs and place the kisses on a high shelf in the pantry. She stomps after me, brow furrowed in mad plotting.

"Daddy, I can't reach those."

"I know."

She contemplates a moment, then strides purposefully to her room, announcing "I'm going to get my stool."

So naturally I move the kisses to a high shelf in a different cupboard and close the cupboard door. She returns and places her stool in front of the pantry, chatting amiably all the while to distract me.

"Daddy, I think it's a new 'Penguins of Madagascar' on downstairs," she informs me. (She knows I'm a sucker for the show. Kowalski cracks me up.)

"Cool. Oh, hey, Punk, if you direct your attention upward, you will see that the object of your nefarious scheme is no longer where it was."

She looks up and sees the kisses are gone. Her eyes widen, her nostrils flare. "Where are they?!"

"Hidden away." I kneel in front of her. "Point of order, Punk. Informing me of your intentions to steal something is a basic no-no of criminal planning. This is why the Riddler always gets caught."

She scowls at me and says "I wanna be the Joker."

"We all have dreams, Punkin'. We all have dreams."

And Aims, I've done the "overnight to LA" trip for business.

What Emily said. You wouldn't be there long enough to make the time in the air, plus time to and from the airport, worth it.

"We all have dreams, Punkin'. We all have dreams."

Daddy Joe, FTW!!