I Need Assistance

Our U Wink screen:


Yes, we went back to UWink at the urging of Isa and her friend. This time we brought Tomi, whose gorgeousness and single status would bring good fortune to our table. I posted earlier about a prior visit and subsequent UWink investor's comments. The investor commented on the fact the ladies having fun would bring me out of my negative funk to have fun as well.

Ok! This time I was going to have fun.

I tried to tell the waiter that we'd been there before, but Tomi objected; not knowing the 'training' to use the computer would take a solid twenty minutes. Three minutes in she realized she made a mistake, but there was no stopping the waiter at this point. "See where the picture of the drink is? Okay, so if you want a drink you press on that. You want a cocktail? Okay, then we need to press where it says "Cocktails." And on. And on. "I was a computer programmer for years, " I protested. "Plus, anyone who has ever waitressed since the 90's is going to know how to use a touch-screen ordering system."

The waiter looked hurt.

The kids had already ordered while we were receiving our training.

Finally I could order my drink. We noticed a man under the table next to us, arms filled with wires: a repairman. There was also a raucous crowd in the back, drinking beers and yelling out answers.

We found out very quickly that they had changed the system. They now give "credits" for food purchased that go toward the games, which aren't free anymore. I thought to myself, well, that's understandable, you can't have people nursing a coke and playing How To Be a Millionaire all day can you?

Isa and her friend ran out of credits within five minutes.

Tomi helpfully swiped her card to buy them ten dollars worth of credits, and six minutes later they were begging again for more. They were also asking to shop at the 'virtual store' for stuffed animals and other items like pink digital cameras. Tomi and I went over to their (greasy) screens to investigate their desperation. Turns out they weren't playing just games, but they were playing games to win prizes (such as the aforementioned cheap made-you-know-where crap) and these games took a lot more credits to play.

At that point, we heard a loud pop and our screens went dark. A collective groan emanated from the party in the back. Other tables were still happily poking away at the screens. "Maybe the computer has lost our order and we'll get a free meal," I thought, and the server moved us to a new table. Within a few swipes, Tomi's name and yes, our tab were waiting for us.

We let the kids each get a stuffed animal and one outfit, because in ten minutes there was going to be a restaurant-wide trivia game, and Tomi and I were feeling like a good team. Also, I knew that buying the bears was going to be a lot cheaper than the kids trying to win them. (I can say this because I consider myself to be excellent at both Chuzzle and Bejeweled I and II and there were games similar to that and I couldn't even get close to winning a keychain.)

In the meanwhile, our food came, and we weren't the best at not duplicating orders, so I requested assistance.

"Sarah" won the trivia game. We knew this because it was blasted on the giant screen. "Who is Sarah?" Tomi and I yelled, and right behind us a mousy woman with long brown hair and glasses cheerfully raised her coke to us.

We got more credits and were determined to beat Sarah.

She won the next game and the next. How did she know so much about sports? All the other players were pretty drunk so they were easy to beat. But Sarah, sitting there drinking coke and nibbling on a fry, was not going to waver. Tomi and I decided to come back again, without the kids, and win the trivia contest.

We got the bill.

$270.

Isa's Riddle

Isa said to me, "Name a word that is both of two things, and yet also neither of the two things at the same time."
"I give up," I replied.
"Brunch," she said, "It's both breakfast and lunch, yet it is neither as well."

"Well, in that case," I said, "My new answer is spork. Not a spoon, not a fork. Both."

Best response gets an origami prize, made by Isa.

"search terms"

The other day Isa told us about watching a youtube video where a man is doing martial arts and "a mysterious brown bulge" begins to come out of his butt, or something gross like that. Isa knows she's only allowed to go to youtube for something specific, like a bird video, she's not allowed to randomly move from link to link. I immediately sprung into action. This is the sort of parenting situation where I'm a little quicker on the draw than Bernie. "What were your search terms," I demanded to know, "what were your search terms?!" Isa remained calm, she didn't seem particularly guilty. "Hatching eggs," she replied.

Rattlesnakes

I took Isa on a hike in Topanga State Park. The weather was quite warm, so I reminded Isa to be careful of rattlesnakes. About a mile into our hike, a couple warned us that "about a quarter mile up, there's a big one right off the trail, on the left." I thanked them and we kept walking. A few minutes passed and Isa said in a small voice, "Have we gone a quarter of a mile yet?"
I said no, but it seemed prudent to begin treading carefully. Isa then pointed out that the man said "on the left." "His left or our left?" she pleaded.
I was thinking the same thing so we anxiously scanned both sides of the path. Finally, we got to a point where I said we had definitely gone a quarter mile, and we both wanted to turn around, but we pushed further.
We saw a man, wildly waving. "Want to see a big rattler?"
The self-identified amateur herpetologist pointed out the snake, coiled under a bush. The creature looked angry. "I borrowed a walking stick to move him off the trail," he said, "but he keeps coming right back on. He's hungry."
He then told Isa she could take a few steps closer.
"Isa, don't," I said.
He then told me that I should carry a walking stick, 'to better move them off the path, you know.'
I told him I probably wouldn't do such a thing, and we thanked him and took our leave. A half a mile later, I spotted a huge rattler, right on the side of a hill, stretched out like a rope on a cliff. Again, I wanted to turn around but knew our path might be blocked by the other snake.
They say Guam is infested with snakes. However; in all my years of living there, and that includes tromping around in the jungle a lot, I have seen a total of three brown tree snakes, and one of them was in the zoo. The other was in the middle of the road, and about ten feet long. After some discussion and consternation, a group of Navy men decided to run it over with their jeep.
I've had plenty of snake sightings in Topanga. Last year alone I saw several ring-necked snakes, some gopher snakes, and plenty of Western rattlesnakes. Here are some interesting informal statistics: Sixty percent of all rattlesnake bite victims were messing with the snake to some degree; and of those victims, half of them were drinking.

Our Favorite Snacks

I shop at a Korean supermarket. I could eat Korean food for the rest of my life. Isa's in charge of obtaining the snacks to put in the cart, while I'm browsing the kimchi aisle. For herself, Isa gets:

(I know, I know, It's Japanese but they have a Korean counterpart, Pepero.)
For John, she put this in the cart:

And finally, for me!

And yes, Pretz are pretzel-like.

How do you bowl a 37?

I took Isa bowling when we were in Lake Tahoe. I strongly suggested that she not use the bumpers. She was amenable to the idea--she was five hundred miles from home, there were no peers around and the stakes were low. She bowled a 44, and we celebrated wildly. But I expect more from someone who wants to be President.

UWink

A while ago, John took Isa and I to a new restaurant, UWink, in a Woodland Hills mall. It had touch screens at each table, for ordering food and playing games. Some were pong-like, others were those trivia games seen in bars.
I wasn't that impressed; pong-games aren't going to do it for me anymore, and ordering food on a touch-screen is like being my own waitress. Plus, the trivia questions were just god-awful-- as well as repeating over and over again. I wondered to myself what kind of random number generator were they really using to dish out these horrible questions?
Isa, on the other hand, was wild-eyed. She begged us to order more drinks so she could hit the now-greasy touch screen. I was surprised at her obsession with the restaurant.
When Isa brought it up again for the umpteenth time the other day, I decided to google UWink. The wikipedia entry included "The company was founded in 2000 by Nolan Bushnell, the co-founder and former CEO of both Atari and Chuck E. Cheese."

Well, that explained the pong and the crappy food.

I'm somewhat disappointed in Mr. Bushnell. I'd have much rather had a joystick and played Adventure than field that touchscreen menu. Perhaps he's onto something-- creating a nostalgia for Isa's generation to buy into. I suppose there's nothing wrong with playing Tank and eating a burger, is there?


UPDATE:
This appeared on a Uwink investment board:



Another Brief uWink Blog Review


http://www.saltinwound.com/2008/03/uwink.html


A very good example of the "polarizing" nature of uWink (a good thing!). You've got some people that come in and find a negative in everything (like the blogger). BUT he's got a friend (READ: female) that is obsessed with the place.

In the end, who wins (this is hypothetical)?

1.The introverted guy who just doesn't want to have fun and complains about it to the "world" on his blog:

"I wasn't that impressed; pong-games aren't going to do it for me anymore, and ordering food on a touch-screen is like being my own waitress. Plus, the trivia questions were just god-awful-- as well as repeating over and over again. I wondered to myself what kind of random number generator were they really using to dish out these horrible questions?"



2. The extroverted gal who is having so much fun that she just keeps bringing new people to the place so that she can have even more fun:

"Isa, on the other hand, was wild-eyed. She begged us to order more drinks so she could hit the now-greasy touch screen. I was surprised at her obsession with the restaurant.
When Isa brought it up again for the umpteenth time the other day, I decided to google UWink."


My Opinion:
Eventually, the guy comes around because he realizes that regardless of how little "fun" he is having, uWink is attracting all the ladies, which will eventually attract him. This thing is going to work :)


BERNIE'S RESPONSE:

Dear Uwink investor, you've got one this nailed on the head. I am certainly a negative blogger, and Isa is definitely a pretty young gal that loves video games like nothing's doing. I will have to take her back there, so you do have us as customers in Woodland Hills.
As far as Atari goes, dear investor, I may have played more Atari than you ever will, and I will never forget that snowy Massachusetts day that I first laid my eyes on Pong. Yes, I was hooked. So yes, Mr. Bushnell is an integral part of my life.

But please, for my sake, get a programmer to update the trivia questions? I can make it last if the questions are decent.

Bernie

The Week in Fourth Grade

As I go through Isa's fourth grade textbooks, I spot things that bother me. I understand the need for simplification, but at the expense of fact? Or am I being too picky?
Here's a lab to do at home from the science book:

Cut up an apple and measure and record the mass of the fresh apple slices.

I don't know about you, but I have nothing to measure mass in my kitchen.

Here's one from the art book:

Portraits of Gabriele Munter show the artist as a sweet, dainty woman. In fact, this artist was an important figure in the world of art. She played a large role in the rise of an art movement.


Wow, I guess we're going up against that old-fashioned portrait portrayal, aren't we? Because now they are giving us facts.

Finally, this little tidbit from once more, the science book.

An estuary is a place where fresh water and salt water meet, such as a river meeting an ocean. The amount of salt in the water changes many times a day, so only a few types of organisms can live in an estuary.


Who wrote this? Exxon? A 'lifestyle community' developer that needs to get rid of these pesky estuaries so he can put in a golf course? The No Child Left Behind Committee?

UPDATE: The next section has a cloud seeding section, and says that silver iodide is OK. I feel ill.

John Bought Jelly

Sorry this is picture of two jars of jelly is blurry. I have an old camera (that would be three years old). I've always liked preserves, my mother used to make her own jellies and applesauces and also can peaches and tomatoes from our garden. An old friend from Pennsylvania sent me a jar of black raspberry jelly that one of her friends made; but Isa and I had finished it. Yesterday John asked if we wanted anything from the store. Some jelly, I told him, but only if it's something good.
John returned with the jar on the left, and I'll list the ingredients:
Grape juice
corn syrup
high fructose corn syrup
pectin
citric acid

Basically, John bought jelly with no fruit in it. Or sugar, the two ingredients I'd asked for.

The second one Isa and I got later tastes much better:
Raspberries
sugar
cane sugar
concentrated lemon juice
fruit pectin

"Bernie Berlitz" part one

Several months ago, Juan, a man very beloved to John and I for his stone wall building at our house, saw Isa as we were on our way out and he said (in Spanish) "Hello, Isabella! How are you!"
She stared at him blankly. I nudged her.
"Isa, aren't you going to respond?" I said.
"I don't know what he said," she replied.
I felt rage. Two years of Spanish, second grade, third, and now into fourth grade, and she couldn't even respond to a greeting. (I never learned Spanish, but I took two years of Italian in college.) I made some not-so-wild claims for John to give me five days and I could have Isa speaking more Spanish than she learned in two years at her school. First off, I took inventory of what she did know. Well, she knew colors, the word for desk and pencil and paper, and the numbers one to ten. She said that every year they would get new kids in the class so they'd have to start at the beginning, so they would do these same units all over again.
Our five day challenge is in Puerto Vallarta.
Because Isa has had two years of zero sum gain, I need her to hit the ground running. I also need a translator. It's a fact that if I spoke Spanish, she'd fall back, and defer to me, so this way, she will be the translator. I buy her a phrasebook . It's very cute, she gets instant results with her phrases, surprising herself. "A table for two, please." "Please take us to our hotel." "Can you direct me to the nearest bathroom?" "Excuse me, may I have a glass of water with no ice?" (I don't bother to explain that one). Amazingly, to her, each sentence gets a response. She carries the book with her everywhere. I make her order my food for me. I make her ask how much the items we want to buy cost.
I make her ask "How do you say this is in Spanish?" People are helpful to this little girl and her phrase book. I made her find in her phrasebook how to write "This does not work" and place it on the coffeemaker.
Obviously, one does not need to leave Los Angeles to practice Spanish, but in this case I wanted to advance beyond that ridiculous rojo and blanco.

Isa Meets Pete Rose

A couple summers ago, Isa and I were in Las Vegas for my mother's birthday. We went to the mall near Caesar's Palace where there's a light show with sculptures of Greek Gods moving and speaking. The show is pathetic, and Isa and I like to go for the contrast between the weak effects and strong rhetoric. "Incredible!" the statue says. "Amazing! Apollo, play us the music from your lyre. The most beautiful sounds I have ever heard!"

While we were waiting for the show to begin, I looked to my right. A large banner above a sports memorabilia store said Pete Rose was appearing that day. I looked down from the banner. Pete Rose was sitting alone at a long card table. This called for further investigation.

Isa and I went inside and quickly ascertained what was going on. Pete Rose would sign anything you bought at the store. They had cameras for sale if you wanted to capture the moment of Pete signing whatever you bought at the store (except for the camera). I bought a picture of Pete Rose sliding into home plate.

"Gamblin' Rose, Gamblin' Rose
Why he gambled, no one knows
Bet on his own team, that was dumb, Pete
Now, you'll always... be Gamblin' Rose."
(Chris Cox, age 17)

Walking into a Reality Show

Dropping off some drycleaning I saw some velour track-suited women, cell-phones in hand, a TV camera pointed at them entering the nail salon: the Kardashians. I know they have a reality show on TV which I've never seen, and I know that their step-father is Bruce Jenner, and I do have fond memories of his Wheaties box gracing my breakfast table as a kid (and the OJ trial reference as well). I'm pretty sure these ladies do nothing all day but get their hair and nails done, and Isa was curious about the large camera, so two signed- waivers later, Isa is at the manicurist's table, and I am trying to sit somewhere so I am not in the shot, and the reality camera is rolling.
Bruce Jenner's wife comes in with a round of hellos. There's a lot of cell- phone usage, and the apparent planning of a wedding, and some seemingly-pseudo arguments about candles for said wedding, but no one seems to have the energy to really pull a 'contentious moment' together. I realize quickly that there is no witty banter, no clever repartee, and after thirty minutes not a single person has made another crack a smile, let alone laugh. These people are all about talking about objects: candles, appointments, polish, bikinis, clothes. It's enough to make one feel sleepy.
I find myself unwittingly in many of the shots, so I do just that, prop my hand against my cheek, and close my eyes. No, I'm not getting my nails done. The old lady across from me is visibly agitated by the scene; however, and keeps waking me up to get my thoughts on the matter.
Her manicurist is the boss, or owner perhaps, and she's made him move to the back chair, so she's away from the action. She's loudly complaining about the liability of letting these people in here. In a soft tone, the Vietnamese man gently tells her that it's okay, he knows them, that they are good, decent customers, so he agreed to the filming.
"But what about liability?" she howled in his ear and then looked at me to make sure I was listening.
"WHAT IF THEY BREAK SOMETHING?"
We all looked over at the four women getting their nails done, with a camera pointed at them.
The manicurist spoke in his softest tone.
"Really, I think it will be OK. I don't foresee a problem."
The old lady shifted in her seat and harrumphed and mumbled something about whether anyone had insurance or not. I was hoping someone would point the camera at her. Then she waved at me again and yelled, "I can't BUFF! They won't let me BUFF!"
She gesticulated her red nails everywhere and the poor nail salon owner/manager winced.
"They won't BUFF ME because the machine is too loud because THEY are in here!"
I felt sad for the nail salon people, proudly displaying their Pamela Anderson signed photos next to their health certificates. I realized I had nothing to offer Isa on the Bruce Jenner connection, and we took our leave. I told her maybe if we watched the episode and she could see how the editing process whittled that down to three minutes (or added a fake storyline that never happened) could help her see how reality TV worked. But, we won't watch it. Transformers Anime; however, has Isa hooked!

"Friday Night Lights"

Everyone is always telling me to see this show. "You have to see Friday Night Lights. You've never seen Friday Night Lights?" They said it was a little jewel, and I believed them. Friday night, I watched for twenty minutes. Here is what I saw:

Boys squaring off in fights.

Men menacing boys.

Men protecting boys.

Men fighting men.

Sometimes boys don't know how to express their thanks to the men who protect them. That is okay.

There are complex codes of honor involving boys and girls, as you can imagine, even though these girls are clearly played by starlets in their late twenties, while some of the boys really do appear to be teenagers. It doesn't lessen the power of the message of not date raping.

Ironically, the boy who stops a date rape in progress is unjustly accused by the coach of attempting to take advantage of the same girl. This girl is the coach's daughter, and the coach has just stood up for this boy in a conflict with another coach. It is the boy who thanked him awkwardly, almost wordlessly. One wishes he could find the words now to tell the coach that what he thinks he did to his daughter is in fact what he just stopped someone else from doing, but one understands why he can not. In some future episode, perhaps the coach will learn his accusation is false, and his apology to the boy will also contain so few words but so much power.

Driving in the car today, Isa said, "You know what's a manly sport? Noodling for catfish."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah."

"Noodling is fishing?"

"It's fishing by hand. These guys are in the water, and they reach into holes and the catfish bite them, and they pull them out by the gills, and there's bites all over them. Sometimes the fish is a hundred pounds."

"The fisherman uses his own hand as bait?"

"Yep."

"And you think that's manly?"

"Oh yeah, it's manly, it's about as manly as it gets."

That's how I feel about Friday Night Lights.

Schlolastic News

While out stumping for her mother the other day, Chelsea Clinton refused to answer a nine-year old Scholastic News reporter's question. I don't really have an opinion either way on that, but I'm really glad Scholastic News has been brought up.

Isa brings that drivel home weekly, and I'm shocked that teachers think it's an acceptable homework assignment. For the uninitiated, it's more or less USA today written for children, and often by children. Each week, Isa has to read a few articles about current events and fill out a few multiple choice questions on a type of newsprint that rejects a pencil stroke outright. Check out this example of some kid reporting.

I don't need to tell you they consider High School Musical as a top story. Also: are they a company, a media organization, or just in the business of selling crap to our kids?

The Star Strikes Again

Another St. Helena Star article from the archives, Chamber Office News. "March Stats beat 2003 and 2000" the headline reads. OK, but then here is the only mention of statistics in the article:



Well, that seemed a little lacking in information, so I looked at the graph which accompanied the article.



Hmm. The graph-making function in Word hasn't helped everyone. The other day Isa had to make a graph and forgot to add a title, and her teacher took off five points. At the time, I thought it was a bit harsh, but now I see the point. I'm not any closer to knowing what the 'Glory Hallelujah' was all about in the first place.

Keno in Reno

I don't care for gambling that much, but when I do gamble I'm well aware of the odds of the games, and I certainly don't have any "lucky feelings" come over me when I'm trying to roll a hard six. Last month, we were in Reno sitting at a cafe, and Isa wanted to pick Keno numbers and I said yes, all the while explaining to her that Keno has some really dismal odds of winning. After each round of numbers was chosen, the Keno lady would come around the table, and I'd hand her a fresh sheet of numbers that Isa had chosen. She sighed and said, "You need to keep the same numbers! You will never win doing it this way!"
I smiled and didn't say anything and she left with our new numbers.
I looked over at Isa and asked,"Do you think if an 11 was chosen this time around, it has any bearing on whether or not an 11 is chosen the next game?"
"No," she replied.
"Do you think if we keep using the same numbers it increases our chances of winning?"
"I don't think it makes a difference," she said.
"Nice," I said, and then we promptly lost again. It's important to me that everyone knows the Keno lady is wrong.

Kommune Kutz for Kidz

Isa gets her hair cut at this commune down the street. Yesterday we went and an older woman with long black braids was there with Stardust, Isa's 'hair artist.' Stardust told Isa that the woman was a Chumash medicine woman. Isa excitedly told her that they had been studying the tribe in Social Studies class at school. The week before, I accompanied the class on a hike in the mountains to an old Chumash site. The teacher showed us a mortar hewn into a boulder used to grind the acorns. The ground was littered with acorns. Isa's hand shot up.
"Did they make acorn bread?"
"Well," the teacher answered, "We're not really sure exactly what they did with the acorns. There's no record really of how they lived here."
The aura of mystery about the Chumash that the teacher projected certainly didn't help Isa get the facts she needed. I have no idea why actual Chumash people were not included in her studies, but here was a tribal member, so Isa asked her, "Do you make acorn bread?"
"Absolutely," she said with a chuckle.
"The secret is in the leaching. Actually my husband does most of that."
"Does he use a mortar and pestle?"
The woman laughed. "That's too much work! He uses a blender now. That's the great thing about a blender, anyone can make acorn recipes now, even you can do it."
She promised Isa she'd give her some acorn cakes the next time her husband made them.
I bet the teacher wouldn't like the story about the blender; he prefers his Chumash naked and running in the canyons, pestles in hand.

a two for humor

Even though Isa is currently in private school, we've been trying to get the L.A. public school system to give her an I.Q. test (they don't call it that), in case we ever want to go back into the system. It took over two years. But they finally gave her the test a couple weeks ago.

As part of the process, Isa's current (private school) teacher, who I've had issues with, had to fill out a form, ranking Isa in various categories that correlate with giftedness. Under "ability to use humor in various situations," on a scale of one to five, she gave Isa a two (seldom to never).

I hate to pull rank on Isa's teacher, but I've been in some great comedy rooms, and Isa would fit right in. She might get too much food on her face, but, even then, she would still be using humor, she'd just be gross.

Isa's current teacher, on the other hand, would not survive in a comedy room. She's a former CIO at a health firm whose job, I'm starting to suspect, was turning down claims. She made a mid life career change and finds Isa's class of ten to be unwieldy. I have never seen her say anything that so much as resembles a joke. No wonder she doesn't think Isa's funny.

my war with cyclists (continued)

My wife Bernie doesn't like it when I yell, honk, or otherwise engage cyclists, when our daughter Isa is in the car. The subsequent mass flipping off and indignant screams of "fuck you!" are completely predictable and, in Bernie's opinion, easily avoidable.

That's why I don't yell at cyclists when Isa is in the car...unless Bernie is out of the car. Once I followed a cyclist all the way down Topanga to the ocean, it must have been three miles. He wouldn't let me pass. He's a vehicle. When the road expanded to two lanes, I easily passed him. But then, at PCH, he illegally swerved back in front of me from the right, on a red light, to block me and make the left turn onto the highway ahead of me. "Are you a vehicle, or are you not a vehicle?!" I yelled, fed up with the hypocrisy. He casually flipped me off and rode away. "That one was a little complicated," Isa observed.

NPR Humor

On a recent road trip, NPR was humming along in the background, barely audible. There was laughter, so John turned up the volume. It was a woman telling a Thanksgiving story, about being filled with stress about her parents coming to New York City to see her. She spoke in what I can only call that "classic NPR tone"-- dry and over-enunciating. You. Can. Hear. Her. Now. She said, "My father sat in a chair all day," and paused for full dramatic effect, "and kept telling jokes. That weren't funny."
The unseen audience roared with laughter. The three of us looked quizzically at one another. John turned the volume up a little more and the woman continued talking about her mother. She said, "I knew my mother would say something about the cornbread. To her, there is only one kind of cornbread, and it wasn't what I had. My mother said, 'That isn't cornbread, that's something you put in your hair.'"
Again, the audience went wild with maniacal laughter.
Finally Isa said, "I just don't see why they are laughing so hard."
"Me neither," I said.
Just then we heard her talking about taking her parents to Ellis Island. It was cold, it was rainy, her piece went on and on for minutes (another NPR trait: lots of needless descriptive turns of phrase, I would think for traffic but she was performing live) and then she said, with more enunciation than the radio speaker could possibly bear: "The problem with going to Ellis Island-"
and she paused, for great dramatic effect here (and I could picture her looking up at her audience with a gleam in her eye as she delivered her punchline) IS THAT YOU ARE GOING TO ELLIS ISLAND.

John turned off the radio.

That's right, the problem with Ellis Island is that you are going to Ellis Island.

canned laughter

This morning, my nine year-old daughter Isa aired a complaint about her math class from the back of the car:

"They're all craving laughter so badly, they'll laugh even when the teacher makes the teensiest mistake, then they'll all laugh luxuriously, like that was so funny. And I'm thinking if they're craving laughter so badly, they should wait until recess when they can tell a real joke."

I couldn't agree with her more.