Dear Toy Guns

Dear Toy Guns,

I felt that, in honour of this holy day, I would celebrate something very special, indeed. Something that has brought joy to me as a child - AND as an adult. Something that mass consumerism has made an important part of the Christmas holiday for so many good little boys - you, Toy Guns.

Now, I wish I was the type of good, moral citizen that would be writing this letter as a condemnation of you. Being a middle school teacher who works with kids who are attracted to the real versions of you, I should be wholly against the existence of you. I really am not for violence of any sort. I am not inclined to ever go hunting. I don't think that people really DESERVE the right to bear arms. I don't think owning a real gun "for protection" is necessarily a good thing. I don't think that even police use their own weapons for good all the time. And yet. And YET . . .

I kind of love you, Toy Guns. I really enjoy the feeling of holding you in my hands, taking careful aim, and then launching some sort of projectile at high speeds at the intended target. What brought this on, you may ask? Why did I suddenly decide that I needed to write you a letter? Allow me to recount the tale.

Yesterday, my brother and I were a little antsy, as we normally are when home for the holidays. We decided that we needed something to DO, as there were no college football Bowl games happening anytime in the next two days (which is a crime - but that is for another day). So we decided that the best use of our time would be to purchase a 3-D puzzle to complete at our leisure, and we headed to a local game and toy store to do just that.

And we walked out the door with a lovely 3-D puzzle of a German castle. And three you. Three sets of Nerf dart guns, complete with protective sunglasses and velcro vests and targets that were to be strapped onto the bodies of the targets. We had walked by the you section of the toy store, and we couldn't be stopped. Flashes of our childhoods pulsed through our brains - images of the two of us and my best friend Gannon yelling while charging forth and shooting each other with you in our basement. We remembered the games we had invented for the most enjoyable use of you, such as "Young Guns" and "Hostage Situation." And we needed to relive that joy (hence the third set for Gannon's use).

So we bought a bunch of you. And I called Gannon and let him know that his afternoon was now booked. And three hours later - after some frustrating-but-productive 3-D castle building - three grown children were yelling and laughing as we shot each other with dart guns in my parent's basement. It really was like nothing had changed in the preceding 15 years. We reverted directly back to those times, coming up with the best game and "situation" to play out in order to maximize our fun. I found myself, at one point, holding two you in my hands, back to a wall, getting ready to make a rush at my brother, and it was exhilarating. It was wonderful. And it most certainly could never have happened without you, Toy Guns.

And I know it was so faux-violent in nature. The whole game consisted of pretending to kill each other. It was childish, totally immature, and somewhat immoral. And SO MUCH FUN. I mean - honestly - I'm not entirely sure why I ever stopped playing these types of games with my friends. Nobody can possibly "grow out" of that kind of enjoyment - we just pretend to. Except me. And my brother. And Gannon. We will not pretend that you aren't for us. We will not pretend that you aren't some of the most fun things in the world. Because we aren't liars, like everybody else.

And as for the violence thing - I'm not buying that, either. Sure, it would be nice and sweet if all anybody wanted to play was games of sharing and helping others, but it just doesn't work like that. Boys are going to play fight and long for the feel of a gun (toy or otherwise) in their hands. That's just how it is. And that doesn't mean we're going to grow up to be terrible people. Now, that may be debatable in regards to myself, but I can certainly say that I am not a violent person. I still don't want to own or use a real gun. And that's that. People need to just relax on that whole thing.

Video games, however. Video games are bad. Yeah, right. It's all about the environment, without a doubt. If a kid is in an environment where real guns are readily accessible and (sometimes) necessary, then they are going to want to use them to some extent. If not, they will be perfectly content to play with you and leave the real ones for others. And that's that.

And so I thank you, Toy Guns, for bringing me and so many other young children joy (notice I said "children" and not "boys" - because I think young and old ladies would enjoy you just as much as anyone else if society would allow them to). And thank you for filling my yesterday afternoon with laughter and (limited) exercise. While so many others will damn you out of jealousy - I never will.

Wearing Protective Glasses for a Reason,
CVT

Fruit Tree Project (fixed link)

For my friend's birthday, I produced this newest hit single.  Make sure to listen to it on a system with good bass, because otherwise you'll lose half of it.

Go here to download (this is the real, working link, if it didn't work for you before): http://download.yousendit.com/7113134D1EFEA121


For more information on what the hell I'm talking about in the song:

http://www.growing-gardens.org/portland-gardening-resources/fruit-tree-project.php

Enjoy.

CVT

Dear Other Blogs

Dear Other Blogs,

Before I start this, I will just say it: yup, TWO letters in one f-ing day!!! Ridiculous. I wasn't going to do it, but I was so blown away by the information I am going to share in this particular letter that I couldn't resist. So just sit back and prepare to be doubly-entertained.

So, after writing my letter to "Eating for the Sake of Eating," I randomly clicked on my 'View complete profile" link on my main blog page. On my profile, I have written pretty much nothing except that my favourite movie is "Big Trouble in Little China." Okay - nothing special there. But why is the name of that wonderful movie highlighted in blue as if it is a link of its own? Hmm. Don't know. There's only one way to find out, right? I clicked on that link, and my world - and mind - were completely blown apart. Why? Because that link gave me a glimpse into the world that is the one of you, Other Blogs.

So how did that happen? Well, it turns out that the link I clicked on showed me every other profile on this particular blog website (blogspot.com) that had "Big Trouble in Little China" as a favourite movie. Hmm. Well, it's a pretty obscure, cult-ish movie, so I figured that the list might be kind of interesting - because what other kind of weirdos would be claiming it as a favourite movie? I started looking through the list, and when I got to the point of going to the next page to see the rest of the profiles with that specific listing, I noticed something: there were 1,700 you listed with profiles that fell into that category. I'll write that out - SEVENTEEN HUNDRED you!!!!

I clicked on a few of those you and read some of them. And they are all pretty much the same. And then I realized something else - mine isn't all that different, either. Suddenly, I have been confronted with the sobering fact that I'm just one of SEVENTEEN HUNDRED bloggers in the world that writes the same old sh-- while also claiming that "Big Trouble in Little China" is my favourite movie (or one of). How pathetic is that? Not only am I completely unoriginal in the fact that I have a blog or in how I write it, but I am not even original enough to write an unoriginal blog while claiming a favourite movie that SEVENTEEN HUNDRED you don't also have!!! So then I mentally crunch some likely numbers, and that suggests that there are probably well over a HUNDRED THOUSAND you out there that are nearly identical to mine that just don't happen to have profiles claiming "Big Trouble in Little China" as a favourite movie. It's so horribly depressing, I can't stand it.

And it only gets worse. Because now I know I am horribly unoriginal and pathetic. Alright - it happens. I knew there were a lot of you out there when I started. I didn't start writing this thing for anybody else. It was supposed to be practice just writing on a regular basis. And that's cool and all. But then I saw how many people commented on these you, Other Blogs. And there are SO F-ING MANY!!!!

So let's reiterate how pathetic I am:
1) I am like hundreds of thousands of crappy bloggers, with very little in the way of an original idea or writing style.
2) I am SO much like SEVENTEEN HUNDRED other crappy bloggers that I even have the same obscure movie listed as a favourite.
3) And they all have a billion more readers and posters than I do.

Not only am I unoriginal and pathetic like thousands of others, but I am so pathetic that only about five people who really know me well even read my sh--; while tons of people take the time to read those pathetic you. I think I'm going to throw up.

And that's all I really have to say about that. Thank you, Other Blogs, for showing me how very insignificant I really am. Thank you.

Doubled-Over in Pain,
CVT

Dear Eating for the Sake of Eating

Dear Eating for the Sake of Eating,

Today, after school, I wasn't hungry. Not at all. It had been a long day (we're just clawing our way to Winter Break as the kids get steadily edgier), and I was tired. But I wasn't hungry. I had had two huge bowls of macaroni and cheese (homemade, of course) with a slice of ham at lunch, so I was actually pretty full. Pretty unusual for me. But still - I wasn't hungry. And yet, when Fred asked me if I wanted to go get some King Burrito after the kids went home, I said "sure." Why? Why did I do that? Because I partake in you, Eating for the Sake of Eating.

Now don't get me wrong - I am often hungry. I have a pretty big appetite, and I will put down large portions of food with little hesitation. No problem. But quite often I find myself simply you. Not because I am hungry, but because I just enjoy eating food. And - overall - I don't think that's the worse thing in the world.

And I know that that kind of behaviour can lead to obesity. Actually, by strict definition (due to my weight-to-height ratio), I AM very nearly obese. There are a lot of responses I have for that fact, but there's no need to go there right now, because that is not the purpose of this particular letter. What I wanted to say is - in spite of the possible health risks of you - I get great pleasure from you, and I think I always will.

Let's take this afternoon, for example. There are some people out there who may think that eating a ridiculously large and greasy burrito on a nearly-full stomach would be an unpleasant experience. And I pity those fools. Because, for me, that was actually quite an enjoyable experience. Because I really LOVE food. That should be no surprise to my Loyal Reader, but it is true. I don't need to be hungry to savour every delicious bite of a carnitas burrito with sour cream and extra avocado. No - I enjoyed the wonderful break from all other sensations that it brought me. For the 10 minutes that it took for me to eat it (I will forever "work on" eating slower, but it will never happen), I was in a blissful state of mind. And that is true whenever I am in the process of eating. No matter what else is going on in my life or the world, I will always be happy for that period of time in which I am physically in the act of eating. Which is, of course, why I like you so much.

And social eating (as an excuse to just get out of school for a little minute and decompress) is not the only time in which this is a beneficial trait - although it often is. I also get a nice little boost from you when I'm bored. When nothing is going on, and I just can't find anything to get excited about, a snack or a next meal is a perfect filler. Other times in which I engage in socially you is when I am around a group of people that I'm not comfortable with, and I need something to concentrate on to get past my anti-social awkwardness. That's when I just go find the food table and munch on things, so at least - for a little bit - I am relaxed, enjoying myself, and have something to do other than stare at the floor or try to read labels off of containers in my immediate vicinity. It works most times, I'd say.

And, of course, there are meetings and trainings. I don't need to go in-depth into the hell that those represent, but if it weren't for you, Eating for the Sake of Eating, I would NEVER survive those. When I find myself on the verge of shaking somebody by the neck while screaming "SHUT UP!!! SHUT THE F--- UP!!!!!!" I instead turn to my plate of -anything- and munch, munch, munch. A few minutes later, I am still bored, but my violent urges have subsided, and I am relaxed again.

And there are likely a number of other occasions in which you saves my ass that I did not mention in this letter. But I think you catch my drift - you are a wonderful thing in my life, and I will never let you go. And so I wrote you this letter to not only show my appreciation, but to directly thank you for all the help you've provided me over the course of my young life. Thank you, Eating for the Sake of Eating, for the thousands of hours of pleasure you have brought me - 10-15 minutes at a time.

Thinking About Having a Cookie,
CVT

Dear Beef Stew

Dear Beef Stew,

Right now, as I type this, my mouth is watering. My stomach is rumbling. I've got that "gulpy" feeling in the back of my throat that indicates hunger. Yeah - I'm hungry. And THEN SOME. And it's that special kind of hunger that only comes from simultaneously being hungry and smelling delicious food cooking in the background. What's cooking in the background? Well you, of course, Beef Stew. You.

Tonight we're having our Middle School staff holiday party at my boss's house. Nothing particularly fancy (we're doing a "White Elephant" - a topic for another day), and everybody is supposed to bring some sort of offering. That's right - pot-luck. Pot f-ing LUCK.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before on this hallowed bloground, but I'm not so down with the pot-luck. Or - at least - I'm not down with MOST pot-lucks. Because, most of the time, pot-luck means a bunch of crap in small amounts. There's usually the rice dish that's okay, but nothing to write home about. Then there's some mysterious creamy, mash-y stuff that may be some sort of bean, but could also be porridge. Then - always - there's a salad of mixed greens (the weed-y, especially bitter stuff), and the only dressing to be had is some sort of "favourite" vinaigrette that runs out by the third guest. Spell that with a casserole-type dish that is always horribly disappointing (and cold upon serving), some chips, artichoke dip, and cheap beer and wine, and you have a pot-luck. Here in Portland, there's generally some sort of bland veggie-and-tofu-dish, as well, because nobody eats any f-ing meat. In layman's terms: eat BEFORE arriving. And probably arrive late, so it's not even necessary to bring anything.

That's what a USUAL pot-luck is, at least. However, the CVT refuses to take part in any USUAL pot-luck. Because USUAL pot-lucks suck so bad and offend him on so many different levels. No - if the CVT goes to a pot-luck, he is going to do everything in his power to make it very UNUSUAL (in the best of ways). And that's where you come in, Beef Stew.

I was going to do another Goose. I was. I was going to roast a succulent, juice-tastic, make-me-close-my-eyes-after-every-sumptuous-bite Goose. But then I found out that it wasn't going to be just current middle school staff at the party. On top of all the staff members and their various partners, any staff-from-the-past were invited (with significant others, of course), so suddenly this small, Goose-sized affair turned into more of a double-goose party. And I can't really afford to be double-goosing it.

There were some, of course, who told me to go ahead with the Goose and just have it be a side-dish. An appetizer to go along with all the other food. They told me it didn't have to be a main-course. We didn't have to have large amounts of it. But you know what I said, Beef Stew? I told them to go ____ themselves.

Okay - so I didn't do it in words, but I did it in action. I'm not going to serve my Goose as an f-ing APPETIZER. I'm not going to cast an UNUSUAL light on this pot-luck with side-dish portions. No f-ing way. CVT don't play that. No. I wouldn't stand for that. I'm not going to spend my time cooking something that people will only NIBBLE at. So I made a decision. To cook up a huge pot of you.

Yes, you was the answer. But not the kind of you that most people make. No water-based mixture of tomatoes, carrots, and potatoes. No Irish you. F--- that. No German you. No - I was going to do this right, and so I found a FRENCH you to make. One that involved Shiitake mushrooms and liberal amounts of red wine. A little bit of squash. Yeah - there are still potatoes and carrots (you can't thicken up a you properly without those), but this is going to be GOOD. This is going to be FINE. This is going to be UNUSUAL (in the best of ways).

And I can smell my you as you simmer on the stove right now. You smell delicious and savoury, and I can't wait. The best part is that I still have SIX hours until this little party, and you are only going to get better as you ripen in the meantime. You ain't no peasant dish, I can tell you that.

And so I will bide my time. I will look at you and breathe you in, all the while getting hungrier and hungrier and more desperate to enjoy you. I will eat some cereal. I may make a sandwich. Little things to keep me from passing out, but not enough to make the hunger go away, because I want to truly APPRECIATE you when I finally get to fill my bowl and partake in your deliciousness. You smell so good right now, I'm tempted to just go to the store and get some mixed greens, so I can have you all to myself.

But there is plenty to go around. That's the beauty of you, as opposed to something of more limited size. Everybody will get to warm and fill their bellies this evening with you. And everybody will weep tears of joy as they thank God for giving them the opportunity to have attended such an UNUSUAL pot-luck as this - one in which you, Beef Stew, are the guest of honour.

And so I thank you in advance. I thank you for bringing joy to my day, and for the future joy you will be bringing to a select group of middle school workers and their loved ones tonight. Thank you.

Slightly Drooling,
CVT

Dear Scraping

Dear Scraping,

I finished something today. It took me a while, but I actually finished it. And if it wasn't for you, Scraping, I don't know if that would have been possible. At least not to my satisfaction. So what did I finish? Allow me to explain.

For the last month or so, I have been painting a cereal bowl. Or GLAZING a cereal bowl. Or painting a cereal bowl with glaze. I'm not exactly sure how I'm supposed to describe that. But that's what I was doing. As part of my hang-out routine with the Good Sis, I have had the pleasure of going to a little shop that specializes in ceramic-glazing. What that means is that I went in, chose a pre-thrown ceramic bowl, and then paid a small fee to get to paint/glaze the bowl to take it home. Quite a wonderful activity. And - for me - it proved quite cost-effective, as well.

And that's because I took my sweet-ass time. It turns out that there is no time-limit on the glazing/painting of the ceramics at this shop. And that meant that I could take my time and spend many hours painting/glazing my bowl without having to pay an extra dime. Talk about getting my money's worth. With that in mind, I chose to get more and more intricate with my detail at every visit. And since each colour needs three coats to come out right, that meant I was more and more intricate times three.

But it didn't stop there. Because Ms. Sis made a mistake on our second visit: she showed me where they kept dental tooth-scrapers for fine-detail work. And that's where you come into the story, Scraping. Had I been unaware of the possibility of doing intricate you on my bowl, I probably would have just called my job done on that visit, having finished my three coats of each colour. But the presence of the tooth-scraper brought out a whole new world of possibilities.

For, with that scraper, I was able to start you away every little bit of stray glaze on my bowl. Any line that had been slightly wavy or lumpy turned into a smooth, graceful curl under the steady barrage of my you. Pretty wonderful for a self-critical artist such as myself. I was able to clean up any mistakes that I could see. That was the good part. But - sadly - you isn't all roses, as the Sis would attest.

Because it turns out that the sound of you ceramics is not a pleasant one. Imagine the sound of a dental teeth-cleaning and all the associated feelings with that. Then throw in the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard. Then alternate that sound with regular sharp exhalations as I blew the freshly-scraped glaze off of my bowl. Repeat. FOR AN HOUR. Get it? This letter is as much a thank-you to you, Scraping, as a testament to the extreme self-control of the Sis. Because, had I been sitting next to me that whole hour, listening to those f-ing you sounds, I probably would have smashed my head in with a ceramic mug. Or at least screamed and cursed. She did, neither, and I was impressed.

But I was also impressed by you, Scraping. I was impressed by your addictive qualities. In spite of the horrible sounds you created - the grating, painful, spine-numbing chills you sent through me - I couldn't stop. I kept seeing just one more little spot that needed some you, and then I would pick the tooth-scraper back up and get to work. And then I'd put it down only to decide that there was some other spot that needed you. Had the shop not been closing up, I probably would have kept going for many more hours.

But even though I did stop and tell the helper-lady that I was finished and she could finally fire my bowl, you satisfied my anal artistic tendencies, Scraping. You allowed me to get to that ridiculous level of "fixing-up" that I always desire and subsequently keeps me from ever declaring any artistic thing I do as "finished." And that's a pretty big deal. Perhaps, after I get my bowl back, I will decide that I wasn't truly finished. But if that doesn't happen, I only have you to thank, Scraping.

So thank you for your help. And for all the ideas you inspired in me of ways to torture annoying people (or kids) by just carrying around a ceramic tile and a dental tooth-scraper. ESPECIALLY for that.

Scritch-Scritch-Scritch,
CVT

Dear Snow Fake-Out

Dear Snow Fake-Out,

It snowed today. That's right. Today, in Portland, Oregon - it snowed. I was out there this morning, playing some good old recreational flag football, and it was snowing the whole time. Kind of cool, really. Except for one thing: it was really just a you. Yup - a Snow Fake-Out.

Now there are likely those out there that don't really know what I mean, when I refer to a you, Snow Fake-Out. You, of course, know what you are. I think. But not others. And so I shall explain, if I may. A you is when it snows, but nothing really comes of it. Flakes fall, it seems pretty cold, and there is the hope that it is even cold enough for those very flakes to stick. And that hope builds. It builds into the hope that those flakes stick, and then more flakes stick onto those flakes that have already stuck. And that more flakes will stick to the flakes that have already stuck onto the flakes that have already stuck (to the ground). Etcetera. And this is where the fake-out comes in. The fake-out in a you is when none of these flake-sticking wishes come to fruition. Instead, it snows - even for an extended length of time - but no sticking occurs. THAT'S a you, Snow Fake-Out.

So who cares, right? So the freaking snow didn't stick - big deal. Exactly. Big Deal. It IS a Big Deal, and I shall now explain why.

It is a Big Deal because some people actually WANT the snow to stick - and stick BIG. Because some people really enjoy the snow. Some people enjoy the beauty of a fresh, new-fallen snow. Some people like to see a soft, yet glittering, carpet of downy whiteness blanketing the world in which they live. That beautiful, pristine whiteness makes an ordinary, run-of-the-mill BLA environment fresh and new. It gives renewed spirit to a man when the doldrums of Winter have set in, and he needs just a little bit of beauty and newness to bring him back to life. Snow that sticks is that Big.

Oh - and it can cancel school. And when school gets cancelled, this particular Middle School teacher gets an extra day off of work. And this particular Middle School teacher enjoys an extra day off work, especially at this point in the school year. Now don't get me wrong - I love my job. I really do. I enjoy the children that I work with - those sweet little raggamuffins. But I also enjoy being AWAY from those same sweet raggamuffins at times. And tomorrow would most definitely have been one of those times.

However, you, Snow Fake-Out, kept me from that dream. The you put hopes and dreams into my fantasy-prone mind, and then snatched them away just as quickly. Instead of sleeping in an extra couple hours tomorrow to a Winter Wonderland, I will get up in the early-morning darkness, sore and limping from two hours playing football with cold muscles. That's what today's you brought me.

But is it really your fault, Snow Fake-Out? Can I blame you for just being you? It's not like you lied to me or anything. I could see with my very own eyes, as the snow was falling, that none of those flakes were going to stick. I knew - in my heart of hearts - that even THINKING about a snow-day was bound to end in tears. But I fed those thoughts, nonetheless, and here I am acting like the you is responsible for those thoughts. And so I must say right now that it is not your fault.

And, to be honest, I enjoyed even that little taste of the dream that you brought me this morning. I enjoyed playing football with snow falling (but not enough to get my feet all wet). And that would not have been possible without a you. And the you today will only make it that much sweeter when (or if, I suppose) a true Snow Day comes my day in the future. If that happens, I will think back to today, and that disappointment I felt, and then reverse it to celebrate my day off. And I can only thank you for that, Snow Fake-Out.

And that's that.

Setting My Alarm,
CVT

Dear Sunny But Cold

Dear Sunny But Cold,

It's actually pretty sunny today. But it's cold. It's you.

And that brings up quite the dilemma. Because when it's sunny, I want to go outside and enjoy it. I want to walk around aimlessly - or just sit somewhere aimlessly - and feel the sunlight bathe my sun-deprived face. I want to let real sunlight wash over me directly, without any windows or walls between us. But it's a lot harder to do that when it's you.

When it's you, the internal battle kicks in: how bundled up am I willing to get to try to enjoy the sunlight? And if I get super-bundled up, so that I can tolerate the cold for any real length of time, does that defeat the purpose (since all the layers will prevent the sunlight from getting to my skin)? I don't know. I just don't. And so I find myself spending the majority of the day indoors, trying to decide if it's worth heading out to get some sunlight-enjoyment going. And then - guess what? I'll end up finally deciding to head out in the afternoon - when the sun is already on its way down, and the day is turning from you to just dark and cold. And dark and cold is pointless.

All this brings up a good opportunity for a Light Therapy Lamp update, of course. How bad do I really need the sun on this particular you day in Winter? Well - to be honest - not a whole lot. I feel a little bit lazy and worthless for not having gone out to enjoy it yet, but I don't feel a particularly strong urge to "make the most of it," or anything like that. I'm not depressed. I'm not anxious or feeling like I need to hide from the world. I just don't care for being cold. And so I'd continue to say that my good old Light Therapy Lamp is working. I've been dragging a LITTLE bit more this last week or two, but it's nothing compared to how I used to drag during the Winter, and I can't imagine my light can make me feel summer-happy through the whole Winter. So it's looking good.

Anyway - back on topic. Although, I don't know if there's much more to be said about this particularly dry topic. The only reason I really went with you as a topic was because I felt like I should finally write another letter today, and I didn't feel like waiting for something more inspiring to come up. I was going to write a few times this past week, but I wanted to wait until anybody commented on my last letter, but nobody did. And that made me just decide to wait. But these letters are not about receiving comments, and so I write again today, in spite of the lack of acknowledgment. "Acknowledgment" is a strange word. Why isn't there an "e" after the "g"? It's the same deal with "judgment," and that just drives me nuts.

Right. So that's all I've got. Thanks, Sunny But Cold, for being a boring topic and keeping me from leaving the house until now. I think I shall leave the house right now, though, so that's all I've got to say about that. Peace out.

About to Get Some Layers On,
CVT

Dear Toothbrushing

Dear Toothbrushing,

Before I get going on this one, I just want to say that I am writing this while listening to a most wonderful classical composition by me, and it is simply MIDI-tastic. Because I am MIDI-tastic.

But want to know something else that's MIDI-tastic? Eating. Eating is MIDI-tastic. Ha. I bet you thought I was going to say you, Toothbrushing. But no. Instead I said "eating." Because eating is actually MIDI-tastic, and you is not. But I didn't write this to surprise let you down or anything else of that sort, so let me get to the point.

I ate some sweets today, and it made my mouth feel a little bit filmy. I had no choice, really (what else can a guy do to survive more hours of "professional development"?). So I ate sweets. I ate a lot of different things - some of them MIDI-tastic - but it was the sweets that were important, because I just didn't like that filmy feeling I had in my mouth afterwards. And there was only one thing to do to try to remove that film: drink water.

Ha. I bet you thought I was going to say you, Toothbrushing. But no. Instead I said "drink water." Because drinking water is actually the only good way to get rid of that filmy feeling. Oh - alright. And you, too. You, Toothbrushing, is another good way to remove that filmy feeling from my mouth after eating sweets. Sometimes.

Because sometimes, water really is all it takes. A couple swigs of water to counteract the imminent sugar-crash that comes from me eating sweets, and it's almost like all I ate was savoury things. But there are times where water just isn't enough. Times where all I find myself thinking about are the little sugar particles coating the inside of my mouth and the outside of my teeth and all the trouble they are likely to cause for me. And those are the times when you is necessary. And only those times.

I know, I know. Dentists and parents and all sorts of other "adults" are always saying how important it is to brush one's teeth all the time. It helps prevent plaque build-up. It fights gingivitis. It kills bad-breath germs. It reduces the likelihood of having cavities. We've all heard it a million times in a million different ways. And we all take it for granted.

But haven't you ever wondered if any of it is true, Toothbrushing? People say all these things about how important and wonderful you is, but don't you ever wonder if any of it carries weight in the real world? Because this is the thing: how often do people challenge the claims of dentists, parents, etc.?

The immediate response (when thinking about children, specifically) is; "all the time." We can all think about all these kids running around refusing to brush their teeth and ultimately paying the price. But does that REALLY happen? No - don't just answer without thinking. Does that REALLY happen?

'Well, of course!' One might hastily exclaim, thinking about all those kids out there getting cavities filled. But there's a little problem with this example - with so many kids getting cavities, can we really assume that none of them are brushing their teeth regularly? We DO assume that, but we all know what they say about asses and me (and you). Really - with all those adults and dentists yelling at their children and overseeing them and MAKING them engage in you, can we REALLY say that they aren't doing it regularly? Then there's a flip side - what about all those adults that get cavities? Are none of them brushing their teeth?

The issue is, of course, that nobody really tests the claims. How many adults out there don't brush their teeth regularly? How many kids past the age of 12? Not a lot. Because, even by then, they all assume that the claims about you are true. Trust me on this one - my kids all lay out these very same claims when the issue of you is brought up.

And so I return to: how do we REALLY know that you prevent all these terrible things? We don't. We just go along with the "common knowledge," even though we all know how often that turns out to be false. Case in point - my Loyal Reader and Brother used to brush his teeth regularly (and likely still does). However, he had a bagazillion cavities. So much for you in that case.

And then there is me, the CVT. Guess what I didn't do a whole lot of as a child? That's right - you. I distinctly remember going an ENTIRE MONTH without you at all. And how many cavities have I had? Zero. Nada. Zilch. Not ONE f-ing cavity. Hmmm . . . The status quo goes challenged.

And so I propose that all the claims about you, Toothbrushing, are a ridiculous farce. The manufacturers of toothbrushes and toothpaste have brainwashed the minds of the world and become powerful beyond our imagining to the point where nobody ever even questions the merit of regular you.

Of course, that doesn't mean you don't have your benefits. Like today, when you helped me remove the filmy feeling from my mouth after eating sweets. Other times, you removes that fuzzy feeling from my teeth. You sure makes me FEEL clean in the mouth. You also improves breath, at times (albeit only temporarily for some).

So I don't really have a problem with you at all, Toothbrushing. I really admire you in some ways. I just don't need you. And I think it is important that you know that. I don't want you or me to be living a lie, whether or not the rest of the world is living it. My breath is naturally neutral. I don't get cavities. This doesn't mean that I won't engage in you on a - somewhat - regular basis, of course; but I won't need to do so. I'll just do it for the previously-mentioned reasons.

And Reader - remember this next time you sit in a dentist's chair: no matter what they say, more Toothbrushing or even flossing never could have kept you from paying that bill. Only good genes like mine could ever do that.

Minty Fresh,
CVT