Recommendation

I recently came across this letter of recommendation that I wrote for my brother when he hoped to become a gymnastics assistant, a position that he did ultimately receive, but sadly without my help, as my mother strongly dissuaded me from sending in the letter. Oh well, here it is.

Letter Of Recommendation For Ace

Thursday, May 19, 2011

To Tracy

     In starting, I feel that I should make the purpose of this letter clear, namely, to recommend Ace.  In all my dealings with Ace, which are many, I have found him to be an upstanding, lovely, tan, and altogether recommendable young man (as many admiring young woman would testify).  

     He has made known unto me his desire to serve you in the position of Gymnastics assistant, a position that I feel he would be incredibly suited to qualify for, owing to his superior athletic ability, his ability to create lasting friendships with the children he would work with, and the fact that he has better biceps than most of the competition.  

     He has lived in a situation his whole life (called a family) in which he has been in contact with both older and younger children, and he has adapted remarkably to survive and make the best of it, even resorting to becoming friends with a high percentage of the children, and governing those younger than him with a just and true hand, inspiring sound respect and devotion.

     Ace can also cook, although I do not see how this desirable skill will help him with gaining position as gymnastics assistant, so I will mention it no more in this document. (Although he would be more than willing to make you some cookies or popcorn if that would help to sway you.)

     Ace posses a superior intellect, enabling him to summon devastating comebacks to insults, comfort saddened children, grasp the ethics of complex situations, and talk without stuttering.  

     I might caution that if you employ him as assistant you may notice a alarming influx in the number of young females ages 11 to 14 joining your gymnastics classes.  It is your choice whether or not you want to take this risk.

     All in all, he is a neat package containing just the right amount of ability, humility, confidence, and zeal to make him the perfect dream assistant.

     With highest recommendation,

               Me

If any of my close relatives or friends have found themselves in need of a letter of recommendation lately, I would be happy to, out of the goodness of my heart (and for the small fee of $250) to write them a letter of recommendation.  Thank you.

Hair Cutting

My long, and some might say painful, history of haircutting began when I was very young.  My mother (she means well) inspired me to cut my own hair by giving me the most ghastly cutting jobs she could imagine. I shall provide you with one out of several examples of what I can only imagine is a somewhat cruel sense of humor.  I shall tell you in story form.


"Daughter!" Cried the mother "I have a most wonderful idea!!!" Eight year old daughter, filled as she was at that age with unabounding energy and happiness, bounded over to her mother, little knowing what awaited her.  She quickly arrived at her mother's side and looked up at her face with innocence and expectancy.


"I saw the most adorable haircut on someone today." explained the mother. "It was lovely, and layered, and would look wonderful on you!  I even asked how they did it to her..." She paused to build suspense "And she told me!" She concluded with a dashing smile.


"How?!" cried daughter, filled with admiration.


"I shall tell you," Said the mother benevolently "They tipped her head upside down and cut the hair in a straight line, then tipped it back right side up, and, ta da! There was her hair, filled with luxuriant layers! and we are going to try it on you!"


"I am obedient and willing to do whatever you want me to do mother!" Cried daughter, who was, and ever has been, a model child.  "And besides that, I love to spend time with you!"


"Good girl!" Came the reply, "Off we go!"


Soon daughter's hair was washed, her head flipped upside down, and her mother, with deft and experienced chops of the scissors, cut her upside down hair off in a straight line.  The luxuriant red locks fell to the floor in a shining heap, which would have brought tears to the eyes of both the participants, had they not been so absorbed in the project.  Finally the mother, after surveying the finished project with a practiced eye, told daughter that she may now flip her head right side up.  Daughter obediently did so, and looked at her mother's face.  The shocked and horrified look frozen on mother's features caused daughter's beautiful smile to slowly melt from her face as she turned towards the mirror.  A stunned silence ensued, lasting the full duration of ten seconds.  Then hysterical laughter burst forth from daughter's lips, she being young and finding humor in all things at that age, and hysterical weeping burst from mother's.  She had ruined her model child.  For there, in the mirror, was a girl with a beautiful face, but her hair was... (heaven save us!) a mullet. 


The mother had forgotten that angle was a very important thing when cutting hair, and daughter's head had been tilted to just the wrong angle, which caused the before mentioned mullet.  It caused much despair and mirth as word of daughter's misfortune circled throughout the family.  The worst part was that it was Saturday night, and there was no time to take the unfortunate girl to get her hair professionally cut.  So, her mother sheared it off the best she could, and daughter went about for a long time afterwards with shortish hair.

Daughter in that day grew older and wiser.  She trusted nobody with scissors near her locks once they grew out, and she soon proved to have an amazing talent for cutting her own hair.  The few minor blunders (Which may be related in later posts) did not discourage her from continuing to improve.  Soon her shining, red, self-cut hair was the envy of all the other girls nearby. So this story, sad as it may be in the beginning, has a happy ending.

The End!

Accident Prone

I am beginning to suspect- this is only a inner feeling by the way- that I happen to be a bit accident prone. This suspicion has been growing on me for a while, and, in a moment of curiosity, I confided my thoughts to my friend while we were walking outside.  Her immediate answer of "A bit accident prone!  Ha!  More like you are a gigantic amount accident prone-ness!" confirmed my suspicion.  I cocked my eyebrow at her, and while attempting to assemble a suitable comeback, stubbed my toe on the only rock in the whole road.  I therefore gave up replying to her and resigned myself to being accident prone. 

I thought on it for a time and while doing so, it brought forth many circumstances where it did indeed appear that I was accident prone. There is the time where my mom sent me to the store to go get some milk for breakfast. I was quite tired, and I got in the car and shut my door preparatory to backing out of the garage.  Then, and I can not explain this action, I re-opened the car door and stuck my hand out, holding onto the top of the car, and slammed the car door as hard as I could.  On my hand.  Do not ask me to explain, it must have been the work of some mischievous spirit.  But my poor little hand was quite swollen and it hurt for some time afterwards.

I also tend to trip over things that everybody else avoids with ease.  It is indeed a problem. I am in a play, and at a practice we were discussing ideas, one of which involved me stealing a stick horse. I, getting into the spirit of the thing, pretended to ride a stick horse across the stage, and conveniently tripped over a plug-in heater, the only thing on the whole stage.  I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and putting a superior look on my face, attempted to make a dignified exit. But twas not to be.  I was wearing a tutu, part of my costume, and it slid down and tripped me again. Ahhh, the sadness.

My friend came over once to give me a Christmas present.  It was a lovely little decorative bag of candies.  We sat there and talked for a while, then I, thoughtlessly, tossed the bag up in the air. I who have never missed catching something in  my life, missed it.  And of course it fell on the ground and broke open, spilling the lovely candies all over the ground.  My friend and I stared at them for a while.  How sad! 

I do not tell you this to complain. I tell you this because all the individuals that happen to be present when I preform my accidental antics find them most amusing.  So there you are.  Such are the trials of accident prone-ness.