To the girl with "crack" in my geology class

Hello,
You sit in the row in front of mine, one seat to the left. The squeaky stools are uncomfortable to us all, and one most practically plan ahead to dress appropriately for the fashion faux-pas they threaten. But you, my geologist friend, have neglected to notice the full view the back-less seats offer.
The waist on your jeans are way, way too low. Each week your pants don't just creep lower and lower, they free-fall as soon as your butt makes contact with the seat.
And there I am, along with the rest of the class behind you, trying not to notice what even a plumber would find shameful.

At first I considered telling you, out of consideration for your feminine modesty, but as my shyness delayed any attempt, I decided you surely must know what you are doing. How could you not feel the cool air conditioning on your skin? Sixteen square inches is a lot of space to neglect feeling a breeze, and you show at least that.
A friend suggested your display was purposeful, that you might find the "coin slot" desirable. If that is true, take it from me, it is not. And the two guys behind you who snicker everyday. Be glad they haven't produced their camera phones.
You seem like a really nice girl, and we even have some things in common.
Like spinach in your teeth, or a booger in your nose, sometimes you just don't know when you're embarrassing yourself. So take this passive hint, and pull your pants up.

"The Shack" Where boredom meets eternity...

I recently received a gift card to Barnes and Noble and immediately endeavored to spend my $20 on the most worthwhile reading material I could afford. I browsed through hundreds of books, considered buying a couple from my favorite authors, Cormac McCarthy and Paulo Coelho, and then began to browse the New York Times best-sellers.
At the top of the list was The Shack: Where Tragedy Confronts Eternity

I was intrigued by the title, and even more so by the book's location, right here in Oregon. Deciding to try something new, and because the price was right, I purchased the book. By the time it arrived I was so excited to have something new to read, especially something that spent weeks at the top of the New York Times best-selling list. Within five pages of reading, I began to wonder what was so special about this story.
For one, the writing was incredibly amateur. I could hear my writing teacher's voice in my head, correcting the bad grammar and long, boring dialogue.
Second, the theological concepts presented in this book were neither difficult to understand or new to Christian thought. Sure, they are not widely accepted by modern Christianity, but neither are they new and profound. This books asks the same old questions, "Why is there evil in the world?" "Why do bad things happen to good people?" "How can I be closer to God?"

Not only was the dialogue poor and the writing amateurish, but the story itself never completes itself. The end of the book drops off like a poorly written soap opera that is out of ideas. There is so much talk of "the little lady-killer," that by the time he is exposed in the story no details are given. This book is all theology and only wannabe crime drama, with little to offer the reader who wants to know the whole story.

"The Shack" is an OK book for anyone interested in serious literature. It is a GREAT book for the serious Christian, who I imagine are the ones that shot this thing straight to No. 1 on the list.

What really gets me about this story are the amount of Christian authors who are making a fortune just writing about it. For instance, a search on Amazon.com of the book's title brings up "Finding God in The Shack," and "The Shack: Unauthorized Theological Critique." What's most amusing is that these books, which attempt to explain the already simple, are selling for more than the actual book.

Go ahead and read it if you are still interested, I think I'll be passing this one off to the very first person who wants to take it off my hands.

"If I read that headline one more time..."

A few weeks ago I had the rare opportunity to visit my older sister in Portland, who was visiting with her new beau, Mark. As we walked down SW Park, sun shining down on us and the noise of cars and passers-by in our ears, she asked my why I was not writing anymore.
I actually had not considered it deeply before, and it only then occurred to me that it had been a few months since I had posted anything.

"Oh, I've been writing," I told her self-consciously, "it's just all on paper at home and I don't feel like sitting in front of my computer to type it up. There's no feng shui in that corner of the house..."

My sister told me she checked my page all the time, and was tired of reading the same headline again and again.
"Besides," she told me, "I like your writing. It's clever and funny."

"Hurrah! Yes! Awesome!" Every word of pleasure and satisfaction came streaming into my head.

I vowed then and there to keep writing. I know it's been a few weeks since that point, but I did some thinking and decided where I want to head with everything I put to paper. I want to be clever and funny, I want to say what's on my mind, and I want to be a little more "out-there" than some might recommend for a budding reporter.

So thanks for reading after all this time, even if it's just you after all this time off, dear older sister.