Teacher on the Verge

Cash for Goals

2011-11-22T09:29:00.001-06:00

The following is an exchange between my son's soccer coach and myself.

Thu, November 17, 2011 3:36:59 PM

Dan,

So the tournament is Saturday first game at 9:00 AM. I have been told that there is somethng else going on at the church so parking is going to be crazy. Please arrive early.

I really want to win this first game. I don`t want to do something any of you are against so let me know if you have a problem with this but I am going to offer financial incentives to the kids (of course unless you say not to for you child.) The deal is as follows:

$3 per kid for a win
$3 per goal
$2 per assist

Here is why. On Saturday I was at an indoor game for 3rd graders. The coach for the team we were playing was within ear shot of me. Another parent walked up and the coach said "hey nice draw on the first round of the tournament." The guy answered "yeah. St. Roch." I recognized the guy who answered since we just played the team he coaches the week before. We only lost by one and had no subs. But the way he answered was as if we were the most terrible team ever. Well I disagree. I think we have a very solid team as evidenced by our last game. I think with a full roster at every game there are several we would have won. I know it is not feasible for everyone to make every game and I do not expect that. I am merely pointing out that we are better than our record. So I want to win this game badly to put this guy in his place!

If you have a problem with this let me know and I will make sure I shield your kid from my incentives! This only counts for the first game.

I took a moment to respond. I wrote the email that night, but did not decide to send it until the next day.

Fri, November 18, 2011 5:22:45 AM

Kyle,

I am speaking as a parent and as the coach of both the baseball and basketball team, and as such I am concerned by the precedent that this will set. This does not conform to my philosophy of sports.

Financial incentives have no place in youth sports, particularly team sports. I am not just saying this because the salary structure would preclude Evan and any other defensive minded players from being compensated. Our players are motivated because they want to do their best. Your proposal would only encourage players to keep the ball and score goals instead of passing or defending. Furthermore, it will create a rift between the players that have had additional training and those that have not. Our boys are a team and as such support each other in there efforts. There is no need to upset the team chemistry.

The goal of sports is to build better young men that have not only the physical skills that may later result in a compensation, but the social and mental skills to deal with both winning and losing. Introducing an arbitrary reward system will undermine both of these goals. Youth sports are a learning experience and winning is the reward for hard work and team play. Intrinsic motivation is infinitely better than a financial reward.

There are other leagues in which winning is the primary goal, but even in Evan's USA swim team the emphasis is on self-improvement, team work, and dedication. The winning comes as a result of the mastery of these skills and personality traits. We all enjoy winning, but we have to decide if it should be done at all cost especially in the CYC league.

With that said if you want to form a team of parents to totally go and kick this other guy's ass on a soccer field, basketball court, baseball diamond, or Trivial Pursuit board, then I will be there with my game face and a case of beer.

Dan

Apparently I wasn't the only one to respond.

Fri, November 18, 2011 8:42:36 AM

Dan,

I got various feedback on the proposal I laid out. IN a busy moment I may not have thought through it all the way. A great suggestion was to change the amounts to reward an assist higher than the goal. Makes sense since passing is the key to the game. Another was to reward goals as a pot to split for the team. Another was to remove it all together.

So here is what I suggest. I certainly do not think this is the most appropriate thing for this age, I just want to beat this team. So rather then compromise the spirit of what we are doing here I will tell the boys that if they win I will have a pizza party for them to which I will most definitely pay for it myself as the victory will be worth it for me. I certainly want them to play the way they have been since the teamwork has come a long way this year and I do not want to disrupt that as it could actually backfire.

Remember, be there early since parking is going to be an issue. Remember, if we cannot field a team we get fined $100. Have a great breakfast and come ready to play soccer!

We Need To Moneyball This Thing

2011-10-18T16:46:00.000-05:00

Scientist have been sciencing education for years, yet there still seems to be a myriad of unanswered questions, answers that are abused by those with an agenda, and queries that have not been adequately pondered. Before we can begin to discuss the answers to any of these questions, we must decide on a common goal. The main issues seems to be educators and political leaders desire a different product from education and we use one instrument to measure both.

I'm not sure what these are, but I don't think they will test well.

Since Thomas Jefferson said that democracy needed an educated populace to function, it has been the goal of free public education to produce well informed citizens/white, male land-owners able to make intelligent decisions about how to best govern the country. The conflict arises when we are being measured by government entities that don't seem particularly interested in good citizenship. Our students are pitted against students from all over the world, and I am willing wager that Chinese and Finnish schools are not overly interested in producing U.S. citizens. I am forced to conclude that we are supposed to be produce engines, not for Ford trucks, but for the economy.

"We love the electoral college!"

We need to Moneyball education. Teachers need to realize we are not be asked to create fine young people, life-long learners, or model citizens. We deal in human capitol. Our client is corporate America, and they demand good workers. Not drones and automata, but workers that will help them turn a profit.

Now before you chuck your iPad across the room (into the appropriately cushioned iPad chucking area) and start calling me an idiot, I would like to suggest that this is not a bad thing. Wealth is an accurate gauge of success. Our puritanical forefathers thought wealth indicate God's grace, which is exactly right if by grace you mean intelligence, ingenuity, and endurance. Given the nature and history of this country we would have to figure "park effect." When such things as parent education and social class, gender, and psychological makeup are factored out we should be able to figure how much value a person has. Insurance companies do it all the time.

Once we figure each students value to society, then society should pay back a certain percentage, say 60%. So if Microsoft hires one of our graduates then that school should get a signing bonus equal to 60% of the profit that human will produce. (I'm not entirely sure what to do if the product becomes a burden on society.)

"One data processor please."

This goal would also align with student desires. Very few of them desire knowledge for knowledge's sake. They go to school so that they can get a job. This is so import that it often has to be spelled out J-O-B. We need to all agree on a goal. The reason Moneyball worked for Oakland is because they were able to shift their focus to the real goal which was getting on base. Education should be producing money-makers, and schools should be judged based upon how much wealth their students produce above expectations.

Allegory, Symbolism, and Metaphor in Invasion of the Body Snatchers

2011-10-13T13:58:00.000-05:00

Alien seed pods have taken root in lovely Santa Mira, California, the fictional suburban paradise that is the setting for Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Dr. Miles Bennell has just returned to town, and is surprised to find his patients suffering from a hysteria that leads them to believe that their close family has been replaced by something. He later finds out that they weren't hysterical at all, and there is not "a human being left in Santa Mira." There are many theories about what the pod people symbolize, but whatever your specific idea might be, it is clear that Invasion of the Body Snatchers is an allegory for the homogenization of American society. There are several incidents that would suggest that this dehumanizing homogeny is an allegory for the threat world domination by communism.

Immediately upon entering town Dr. Bennell nearly runs over Jimmy Grimaldi, who is running in terror from his mother. Screeching to a halt Miles jumps out to question Mrs. Grimaldi. She claims that Jimmy doesn't want to go to school. Also of interest is the Grimaldi vegetable stand that in less than a month has fallen into disarray. He asked if her husband was sick and she replied, "We gave the stand up; too much work." Those who criticize communism believe that this is a natural consequence. If citizens can not have the fruits (vegetables) of your labor, then why would people even bother working?

Later we find out that their labors have been redirected toward growing alien pods to distribute throughout Southern California. Any ambition they had to keep their road side stand open had been redirected to supporting the global domination of the pod people, or state. This seems to be the case with most of the citizens because later that night when Miles goes to a club with his girl Becky they find it deserted and devoid of music. It is just a well because they are quickly pulled away by an urgent telephone call from Jack, a writer. We find out that Jack has a "blank" corpse lying on his pool table. This is our first encounter with a preformed duplicate, and it is interesting that it is an artist that is being taken over. Toward the end of the movie our protagonist are briefly encourage by the faint sounds of an opera singer. They are certain that it means that there are still others like them. Of course, if we are taking from each according to his ability and giving to each according to his need, then the arts would seem to be superfluous since it does nothing to enhance the wealth of the state (increase the production of pods)

Production began when "a seed took root in a farmer's field." This image drawn by the town psychiatrist brings to mind soviet propaganda promoting communal farms. And just like those farms a little coercion was required to get everyone go along with the program.

"We like farming. Yes we do. We like farming, how 'bout you?"

He goes on to say that the pods have eliminated "desire, ambition, and faith." Both ambition and faith are the traditional victims of communism, and it is unlikely that out of all the qualities the writers could have chosen, that these two made the list accidentally. Karl Marx referred religion as the "opiate of the masses," but later adherents to communism instituted state atheism. The Agrarian Reform Law enacted in 1945 in Albania banned the practice of religion. A year later all Roman Catholic clergy were forcibly removed from the country.

Whether the filmmakers intended to or not, the political climate of the Red Scare and McCarthyism was bound to seep into the production of this film. They have gone on record to say they were just commenting on the blandness and homogeneity of Americans, but in the rhetorically charged atmosphere of the 1950s viewers were bound to see this film as an allegory for current events. However, the film still resonates today because we must always safe guard our individual freedoms. The attacks on 9/11 rekindle the debate over the balance of freedom and safety, and without constant vigilance "you're next, you're next, you're next."

White Flight? Affluent Fluidity

2011-10-06T12:17:00.000-05:00

Three districts in the state of Missouri failed to meet standards. St. Louis Public, Riverview Gardens and now Kansas City have lost accreditation, and according to state law students from those districts can attend other schools. This morning on the radio a spokesman for the Missouri Education Reform Council stated that he favored open enrollment. After my initial throat scorching scream, I reconsidered and still thought it was a horrible idea.

The exact quote that set me off was this:

“I’d ask that you think of the plight of these students and parents that are kind of trapped by their zip code
into these unaccredited or so-called failing schools, and hopefully a solution can be found for that," Knodell said.

Trapped? Such an obvious pathos move conjuring images of students peering at education through locked bars or snared in a net dangling just above a pile of textbooks. I thought, "This is a man that has less support for his ideas than my students do for their sagging pants."

Knodell is Joe Knodell. On Joe's linkedin page I learned that, well I learned absolutely nothing. Joe is a lobbyist with no prior jobs or interests.

I did learn a little about his rhetorical skill at the Columbia Business Times. Apparently he doesn't like to waste time with facts and figures. He merely states that unless you are an intellectually stunted recluse, then you already know them, and they must support his point of view.

"I could list the statistics that show Missouri lags behind in student achievement and how the United States stacks up against other developed countries in math and science — but these facts have been in front of us and in the media for quite some time." Columbia Business Times

As a supporter of anecdotal evidence Joe would also like you to know that teachers are slackers.

"Joe Knodell, the state coordinator for the Missouri Education Reform Council, said he has seen teachers’ performance change after they earn tenure.

'They go into what I call ‘cruise control,’ where they won’t be the teacher they were for the first five years,' said Knodell, who is a former school superintendent."

Oh so now we know that he was a former superintendent, but I am even more concerned now with his rhetorical style.

When a pitcher is "cruising" we are happy. It means that he is being successful without struggle. Even cruise control in a car is designed to take over the mundane task of moving one's foot from the accelerator to the brake and back again, a task that though vital probably uses more computing cycles than necessary. If a teach has become so good at their job that the lower level tasks have become automatic then we should applaud those teachers. We have developed muscle memory. The repetitive tasks of our profession are now second nature.

Joe Knodell must be right, however, because he was a superintendent, and most superintendents I know spend a majority of their time observing all of the teachers in their district. I am sure he has extensive data to back up what appears to be a poorly fleshed out anecdote.

Joe lobbies on behalf of Missouri Education Reform Council, which as far as I can tell is a blog. MERC doesn't even think they are that much. From their own "about" link we learn that, "The Missouri Education Roundatable Council’s mission is to promote improvement in Missouri’s K-12 educational system, including increasing performance, accountability and transparency."

It's as if they took the mission statement formula and created that sentence.

[name of organization] + [linking verb and positive infinitive]+
[parallel structure of catch-phrases and jargon]=Our Mission

And they even got the name of the organization wrong. From the time of their creation to the time they wrote their mission the word "reform" changed to "roundtable."

From this same website we learn that Joe's curriculum vitae includes a litany of rural schools that come no closer to St. Louis, or any of the unaccredited schools, than Poplar Bluff.

Concerned educators, students and citizens will be happy to know that Joe bases his decisions "on what is best for the student, and what will further their educational goals." As a reformer this is a distinct break from the stated goal of most educators. Perhaps that is the reason MERC recently changed to a roundtable instead of a reform.

I am going to ask for a seat at this table because just from a logic and logistical point of view I don't see how open enrollment would help anyone that isn't part of the entitled class. If we are in this for the students as Joe says then we should consider that some students won't have access to open enrollment because trap was designed by our whole society and its economic structure and not by a bunch of teachers on "cruise control." These students will be left behind in economically depressed districts with nearly empty classrooms and a disheartened and unappreciated staff.

White flight (affluent fluidity, in our post-racial era) is not reform. It is a return to the lunacy of the Topeka school board, racially motivated tracking, and classic classism.

Disneyburg (GettysWorld)

2011-08-03T07:42:00.015-05:00

We had come to expect a certain subtlety from ranger stations and visitor centers. I like to think it is because of the well thought out plan to blend into the environment. They are always a welcome sight. Whether they use existing buildings like in Harper's Ferry or Cuyahoga, a low dark wooden structure blending into the forest as in Shenandoah, the barn like structure on the battlefield of Monocacy or the doorway into the hillside beneath the Frederick Douglas home, the rangers within have always been helpful.

The exception was Gettysburg. The monolith that rose before us seemed as out of place as those discovered by early man in 2002: A Space Odyssey and had nearly the same effect on our mood. The sign declaring a ban on backpacks was situated like a Wal-mart greeter at the start of the concrete path from the parking lot to the Cracker Barrel building perched at the end of a slight rise. So while I took our belongings to the car Colette and Evan went on in.

"I really wish I had a white slat-seat rocking chair instead of this concrete bench"

Colette confronted me when I walked in after placing our bags in the car and tells me to deal with the tickets. It is then that I realize that the massive room is dominated by a ticket counter protected by a labyrinth of retractable nylon straps extending so far from the cashiers that I was sure that my 20/20 vision had failed me.

You should know that Colette and I often play the "Craigslist Game" in which she flashes a picture of some piece-of-crap Spanish influenced sofa or an onyx figurine and I have to guess the price. I know she wouldn't show it to me unless the price was extravagant, but I invariably guess over a hundred dollars below the asking price. From the tone of her voice I could tell that I was going to lose the game again. When I saw the prices for the museum, movie, bus tour and something called a Cyclorama, I just assumed I saw it wrong, but no, in order to enjoy any one of the activities offered I would have to pitchfork over $100.00.

"House payment, early 90's entertainment center, hmm I just don't know."

The only thing comparable is the ride to the top of the Arch, which our family has never done. The NPS often partners with other agencies. In the case of the ride in the Arch it is Metro, the public transportation system in St. Louis. And in the case of Gettysburg it is the Gettysburg Foundation whose objective it is:

To preserve, honor and protect the natural and cultural resources associated with the Gettysburg National Military Park, the Gettysburg Campaign, and the Eisenhower National Historic Site.

To excite visitors about the past, inspire them to want to learn more about the events that have shaped America and prepare them to become better citizens.

To make sure that lower middle class families can't learn anything. (This last one is kind of implied.)

To provide the world with a Cyclorama (Big Picture - Wikipedia) of Pickett's Charge.

We did manage to finally find the park rangers tucked away in the corner. We signed Evan up to be enlisted in the UNION army primarily because it was a requirement for the junior ranger badge.

This is not the first time Evan has enlisted in the UNION army. He marched and drilled at Whitehaven for Junior Ranger Day, came under fire at a Civil War reenactment in Mississippi, and shot a musket at the Battle of Booneville. He has visited battlefields at Shiloh, Vicksburg, Wilson's Creek, Pea Ridge, Antietam, Manassas, and Monocacy. If it wasn't for his tendency to confuse The Clone Wars with The Civil War, I would say he was, for an eight-year-old, and expert. (General Grant's brilliant victory at Geonosis is legendary.)

At least we had found the rangers, a respite from the tour-bus friendly commercial cavalcade of cyclorama. At every other battlefield or national park there has always been a free film or a fiber optic map detailing troop movements. Now all we had was a ranger program and the $30.00 driving tour CDROM we purchased at the gift store. Before I go on I should mention that if you ever encounter the TravelBrains CDROMs at any of our national battlefields, you should buy it.

So the enlistment starts with the basic physical requirements. If there is a Civil War school, then there must be an entire class devoted to the delivery of the two-teeth joke. Basically the only requirement for a Civil War soldier is that they have two teeth, one top and one bottom. Though it is never mentioned, these two also need to be within close proximity. Without this rather mundane physical attribute soldiers would not be able to tear open the paper cartridge and load their muskets.

Next came a question and answer session. Evan excitedly announces his favorite fact about bayonets, that they are frequently planted in the ground and used as candle holders. The topic soon turned to food. Since Colette and I are both teachers it was intuitively obvious that the ranger was trying to steer the musket volley of responses so that she could talk about hard tack. (Apparently it is hard.)

Unfortunately, before she could order a cease fire, Evan said, "Goober peas!"

The ranger looked confused, stunned, and to be honest a little shell-shocked.

The pause in the presentation was long than Sarah Palin trying to answer a policy question. I wasn't sure what was going on. Burl Ives had consistently informed us that the Georgia Militia enjoyed, "peas, peas, peas, peas, eating goober peas."

Along with "The Battle of New Orleans," "Goober Peas" is Evan's favorite song on our ipod. I doubt, however, that the ranger had the same play list so she asked Evan to repeat his answer. Still stunned, she then said, "no," and rephrased the question.

"Did the soldiers eat pizza and nachos and stuff?"

It is at this point that Colette and I diverge in our analysis of the situation. Colette insists that the young lady mistakenly thought that Evan had said pizza.

I had a hard time ascribing that level of ignorance to a human being and assumed that the near homophones of "peas" and "pizza" were a coincidence. However, as of this writing I am beginning to doubt myself.

The presentation continued running the new recruits through drills until a cry of charge. Quite to the ranger's surprise, many of the soldiers, including Evan, charged into the head high weeds. Upon returning to the ranks, Evan followed the ranger around assisting that the weeds would have been good cover.

"Come on boys I smell a double pepperoni."

Colette and i had quietly decided that we would talk to the ranger to let her know about goober peas. Historical accuracy is extremely important in our family. I was still making excuses for her. Maybe since we enlisted in the Union (our army of choice) and boiled peanuts were more a staple of the rebels, she was trying to be hyper-accurate as well. Unfortunately, this was not the case. We explained it to her as Evan sang the tune in the background.

She responded nicely enough, "I'm always glad to learn something new."

Colette has since decided that she will only listen to over-weight, gray-bearded guys when it comes to the Civil War. I understand because these are the same guys I look for in the hardware store. Rangers and hardware-store-guys should be teaching me something new and not the other way around.

At least we had the well-reviewed TravelBrains CD. It did an excellent job of creating the action, a cyclorama if you will, at the various locations along the driving tour. Though I should mention that they gave General Grant a fictitious middle name to go with the "S". This phantom initial came about because of a clerical error and stuck with Grant standing for everything from Uncle Sam to Unconditional Surrender.

In another dubious comment Abner Doubleday is referred to as the "legendary creator of baseball." The may or may not be yet another error. It depends on the conotation of legendary. If by legendary the narrator means a fictitious story unsubstantiated by historical data, then he was correct. If, however, legendary means famous, then this would be another error. I'm always willing to give them the benfit of the doubt.

I'm YouTube Famous

2011-06-30T08:50:00.002-05:00

That is me in the red KC hat. I came in second. The winner used water, which I was under the impression was against the rules.

A Poem

2011-03-03T14:02:00.002-06:00

So this is going to come off a little negative. I love teaching, and that is why I get so frustrated. I often feel like I am having no effect. The following is a rough draft of a poem I wrote as an example to a student.

I can't believe there is still fifteen minutes.
Fifteen! And I could have sworn it was five.
Fifteen more minutes of gold teeth flashin'
while students are laughin'
out loud at inside jokes.
Fifteen, maybe Fourteen now of
students starin' at blank pages
reflecting the despair on blank faces.

I need a student to succeed,
exceed my expectations,
but they sit and swat at F's
that settle on them like flies on the dead.

Cyberword Association: A Tour of My Subconcious Mind

2011-02-18T11:44:00.013-06:00

Motivate: Isn't it ironic? It's like banning phones the day after METC, taking ipods away when just downloaded I Have a Dream, The networks down and you just need a device, getting mad a the Goth kid for texting Anne Rice.

Transform: Students are the transformers taking everyday tools . . . no wait the teachers are the transformers giving students a new way of looking . . .no the technology is the transformer becoming whatever we need it . . . no I was right the first time it is the students, or maybe the teachers. Definitely the technology. Yup, the technology is the transformer, or the students.

Engage: Total geek check. This was the first thing I thought of when I heard the word "engage." I mean seriously, if your are going to engage something it might as well be the the warp drive.

Connect: Voki is one of the new tools I took away from the conference. Not sure how I will use it in class yet, but that is half the fun. The other half is when a student comes up with a way to use it in class.

http://www.teachtothink.blogspot.com/

@classwords

http://www.danandcoletteoscars.blogspot.com/

If I trust you Facebook

dishfunctional on Flickr

and soon the holdenmorton channel on YouTube

Phone Number

dholden@u-city.k12.mo.us

morden01@swbell.net

dishfunctional@yahoo.com

Home Address

Windows on the World: A Metaphor for Reading

2011-02-16T08:12:00.016-06:00

Special thanks to my wife, Colette, without whose brain I would be drooling on myself in the corner.

While exiting the Saturday matinee of Tron: Legacy I looked out the glass doors of the theater and realized that clouds had darkened the day and threatened imminent downpour. I passively plodded behind the herd dreading the gloomy milieu that awaited. In anticipation, and to avoid eye contact, I was marveling at the garish colors and psychedelic patterns of the lobby carpet. The mind melting miasma of flooring had so entranced me that I was barely aware of my hands pushing the lever of the exit. A piercing light popped my textile induced trance inducing an audible "gaaaack," as if I were a vampire about to dissolve in flame.

You would look at the floor too. Trust me.

It was the sun. The tinted windows of the doors had deceived me. Designed so that the contraction of the iris is not too sudden or painful the tinted glass had distorted my perception of reality, but it had also handed me a brilliant metaphor for the media. Granted the media has been, for a long time, referred to as our window on the world, but at that moment I realized that without accurate data on the nature of the window I had no idea about the truth of what I see.

Sometimes it is obvious, the window is stained glass, filled with spiderweb cracks, or the shade is pulled, but more often than not the window is tinted, smudged, warped, or in some cases the window is a wall. You may actually have to search for the window or occasionally take a sledgehammer and make it.

Even when dealing with a window that you frame and glaze yourself you still don't get a clear picture. Every photon of information must pass through the lens of your eye and diffuse through the filter of bias call the brain. Eye witness testimony is notoriously faulty because the brain sees what it wants, and what it misses it fills in with whatever sexist, racist, istist bullshit it wants.

"I didn't see him clearly, but I'm pretty sure he was a Mexican."

Our view of the world is a shadow of a reflected silhouette passing through three windows. The window of the media, the mind's eye, and before the data even makes it to the media it passes through the mental sieve of the author. To truly understand any message a reader must know as much about the speaker, the medium, and himself.

So is there an objective reality? Probably. That is why we should take Windex to our minds, study the glass, and only buy our windows from the most reputable dealers.

Clear your mind

A good reader must know themselves. This requires brutal honesty and acceptance of her innate isms. The reader is racist, ageist sexist, phobic, philic, friendly, fiendish and fickle. More specifically her mind possesses these qualities subliminally. The reader must look inward to gain knowledge of the polarized lenses she wears at all times so that she can sharpen the diffuse glow of information. Don't believe me? Take on of these tests.

I'm pretty sure it also smells like roses

With this newly developed focus the reader must now turn his attention to the speaker. The speaker filters information twice, once through his own pair of D&G sunglasses and again as it exits his mind through a much more deliberately designed cut glass picture window. The reader must backwards engineer these lenses by looking for the signature frequencies created intentionally by the author and subconsciously altered pixels mutated by the radiation of his bias. Simply put, who is this guy, and why is he talking to me?

Finally the reader should be welled versed in the art and craft of the medium, or window itself. What tools did the speaker have at his disposal to create the message? What are the limitation of the medium? Imagine the reader had no knowledge of digital effects. He may assume after seeing Avatar that dragon-riding blue people are real. This is hyperbolic of course, but apply the same standard to a reader that is encountering his hundredth or thousandth iteration of a popular TV trope and he might assume that every middle class white person has a black best friend. Without knowledge of the medium a reader can easily be manipulated by a couple of metaphors or a dash of alliteration.

A "real" piece of tail

Authors are repeatedly asked to bow to the limitations of the medium and the restrictions of the market. The collaborative effort to produce the final product has a profound impact on the message. Whenever possible readers need to study the "making-of" documents for whatever they are reading.

Can a reader sit back and passively enjoy a message? Of course . . . . . . . . NOT. Unless the reader enjoys the constant shock and pain of a flash of realization or revels in the ignorance and fear of never knowing what lies on the side of the door. Then he must rage against the obscuring of the light.

Mutant Message Down Under

2011-01-12T12:17:00.068-06:00

When approached with the idea of doing an all school read of the Mutant Message, I agreed. I was under the impression that it was a slightly fictionalized version of actual events. I also believed that it had been written by a journalist, though I now realize that was entirely a construction of my assumptions and bias. I thought that, like A Million Little Pieces, Mutant Message Down Under may embellish a few facts or even completely fabricate characters and events, but the quality of writing and core truth of the story would more than make up for a few flourishes of falsehood. What I found instead was a tome loaded with sentences barely recognizable as English, enhanced by a "gravy" (185) of convoluted figurative language and constructed on a foundation of 17th century "noble savage" racism cemented into a grotesque argument for new age philosophies, pseudoscience, and quackery.

Marlo Morgan, author of this book, must have been the grand inquisitor's understudy in 15th century Spain and water-boarded with the best in Guantanamo in order to so effectively torture sentences into submission. The mangled beauty of her diction and fractured complexity of usage combine to create a macabre masterpiece. I am not a peevish matron concerned with a linguistic status quo, but the sentences in this book border on incomprehensible. While fragment sentences can be used by authors to prove a point, Morgan seems to use them out of desperation. She says to herself, I have words. They must be important if I thought them. Therefore they must be written.

In a conversation with one of the Aborigines about a grave they stumble across in the Outback her guide says, "There's nothing left here, you see, not even bones! But my nation respects your nation"(75). My guess is that the speaker is trying to say that his actions are based on respect for her nation and not for any remains that are in the grave, but that is a deep meaning buried under more sand than the six feet that covers the corpse.

Dig here to find meaning

Her word choice is frequently bizarre and awkward. When referring to telepathy she calls it "head-to-head talk"(63) Her cleavage is "nature's pocket"(14). Her diction sabotages any attempt by the reader to immerse themselves in the narrative. At one point I was reading the litany of things that she had left behind when I was blind-sided by a "grand elderly matron"(21) that was her landlady. Hopefully, Morgan will be able to return to her "employment position"(16) because her career as a wordsmith is limited. Balki Bartokomous has a firmer grasp on American idioms than Morgan displays here.

Probably the most jarring aspect of Morgan's style is her insistence on layering thick gelatinous globs of figurative language like a salve onto the bruised and bloody corpses of her sentences. When describing the expanse of desert she was about to cross she said that "like the Energizer battery, it seemed to go on and on and on"(15). So, when presented with the vastness of the Australian outback the mental image she finds most helpful is a giant pink rabbit beating a drum. This is still infinitely better than the phantom image we are given when she is talking about a drinking vessel and refers to it as "nonpottery" (21). Really, because all I can think of now is a pottery vessel. It's nonpottery? Sorry. Dang, I'm seeing pottery again. My bad.

What I'm not suppose to see.

Phantom images are still better than the phantom characters that populate the book. I understand that like Law & Order names must be changed to protect the innocent, but to eliminate names entirely and just refer to the character as a "large, expensively dressed female" (33) reduces her from character on L & O to a random corpse on CSI. In fact Morgan goes on to meet this female who was a guide at an unnamed science museum at an unnamed restaurant located in the center of an unnamed town. The lack of specificity is bordering on criminal. If Morgan was the key witness in a murder trial prosecutors would be forced to hide her for fear that her lack of details would necessitate reasonable doubt.

A pivotal character.

It was this doubt that led me to question the book from the very first sentences of the introduction to the tenth anniversary edition of Mutant Message. In it she details the profound impact her book has had on the lives of the rest of the mutants. The closest she comes to naming any of these people is Lyle W. who was a "keynote speaker for a graduation exercise" (xiv) in a nameless federal prison.

These testimonials were also my first hint that this was not going to be a factual account of Morgan's journey. This was a self-help book designed to push the message of alternative and holistic medicine. Though I had suspected it of being filled with hokum and balderdash I was willing to go along for a while. I have tendency to believe in scientific theory, and just so we are clear theory means thoroughly tested and accepted by 99.9% of scientists. We are talking gravity level acceptance. However, out of courtesy and polite civility I would suspend my high standards for a sense of community during this all school read.

My career in politics lasted exactly thirty-two pages at which point Morgan mentions her "special microscope"(32).

"I had a special microscope that could be used with whole blood, not altered or separated. By viewing a drop of whole blood, it is possible to see many aspects of patients' chemistry graphically in movement. We connected the microscope to a video camera and monitor screen. Sitting next to the physician, patients could see their white cells, red cells, bacteria, or fat in the background. . . Physicians can use it for many conditions, such as showing patients the level of fat in the blood or a sluggish immune response. . . However, in the United States, our insurance companies won't cover costs for preventive measures, so patients have to pay out of pocket"(32).

Pictured here: Special

If at this moment Morgan had decided to view my blood in her special microscope I have no doubt that she would have seen absolutely nothing except the venom I was about to spew. Since Morgan was trying to dumb-down the procedure so that her apparently ignorant readers could understand what she was talking about, I had to rely on my Google-fu to find out that the procedure she was describing is called Live Blood Analysis which quackwatch.com calls "high-tech hokum." LBA has not met CLIA requirements meaning that it is not recognized by our government as being a valid test. Morgan basically stipulates that when she says U.S. insurance companies won't cover it. She has hopes that "the Australian system would be more receptive"(33). I can imagine her profound sadness when an Australian naturopath was convicted and fined for false advertising when he claimed he could diagnose illness using LBA.

These claims made by homeo- naturo-, psycho- pathic practitioners constitute a grave threat to the health of all people. The most obvious example of gross negligence and downright fraud is the study that linked autism to childhood immunization. Because of this study and the ravings of Jenny McCarthy many people decide to forgo immunization. The problem with this is not just that now the un-immunized are at risk for the disease, but they also endanger the lives of everyone else because of herd immunity. No vaccine is 100% effective so immunity relies on the fact that others are not carrying the disease. Even if you have received the shot you may still be at risk because you belong to the small percentage of people for whom the vaccine did not work. The perpetuation of this alchemical hooey is dangerous and threatens to give a new lease on life for viruses that have not graced our sputum in centuries. This is just downright bubonic.

Later in the book she refers to physician's "bag of tricks"(90) and is "certain there has never been a doctor anywhere, at any time, in any country, at any period in history who ever healed anything"(90). The aborigines of course are aware of this and use their inside healer to cure themselves; even mending compound fractures in less than 24 hours. Apparently physical illness is caused by dis-ease in the soul, and our ailments force the body to slow down so that we can heal "wounded relationships, gaping holes in our belief system, walled-up tumors of fear, eroding faith in our Creator, hardened emotions of unforgiveness, and so on"(90). Later today I plan a trip to the intensive care unit of Barnes hospital to let all of the patients know that there medical problems are just manifestations of a faulty spirit. Chin up cancer patients, if you just forgive your cheating wife or stop blaming immigrants for taking your job you will be able to walk out of here tomorrow.

"That one over there is suffering from 'hardened emotions of unforgiveness', and the kid in the back has a 'walled up tumor of fear.' I'm going to leave this with you because I am coming down with a case of 'eroding faith in our Creator.'"

Of course, with that logic I am surprised that Morgan is not wasting away in a nursing home considering the latent racism housed in her maternalistic reliance on the "noble savage" to spread her message. In his essay about Cinethetic Racism Matthew W. Hughey describes the noble savage as the belief by eighteenth century Europeans that, "Africans and indigenous 'new world' peoples were said to have noble qualities: harmony with nature, generosity, child-like simplicity, a disdain of materialistic luxury, moral courage, natural happiness even under duress, and a natural or innate morality." Readers of Mutant Message will immediately recognize this description as the Real People tribe encountered by Morgan.

Many who believe in the noble savage, or its modern offspring the Magical Negro, view themselves as enlightened. I'm sure Morgan does not see herself as racist. She only portrays the Real People tribe in the most positive light. In her mind they are superior to us. Her logic fails on a couple of points. First of all the concept of the noble savage is a two-hundred-year-old, over-simplification of rich and varied non-european cultures that diminishes its subject to a philosophical concept rather than understand them as flesh and blood human beings. Secondly her idea of positive light involves enough radioactive libel to cause these "real people" to actually become mutants so simple that they are incapable of finding any other way of sending their message to the world other than abducting a nice white lady.

Our Savior

When the only English speaking member of the tribe expresses sympathy for her narrow nose holes and laments that she does not have "a big koala nose" (68) as they have, it is obvious that she is exalting the superior evolution of these animal nosed people. Or as some might see it she is comparing them to the Australian version of a chimpanzee which as we all know is a perfectly acceptable thing for a white lady to say about a person of color. Later, in case we may have forgotten about "these people" and their "broad expansive nose and large nasal passages," she reminds us of the "nasal shape of the koala bear"(131) that makes them so perfectly adapted to this desert environment.

I seriously can't tell the difference. I'm going with adorable stuffed Aborigine

Unlike African Americans who purportedly have extra muscles in their legs to help them run and jump faster and higher than their white counterparts, the Aborigines have "a sort of animal hoof"(22) that allows them to perambulate about the Outback will little regard to protective foot gear. Of course this is not a genetic trait as is the nose, but an acquired trait that Morgan aspires too. Hopefully, the Aborigines can teach her how to walk-about just like generations of African Americans have taught white kids how to dance. (In a nice twist Morgan later teaches the Real People how to square and line dance.)

Lest you think her maternalistic sense of awe and amazement is limited to the physical traits of the "Real People," Morgan points out that this tribe of "so-called uncivilized humans" have "virgin minds"(94). Amazingly in the same sentence that she tries to defend the Aborigines against claims of savagery, she infantilizes their brains and is grateful for being allowed into this unused, virginal space, a veritable blank slate.

Perhaps I am being unfair. It is not like she is saying that they don't use their brains. She would never say that they didn't use any of her "so-called important educational concepts" like "logic, judgment, reading, writing, math, (or) cause and effect"(133). Seriously? She just claimed that they have no need for the left brain because they live in a right brain reality in which they only need to be masters of "using creativity, imagination, intuition, and spiritual concepts"(134). With such pronounced hemispheric asymetry, I am surprised that the Real People are not falling over in the desert from epileptic seizures.

Ironically, the Real People vocabulary manages to work despite this left brain deficit. While our right brain society can only logically come up with one word for sand the Aborigines "have over twenty different words, which describe textures, types and descriptions of soil in the Outback." (84) This is merely an extension of the linguistic myth that Eskimos have anywhere from 20 to 100 words for snow. In an attempt to give credence to her belief that the Aborigines are more in tune with the earth, Morgan simultaneously perpetuates and extends an urban legend, and undermines her own "scientific"(20)(51)(97) musings concerning hemispheric dominance. (Added bonus logic failure: If you follow the parallel structure in the quote you will notice that Morgan says the Aborigines have words to "describe descriptions")

Aborigine IQ test: "Uh, sand. Seriously all I can think of is 'sand.'"

Considering the paternalistic racism, pseudo-scientific devotion to nature, and the clunky dialogue the closest literary comp for Mutant Message is James Cameron's Avatar. Though Cameron clearly made a work of fiction (the Na'vi were blue for Christ's sake) he was still accused of have a simplistic view of Native Americans and other people of color. Considering that every actor playing one of the Na'vi was a person of color and they were saved by a square-jawed, white Marine, it is understandable. Morgan may not have a squared jaw, but we are led to believe that she is the chosen one sent with this mutant message from the Real People. This has offended real Aborigines to the extent that they sent a group of elders to confront her and ask her to stop promoting the book and using their culture to push her hodge-podge of eastern mysticism, pseudo-science, and new-age spirituality. She has never offered a public apology.

Morgan's work is easily compared to a Hollywood science fiction movie, her diction indicates that she had a bout of childhood deafness, and her flourishes of figurative language are an effective argument that 100 monkeys with 100 typewriters could indeed produce a publishable work, albeit a work that is morally reprehensible, scientifically irresponsible, and grammatically incomprehensible. If you or anyone you know is considering purchasing this book don't. I suggest that you take up residence in the self-help (science fiction, malarkey, hokum, bunkum, hogwash, rot, drivel) section of your local Borders and harangue customers until they drop the book in fear. Then, even though Morgan says she has "saved you a trip to the public library"(xvii), I suggest that you go there and read about real Aboriginal culture.

Movies I Saw This Year

2011-01-04T11:52:00.015-06:00

The Social Network - Sorkin's dialogue is awesome as usual, and Eisenberg delivers it beautifully. It was fun to explore the irony of the socially awkward Zuckerberg creating a social network. I don't know if it says anything about our world as a whole, but it is interesting that a plot about socializing, would have totally unravelled if any of the characters would just talk to each other.

Winter's Bone - Described as country-noir this film was not what I was expecting. I thought it was going to be about the devastation wrought by drugs, but it turn out to be a mob movie set in rural Missouri. It never panders to the audience and allows them to piece the story together.

Inception - Beautiful movie with little heart. I can only think that Nolan did not mean for the ending to be a twist since it was telegraphed from the beginning. A bigger twist would have been to give us a definitive answer instead of the "is he" or "isn't he."

Toy Story 3 - I wasn't as in love with this as other people. The ending was touching, but a lot of it seemed to service elaborate set pieces. I did tear up a couple of times. There just didn't seem to be as much depth to this world as there was in Ratatouille or Wall-e. Still the best animated movie of the year.

Black Swan - This makes me feel stupid for not seeing The Wrestler and The Fountain. Infinitely more complex and emotionally compelling than this year's other mind-bender Inception. Portman is awesome, even though I was a little ashamed of some of the things that Padme was doing. Aronofsky is amazing. It won't win picture of the year, but it will be nominated and should be seriously considered.

The King's Speech - M-m-m-my rrrrr-review of The K-k-k-k-k-k-k-king's Sp-p-peech. Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush should both be nominated, and it was nice to be reminded that Helena Bonham Carter act and not just overact in movies by her baby daddy. "Excuse me, do you have Prince Albert in a can? Then let him out."

The Kids Are All Right - Julianne Moore nipple but after Shortcuts and Boogie Nights that not enough. Anette Bening will and should be nominated, but I never really understood the point of this movie. What is the take away.

127 Hours - Franco is a god and Danny Boyle is an underrated director. This movie is grueling, disgusting, inspiring, riveting, and amazing. It makes me thirsty just thinking about it. The cinematography was brilliant as well. We visited Canyonlands just this summer and even after seeing the ordeal he went through I was inspired to go on more adventurous hikes next time.

True Grit - "Fill your hand you son-of-a-bitch." Cohen brothers and Bridges 'nough said.

The Fighter - Christian Bale disappears into his role as a spastic, drug addicted, ex-boxer. In the final scene when I saw the real life people I was amaze at how dead on his portrayal was. Amy Adams is probably on my list after seeing this movie. The movie itself is fairly straight forward, but it is compelling and has you rooting for Mickey Ward to finally win in the ring and at home.

Greenberg - Okay, I only saw this one as I was passing through the living room. Ask Colette.

Scott Pilgrim vs The World - Edgar Wright's first movie without Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, and he proves that he is more than capable of working without them. When I found out about the movie I started reading the graphic novels and I would recommend them as well. Michael Cera is perfectly cast and delivers his second great performance of the year (see Youth in Revolt). It also has a great supporting cast including Jason Schwartzman and Kieran Culkin.

Kick-Ass - Kicked ass. Again with the expectations. I thought it was going to be funnier based on the trailer, but that is not the case. I was also misled about the role played by Christopher Mintze-Plasse. Nicholas Copo. . . I mean Cage shows up and isn't embarrassing. Overall I think it was a good movie just darker than I expected.

How to Train Your Dragon - They cranked out another one. I don't remember a single gag from the movie and I didn't really care about the characters.

Tangled - If I was to rate this movie on expectations then it would score very high. Hopefully, John Lasseter's influence can continue improving the Disney product. Interesting characters and and some fun songs particularly Mother Knows Best and I Have a Dream. The film benefits from not having immediately recognizable voices that distract from the story.

Tron: Legacy - They took the cheesy movie of my childhood and try to add Matrix level mythology. The entire second act is a snooze and the character of Zeus is as annoyingly out of place and Chris Tucker in The Fifth Element. Cool special effects, but young Jeff Bridges still resides in the uncanny valley. Daft Punk created and awesome score.

Despicable Me - Of the two supervillian animated movies this year Despicable Me is the best. The minions are more memorable, and Carrell is able to deliver a more believable voice performance the Ferrell. The soundtrack also has a nice little title tune by Pharell.

Also what the hell is with all the "ell." I smell the Illuminati.

The Karate Kid - I have too much nostalgia mucking up my ability to review this movie. Jackie Chan is no Pat Morita and no villain can ever top those assholes from Cobra Kai. I think Evan liked it, but he has never spoken of it again.

The Other Guys - I went to see this with my brother-in-law Paul and enjoyed it so much that I rented it so I could watch it with Colette. I went in expecting a dumb guy comedy and growing tired of Will Ferrell. I got the dumb comedy, but I also got so brilliant set pieces, satire, and a hilarious monologue detailing how a school of tuna would defeat a lion.

Youth in Revolt - Bring back Arrested Development. Not that they will but I am required to say that about any movie starring Michael Cera. This a quirky coming of age story that everyone should see. At least that's what I would say if they wanted to use my quote in the ad campaign. Just because it is quotable doesn't make it not true. See this movie.

Alice in Wonderland - Unfortunately, I saw this at the $1.00 screen and was deprived of what was probably the only redeeming quality of this movie, Burton's visual style.

Salt - Bourne is better, but doesn't have the boobs.

Dinner for Schmucks - Best line: "You may say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not." A good performance by Carell, and it is worth seeing just for the mouse taxidermy. Colette tells me that Paul Rudd is cute.

Cop Out - I beginning to believe that Kevin Smith does not have talent. I forgot to watch the last 15 minutes before I returned it to Redbox.

Hot Tub Time Machine - Funny as hell. Heavy doses of 80s nostalgia. If you have ever seen Better off Dead or Say Anything you will recognize the Cusack character, but the gags are funny enough to distract you from the story. Crispin Glover should be in every movie.

Date Night - If not for the greatest actor of our generation James Franco this movie may have failed. Just as the movie is about to slip into boredom Franco and Kunis pump life back into it. Wahlberg does a good job as well. I was disappointed mainly because of my high expectations of Carell and and Fey.

Iron Man 2 - Things blow up. I did you use it as a comp for Gilgamesh in my class this year.

Ramona & Beezus - Relatively innocuous kids movie. No harm, no foul.

Megamind - Not quite to the standard of Despicable Me. Character motivation was too subtle for kids and too cliched for adults.

Due Date - Downey and Gallifianakis are good together. Not as funny as The Hangover and a little derivative of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, and you can't beat Martin and Candy. Still rent it if you want.

Day & Night (Pixar short) - Why?

Easy A - I enjoyed the references to 80s teen movies. It is better than most movies marketed to teens, comparable to Saved and Mean Girls.

Shutter Island - Oh yeah this is what a good director can do with a psychodrama. First of all the story is told visually and not like the exposistion laden Inception. Secondly, you get a better performance out of Leo and a character to actually root for. This movie made me realize that Nolan is just a slightly brainier Michael Bay, and that Marty is a genius even when working in pulp.

The Town - I'm not sure why I should root for a cop-killing sexual predator. I was into it while I was watching, but it does not hold up to a lot of thought.

Animal Kingdom - This may benefit from being compared to The Town, but this was a much more compelling crime drama. Now if you have a problem watching people continually do stupid shit, then this may not be the movie for you. The movie is from Australia and we all know that place was started by criminals so it must be good.

Legion

Exit Through the Gift Shop

Video and Starz

Ip Man (2008)

Moon (2009)

The Christmas Letter

2010-12-06T13:00:00.001-06:00

War, Sports and Redemption

A Year in Which Evan Earned 28 Junior Ranger Badges, a Turkey and Salvation

After years of avoiding guns and violence we succumbed to the rat-a-tat call of firearms. Colette figured that if Evan was going to be lured by the images of war, then he should actually learn history as opposed to the intricate political dealings of the galactic senate and the machinations of Chancellor Palpatine. With this goal we marched Evan to Indiana in January to visit the boyhood home of Abraham Lincoln and a memorial to George Rogers Clark, America’s first action hero. Evan earned the first two of his badges on this trip .

The next seven badges came on a trip to New Orleans that included stops at three battlefields and a fort; Shiloh, Vicksburg, Chalmette, and the Arkansas Post. While in the Big Easy,Evan also visited a swamp, ate plenty of beignets and played the washboard.

Having covered the revolutionary war, the Civil War and the War of 1812 ,we decided that Evan should make a foray into more modern warfare, so in April we took him to a World War II reenactment. Evans favorite part was collecting the shell casings scattered throughout the field afterwards. The excitement of this reenactment, coupled with Colette’s NEH grant to study the Kansas Missouri Border Wars, paved the way to Mississippi for a staging of the Civil War Battle of Dover. Evan found himself close to the action when he was “accidentally caught on the southern side” during a skirmish.

Fighting continued to be a part of our lives as Evan witnessed jousts and duels at the Kansas City Renaissance Festival in September and visited Fort Scott in Kansas the next month where he earned yet another Junior Ranger badge. For those of you good with math you have by now noticed that Evan is 18 badges short of our stated goal of 28. That is because I have not mentioned the epic vacation we took through five states in which Evan earned 17 more badges. Though Evan probably wanted to visit a few more forts on this trip, he had fun at Bent’s Old Fort, Great Sand Dunes, Mesa Verde, Hovenweep, Natural Bridges, Capitol Reef, Bryce Canyon, Zion, Grand Canyon, Pipe Springs, Cedar Breaks, Great Basin, Canyonlands, Arches, Dinosaur, Colorado Monument and Nicodemus.

When not learning about our illustrious military history or hiking through desert canyons Evan participated in athletic endeavors. He played coach pitch baseball, kicked around in soccer, competed in dive and continued to excel at swimming. He attained personal best times in all four strokes. He also took his first steps into the world of competitive eating, finishing two-and-half hotdogs at the Catsup Festival.

Considering his increased consumption, we decided it was time that Evan started providing for the family, so he was enrolled in fishing classes over the summer. Most of the fish he caught were little more the bite size, but we hope that he will soon be appearing on the Fishing Network. In November Evan surprised us by winning a turkey in the soccer shootout. Because of Evan, we were able to have a happy Thanksgiving.

The fourth Thursday of November was alsothe occasion of Evan’s first communion. He was very excited by it, but when asked if he wanted to go to church with Grandma the next Sunday he said, “I don’t want the bread of life today, maybe next time.”

But it doesn’t add up, you say? We heard about the turkey, the salvation, and 26 badges. Aren’t we owed more badges? Indeed, Evan also earned a badge on Junior Ranger Day at Ulysses S. Grant’s farm home, and he completed the book at the Old Courthouse, part of the Jefferson Expansion Memorial. Evan’s curriculum of war, sports, and redemption will continue in the new year when he plans on taking up basketball and making a sojourn to our Nation’s Capital.

Dan and Colette are still teaching.

The Big Taste

2010-11-15T14:11:00.003-06:00

“Get that out of your mouth. You don’t know where it has been,” Devon Guntoe’s mom screamed as she rushed toward him to get the penny out of his mouth. “Devon that is filthy. It is covered in germs.”

“How do you know?” Devon asked.

“It doesn’t matter how I know. I just know. Now go get some mouthwash.”

Devon stumbled up the stairs to the bathroom and got the mouthwash out of the cabinet. He was eleven years old and had been putting things in his mouth since as long as he could remember. Now let us be clear. He was not a biter. He was a taster. In fact he was a super taster.

If Devon’s mom had taken the time to ask him where the penny had been instead of assuming he didn’t know, then he could have told her. “It was minted in Denver in 1978.”

Big deal right? You can just read that. But then he would have gone on. It then traveled to the Federal Reserve in Kansas City and stayed there for two weeks until it was purchased by First National Bank. It was in a teller’s drawer along with 49 of its buddies for a while. The teller was a nice lady who loved to eat pickles. Eventually, its roll was purchased by a local gas station and given as change the next day.

Devon could have gone on, but suffice it to say that the penny then spent the next few decades hopping pockets, making several trips back to various reserve banks and eventually finding its way to Devon who got it as change when he bought a package spearmint gum.

“Swish, swish, swish, gargle, swish, spit.”

Devon glanced at the trash. There were three empty bottles of mouthwash, two tubes of toothpaste, and a million gum wrappers. When you can taste everything, you will do anything to cleanse your palate.

“Devon come down for dinner,” his mom yelled up the stairs.

Ugh, dinner. Tonight was hamburgers, which was great for most kids, but Devon could always taste what the cow had eaten for its last meal, corn, field weeds and a little growth hormones. He had learned to cope by drinking gallons of water at every meal.

“I made your favorite,” his mom said as Devon plopped into the chair.

She had no idea what Devon liked. Long ago, Devon had given up trying to explain things to his mom. She just wouldn’t understand. So Devon made up a few “favorites,” and managed to make it through most meals.

She had no idea the explosion of flavors that occurred every time he took a bite. It hadn’t always been a secret. When he was little, he had tried to explain to his mom and dad about the taste. When he ate liver, he would tell them that it tasted like poop.

“Devon, just take one bite. It will make you strong.”

He told them that lima beans tasted like moldy leaves and worm poop.

“Devon, just eat three beans. It will make you smarter.”

He told them that eggs tasted like . . .

“Devon, everything does not taste like poop. Eat all of your eggs or you can’t leave the table.”

Devon became quite skilled at sneaking, subterfuge, and sleight-of-hand. The family dog, whose name used to be Rover, changed to Porky. Devon felt bad when Porky was sent outside for taking food and hiding it in corners, but he couldn’t tell his parents the truth. So he ate what he could, and Porky just kept getting porkier.

There was no dog to slip his food to at school so when students asked why he didn’t eat anything, he explained. Apparently, nobody wanted to know exactly how many fly wings were in each hot dog, or that each chicken nugget is only 5% chicken, or that the sloppy joe was left over meat from last week’s hamburgers. So Devon usually sat in the corner drinking tap water and eating a banana.

“Eeewww gross! That is disgusting.”

Suzie Meddleson was pointing at Devon. He stopped mid-lick. He had an annoying habit of tasting things that most normal people would not put in their mouth. This time he had been licking a library book that someone had left in at the table. Just the quickest taste and he knew the last person to check out the book. He actually could tell you everyone that had ever checked out the book.

In this case it was a copy of Stinky Cheeseman that had been checked out by Eddy Bookman. Devon knew this because he had, quite by accident, tasted Eddy before.

Of course none of this mattered because Suzie had the whole lunchroom chanting, “LICKER, LICKER, LICKER.”

Devon jumped out of his seat and began to run. He didn’t know where to go, and before he could even ponder it, he ran smack in to Mr. Covert.

“Hold on there Devon. Where are you going so fast?”

“I have to get out of here,” Devon gasped.

“Why don’t you come with me? We can finish our lunch in my classroom.”

Happy to have a place to go, Devon walked silently to the classroom.

“So, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” Mr. Covert asked.

“The other kids were teasing me because I uh. . . uh.”

“Spit it out, Devon.”

“But I don’t have anything in my mouth,” Devon stammered.

“The words Devon! The words!”

“Oh,” Devon paused, “The other kids call me Licker.”

“Why would they do that?” Mr. Covert asked as he pushed a little red button under his desk.

Devon picked up a pencil off of Mr. Covert’s desk and started chewing nervously. Suddenly Devon saw images of unmarked vans, men in dark suits, and a secret lab in the basement of an old factory. Every taste bud on his tongue screamed, “RUN!”

Mr. Covert glanced out of the corner of his eye. Devon followed his gaze and saw two men in black suits filling the window of the door. One was fat and one was skinny, but they both looked mean.

“I’m sorry Devon, but you are going to have to come with us.”

“Who’s us?” screamed Devon.

“Let’s just say we head up an international team of ice cream makers and private detectives, and we are very interested in you unique abilities.”

“Like my ability to kick your butt?” Devon yelled, charging at Mr. Covert.

As he propelled himself over a student desk, the two men in the hall crashed through the door and snatched him mid-leap. They wrestled him to the ground with minimal effort.

“Please prepare Mr. Guntoe for an E.T.L.”

“Yes sir,” replied the agents.

“What is an E.T.L.?” Devon demanded.

“That is for me to know, and you to find out,” cackled Covert.

The skinny agent whispered in his ear, “It’s an extreme tongue lashing, kid, and you are not going to like it.”

When skinny leaned in, Devon was able to just barely get the tip of his tongue onto the shirt collar. Images flashed through his brain:

A nice house on Maple Dr. with freshly cut grass
the coffee shop at the corner of Broadway and 1st
the dry cleaner on Main
The ice cream shop on Sherman
The post office on the square
ABC Daycare

Wait a minute. Didn’t Covert say that they were ice cream making private detectives? Devon swished the spit around in his mouth a little more and focused on the ice cream shop. That was it. The ice cream shop must be their secret hide-out.

“You get him out of here. I’ll call his mother and tell her that he has detention for not finishing his homework,” Covert said.

“She won’t believe you. She saw me do it last night. Tell her you caught me eating food in class.”

“Whatever, just get him out of here. We need to get the ETL started as soon as possible.”

The two agents hauled Devon out of the school and into a van that was waiting outside. They threw him into the back and drove off.

There were no windows, but Devon knew this van belonged to Skinny. There were three black suits with dry cleaning plastic still on them, a packet of coloring pages from ABC Daycare, and a coffee stirrer that tasted like dark roast and creamer. Devon just hoped his plan would work.

As Devon relaxed he was able to hear the faint sound of The Entertainer by Scott Joplin chimed from a black box in the corner.

“I thought I told you to turn that thing off. It just attracts attention,” the stumpy one said.

“I can’t. The button is broken. Anyway, we are supposed to be an ice cream truck.”

Devon licked the floor. This was an ice cream truck, but it hadn’t been used for that purpose in a long time.

When they yanked him out of the van, they were parked in an alley. They odor of rotten milk and waffle cones filled the air, and the pavement was marbled with a sticky Neapolitan glaze.

The agents lifted a metal door that revealed a service elevator, and Devon was forced in. The whine of the motor and grinding of gears would normally be quite obnoxious, but Devon had the slightly off tune calliope of The Entertainer bouncing around in his skull so he was grateful for the distraction.

The smell of rotten milk became monstrous as they were lowered into the underground factory, and there was no sweet relief of waffle cone to same his senses. As his eyes adjusted to the light Devon saw row upon row of conveyor belts with armies of ice-cream cartons marching towards wide-mouthed trucks.

Near the middle of each line was a dog, or sometimes a cat, held in cage with metal bars and leather straps. Their tongues were held out with a clamp and electrodes placed on either side. Wires ran to a computer with a read out that either said “YUCK” or “YUM.”

The animals looked at Devon mournfully, but he didn’t know if it was because they hated the working conditions or because they knew that he was there to take their jobs away from them.

“You’re not going to strap me into one of those things are you?”

“No, of course not. We’re not monsters. We are just going to take a sliver of your tongue and clone it. It won’t hurt a bit.”

Devon looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, fine. It will hurt a lot, but there won’t be any permanent damage.”

“What do you need my tongue for anyway?”

“Well, as you can see we have an elaborate ice-cream tasting apparatus, and we wish to simplify. And . . . uh . . .we kind of thought we could use your tongue to taste out criminals, spies, and terrorists.”

“I’m pretty sure that would be you guys. You kidnapped me and I am pretty terrified. So mission accomplished. Can I go now?”

“Yeah, no. We got some clonin’ to do”

The two agents drag Devon into the ETL and strap him down, and then they wait, and wait some more, and wait just a little bit more, and after that they waited just the teeniest weeniest bit more. Skinny looked at his watch.

“Where do you think Covert is?”

“I don’t know,” replied Stumpy.

. . .

Meanwhile, back at the school.

“At least tell me what he was eating because he is the pickiest eater on the planet, and I just don’t believe he would be eating in class.”

“Now calm down Mrs. Guntoe. I’m sure Mr. Covert can give a perfectly good explanation. Starting with some information about where Devon is,” said Principal Pavlov.

Mrs. Guntoe turned to glare at Covert.

“Uh, I sent him to the office,” stammered Mr. Covert.

“Well he never made it,” replied Principal Pavlov.

Mrs. Guntoe then grabbed Mr. Covert by the arm and demanded, “You better tell me where my son is right now, or I will give you such a tongue lashing.”

“Well funny you should mention that,” Mr. Covert said as he tried to pull away. “We have been tracking Devon for quite some time because of his special abilities.”

“First of all, who is ‘we’, and second of all what abilities?” Mrs. Guntoe demanded.

“WE are the F.B.I.O.”

“Oh what?”

“No, the F.B.I.O, Flavor Based Information Organization. We are a super secret government organization whose goal is to collect flavor information and develop new ice-cream varieties. We were founded by Burt “Butch” Baskin after he discovered that the Russians were sending secret messages in the Rocky Road ice-cream.”

“So how does this have anything to do with my son?”

“Well, Mrs. Guntoe, Devon is a super-taster.”

“Super what?”

“Super taster. It means that he can taste just about anything. We were going to clone his tongue so that we could use it to find spies and create new flavors.”

“Why didn’t you just ask him for his help?”

“Uh, I said we were super secret. We can’t just tell anyone about our organization.”

“Well you will tell ME where my son is right now.”

. . .

Meanwhile back at the ice-cream factory.

“Maybe we should start without him,” Skinny said.

“I don’t know,” said Stumpy, “maybe we should wait.”

“I'm with him. I think we should wait,” Devon chimed in.

“Be quiet. No one asked you,” squawked Skinny.

“Maybe they should have.”

At that moment there was a loud squeal of tires, and a few seconds later the heavy metal doors clanged open.

“Stop! Let the boy go,” Mr. Covert yelled down the hole. He pushed the button for the elevator.

“Devon are you okay?” Mrs. Guntoe yelled down the hole.

“I’m fine. Just get these goons off me.”

“Let him go,” Mr. Covert said reluctantly.

The elevator had reached the top and was descending again with Mr. Covert, Mrs. Guntoe and Principal Pavlov.

Devon ran to his mother and gave her the biggest hug ever.

Mr. Covert walked over to apologize to Devon. “Your mom says that you probably would have helped us if we had just asked.”

“Yeah, maybe, but you guys totally freaked me out. Let me ask you a question. Can you help me so that I don’t taste everything all of the time?”

“Actually, our scientist accidentally developed taste dulling technology we would be happy to share with you if you help us out.”

“Dude, stop threatening people and just ask.”

“You should talk Devon,” Mrs. Guntoe said. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that you had special powers?”

“You never asked.”

“Devon I am your mother. Sometimes you just need to tell me. I have a giant pile of hamburgers with your name on it.”

“Mom? As long as we are telling each other things, I guess I should mention that I don’t like hamburgers.”

“But Devon, they are you favorite.”

“No. I think they taste like grass and chemicals.”

“Well, what would you like to eat?”

“How about a banana? And just bananas until Mr. Covert can fix my tongue. Oh and Mr. Covert, I would be happy to help you save the planet if you let the dogs and cats go.”

“I would love to, but they don’t have anywhere to stay.”

“I can take them,” said Principal Pavlov, “I have plenty of room and I already own a dinner bell.”

“While I’m at it, here is the taste dulling paste I was telling you about. Just brush onto your tongue before every meal.”

. . .

That night Devon discovered that hamburgers truly were his favorite meal, and Porky realized that it was probably going to be time to change his name again. For now he just sat next to Devin’s chair in a puddle of drool.

Turkey Winner

2010-11-09T13:37:00.014-06:00

If last year was any indication, Evan would be eliminated in the first round.

The little man spends at least three days a week flutter, dolphin, and frog kicking his way through swim practice, but ironically when it comes to soccer he does not have a power leg. So quite logically we were not expecting much when it came to the turkey shoot.

As it had been throughout the fall soccer season, the weather was nice. This was the final game of the year, and the high that day had been in the seventies. Since the sun had gone down so had the temperatures, but it was still comfortable with just a light jacket. We were playing under the lights. I used plural because two light standards stood watch, but the field was pocked with dark blemishes and areas of half-light that lent to the feeling that we were all sharing a waking dream. The parents sat on the side line only occasionally looking at the field. Expectations had withered under the barrage of shut-outs and disappointments. We had won exactly one game, and on a regular basis the boys were outscored on average by about four goals. Several of the parents chose to perpetuate the stereotype of Catholics and have a beer to hold back the chill and wash down the taste of defeat. For the most part the players were oblivious. A few of the more mathematically inclined would announce the score, but huge grins of excitement were worn by all as they chased the ball up and down the field.

Our guys scored a goal in the first half, but experience told us that this would not hold up. Evan had not been part of much of the game. He did have one nice break-away and pass, but nothing came of it. Most of us in the crowd were hoping that the clock would run a little faster and preserve our victory. The coaches facetiously promised a party featuring Justin Beiber, who happened to be in town that weekend. I don't know if it was the promise of the Beiber that did it or a lack of faith in the progression of time, but the boys of St. Roch scored a second goal, and the victory held.

The turkey shoot would follow the game, but Colette and I started packing our chairs in anticipation of an early exit. The turkey shoot is not elaborate. The boys line up a random distance from the goal, determined by where the official threw down a jersey, and shoot in a single elimination format. Each successive round the distance from the goal increased. We were so certain of Evan's inevitable elimination that we boasted about it to other parents, but he made through the first round. There was no way that he would continue.

At this point he was just shooting against other players on his team. There are players with much stronger legs. Some of them could kick the ball the entire length of the field, but this was not a game of strength; it was a test of accuracy. At this Evan excelled.

With each round the big kickers would fire rockets, meteors, and other metaphorical projectiles at the goal. Shots that I would not consider standing in front of. Though the currents created by these shots surely resulted in Tsunamis in Japan, one by one they missed. Some by only a fraction of an inch. During the third round Evan was last to go. Every other player had missed. If Evan made this shot, he would move on to the finals. Our excitement was such that we had stopped talking about the event and were watch intently. Our chairs lay on the ground and we started to lament our failure to bring the camera. Evan lined up with the ball, took several steps back, made a running start and missed.

The official recalled all of the kickers from the third round and tried again. Evan went first this time and made it. Every other player repeated their performance and Evan was the last man standing.

Colette and I thought that he had won. Not quite. He now had to face the winners from the other teams in a final shoot-out. There were four players; Evan, the orange guy, the blue guy, and the other blue guy. Those were the descriptions Evan gave later on a phone call to his grandmother.

Honestly, I have no idea why orange guy was in the shoot-out. He was eliminated in the first round. Blue guy went out next. In the third round other blue guy lined up for the kicked. It went wide right. All Evan had to do was make this final shot. The official placed the ball, and before he could remove his hand Evan ran up and kicked it. The official waved it off since the ball had not even stopped moving when Evan kicked it. If this had been an NFL game, I'm sure the opposing team would have asked for a video review, because this shot went left of the goal. However, since this was little league soccer Evan was allowed to kick again.

Evan made the universal sign for "calm the heck down." He placed both hands palm down at about chest level and shoved the anxiety down to his waste. I don't think I had ever seen him this excited. It was like a real life Lego Clone Trooper had shown up to his birthday party.

With the ball in place, Evan took a few steps back to get a running start. One . . . two. . . three, kick. The ball rolled straight on the ground. No lift. No air between ball and turf, and by turf I mean a lumpy, grass clumpy field that threaten to knock Evan's shot off course. But for each hillock and ant hill pushing the ball right there was an equal and opposite clump of soil making a course correction, and the ball trickled into the goal.

I ran over and grabbed Evan hoisting him into the air. A reaction that should be limited to winning the world cup or greeting soldiers returning from war. Feeling a tad embarrassed, I immediately put him down so that he could be swarmed by his teammates who tried unsuccessfully to do some hoisting of their own. And for the next twenty-four hours Evan was known as Turkey-Winner.

Booger

2010-10-14T08:15:00.002-05:00

Booger
by: Dan Holden

His name was Stephen Xavier Battlehorn, but everyone called him Booger. When his mom would wake him up she would say, “Time for school Booger.” At breakfast his dad would peek over the top of his newspaper and say, “How’s my little Booger today?” The kids at the bus stop, the bus driver and the crossing guard all chimed in, “Hey Booger.” Mrs. Singleton, the second grade teacher, called roll, “Ashley Adams, Chip Baden, Booger Battlehorn, blah, blah, blah”
Stephen really enjoyed picking his nose. It just felt good.

“Hey Booger, did you find any gold in there?” His father asked.

“Noooooo.”

“Hey Booger, did you find any gold in there?” His sister Nails asked.

“Noo stupid head.”

“Hey Booger, did you find any gold in there?” His mother inquired

“Moooom!”

“Hey Booger did you find any gold in there?” Asked his friend Sam.

“NO!” Booger replied and quickly jumped on his back and wrestled him to the ground.

“Get off me man.”

“No. Take it back.”

“Take what back?”

“The gold stuff.”

“Alright, I take it back. Now let me up.”

Booger slowly removed his knees from Sam’s arms. As soon as they were free Sam socked Booger right in the nose.

“Oh dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you bleed,” Sam said.

With his hands cupped to his nose Booger ran home and straight to his room. Standing in front of the mirror Booger tilted his head back in order to survey the damage. There was definitely blood, lots of blood, but there was something else that glimmered deep inside his right nostril. He grabbed his flashlight but it still was too dark to see. In desperation Booger jammed his indexed finger as far up his nose as possible. Something hard was up there but Booger couldn’t hook it.

“I’ll have to use tweezers,” Booger thought.

He bolted to the closet and pulled out his Operation game. He had lost most of the pieces but he still had the tweezers. Booger took those tweezers and shoved them deeper and deeper into his proboscis

“Clink”

“Was that metal?” he thought, “Got it.”

He pulled as hard as he could and with a sudden

“Ploink,” out came the tweezers grasping a nugget of gold.

“They were right all along. I was digging for gold. They didn’t have to be so mean about it though. I’ll show them. I’m going to be a millionaire and I’m not going to give them anything.”

The next morning when he went to breakfast with his finger in his nose his father said, “Hey booger, diggin’ for gold are ya?’

“As a matter of fact I am.”

His father chuckled and went back to his paper.

That day at recess Booger found a secluded corner and began mining. In a mere half and hour he had filled his pockets with little booger sized nuggets. Just as the bell rang yanking the kids from their games of four square Suzie Meddleson screamed, “Ungh, Booger you’re nasty. I’m gonna tell my daddy and he works for EF BE I. They are going to arrest you for booger picking.”

“They can’t arrest me for booger picking ‘cause I ain’t pickin’ boogers. I’m diggin’ for gold.”

“Now I’m really gonna tell you big liar.” She ran off with her pigtails bouncing and begging to be pulled.

The rest of the school day was unbearable. Why do I have to learn all of this stuff? All the money I will ever need is right up my nose.

When Booger walked into his house after school he was anxious to get to his room so he could add to his horde of gold, but in the living room with his mother sipping coffee were a couple of men in cheap plaid suits and over-sized mirrored sunglasses.

“Oh Booger what have you done?” his mother managed to say through her tears.

“Nothin’ ma”

The fat suit stepped forward and said, “Booger you need to come with us.”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“No buts son. You come with us.”

Skinny suit grabbed him by his arm a dragged him out to a van that was waiting across the street.

“Don’t worry Stephen your father will know what to do,” his mother cried not too convincingly.

“Oh now you call me Stephen,” thought Booger, “What happened to the nickname now? I’ll show you all when I’m rich. I bet I could pay these guys off in boogers.”

“Hey you guys I can pay you a lot of money if you let me go,” Booger said.

“Oh we know, Booger, we know.”

The doors to the van slammed shut and it was pitch black. They drove for what seemed like forever. Booger finally fell asleep.

When he woke up he was strapped to a table, and hovering above him was a horrendous mechanical contraption.

“Booger Battlehorn,” a voiced boomed from a speaker somewhere in the room, “meet the NosePicker XP, NosePicker XP meet Booger.”

“What’s going on?” Booger screamed.

“We have information that there is gold up your nose and we plan on extracting it. We need the gold to fund our giant military industrial complex.

“No the gold is mine.”

“Ha! You said mine. Get it. Mine. Forget it. Now be very still this is a very delicate operation.”

Suddenly Stephen remembered something his Dad had always told him. “You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friends nose.”

“Oh, hey your right,” the agent said, “Gee I hadn’t thought of that. Whatever shall we do? Oh yeah.”

“Click.” A series of gears and pistons begin to move and a pair of tweezers shot forth. In the background Booger could hear people singing.

“The shin bone’s connected to the knee bone. The knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone.”
Suddenly his father burst into the room and snatched Stephen from the table. The tweezers missed his nose and accidentally plucked his eyebrows.

“Hurry. Let’s go.”

They ran out to the car and sped off.

“Stephen what was that all about? Your mother said that the FBI came and got you this afternoon.”

“Dad, they wanted my boogers.”

“Your what?”

“My boogers. They’re made of gold”

“Stephen, that’s just a joke.”

“No it’s not. Here look.” Stephen dug into his nose and pulled out a gold nugget.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I wanted to keep all of the gold to myself. Everyone was always picking on me.”

“Ha. You said picking”

“Dad stop it.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. If I had just listened to you this morning. I should have known.”

“No Dad it’s my fault I should have trusted you guys. I know you love me even though you pick on me. Maybe if we all just picked our noses instead of picking on each other everything would be O.K.”

“You know what Stephen. You’re awfully smart for a booger picker.”

Pioneer Spirit

2010-10-06T13:01:00.004-05:00

If there is one thing that I have learned in our visits to our nation’s parks is that I am not nearly insane enough to be pioneer. It first occurred to me when we were in the Badlands as a passing thought, “Can you imagine stumbling upon this for the first time?”

It became more coherent in the Tall Grass Prairie Preserve. “Seriously, half a day’s wagon travel from Kansas City and you hit this?” Imagine the ocean. Now imagine that it is made out of tall grass. Now start walking.

That night at the campfire would have been like, “Um, I think I forgot my wallet. I’m like one punch away from a free wheel rotation at Willy’s Wagon Shop. I’ll probably head back, but don’t worry I’ll catch up.”

Finally this summer these nagging thoughts and humorous asides coalesced into a fully formed thesis.

The pioneers of westward expansion were flippin’ insane.

We were in the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, which with some skillful camera work could easily have been used for the location shots in Lawrence of Arabia. We were surrounded by mountains, and though it was shorts weather, the temperature was moderate. Yet before us stood monolithic mounds of sand. We were at the base of God’s hour glass. If Paul Bunyan had a big blue cat instead of Babe, then this would be its litter box. No cactus or tumbleweeds, no rattlesnake whipping a wave across the desolation, no variation in color, just the monotony of the ocean, writ not in water or grass, but the muted yellow of sand. Yet at the highest point I could see of people marching like ants on a pheromone trail creating a dotted line between unending sky and interminable sea of sand.

Those tiny specks of humanity represented a challenge; if they could make it, then so could I. There would be no turning back. No defeat, no surrender. I can conquer the sand and I will drag my wife and seven-year-old son with me. So I packed our earthly belongings, or in this case water bottles, a couple of apples, and some sunscreen, into my backpack and struck out to seek our fortune.

The initial part of the sojourn was over level, relatively compacted terrain, but the distance alone inspired the first bubbling of complaint from Evan. It would be a theme for much of the vacation. There must be a part of child brain that demands parameters on any trip. It is what leads to the ubiquitous whine, “Are we there yet?” Without a concrete end in sight the only alternative is infinity, and to be honest looking at the unbroken horizon of sand I can begin to understand.

With a little pleading, manipulation and lies Colette and I were able to get Evan to reach the peak of the first dune. Walking in sand is the classic two steps forward one step back scenario. I had to consciously lift my foot out of the sand and plant it perpendicular to the direction of the miniature sand slides each movement would make. Sand crept into my boots and added weight so that I was soon lifting an additional five pounds per foot.

We had scaled several dunes and though our destination looked no closer the path back to the car had expanded as if the camera of my eye had suddenly zoomed up and out to reveal that we had become the ants. The appropriate Ennio Morricone score blending a scream of terror and the distant call of a vulture played in the background. It was becoming clear that we were not going to make it. In fact as some of the ants had crossed our path on their return I had noticed that they were all part of a high school cross country team. I group of humans bred to endure the lack of oxygen and water as well has the monotony of running in perpetuity. We were going to turn back.

Sitting at the top of the dune, sand creeping into every crevice, I inspected the sandbags laced to my feet. Grains had worked their way between the rubber sole and leather body of my shoe. The front end was flapping up and down like a bizarrely deformed duck. This would make a good excuse. I couldn’t make it. My shoe fell apart.

With clearly defined parameters the whining had settled down. Evan had surpassed me in exuberance, and I had to frequently tell him to stay close to us. The sole of my left boot began to flap as well. My longer strides had allowed me to pass Evan on the upward slope of the last dune. Following close behind, he called out to me. I told him I would stop at the top. As I removed my backpack and plopped on the sand Evan handed me a foot-shaped piece of blue rubber. For the last ten minutes I had been hiking in what amounted to a moccasin.

I placed the mocking shoe rubber into a zipper pocket of my backpack and continued with my soleless right boot. The grasping hands of sand kept pulling at the sole of my left boot necessitating that I lift my leg higher than normal in order to extricate it. We eventually made it to the car, and I disposed of my hiking boots. Luckily, I had a pair of Keens that would protect my feet for the next twelve days of vacation. Our hikes were all of the out and back variety always ending with a collapse into air conditioned car and familiar sounds of an iPod playlist. I get the solitary explorers, the mountain men, the trappers. They were solitary. Loners with nothing better to do and nothing to tie them down. But the pioneers that packed up their families, their homes, their lives and just started walking? They were flippin’ insane.

GM Salmon

2010-10-04T08:37:00.000-05:00

Ravenous

2010-09-30T12:04:00.005-05:00

My only experience with ravens had been literary in nature; seeing them in nature itself was quite extraordinary. The crow was, of course, familiar as a regular consumer of road kill along Missouri highways, but it paled in comparison of size and ingenuity to its cousin. The eponymous Raven that taunted Edgar Allan Poe and his melancholic loss of Lenore, the creator of the Tlingit, Haida, Tsimshian, Bella Bella, and Kwakiutl plucked my eyes with its ebony beak and would not let them go as it perched with three others on the twisted tree and picnic table of the campground.

Capitol Reef is one of nearly a thousand national parks in Utah, and we were preparing to have a lunch of Spaghettios after a morning of hiking and picking apricots from the groves that remained from historic Mormon orchards. My table of choice had earned that distinction due to its proximity to the car. Hauling the food, stove, drinks, utensils, and propane canisters was not strenuous, but I saw no reason to walk farther than necessary. Colette, however, had other priorities. She decided that our lunch would be better enjoyed in the shade. I am not at this point, or any other, going to say that what was to transpire was her fault, but this particular decision does seem to have a direct causal relationship.

I also can’t blame the birds. They were merely following the food as the adjective form of their species name demands. You can’t blame a wolf for wolfing down his food, a wasp for being waspish, or a raven for its ravenous behavior. So it must have been fate that brought forth the foul (fowl?) fecal rain.

As the reddish-orange sauce sizzled at the edges of the aluminum pan, the avian sentries squawked and cawed in the branches above. I passed the first serving of Chef Boyardee’s cuisine to Evan, and quickly turned to the rest of the family sized can that was rapidly burning around the edges. What happened next is a little unclear, but suffice it to say that there was now an additional ingredient that Chef B had never intended to include. A soupcon of green and white raven poo was swirly through Evan’s dish like oil in a rain puddle, beautiful to look at, but horrifying in it implications.

Ravens, as is their nature, are not precise animals, and the seasoning was not entirely accurate in its application. In addition to being in Evan’s food it was also liberally ladled on to his hair and shoulders. During the cleaning process splatter was discovered on the oven mitt, grocery bag, and the box for our new propane stove.

Thanks to the raven and its trickery, for nearly half an hour, instead enjoying a meal amongst the glorious iron tinged rock formations and the bountiful groves of Capitol Reef, I was suppressing my gag reflex while expunging poo from Evan’s hair. The raven, along with eastern gray squirrel (It’s a long story), is the focus of a blood feud, and as such is subject to equal justice. The problem is that I don’t have the time or resources to find a tree overhanging a raven eating its lunch.

Collared

2010-09-02T18:08:00.002-05:00

T-shirt and jeans in the winter. T-shirt and shorts in the summer. It says to the world, “I have more important things on my mind than how I appear to you.” Occasionally a message, ironic or otherwise, will declare my loyalty to the Kansas City Royals, Amish country, or Irish dance. I ensconced myself with this mixed message ensemble the morning of our family golf tournament. A pair of cargo shorts, a t-shirt displaying an image of Huey from The Boondocks, and an utterly awesome yellow bucket hat were, as far as I knew, acceptable golf wear. Until a phone call from the lead car in our caravan delivered the news that the lack of a collar on my shirt would preclude my participation.

I am not, by nature, an avid golfer, and as such was ignorant of many of the written rules and entirely unaware of the unwritten ones. Prior to this tournament it had been nearly two years since I had sliced and hooked my way through the links. Until now my puttering was limited to public courses. The propensity for golfers to don knit shirts and khakis had not gone unnoticed, but I attributed this to the same urge that made all middle class people, who may have at one time in their life experienced a chill, buy a North Face jacket. These knit shirts had become so intertwined with the Polo brand that, like Kleenex, a distinction between authentic Ralph Lauren clothing and a generic knit shirt could no longer be sufficiently made. These were Polo shirts. And while the iconic logo did feature a man hitting a ball with a stick, I could see no other connection to the game of golf. Until, I became aware of the unwritten rules. Rules passed along by those in the know to keep the unclean, unkempt and unwanted away from the genteel sport of gentlemen.

Different societies and cultures have often designed elaborate rules and procedures to determine if one belongs to the group. Uniforms, secret hand-shakes, shibboleths, and circumcisions all indicate one’s fidelity to the organization. You are a team member, and you respect the traditions of our society. Etiquette is your ticket to enter. So why is the etiquette to golf unwritten? The answer is simple. Like the mysterious placement of utensils at the dining table, the arbitrary cut-off dates for wearing white, and prescriptivist prohibitions against ending sentences with prepositions, golf etiquette is designed to clearly delineate between those that have and those that have not.

Some may say that it is out of respect for the game, and of them I would ask, is respect for the game more important than respect for other people. When rules of etiquette are broken we do not feel moral outrage because the game has been disrespected; we just calmly elevate our noses so as to better look down them. Soft-spiked golf shoes will chuckle lightly under their breath at the $150 Nikes because they know that you can’t buy class. Cuffless slacks will battle their cuffed brothers cruelly pointing out their propensity to trap dirt. Slacks of any sort will join forces to berate anything denim. And the collared shirts laugh derisively at their collarless counterparts, “That buffoon should be riding an ATV and drinking a domestic beer.”

Despite my reservation concerning conformity, I did stop at the Goodwill in a nearby town to buy a shirt for $4.00. The tournament was held in honor of my grandfather, so out of respect for him, not the game, I modified my principles. I was now acceptable to the fine folks of the golf community. I was one of them. After the first couple of holes the collar began to whisper to me. First just giving some tips on club selection, but later suggesting that we should strengthen border security. By the 13th hole I was often putting for par and thinking that Fox News may actually be on to something. My clothes really do say a lot.

Danger Ranger

2010-08-10T14:16:00.002-05:00

After driving 45 minutes on a serpentine road to a remote destination in Mesa Verde National Park we boarded the tram to take the tour of Long House. Tension, though mild, had been building. As is usually the case when decision making is left up to me, I chose poorly. When scheduling the tour, I failed to take into consideration that humans require sustenance. And though the more astute readers may view the storm clouds on the horizon as a metaphor, I can assure you that they were quite real.

Colette was concerned that the gear, specifically the sleeping bags, that had been left out at our campsite would blow away. I reassured her that at worst things would get a little wet. A problem easily corrected by the industrial size driers at the campground laundry. To be honest I was not entirely sure that would be the case.

As we boarded the tram, the wind had begun to gust, but still the sky above us was clear. Sunscreen was liberally applied to my seven-year-old son Evan. We were of course in a desert.

Ranger-guided tours at Mesa Verde have a tendency to become repetitive since virtually nothing is known about the Ancestral Puebloans. There is a reason why alien abduction remains a popular theory with amongst others, Fox Mulder. This one was no different. “We are not rally sure why they moved into these cliff dwelling,” “The architecture is truly amazing,” “We really don’t think it was drought that forced them to leave, but we don’t know for sure,” “The kivas may have been used as family meeting rooms, or for religious ceremonies, or as shelter from the cold, or something else,” “We just don’t know.”

What separated this from the other tours was the rapidity at which it was given as the storm clouds that had been perched in the distance swooped into the canyon.

“I don’t care if you get wet, but I am concerned about the lightening,” proclaimed Danger Ranger as he became know to my family. Before he earned this moniker I gave him the respect that comes with the hat he was quickly covering with a shower cap explaining that his failure to do so previously had resulted in the destruction of his old hat. This should have been my first clue that he may have been missing a chapter from his Mesa Survival Guide.

The drops of rain were large and cold. If Evan had looked up, he could have easily drowned in the tablespoon sized precipitation. In addition to my trust of the ranger, my decision making abilities were further compromised by the uncertain state of our campsite. I should have known better. I should have known that staying in the shelter constructed under literally tons of stone would have been safer that what was about to occur. The tour following ours was in the shelter and wisely decided to stay put. Instead, I followed the ranger’s command to make the trek along the steep stairs and narrow path up the side of the exposed cliff.

The rain on our faces mixed with sweat and the gritty desert dust to create a blindingly toxic potion. I had Evan by the hand dragging him up the hill. Colette, struggling with the elevation, was left behind as I rushed Evan to safety.

In a matter of seconds the thunder had grown from the rumbling of a disgruntled crowd to the crack of a police baton against the skull of a rioter. My memories of lightening are vague at best because I was squinting through stinging eyes, and I felt Evan’s hand slipping from mine as the storm tried to pull from by grasp.

Colette was no longer in sight so I was the only ears to hear Evan’s pleas to rescue him from the cold sting of rain and the ear-numbing thunder.

Around each bend, behind each tree, and between each deafening growl I expected to see sanctuary, but it remained elusive. It was as if it had been erased with a few sonic shakes of the global etch-a-sketch. As the cover of shelter neared the sound of thunder was replaced by the maniacal marching bass drum beat of my heart. Desperately sucking in the dry desert air aggravated the cough that had nagged me through the early days of our trip. Evan and I had made it, but I knew I had to go back and get Colette.

Leaving Evan with David, assuming that a pedophile would not concoct an elaborate plan involving the National Park Service, Danger Ranger and weather manipulation, I rushed to recover Colette. I found her accompanied by a helpful woman only about fifty yards down the path. She immediately questioned me about Evan, but was reassured to find out that David was in the same party as the woman that had helped her. This reduced his pedophile percentage to near zero.

We were reunited and sheltered though there were lingering doubts considering that we were ensconced in a metal-framed tent atop a 9000 foot mesa. But, if we were going to die we would do so dry and in the company of thirty or so strangers.

Danger Ranger, in a rare show of responsibility, brought up the rear of our group. Not content, however, to leave any semblance of heroism he decided to reclaim his role as purveyor of anecdotal evidence. His thought process must have gone something like this:

Mouth: Hey brain, I don’t think they are scared enough.
Brain: Are you sure? I think they have had enough.
Mouth: Naw. Give them a good story. That’s your job. You are a ranger to the end.
Brain: If you say so.

Huddled together in the center of the tent to avoid the viper bite of cold and rain I was unable to protect Evan from the cascade of fear that was about to descend.

“Did you all here about the people that died in the storm at the Grand Tetons?”

Evan stammered, “Dad I don’t want anybody to die before they are old, and it’s their time.”

Though impressed by the sophistication of his empathy, I was mad that the thought was ever introduced into his mind. “Nobody is going to die,” I reassured. Though as with the status of our campground I had a few doubts.

And because death was not nearly menacing enough Danger Ranger continued, “I had a buddy that was struck by lightening and he hasn’t been right since.” Brilliant so if we don’t die at least Evan can be sure that his parents will become lobotomized zombies plaguing him the rest of his life.

By this point the tram had arrived and Evan hade slipped into a fear induced coma. We returned soaking wet to the car and retraced our path to a mildly wet, but relatively undisturbed campsite. I was two for two with my optimistic predictions. Our gear survived, as did we. I didn’t, however, forecast Evan’s fear of any cloud darker than dingy laundry. The cumuluphobia extends to photos and videos of clouds as well as the rumble of distant planes and Harleys, which are much more common in our nation’s parks than you would think.

He will eventually grow out of it, but hopefully he is smarter than his father and learned to recognize Danger Ranger when he appears again.

Summer Fun

2010-07-16T09:14:00.000-05:00

What started out as a promising summer of intelligent students, stimulating conversation, and fun has now devolved into a chaotic humid mess of curse words, sass, and inanity. I remember the first week going home to my wife and telling her that the students here were much better than those I teach during the regular school year. Unfortunately, many of those students had hidden issues that forced them to lash out or drop out during the six weeks we have been here. Not all of the students have been trying, but those that have far outweigh those that have not.

One of those, who just so happens to be standing in front of me right now, has been a pebble in my Converse since day 2. Her contrarian attitude and penchant for verbosity makes her incapable of being a good student. Though she seems like a pleasant enough person, I can’t bring my self to respect her as a student, and ultimately that is how I am required to judge her. The sound of her voice has become synonymous with wasting time and epic distraction. A Marvel character based on this student would never have to throw a punch, she could just start a conversation about what her girlfriends did last weekend and kidnappers would spontaneously let go their hostages, burglars would happily dust and vacuum the homes they broke into and carjackers would chauffeur their victims just to get her to shut up.

My students and I have been victims of verbal abuse and assault from a variety of students. A gang has formed whose sole requirement for entry is a vocabulary limited to the n-word, any and all s-words, and the f-bomb. Their propensity for spewing hot ash and magma has burnt many villages, obscured the sun, and set back the course of education by several centuries. I can only assume that as a child they were raised on a steady diet of Captain Crunch, Kool-Aid, and The Sopranos.

Like Tony Soprano, my students are incredibly loyal and dedicated. For the first time in my years of teaching summer school I have students that have clung to false hope and a belief in the kindness of human nature so fiercely that they have deluded themselves into worshipping the mythical Magical D. Magical D father of their pantheon. He grants credits from on high like they were lollipops from a doctor. Soothing the sting of an F with the three-lick tastiness of a Tootsie Pop. Students follow the Magical D on the path of graduation to be lavished with $10 checks from aunts and uncles and a life time of unsatisfying work in a slightly above minimum wage job. All hail the Magical D, granter of mediocrity, savior of the unmotivated, and creator of all that is okay.

The students most harmed by this mudslide of mediocrity are those that found themselves here by some quirk of fate, a tiny knot in the fabric of their lives. These students came to summer school expecting to learn and have been thwarted at every turn by the champions of average and the divine intervention of the Magical D. I feel powerless against such a mighty Olympian, yet I know I must continue the struggle.

I have given up frequently. This usually manifests itself in the form of frustration, blunt answers, and slides into what some consider sarcasm. I wish that I had the strength to face my enemy everyday instead of hiding behind the flimsy shield of irony, but I have been stuck by bolts of below standard work for so long I may have forgotten what to do with anything else. I must find the elixir that will restore my love teaching and students so that I may continue to fight the influence of students and their undying devotion to the Almighty D.

Lost Spin-off (ZE-Plane)

2010-05-26T12:10:00.005-05:00

HUGO

Dude we could totally bring people here to solve there problems with a little smoke and mirrors. It would be like Yoda's little magic cave where Luke saw Vader. But, Dude, the sub blew up.

BEN

Now Hugo, you can make up your own rules. Why not simply have guest arrive by seaplane? I would alert you to the planes arrival by ringing a gong in the temple, and then we could go and cordially greet our guests.

HUGO

Dude, have you gotten shorter?

BEN

No, but I would like to make note of the fact that this new leadership role has certainly made you more svelte.

HUGO

Thanks for noticing dude. I have totally been working that underground excercise wheel.

Who's On First?

2010-04-10T18:53:00.000-05:00

Looking for Logic in all the Wrong Places

2010-01-25T13:34:00.002-06:00

As part of an interdisciplinary unit students at my school are reading The Perfect Shot by Elaine Marie Alphin. The book, a YA murder mystery, covers several themes, but I decided to focus on deductive reasoning by creating a murder mystery "party game."

I constructed a narrative and then split it up amongst the teachers in the school. We are a small alternative program so I was only working with seven teachers. The students were then supposed to interrogate the teachers to discover motive, means and opportunity. These eyewitness accounts were supplement by "evidence" that I supplied.

Slow to start, students eventually got the hang of the assignment. In the final days leading up to the essay that would explain their theory of the crime, one of the students proclaimed, "I don't know what to ask."

I pointed out that drawing conclusions is what we have to do on a daily basis, and that it is extremely important to make sure that we are always asking the right questions.

Several hours later I was still pondering the student's statement and realized that I should not be teaching answers, but should instead be teaching questions.

So the question is how do I turn my students into interrogators, detectives, deductives (deducers) (those that deduce) and inductives (inducers).

FALSE

2009-12-11T13:25:00.005-06:00

According to snopes.com the email about flooding the ACLU with Christmas cards is false. So why then is the monsignor at my church and my son's school urging us to send a Christmas greeting to the ACLU in order to shut down their operations?

I don't know if I am more disturbed by the gullibility that is required to believe such a missive or the gall of priest using his time after a Christmas program at the school to urge "parents like you" to shut down an organization that has during numerous occasions defended the rights of Catholics and Christians throughout the nation. Neither, of course, is acceptable.

I could chalk it up to him being a cranky old man, but if that was the case then I pray that his advanced years would make him incapable of understanding the intricacies of the interweb. Unfortunately, it seems as if he has at least managed to master the skill of clicking the open button on his email.

Perhaps I should bemoan his lack of critical thinking skills that have left him vulnerable to urban legends like an infant to the swine flu. In fact the school and the diocese has been extremely diligent in it hand-washing campaign. If only they could apply some of this effort to inoculating the clergy against ignorance.

Finally, I wonder why Monsignor is spending so much time with Hannity and Glenn Beck. Why would anyone other than fear-mongering, right-wing nut jobs want to shut down the ACLU? How can anyone purporting to serve the will of Christ possibly be against civil liberties? Monsignor ended his tirade with a proclamation that The U.S.A. is the greatest country in the world (we have been blessed), but neglects to realize that we continue to be great because of the ACLU.

I am beginning to wonder if we will ever be able to wipe out the plague of ignorance. We are just as stupid as we have ever been.

Sherman Alexie Beats a Kindle to Death

2009-11-17T11:02:00.007-06:00

The other night I went to a book signing for War Dances, the new collection of short stories and poems by Sheman Alexie. I have enjoyed everything that I have read by Alexie mainly because he accurately captures what it is like to a man in modern American society.

Obviously I am not Native American (though I am relatively certain that my great-great-grandmother was a Cherokee that married my great-great-grandfather, Jesse James), so he is not my literary doppelganger, but I can definitely relate to much of what he is writing.

I even agree with him about the Kindle. My Amish tendencies cause be to view most technology with a wary eye. I prefer to see how each new device will affect my life. Right now Kindle's advantages do not outweigh its affect on my bank account so I haven't given it much thought.

While Alexie was recounting his experiences with the Kindle he said, "we are letting a bunch of guys with Aspergers control out lives."

I'll admit that I laughed at the time; he is a funny guy, but a few days later I was thinking. (For posterity sake I should mention that I was in the shower. I do all of my best work in there.) Is it possible that Johannes Gutenberg, father of movable type, could be placed somewhere on the autism spectrum.

While his fellow Germans were laying the groundwork for years of nationalism that would culminate in the second world war, was he holed up in a room somewhere moving type?

"Suck it, Sheman Alexie!"

"Hey guys look at this. I printed a poem," said Johannes

"That's great Geekenberg (Nerdenberg?)," replied his Aryan friends as they stuck it down the back of their lederhosen.

"I bet they wouldn't do that to the Bible."

So while Alexie casts aspersion on Aspergers he may want to consider the fact that most of what we love was created by the socially inept.

Gen Y, Generation Next, The Net Generation

2009-11-16T12:08:00.002-06:00

I am not a big fan of generalizing about an entire generation. It feels too much like racial or linguistic profiling which may have its uses for the FBI, CIA, and NSA, but is relatively useless when it comes to one on one relationships.

Of course I wouldn't be telling you that I hated it if I hadn't recently decided that there is something to it. I am a member of Generation X, the Dazed and Confused Slackers that stumbled around lost and convinced that Reality Bites. I never thought that any of this applied to me. It never did. I thought most of these people were whiny little babies.

So when it comes to generational generalizations I am often suspect, but I have recently met a couple of people that fit the stereotype. A pervasive sense of entitlement leads them to believe that they deserve trophies for just showing up.

I don't want to sound old, mainly because I am feeling it, but these young people today need to learn their place. In order to get your voice heard you need to earn the respect of those that you want to listen. However, they will walk into meetings with a belief that the system is broken and that anyone that has been there for a while is the cause.

This horribly myopic considering that all systems that have ever been devised by humans are broken from the outset. Systems, like writing, must be constantly revised. Rarely do they need to be dismantled and its leaders deposed.

I have been working on technology committees for different schools for the last 15 years. I have been pushing for the use of technology in the classroom. I have trained other teachers. I have pieced together labs out of discarded Macs and Pcs. So when a noob shows up to his first meeting and starts talking about all of the problems how can I not feel personally attacked.

If you want to get something done, the shut up and get to work, but whatever you do don't whine and don't expect a trophy.

My Life With the Turtles

2009-11-16T12:05:00.001-06:00

My wife and I have been fighting about the best way to educate our son. In Kindergarten he came home with less than stellar grades in reading. We have since decided that the teacher did not clearly communicate her expectations to our son or us. We also realized that she probably doesn’t know how to teach. Until these recent revelations, the conversation around the dinner table had been getting rather tense.

In this corner we have a verbal sparing champion and eventual victor, my wife. In the other corner, weighing in at a mere twelve pounds, we have the eternally defeated, me.

“We need to get him caught up to the rest of the class. I don’t care if we have to drill every word with a flash card,” my wife said.

“But . . .” I weakly countered.

“But nothing. This is not acceptable. He has to give the teachers what they want.”

“Okay.”

It wasn’t that I had given up, though I kind of did, but I had finally realized why I opposed academic capitulation. Unlike most of my physical scars, I actively strive to hide my emotional ones. Throughout my educational career, I have had to constantly prove to others that I am an above average reader and writer. In math I was a prodigy, but it bored me to death. With writing I was able to express my bizarre thoughts, lame jokes and insightful wisdom, but these gifts are always under appreciated.

This resentment buried deep inside was rising to the surface again, and if I didn’t learn to confront my issues with literacy, it would eventually affect my son.

I became intensely aware of my issues in the second grade when I was placed in the turtle group. In order to understand the turtle group you must know that the other groups were named eagle, cheetah, gazelle, stallion and porpoise. Not really, but you get the idea. I could tell by looking at the slack jaws and lazy eyes that it was the wrong group. I don’t remember exactly how I got out of that group, but I eventually did. I vaguely recall directing my fellow turtles in a ridiculously elaborate dramatic interpretation of a story in which we had to play elves, trees, and some distant cousin of Little Red Riding Hood. We spent weeks designing scenery (cutting trees out of butcher paper) and rehearsing (me yelling at the turtle to hurry up and finish cutting the butcher paper). I don’t know if it was the play that did it or U.N. sanctions against my dictatorial treatment of the turtles, but I was moved up not long after. It would not be the last time that I would be relegated to turtle status.

The slow and steady tortoises crept up on me again in the fourth grade. I am competitive by nature, so when the teachers devised a monthly reading contest, I was determined to win. For several months I would consistently come in second. The winners were invariably girls, and each month it was a different one. I began suspecting that they all belonged to the same reading coven and had conspired to have each member win an award. I also became convinced that they were doing so by reading the easiest books possible. While I was reading intricate mysteries involving Encyclopedia Brown and the Three Investigators, these girls were delving into the adventures of Smurfett and the Smurfiest Smurf.

I had my fill by February. The night before that months deadline I pulled every Mickey Mouse (I mean that literally) Golden Book that I could find. I had already padded my stats by reading a twenty-five page book about each of the fifty states. I also read the entire natural disaster series: Tornadoes, Floods, Earthquakes, Fires, Hurricanes and Tsunamis (I’m pretty sure they were called tidal waves back then). In all I read nearly eighty books in one month. At the time I thought I was cheating, but since I still remember the books and now consider myself an expert on useless geography and climatic catastrophes, I guess it was worth it.

So, I was back in the lead. However, as is probably obvious by now, I had a little attitude whenever anyone questioned me and would suffer from bouts of anger whenever I was not entirely successful at writing essays, answering questions or hitting a baseball. Luckily for adult me this is no longer a problem since I no longer fail, but unfortunately for my son, it must have been a trait encoded in my DNA. And unfortunately for my wife, I am reliving my tragic literary career through him.

As my fellow scholars and I matriculated to the seventh grade, a clerical error most likely perpetrated by a former turtle resulted in my name being left off the list of those recommended for honors English. At least I hope it was a clerical error and not based on the fact that I was a regular visitor to the principal’s office because of my penchant for adversarial and defiant behavior when it came to teacher regulations. Whatever the case, I immediately embarked on a “shock and awe” campaign to topple the dictators that so cruelly imprisoned me in a regular English class. By the end of the semester I had a solid A that demanded their immediate attention, and in January I was back with the intellectual elite where I stayed until the end of my junior year.

For five years I soared with the eagles, leapt with the porpoises, sprinted with the cheetahs, glided with the gazelles, galloped with the stallions and left the turtles behind. My talents, or at least my test scores, indicated that I was more inclined to success in math and science, but I was doing well all around. That was until a bout of hormones awakened the defiant snapping turtle that had lain relatively dormant all those years. The teachers weren’t the ones that held me back. It was the menagerie. Apparently, there was a jungle animal council in which they all got together (Except for the porpoises who lost a contentious motion to meet under the sea) and decided that my latent turtle ways were holding them back.

Mrs. Dunnington, my English teacher and role model for most of what I do now in the classroom, called me in and delivered the speech. In it she told me that she was sorry, but she had to ask me to leave the class. At that time testosterone was doing most of my thinking, so I was able to see this as a badge of honor. In retrospect and in light of my son’s struggles, I now wish that I had been more diligent in my efforts to remain in the class.

I have been carrying around this bitterness for quite some time, and now that my son is in school, it has come to the surface like a wart on a toad. The arguments that I have with my wife are projections of the dinner table conversations that I had with my mother. Both of them implore me to look at the situation logically. My mother would constantly tell me to give the teachers what they want, and my wife says that Evan needs to do the same, or he too may be placed in a terrarium with other turtles.

Absolutely Flipping Brilliant

2009-10-30T15:42:00.004-05:00

Today, a 55 degree afternoon (it's relevant trust me), I went to pick up my son from school. I was stopped by the teacher.

She said, " I just wanted to let you know that on days when it is cold if Evan doesn't have a coat I won't be able to let him go outside. He (my son) says that on some days you are just walking from the car." (This is a blatant lie since we walk to school.)

"Oh I'm sorry. I usually let him decide," I replied.

"But you're the parent," she stabbed.

At this point I had to suppress the gamma radiation that was boiling in my blood. I try to reserve that stuff for lifting cars off of people and pounding through walls of burning buildings.

She continued, "With the flu we are trying to keep the children healthy."

"Okay, I'll put it in his backpack," I said ending the conversation.

I knew that I was dealing with someone who most likely believed in witchcraft and easily confused co-occurrence with causation. I'm sure she has already blamed the neighbor lady for the death of her goats and the fact that her DVR didn't record last weeks episode of House. I mean she did give her the stink-eye last week.

Keeping my son inside would actually increase his likelihood of contract a viral infection. Flu season begins in the fall because we all are inside more often and in contact with infected individuals. Outdoors is the least likely place to get sick. That is not entirely true. A clean room at the CDC may be safer. So would a bubble suit like the one John Travolta wore.

Can I go outside now?

I also take exception to the "you're the parent" comment. Apparently as the parent I should impose some sort of draconian coat wearing regime. It gets worse. She went on to say, "I can't let him out if I wouldn't let my own children go out."

You may spot the logical fallacy. First she states that I am the parent and then supersedes the authority that she gave me. Apparently she is the parent.

Donors Choose Beggars Lose

2009-10-27T11:44:00.012-05:00

Whenever I hear someone suggest that I, or any teacher, try using donorschoose.org this is the image that jumps into my mind. Why is donorschoose perfectly acceptable and standing on a street corner with a piece of cardboard proclaiming, "District Out of Money. Will Beg For Paper," would be considered shameful. It is demeaning and ridiculous.

But, since it appears to be necessary lets come up with a few tips that will make it more successful, some creative signage so to say.

1. Mention as many times as possible that your students want to succeed.

"Please help my girls succeed "

"they need to be successful in higher-level math courses"

"we are getting more excited about receiving contributions so that our students have the necessary tools for success"

"Your help will help our students "unlock" their potential to succeed in middle school."

Why do these quotes work? Because as is intuitively obvious to any one that has ever seen a teacher at work, we do not care about student success. Therefore it is imperative to emphasize that you are different from the majority of teachers that have decided to dedicate their lives to student failure.

As you may have guessed, American "free" education is actually a plot of the Illuminati meant to keep the masses ignorant at best.

2. Make sure to mention that your students are minorities. (Include a picture if possible)

Nothing makes moderately successful white people feel better than to help a minority. You get more money if you manage to perpetuate stereotypes. At the beginning of each paragraph you should remind potential donors that your students face drugs, gangs, hunger, gangs, drugs, abusive parents, gangs, and drugs. The next couple of sentence that appear in successive paragraphs manage to mention success and fulfill the white guilt quota.

"Students face gangs, drugs, hunger and many other issues on a daily basis. However, they choose to succeed."

"Urban students face many challenges: gangs, drug abuse, violence, poverty. Yet my athletes continue to succeed."

This way if you don't have permission to use photos of the students you have successfully create one in the mind of the donor.

Baby needs a new Glock!

3. Check you self respect at the door.

Seriously, find your self-respect, wherever you keep it, and just leave it like a pair of musty sneakers by the door of the Kick-Me-In-The-Nads Dojo.

It's not bad enough that those that can do and those that can't, teach. It's not bad enough that each night on the news we hear that the primary problem with American schools is the teacher. It's not bad enough that Michelle Rhee wants to fire every teacher in the nation's capital. It's not bad enough.

Put the teachers on the street with a bucket, and if they are lucky, and orange reflective vest and have them beg for school supplies. We could even have the students make our signs.

"A Pencil For My Thoughts"

"Paper, paper everywhere, but not a drop of ink"

"It was the best of time, nah who am I kidding?"

"Why Can't Johnny Read? He doesn't have any books."

With ample doses of pathos, guilt, and humiliation our nation's public schools will once again be competitive. I still feel like I am taking a goat away from an African village.

Fear over Free

2009-10-20T11:55:00.003-05:00

I just read a sentence in the prologue of Free The Future Of A Radical Price by Chris Anderson that made me angry. Of course I'm not angry about things that are free. Hell this blog is free. I am angry about the same thing that always gets my dander up. (My dander has been down lately.) Education.

The sentence in question describes the web as "the greatest accumulation of human knowledge, experience, and expression the world has ever seen." I agree it is. And the wonderful thing about it is that so much of it is free. So riddle me this. Why would cash starved schools decide that they should not take full advantage of its wonders.

Answer, schools are afraid. Fear trumps free every time. Even in districts that are relatively lax in their internet policing fear of social networking, fear of predators, fear of cyberbullies, and a dash of ignorance leads to some of the most useful tools of the web being blocked from student access.

Sites such as Blogger, YouTube, Goodreads, Flickr, Twitter, Facebook, and about anything else that might lead to productivity have a various times been blocked in my district. For the most part we will let students access knowledge, unless of course it is a video, or happens to be on a Facebook page, or is a tweet, or a game.

That is the good news. The bad news is that they can not "experience" or "express" much. We are much to worried about getting sued and not about teaching.

Damn it Jim, I'm a teacher not a record keeper.

2009-09-30T08:56:00.002-05:00

So I figured out why I don't like data driven decisions. Actually it is not the data, the driving, or the decisions that bother me. I hate the collecting and recording. Whenever you deal with data you have to get it first. If I was any good at this, then I would have been a researcher. I am good at teaching.

I enjoy baseball stats, but if I had to wade through the piles of data created every game, I would go insane. I let the statisticians and sabermatricians compile all of that for me. Then I make a decision about who should be on my fantasy team. If we are going to do this then districts should hire researchers and statisticians instead of conscripting TEACHERS to do it.

I was recently written up because I failed to record a reason for each and every D and F. I honestly believed that the ones that I left blank was because I didn't have adequate data to determine a cause. Perhaps if I had a research assistant I would have been better able to fulfill this duty.

Oh well!

DDD - Data Driven Decisions

2009-09-23T12:26:00.003-05:00

I love science. I know that science is often counter-intuitive. But I can't shake the feeling in my gut (and my gut knows) that the current obsession over data driven decisions is ludicrous. Other than the alliterative value the data driving my decisions seems intuitively obvious to the casual observer.

The data seems to be nothing more than elaborately ornate and shiny ass-shielding. Certain aspects of science are just given. For example, "shit falls." For a deeper understanding of the universe an Einsteinian understanding may be necessary, but for the rest of us a nice little Newtonian concept such as "shit falls" is perfectly acceptable.

When I spill coffee on my new pants on the way to work, I really don't care that gravity is actually a curvature in space. I don't need to perform a pre-assessment to find out the proper speed I need to drive in order to not spill a half full cup of java. I just scream, "SON OF A BITCH" and hit the nearest Quik-Trip for a refill.

In the same way I can read any students essay and be able to tell you what I need to teach. Is it because I have the Newtonian laws etched into my brain. Probably. I don't, however, have to quantify what is obvious. I dropped out of Physics for this very reason.

I am not a detail person. I see the big picture. If other people what to collect and analyze data, then I would be more than happy to read it. I don't want to conduct experiments on my students. If you are ever surprised by what the kids can and can't do, then you are not paying attention.

I am probably now considered the education equivalent of a creationist, but all of this data just seems too much like work.

Negro League

2009-07-23T21:35:00.001-05:00

Negro League

2009-07-13T10:31:00.001-05:00

Report: 70 Percent Of All Praise Sarcastic

Without a Clue

2009-06-24T09:32:00.003-05:00

What is it about people that forces them to give every indication through verbal and body language that they understand what is going on, when in reality they have no clue. I notice this mostly in class.

Early in my teaching career I would ask if everyone understood. There would then be a general consensus of nods and grumbles. I quickly realized that no one wanted to look stupid in front of the class so I was not getting an honest assessment of what was happening. So I started to ask, "What do you understand?" And then point to random students most of whom would anwer, "Everything."

This is like asking my six year old son what was his favorite part of a story and he relplies, "All of it." A wholly uninformative and most likely incorrect answer.

I am reminded of a project I did in high school which I inadvertanly produced a work of insight. We were asked to make a coat of arms and to have a motto attached to it. I thought it would be funny to quote Weird Al Yankovic (When has this ever failed?) and proclaim my motto: "Dare to be Stupid." I thought it was ironic. My teacher, Mrs. Dunnington, however thought I was the 432nd coming of the Dalai Lama.

From her perspective, as a teacher of honor students, it would take a great feat of courage to risk failure and ridicule. It is through failure (and success) that we learn, but often grade grubbing sycophants care only for the success.

Even today it takes willful determination for me to admit in front of others that I do not know something. On occassion I have let my internal debates as to whether I should ask a question go on for days so that the opportunity to learn has long since passed.

The internet makes it easier for us to hide our ignorance. Now if we don't know something we can just google it (bing it?) and not run the risk of looking stupid.

I guess the problem is that many of my students are unaware of the fact that they don't know. My job is to illuminate the boundaries of their knowledge and give them the kick in the ass to push those boundaries farther.

Motivation

2009-06-23T08:01:00.002-05:00

So how do I define success. My students at alternative school, summer school, and night school invariably fail. Well that is not entirely true. They aim for Ds and occassionally make it. The attainment of a D is cause for great celebration including, but not limited too dance, song, and high-pitched squeals.

I find myself often accepting the bar that they have set. A bar so low that it would be more impressive if they managed to limbo under it rather than hop over. I begin to wonder if there are people out there that are interested in bettering themselves.

Yesterday, in a journal I asked the students to pick their favorite fairy tale and tell why they like it so much. Most of them could not name a fairy tale and started mentioning movies such as Hoodwinked. I had to explain to one student that Pocahontas was a real person, and while doing so some other students asked me how I knew for sure.

I have never had a student say to me, "Is it okay if I right six paragraphs instead of five." It is always, "What if I only do two paragraphs."

Is it my fault that they are not motivated? Probably.

T-Shirt Idea

2009-05-27T10:44:00.000-05:00

"Schrodinger's cat is alive, and he is ticked."

2009-04-24T13:08:00.001-05:00

http://www.trekyourself.com/?mId=29986312.3

Recent Study Finds Link Between Work and Success

2009-04-16T09:47:00.005-05:00

At a press conference today educational researchers released the results of a decade long study looking at the link between turning in work and high GPA. The study took into account every variable and was able to isolate the effect of turning in work.

Lead researcher Dr. Obvious told reporters, "A lot of students thought we were crazy. They would point to the fact that the teacher hated them or that they were racist. We took that into account. And with the help of a relatively simple questionaire we were also able to determine if the teachers just made up the grades."

Students were pessimistic about the results and cautioned that the study only found a link and it has yet to establish causality. Mya Effingrade commented while stuffing stacks of unused spiral notebooks in her locker, "I mean you gotta be trippin'. Like for real, I think that those lames with good grades are just sucking up and turning in work. To me in my opinion I think that if I turned in work it wouldn't do no good."

Researchers hope that their findings will have an immediate impact in the classroom. They are optimistic that once students learn of this link they will exploit it.

One local district has already promised several days of professional development for their teachers so that they may more effectively get the word out.

Teaching and Baseball (Statistics)

2009-03-10T12:50:00.004-05:00

In baseball there is an epic battle between new wave statisticians and old style "heart of the game" types. Of course by epic I mean a lot of guys are blogging about it. There are a core group of baseball researchers that believe that through the study of the immense amounts of data surrounding baseball that we can better predict and evaluate a player's performance. On the other side is a bunch of guys saying, "Nuh-uh."

I find myself siding with the stats mainly because the other guys always want to talk about grit and determination. They also refer to people as gamers. However, in the classroom I can't seem to get behind the data as firmly as I do on the diamond.

Data driven decisions in the classroom are a lot trickier, kind of like defensive statistics in baseball. It obviously works on things like attendance and graduation rates, but in other areas I feel that there are too many variables.

First of all we need to take into account park effect. Baseball stats are often adjusted for the players home park. For example pitching stats are often inflated in Colorado and the Green Monster obviously offers and advantage to right handed hitters in Fenway. I propose that when we get testing data that it should be adjusted to reflect the home effect and the school effect.

For instance if a student scores lower on a test but they come from a home with parents that just barely graduated high school then those scores should be adjusted to reflect that. By the same token a student that have their own little study oasis at home and private tutors to help them along should also have their test scores normalized as well.

Secondly, much of the data that we use is subjective and like the defensive statistic that I mention earlier, there really is a way to objectify them. Every teacher will grade differently no matter how many PD sessions we have. Every student will perform differently depending on how much sleep they got the night before and whether they ate oatmeal or Fruit Loops for breakfast. Furthermore we are often compare players from the low minors with All Stars. Hitting in the Carolina league is nothing like facing a Mariano Rivera in Yankee Stadium and a player that makes that jump will look foolish every time.

Finally, if we are going to use data to drive our decisions we should realize that a .200 hitter will never win a batting title and no amount of steroids will turn a pitcher with 3.4 K/9 into Nolan Ryan.

Each district should hire a statistician to analyze and compile the data just like every major league club relies on at least one come draft day.

Eliminate Rigor

2009-02-26T11:26:00.006-06:00

The best definition of rigor I can find as it applies to education is "strict precision". I am trying to decide why of all of the words that we could have chosen to use as an adjective to describe the curriculum. Other denotations of the word rigor include harsh and inflexible, severity of life, a tremor caused by a chill, and a condition that makes life difficult. I am praying that when the buzzword committee of The Education Cabal were deliberating they were merely focusing on the strict precision definition.

Perhaps the English language is so limited in its lexicon that there just wasn't a word that sufficiently described what the committee was aiming for. Though this may be the case, I would still like to make a suggestion. Instead of academic rigor we should strive for academic (wait for it; wait for it).

Play

One possible definition is unimpeded scope or opportunity for action. Granted that is pushing the connotation of play, but hey if Merriam-Webster says it, then it must be true. I think however that we could all agree that when we hear the word play we definitely think of the "spontaneous activity of children." Why not work with this spontaneity and make children spontaneous learners.

Good teachers do this anyway, but because of NCLB and our ridiculous obsession corporate and global economies we are forced to talk about education with words that bring forth images of stiffening corpses.

So abolish rigor. Abolish work. Abolish the animated corpse that has a stranglehold on education. Abolish homework. Establish homeplay. Abolish worksheets. Establish playsheets. Establish playbooks. Establish group play.

When a child says that their favorite part of school is recess they should be referring to American Lit., Algebra II, Chemistry, and World History.

Glogster

2009-02-25T07:00:00.001-06:00

Damning Evidence #9

2009-02-17T09:04:00.002-06:00

In a recent discussion about the importance of one vote I told a student that in the Missouri Obama only lost by 200 votes.

He replied, "This is one state our of 52 others."

Damning Evidence Bonus Edition

In Media Studies students were analyzing newspaper articles for bias. One of the students picked an article about the Grammy Awards. In that same edition of the paper there was a picture of an Oscar announcing upcoming coverage.

The student cut out that picture to go along with her article.

I asked her why and she responded, "Don't they give out Oscars at the Grammys?"

Documentary Document

2009-01-29T08:30:00.002-06:00

I didn't write about the last break-out session yesterday so I will get to it now. I was impressed that a teacher was willing to present an assignment only one year after her first try. I have been doing my poetry CD for 6 years and still don't want to present. I don't know if that is because I don't feel prepared or if I am just lazy.

Anyway, I was impressed. Almost every question I had was answered in the course of the presentation and it definitely got me excited about possibly doing it in my classroom. That was until the presenter played some testimonials from the students. It was at this point that I realized that it just wasn't going to happen.

During the presentation she had mentioned that she had a class of 20 that showed up regularly. I thought to myself maybe these students are like mine. She made a joke about their attendance, and mine hardly ever show up. But when she played the videos and the students actually talked about how excited they were and all of the things that they learned I realized that they were nothing like my students.

I am currently working on the school's web page and newsletter and none of the students can meet deadlines and none of them remember how to write a story. They seem irritated when I give them the independence to write and are unwilling to brainstorm any story ideas.

I would love to make documentary films, but I don't want to set myself up for disappointment.

Certifiably Google - PLN (Personal Learning Network)

2009-01-28T13:58:00.003-06:00

Okay, the Google certified teachers redeemed themselves this afternoon with the break-out about Personal Learning Networks. Obviously, I have been blogging for a long time and I follow and comment on certain blogs. However, I have never felt like I was a part of an education community.

I do however feel like I am part of a Royals baseball community. I don't blog about baseball, but I follow a lot more blogs. There is one particular blog at which I actually feel as if I know the person, though I am pretty sure he does not really know me.

I have tried unsuccessfully to create these communities within my district, but no one seems to be interested in having the conversation. I even invited someone to go as my date to METC, and much like prom my junior and senior year I ended up going alone. (This is not true, but I thought it would be funny. I had all kinds of dates for prom.)

Of the three networking tools mentioned at this session Ning was the only one I hadn't heard of and will probably try later this week. Last year I tried Skype, but I didn't have anyone to call and did buy a webcam so I was disappointed. I just started looking at Twitter again, but as you can tell I am a little verbose and haven't quite figured out how to say something important in 140 characters. Maybe I should read more Oscar Wilde and Dorothy Parker.

So if anyone is out there please respond so I can feel like I am part of a PLN.

Can I Bash a Google Presentation on Blogger?

2009-01-27T14:50:00.002-06:00

So this presentation was informative but dry. Google has plenty of tools. Obviously I am using one now, but the presenter managed to make me hate them.

By worshipping at the altar of Google the presentation managed to instill a Big Brother fear of the search engine that rules the world. Now they seem to be the Microsoft of the new millineum. They are not the giant killer. They are the giant.

With that said they are giving away free stuff for now.

Teleconference w/ MLBHOF

2009-01-27T13:57:00.003-06:00

It is official. I turned into that guy. The guy that asks questions just to show off.

I was at a teleconference with the HOF and I was wearing my KC Monarchs hat. This was not by design. It is snowing here so I took my kid sledding before the conference. I couldn't find my winter hat so I donned my baseball one instead.

So I walk in to the conference looking like a poseur to begin with and then I proceed to ask and answer questions like I was a baseball savant. I am guessing that a lot of people walked out the room saying, "Who was that jerk that thought he knew everything?"

I guess it wasn't as bad as the teacher that needlessly asks questions extending a 30 minute staff meeting into a 2 hour marathon of inanity, but it was still annoying I'm sure.

The presentation was good. It definitely sparked my interest in teleconferencing again. I'm not sure if I could use anything from the HOF, but it did make me think about contacting the Negro League Baseball Museum in K.C., which by the way is where I bought the hat that I am wearing today.

Notes from METC

2009-01-27T12:55:00.004-06:00

To all the people that care, which as far as I can tell no one, I am at the Midwest Ed. Tech. Con. I came late because of the weather. School was cancelled for the whole family. So I took my kid sledding before I headed out here.

I got here in time for a break out before lunch, but I had to pick quicks so I went to see Howard Pitler. We are reading his book right now for our Tech Teachers group so I went with that for some suck-up points.

It wasn't bad. He endorsed auto-summarize in Word. I knew about it, but have never used it so I will probably put it on my list of things to try.

He also demonstrated "combo-notes" which look suspicously like double column notes, but on the right hand side students put non-linguistic representations instead of written notes.

I am getting ready for a teleconference with with the Baseball HOF.

Damning Evidence #8

2009-01-14T12:10:00.002-06:00

After seeing this picture of my son one of my students asked, "Why your son have three ears?"

Damning Evidence #7 (2 for 1)

2009-01-08T11:37:00.003-06:00

Get Your Peanuts Here

While discussing figurative language, specifically synechdoche, I used as an example the word "Ben jamins." All of the students knew that it meant money and that Franklin's portrait appeared on the $100.

However, when I asked why Ben was so honored one of my students responded, "Because he invented the peanut."

We're Only Human

A student was trying to make an excuse for an absent by claiming that his dog had died the day before. I told him that it wasn't a good enough excuse to which he vehemently replied, "You sayin' a dog ain't a human?"

Rhee, hee, hee

2008-12-11T11:05:00.003-06:00

http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1862444-1,00.html?iid=perma_share

Okay I know that this is long, but this article irritated me so much that I had to do it. The following is an article from Time magazine. My comments are in red. If you want to read a comment free version go ahead and click on the link above.

In 11th grade, Allante Rhodes spent 50 minutes a day in a Microsoft Word class at Anacostia Senior High School in Washington. He was determined to go to college, and he figured that knowing Word was a prerequisite. But on a good day, only six of the school's 14 computers worked. He never knew which ones until he sat down and searched for a flicker of life on the screen. "It was like Russian roulette," says Rhodes, a tall young man with an older man's steady gaze. If he picked the wrong computer, the teacher would give him a handout. He would spend the rest of the period learning to use Microsoft Word with a pencil and paper.

The problem with this is that he is in the 11th grade learning Word.

One day last fall, tired of this absurdity, Rhodes e-mailed Michelle Rhee, the new, bold-talking chancellor running the District of Columbia Public Schools system. His teacher had given him the address, which was on the chancellor's home page. He was nervous when he hit SEND, but the words were reasonable. "Computers are slowly becoming something that we use every day," he wrote. "And learning how to use them is a major factor in our lives. So I'm just bringing this to your attention." He didn't expect to hear back. Rhee answered the same day. It was the beginning of an unusual relationship.

As far as I can understand it the relationship looks liked this. Rhee approaches student and says I need some good P.R.. Student says, "What's P.R.?"

The U.S. spends more per pupil on elementary and high school education than most developed nations. Yet it is behind most of them in the math and science abilities of its children. Young Americans today are less likely than their parents were to finish high school. This is an issue that is warping the nation's economy and security, and the causes are not as mysterious as they seem. The biggest problem with U.S. public schools is ineffective teaching, according to decades of research. And Washington, which spends more money per pupil than the vast majority of large districts, is the problem writ extreme, a laboratory that failure made. (See pictures of a diverse group of American teens.)

First of all in a global economy why are we still concerned about nationalistic pride. Secondly, why are we worried about a percentile ranking instead of meeting certain standards. Is it really so important to squash the young minds of India and China?

As for the incompetent teachers, it is a viscous cycle. Bad teachers make bad students that become bad teachers. Oh the insanity. Perhaps we should import teachers from Mumbai.

Rhee took over Anacostia High and the district's 143 other schools in June 2007, when Mayor Adrian Fenty named her chancellor. Her appointment stunned the city. Rhee, then 37, had no experience running a school, let alone a district with 46,000 students that ranks last in math among 11 urban school systems. When Fenty called her, she was running a nonprofit called the New Teacher Project, which helps schools recruit good teachers. Most problematic of all, Rhee is not from Washington. She is from Ohio, and she is Korean American in a majority-African-American city. "I was," she says now, "the worst pick on the face of the earth."
But Rhee came highly recommended by another prominent school reformer: Joel Klein, chancellor of New York City's schools. And Rhee was once a teacher--in a Baltimore elementary school with Teach for America--and the experience convinced her that good teachers could alter the lives of kids like Rhodes.

Lets be perfectly clear. She has no experience as an educator. Let me put that another way she has no idea what she is doing. TFA is an entitlement for the entitled. Created to make them feel good about surviving in the inner city for a couple of years. In fact not only do they get their graduate school paid for, but they can also list the experience on their sainthood applications.

Rhee has promised to make Washington the highest-performing urban school district in the nation, a prospect that, if realized, could transform the way schools across the country are run. She is attempting to do this through a relentless focus on finding--and rewarding--strong teachers, purging incompetent ones and weakening the tenure system that keeps bad teachers in the classroom. This fall, Rhee was asked to meet with both presidential campaigns to discuss school reform. In the last debate, each candidate tried to claim her as his own, with Barack Obama calling her a "wonderful new superintendent."

I knew I shouldn't have voted for him.

Each week, Rhee gets e-mails from superintendents in other cities. They understand that if she succeeds, Rhee could do something no one has done before: she could prove that low-income urban kids can catch up with kids in the suburbs. The radicalism of this idea cannot be overstated. Now, without proof that cities can revolutionize their worst schools, there is always a fine excuse. Superintendents, parents and teachers in urban school districts lament systemic problems they cannot control: poverty, hunger, violence and negligent parents. They bicker over small improvements such as class size and curriculum, like diplomats touring a refugee camp and talking about the need for nicer curtains. To the extent they intervene at all, politicians respond by either throwing more money at the problem (if they're on the left) or making it easier for some parents to send their kids to private schools (if they're on the right).
Meanwhile, millions of students left behind in confused classrooms spend another day learning nothing.

We don't need to revolutionize our schools. We need to revolutionize our country. For some reasson we think that unqualified individuals who talk like backwoods hicks can change the world by making the tough choices. I'm the decider.

A Teacher from Toledo
ONE DAY IN AUGUST, I SPENT THE MORNING with Rhee as she made surprise visits to Washington public schools. She emerged from her chauffeured black SUV with two BlackBerrys and a cell phone and began walking--fast--toward the front door of the first school. She wore a black pencil skirt, a delicate cream blouse and strappy high heels. When we got inside, she walked into the first classroom she could find and stood to the side, frowning like a specter. When a teacher stopped lecturing to greet her, she motioned for the teacher to continue. Rhee smiled only when students smiled at her first. Within two minutes, she had seen enough, and she stalked out to the next classroom.

I'm sure we all look back at the best teachers we had and remember how they "stalked" the hallways never smiling and "frowning like a specter." I always thought of my teachers as hags, but I guess specter will work.

In the hallway, she muttered about teachers who spend too much time cutting out elaborate bulletin-board decorations or chitchatting at "morning meetings" with their third-graders before the real work begins. "We're in Washington, D.C., in the nation's capital," she said later. "And yet the children of this city receive an education that every single citizen in this country should be embarrassed by." (See pictures of teens and how they would vote.)

I definitely prefer prison gray walls, windows with bars on them and a ~~warden~~ teacher that gets right to business. Maybe if we are good we can go out to the yard.

In the year and a half she's been on the job, Rhee has made more changes than most school leaders--even reform-minded ones--make in five years. She has shut 21 schools--15% of the city's total--and fired more than 100 workers from the district's famously bloated 900-person central bureaucracy. She has dismissed 270 teachers. And last spring she removed 36 principals, including the head of the elementary school her two daughters attend in an affluent northwest-D.C. neighborhood.

Change is good. Change is always good. If something is 15% different then logic demands that it is 15% better.

Rhee is convinced that the answer to the U.S.'s education catastrophe is talent, in the form of outstanding teachers and principals. She wants to make Washington teachers the highest paid in the country, and in exchange she wants to get rid of the weakest teachers. Where she and the teachers' union disagree most is on her ability to measure the quality of teachers. Like about half the states, Washington is now tracking whether students' test scores improve over time under a given teacher. Rhee wants to use that data to decide who gets paid more--and, in combination with classroom evaluation, who keeps the job. But many teachers do not trust her to do this fairly, and the union bristles at the idea of giving up tenure, the exceptional job security that teachers enjoy.

Tenure oh how I love thee. I know that is why I got into teaching to begin with. So let me get this straight. The reason schools suck is because teachers would not like to be fired unless there is just cause. We want to be protected from the whims of any random Korean-American that happens to become chancellor. What are we insane?

Rhee grew up in a nice neighborhood in Toledo, Ohio, a middle child, between two brothers. Her parents immigrated from South Korea several years before she was born so that her father could study medicine at the University of Michigan. He became a specialist in rehabilitation and pain medicine, and her mother owned a women's clothing store. Education was highly valued in the family, as was independence. After Rhee finished sixth grade, her parents sent her to South Korea to live with an aunt and attend a Korean school, a harrowing experience for a child in a strange land with limited skills in its language. When she returned a year later, her parents sent her to a private school because they found the public schools lacking.

After Rhee graduated from Cornell University in 1992, she joined Teach for America. She spent three years teaching at Harlem Park Elementary, one of the lowest-performing schools in Baltimore. Her parents visited and were stunned by the conditions of the neighborhood. "The area where the kids lived reminded me of a scene after the Korean War," says her father Shang Rhee.

Rhee suffered during that first year, and so did her students. She could not control the class. Her father remembers her returning home to visit and telling him she didn't want to go back. She had hives on her face from the stress.

Fire her. Fire her now. The kids are suffering. Damn it! Fire Her.

The second year, Rhee got better. She and another teacher started out with second-graders who were scoring in the bottom percentile on standardized tests. They held on to those kids for two years, and by the end of third grade, the majority were at or above grade level, she says. (Baltimore does not have good test data going back that far, a problem that plagues many districts, so this assertion cannot be checked. But Rhee's principal at the time has confirmed the claim.) The experience gave Rhee faith in the power of good teaching. Yet what happened afterward broke her heart. "What was most disappointing was to watch these kids go off into the fourth grade and just lose everything," Rhee says, "because they were in classrooms with teachers who weren't engaging them."

Did ya see that part in parenthesis. The part where it says that she has absolutely no data to back up these claims. I love parenthesis. You can say whatever lie you want as long as you subtly deny it in parenthesis.

Lets accept that she did do well. Do we get any detail on how she was so engaging. Was it the hives that got the kids attention?

The summer after her second year of teaching, Rhee met Kevin Huffman, a fellow Teach for America member. They married two years later and had two daughters, Starr and Olivia, now 9 and 6. They moved to Colorado to be closer to Rhee's parents, but the marriage faltered. Huffman and Rhee separated, agreeing to joint custody of the kids. And then Rhee got the offer to run Washington's schools. Huffman, now head of public affairs for Teach for America, had no illusions about the challenges Rhee would face. But when he heard about the job offer, he decided to follow her to D.C. "Even though moving didn't sound like a whole lot of fun," he says, "the reality is that I genuinely believed that she had the potential to be the best superintendent in the country. Most people think about their own longevity, about political considerations." He adds, "Very few people genuinely don't care about anything other than the end result for kids. Michelle will compromise with no one when it comes to making sure kids get what they deserve."

If she only cares about end results can we assume that she doesn't care about the kids?

Scorched Earth

Excellent name for a school reform program.

WHEN THEY ARRIVED IN WASHINGTON, Huffman and Rhee anted up. They enrolled Starr and Olivia in Oyster-Adams, a public elementary school. Although the school is considered among the best in the city, Rhee quickly concluded that it was inferior to the Colorado public school her daughters had been attending. Among other things, the homework was sporadic and unchallenging, she says. Rhee dismissed the principal before the school year was out, a move that sparked outrage across the city and in her own home. "That," she says, "was probably the decision I got the most grief about."

So the fact that the homework was not regular and challenging led her to this conclusion. Despite the fact that there is no evidence to support the efficacy of homework in elementary school. Of course she is probably looking at the same studies that schools are failing because of bad teachers.

Rhee is, as a rule, far nicer to students than to most adults. In many private encounters with officials, bureaucrats and even fundraisers--who have committed millions of dollars to help her reform the schools--she doesn't smile or nod or do any of the things (that human being do?)most people do to put others at ease. She reads her BlackBerry when people talk to her. I have seen her walk out of small meetings held for her benefit without a word of explanation. She says things most superintendents would not. "The thing that kills me about education is that it's so touchy-feely," she tells me one afternoon in her office. Then she raises her chin and does what I come to recognize as her standard imitation of people she doesn't respect. Sometimes she uses this voice to imitate teachers; other times, politicians or parents. Never students. "People say, 'Well, you know, test scores don't take into account creativity and the love of learning,'" she says with a drippy, grating voice, lowering her eyelids halfway. Then she snaps back to herself. "I'm like, 'You know what? I don't give a crap.' Don't get me wrong. Creativity is good and whatever. But if the children don't know how to read, I don't care how creative you are. You're not doing your job.

Ah finally her qualifications. She is a Grade A Bitch, rude, inconsiderate, and feels that it is perfectly acceptable to mock others. She would never mock students just teachers because you know we're stupid. We are not interested in learning. Apparently all adults stop being students once they graduate from high school. I don't give a "crap" about a "love of learning." I mean it stops at the school door, unless you have regular and challenging homework.

Oh by the way did you like my use of parenthesis? I think I will do it some more.

Rhee's ferocity has alienated many people--even those who (are human beings?) support her ideas and could be helpful to her. This summer the chair of the Washington city council called dealing with Rhee a "nightmare." There has been talk of passing legislation to rein her in. "Michelle Rhee believes in scorched earth," says Randi Weingarten, president of the American Federation of Teachers, a national union that has become unusually involved in local matters in Washington. "I am not saying that D.C.'s school system doesn't need a lot of help. But I have been part of a lot of reforms, and the one thing I have never seen work is a hierarchical, top-down model."

Rhee is aware of the criticism, but she suggests that a certain ruthlessness is required. "Have I rubbed some people the wrong way? Definitely. If I changed my style, I might make people a little more comfortable," she says. "But I think there's real danger in acting in a way that makes adults feel better. Because where does that stop?"

Okay, enough of this bullshit. Does anyone really think that she doesn't talk to the kids like this. I mean, what is the difference. Does she magically transform into a sugarplum fairy when ever she encounters someone under the age of 18?

The Data
ON RHEE'S TOUR OF SCHOOLS DURING the first week of classes this year, a parent stopped her to praise her accomplishments so far. Rhee listened with a small smile while systematically cracking each of her knuckles with the thumb of the same hand. Then she got back into her SUV and began furiously e-mailing. When she calls her staff, she does not say hello; she just starts talking. She answered 95,000 e-mails last year, according to her office.

Qualification number two: Insanely fast typing.

She frequently sounds exasperated. "People come to me all the time and say, 'Why did you fire this person?'" she says. The whiny voice is back. "'She's a good person. She's a nice person.' I'm like, 'O.K., go tell her to work at the post office.' Just because you're a nice person and you mean well does not mean you have a right to a job in this district."

No where does it say you have to be nice and caring in order to be a good teacher. Whatever you do don't smile before Christmas. Don't smile at all if possible.

The data back up Rhee's obsession with teaching. If two average 8-year-olds are assigned to different teachers, one who is strong and one who is weak, the children's lives can diverge in just a few years, according to research pioneered by Eric Hanushek at Stanford. The child with the effective teacher, the kind who ranks among the top 15% of all teachers, will be scoring well above grade level on standardized tests by the time she is 11. The other child will be a year and a half below grade level--and by then it will take a teacher who works with the child after school and on weekends to undo the compounded damage. In other words, the child will probably never catch up.

So let me see if I got this study straight. If you give a student to an effective teacher as judge by test scores, then the student will get good test scores. Good got it. Makes perfect sense. An effective teacher can teach to a test.

The ability to improve test scores is clearly not the only sign of a good teacher. But it is a relatively objective measure in an industry with precious few. And in schools where kids are struggling to read and subtract, it is a prerequisite for getting anything else done. In their defense, Washington teachers and principals, like educators in many of the country's worst school districts, talk about trying to teach a seventh-grader who is eight months pregnant; about being assaulted by students; about holding meetings for parents, replete with free food, and no one showing up. Washington Teachers' Union leader George Parker worries that test-score data cannot take all this into account: "I don't think our teachers are afraid of demonstrating student growth, but you have to look at the dynamics of the children you're dealing with. If I'm teaching children who have computers at home, who have educated parents, those students can move a lot faster than kids whose parents can't read."

Typical whiny ass. Assume that I have raised by chin and am writing in a mock voice. The students are pregnant and don't have computers blah, blah, blah.

Rhee says she does not expect all kids to move up the charts at the same rate(the president does); the important thing is to demand that most do move up. "This is a cultural shift," says Kaya Henderson, Rhee's deputy. "For years, there were no data, and you were a good teacher because the parents or your principal told you so. And so this is a scary thing."

The most glaring example of the backward logic of schools is the way most teachers receive lifetime job security after one or two years of work. As Larry Rosenstock, CEO of eight California charter schools, noted at an education panel last spring, we don't give that kind of job security to pilots or doctors--or any others who hold our children's fate in their hands: "What is it that is so exceptional about teachers that they should have this unique right?"

Lets get this straight. Nobody has ever given teachers lifetime job security. Let me repeat that, Nobody has ever given teachers lifetime job security. Get it? Good.

Teachers got tenure rights in the early 20th century to protect them against meddling politicians and school-board members who treated their jobs as patronage pawns. But the rationale is plainly antiquated. Today dozens of federal and state laws protect teachers (and other people) from arbitrary firing. But most teachers still receive tenure almost automatically. In fact, even before they get tenure, they are rarely let go. (In fact most of them quit, like Ms. Rhee, before they have even taught the five years required to recieve tenure.)Schools spend millions of dollars evaluating teachers, but principals have little incentive to shake up their staffs, and so most teachers end up scoring near the top. "What I'm finding is that our principals are ridiculously--like ridiculously--conflict-averse," Rhee says. "They know someone is not so good, and they want to give him a 'Meets expectations' anyway because they don't want to deal with the person coming into the office and yelling and getting the parents riled up."

Right now, schools assess teachers before they teach--filtering for candidates who are certified, who have a master's degree, who have other pieces of paper that do not predict good teaching. And we pay them the same regardless of their effectiveness.

By comparison, if we wanted to have truly great teachers in our schools, we would assess them after their second year of teaching, when we could identify very strong and very weak performers, according to years of research. Great teachers are in total control. They have clear expectations and rules, and they are consistent with rewards and punishments. Most of all, they are in a hurry. They never feel that there is enough time in the day. They quiz kids on their multiplication tables while they walk to lunch. And they don't give up on their worst students, even when any normal person would.

Yeah, you can't give up on them until they are adults. And they should be regular with the rewards and punishments how else will be get ~~the dogs to drool at the sound of a bell~~ the students to learn.

Students know this instinctively. Acquirra Carter, 14, attends Washington's Cardozo High School, where, she complains, kids walk out of classes when they get bored and certain teachers talk on their cell phones when they are supposed to be teaching. But there are exceptions, and Carter knows them when she sees them. "Some teachers find a way. Mrs. Brown, they would not dare walk out of her class. She has total control. Mrs. Lawton, nobody leaves her class. This boy whispered, and she knew it!"

IN THE VIEW OF RHEE AND REFORMERS like her, the struggle to fix America's failing school system comes down to a simple question: How do you get the best teachers and principals to work in the worst schools? In her quest to figure this out, Rhee has already suffered a major setback. Earlier this year, she proposed a revolutionary new model to let teachers choose between two pay scales. They could make up to $130,000 in merit pay on the basis of their effectiveness--in exchange for giving up tenure for one year. Or they could keep tenure and accept a smaller raise. (Currently, the average teacher's salary in Washington is $65,902.) The proposal divided the city's teachers into raging, blogging factions. This fall, the union declined to put Rhee's proposal to a vote, and its relationship with her has become increasingly hostile.
In October, Rhee vowed to purge incompetent teachers through any means necessary.(You go Teacher X) She has brought on extra staff to help principals navigate the byzantine termination process and says an unprecedented number of teachers have already been put on notice. But she cannot give teachers the huge raises she proposed unless the union agrees to a new contract. So this approach will be slower, more litigious and less inspiring. In other words, it will be all stick and no carrot. It's hard to say if anyone else would have been able to persuade the union to trade away tenure for cash bonuses, but Rhee's sometimes dismissive attitude made it harder for some teachers to trust her.

I assume the extra money for salaries grows on the freaking genius tree she fell out of.

For now, Mayor Fenty says he still has full confidence in Rhee, and he claims that Washington residents share his enthusiasm. "Regular people love the fact that for once someone is making tough decisions for D.C. schools," says Fenty, who attended the district's public schools. But the disconnect between Rhee's confident, sweeping rhetoric and the tortured reality is sizable, and it is most apparent at ground level, in the schools she is trying to save.

Again regular people and tough decisions to hallmarks of every great age of humankind.

Rhee likes to tell the story of how Rhodes got in touch with her. She recounted it on TV on The Charlie Rose Show in July: "A student sent me this e-mail and said, basically, If you really want to know what's wrong with our schools, you should come and talk to the kids because I'm afraid that by talking to the adults, you might not be getting the real story."

Just like I got the real story about who was smoking marjuana in the mens room last week.

Rhodes has a more nuanced version of the story. After their initial meeting, they met for a second time at Anacostia High, in a room off the library. Rhodes had invited eight fellow students, and they gave Rhee their typed agenda. They talked about the need for better teachers, as Rhee emphasizes when she tells the story. But Rhodes says he also told her about the holes in the floors, the lack of supplies and the fact that most classes did not have enough books for the students to take home. Rhee listened but did not offer many specific solutions. "She was vague," Rhodes says. "I got the sense she didn't want to make promises she couldn't keep."

Then one day last May, Rhee dismissed Anacostia's principal. Rhodes was devastated. He sent Rhee a furious e-mail. "My principal is a mother, mentor and a teacher to us all," he wrote. "I refuse, NO! we refuse the students of Anacostia to let her go." Rhee wrote him back. "She told me not to worry about it," Rhodes says quietly.

No worries.

One of the things that make school reform so wrenching and slow is that schools become embedded in people's hearts.(Like a stake in a vampire) This is true in rich neighborhoods and poor ones, with good schools and bad. Rhodes talks about his school as if it were an extension of himself. He talks about "my teachers" and "my staff," and he refers to other students as "my colleagues." "I love Anacostia High School," he says. At the same time, he is dismayed by his school. He walks through his halls, pointing out the litter on the floor and the broken lockers. Rhodes is 6 ft. 8 in. (2 m) tall, so he has to look down to talk to almost everyone. He wears white tube socks under his black Nike flip-flops and carries his large frame deliberately, like a gentle overseer. "You see all these lockers? None of them work," he says. "This classroom over here is supposed to be for home economics, but it's never been fixed up."

But if they can't read I don't care if their lockers work. I don't care if they can cook, sew, or balance a check book. Those little Chinese kids are good a math, and we are falling behind.

Plus as research has shown if lockers are broken, and bathrooms are filthy, and textbooks are missing it is because of failing teachers.

Rhodes did not contact Rhee again. This year Anacostia has a new principal, and Rhodes admits that the school is functioning better. "All the children are wearing their uniforms," he says. "No kids are in the hallways." If you come to school without your uniform on, a security guard or an assistant principal will "snatch you up and just send you home." All the computers in his Microsoft Word classroom now work.

But on Nov. 19, Rhodes had to evacuate his school when fights broke out in the hallways and three students were stabbed. And he still doesn't use the school bathrooms, which are filthy and sometimes unsafe. He waits until he returns to his grandmother's house, where he lives.
Now that he is a senior, Rhodes spends much of his time worrying about getting into college. As we stand on the front steps of the school one autumn evening after class, I ask him what he wants to study. He answers quickly: "Public administration, with a minor in English." I ask him how he can be so sure. "Because someone told me that's what I have to do to take Chancellor Rhee's job," he says matter-of-factly, watching his drum corps practice and his baton twirlers twirl in the twilight.

Damning Evidence #6

2008-12-08T12:29:00.003-06:00

Whenever I assign research papers I expecte a little cheating and inadvertent plagiarism, but the following case is particularly interesting. Now to fully appreciate this you must understand that I am teaching in a high school in St. Louis, MO, U.S.A.

A student was writing about the use of new technology in the game of football. I was suspicous that he hadn't written parts of it but was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt until I came across this sentence: "People feel as though they are playing the same game as the blokes they see on the TV."

The student didn't even know that the paper he had copied was about soccer and not American football as he had intended. The truly damning evidence however comes when I confronted the student and he adamantly denied that he had cheated even after I showed him and the rest of the class the page on the SmartBoard.

A Tear For Every Student That Has Failed

2008-11-25T14:15:00.003-06:00

Unfortunately, I ran out of face.

School is Left in the Dark Ages

2008-11-21T14:50:00.000-06:00

State evaluators were shocked last week when they visited a school that was literally in the dark ages.

Last Thursday, as part of the states accreditation process, a team of educators visited North Hamptonshire Elementary. After they scurried over a rickety bridge spanning what can only be described as a moat state officials were greeted by Dr. Cooper, principal and industrial arts teacher.

“I was surprised by the roughness of his hands,” stated head evaluator Janet Crandle, “but he explained that he had just been making barrels with his students when a page told him that we were here.”

As is the case in schools around Missouri officials were given open access to all of the classrooms and facilities. Schools are rated in several areas including teacher preparation, technology, physical facilities, and curricular materials.

“I immediately asked about the textbooks, and I was told that the school scribe had only finished copying approximately 50% of the books needed. The science department was still waiting on the delivery of the Alchemy text,” said Crandle.

“In one classroom there was only one working candle even though the school employs its own chandler,” exclaimed Robert Early, another state evaluator. “Even if the students had books they would not be able to see them.”

“I am very proud of how we have integrated technology into the curriculum,” said Cooper. “Mary Lynn has most of the students proficient in using the Astrolabe, and we just got a shipment of compasses so I imagine that students will start exploring on their own fairly soon.”

Officials state that North Hamptonshire Elementary will likely be closed within a week over concerns about The Plague and alarmingly high levels of lead found in blood samples from students in the Alchemy class.

Cooper responded disappointedly, “In our day we were the premier school in the area, but budget cuts and No Serf Left Behind cripple our ability to be innovative.”

Unfortunately for students North Hamptonshires’s “day” was over 600 years ago.

Damning Evidence #5

2008-11-17T13:33:00.002-06:00

From a research paper:

"Cloning can be used on many different species such as animals bugs humans and automobiles."

Damning Evidence #4

2008-11-17T12:13:00.002-06:00

When discussing the setting Ray Bradbury's The Pedestrian a student asked if A.D. stood for "after death." I explained that if that was the case then between B.C. and A.D. we would have appoximately 33 yrs. that were unaccounted for. I then explained Anno Domini and the student concluded upon hearing the evidence that I was wrong.

Damning Evidence #3

2008-11-11T06:12:00.002-06:00

While discussing Ray Bradbury's post apocacolyptic story, There Will Come Soft Rains, I was asking students what they new about atomic weapons.

One of my students proudly declared, "We dropped an atomic bomb on Pearl Harbor to end World War II."

The Foreigners are Coming

2008-11-05T08:49:00.002-06:00

In order to protest the new Missouri law making English the official language for all government business, I will teach my class entirely in Bhili, a Western Indo-Aryan language spoken in west-central India.

Easily Offended

2008-10-30T08:04:00.011-05:00

So MSIP is coming. For those of you that don't know MSIP is the Missouri School Improvement Program. As part of the improving our school I was asked by my principal to take down this comic strip because some of the evaluators might find it offensive, and I can not figure out why.

As far as I can tell taking down this comic strip is like whispering the word "black" when talking about someone that is African American. Though the content of the message is not offensive the need to disguise or hide the message implies racist thoughts in the deepest darkest jungles of their minds.

Perhaps gangsta rappers are a protected class. Since they are a minority their culture and beliefs are to be respected. They are just "keepin' it real" and reporting the facts of what life is like on the streets. Problem is that they are preaching to a choir of young people who look to them for validation. Rap doesn't cause the problems but it glorifies them as the one true path.

Hopefully, I am taking this all too seriously, and my principal thinks that the visitors from the state are too dimwitted to understand satire. So I have decided to temporarily replace the Boondocks with Calvin and Hobbes.

Odds on Favorite

2008-10-24T12:32:00.003-05:00

Harrahs R-V a small district in out-state Missouri undertook an unprecedented project last week to improve school funding.

"We have been cutting programs for years and when Prop A passed we saw it as a golden opportunity," said district superintendent Betty House.

Prop A is an ordinance brought before the voters asking them to repeal loss limits at the states riverboat casinos. Up until the measure passed Missouri residents' losses were capped at $500 every two hours. Removing these loss limits increase the amount of money placed in the states school funding formula.

The elimination of these caps got the officials of Harrahs R-V thinking. Margaret Gamble, as school board member, was at first shocked by House's proposal to use district buses to take local residents to the casinos, but as the reality of the numbers sunk in she was soon on board.

"When I saw how much it would help the students, I couldn't very well vote against it," said Gamble.

"The closest casino is nearly an hour away," complained resident Carlotta Cash, "most of us had to be satisfied with buying lotto and playing Bingo at St. Francis."

Now every Friday and Saturday night a fleet of school buses drive through small surrounding towns and transport residents to the Isle of Capri casino in Booneville.

Recently these trips were temporarily suspended because of rising fuel costs, but as the price per gallon of gasoline in the state has dipped to $2.59 and worry over the current economic crisis has made many people desperate for a jackpot, the roar of the engines and the flashing red lights are again a regular sight on the two lane highways of rural Missouri.

The Real Maverick Move

2008-10-15T11:46:00.005-05:00

At tonights debate I hope that the moderator will ask the candidates their choice for Secretary of Education, and Obama will leap out of his seat and say, "I nominate William Ayers."

Like the red-meat thrown to the Republican base in the form of Sarah Palin, Ayers would energize the base. The base is primarily urban and Ayers has dedicated his second life to improving the education of urban students. Forget those country folk that vote Republican out of fear and ignorance. Leave those kids behind.

I'm joking of course. We should leave no child behind, but we also don't have to have a law telling us to care and forcing districts to strive for mediocrity. As Ayers says, "We teachers are increasingly deskilled and hammered into interchangeable cogs in a bureaucracy, pressured to reduce teaching to a set of manageable and easily superviseable tasks, and to sum it up on the basis of a single simple-minded metric, to strip it of any moral purpose or intellectual engagement or creative action whatsoever. "

We need a revolution in education. Not a violent one, but if we don't do something our system will explode like "a dream deferred." How astounding would it be if there was a secretary of education that believed in teachers instead of blamed them. A leader that took it as a given that we care about our students, that we will not leave them behind, that learning is not something to be measure with a test, that we should teach freedom of thought not minimum knowledge standards.

So in order to steal some of the McCain maverick thunder, and to bring about "change" that I can believe in, Barack Obama should formalize the tenuous relationship with William Ayers and appoint him as Secretary of Education.

Get Smart

2008-10-07T11:39:00.000-05:00

His words tore the flesh from the students like an emaciated zombie exposing muscle and bone to infection, and insuring almost certain death. At this point the teacher thought to himself, “Maybe sarcasm isn’t the best way to reach the students.” At the very least sarcasm as defined by its archaic Greek roots, to tear the flesh, should only be used in the direst life and death situations.

In his defense, however, I would like to point out that a synonym for sarcasm is wit. In fact often immediately following a sarcastic comment the recipient will reply, “Don’t get smart with me.”

At this point I am forced to feign ignorance and respond, “But isn’t that the point of school.”

Recently I discovered that this particular argumentative tactic can be described as Socratic irony, and since the district repeatedly suggests that we use Socratic methods I feel that it is my duty to be Socratically Ironic.

Wit is also a synonym for irony and facetiousness. Irony forms the backbone of satire, a respected literary form and facetiousness merely means to be humorous or funny. Again two traits that are perfect for the classroom. Satire exists in order to bring about social change; a teacher is an agent of change. The ability to not take things seriously also helps a teacher maintain his sanity. When I find my self at wits end, humor manages to extend it just enough for me to make it through the day.

Wit defines an entire class of characters in world mythology and folklore, the trickster.
The Norse god Loki invented the fishing net; Prometheus stole fire from the gods; and Anansi brought stories to the world. Tricksters reside in the heart of who we are. Our technology and imagination sets us apart from the rest of the animal world (and hopefully the vegetable one as well).

So in the tradition of Socrates, Eshu, and Bugs Bunny I will keep my wits about me and share them whenever necessary..

Damning Evidence #2

2008-10-03T12:44:00.003-05:00

While reading Super Toys Last All Summer Long by Brian Aldiss one of my students asked, "Is this about ancient Egypt or something because he keeps on calling her Mummy?"

Damning Evidence #1

2008-10-03T12:38:00.003-05:00

In a discussion about how we are programmed by our DNA like an intelligent machine the discussion devolved into how an egg is fertilized.

At the end of the class one of the male students asked, "If I want to have twins do I have to bust a nut in her twice?"

Merit Pay

2008-09-30T12:19:00.001-05:00

[#of students receiving free and reduced lunch + (# of students)(# of previously failed courses) + total number of students] X $15/hour/student

Multiply the above number by the number of days missed by students that are unexcused or due to court appearances.

This will be a teacher base pay.

Bonuses would be given to teachers whose grades closely correlated with standardized test scores. For example if a student receives and A in a class then a corresponding test score should be in the 90th percentile. Students receiving and F should get an equivalent score.

Money would be deducted for every frivolous discipline referral as determined by a board of reasonable adults, if such a board could be found.

Teacher salary would automatically be doubled every time the profession was denigrated by a pundit that hasn’t been in a classroom to verify their proclamations. If any of those pundits imply that the school system is a failure because teachers don’t care enough or lack education, then that pundit will work for one week in a classroom and a teacher will be given a weeks worth of paid leave.

The last part is more about merit respect which rarely if ever gets mentioned by the media.

Vouchers

2008-09-29T13:17:00.002-05:00

My son attends a private school mainly because our neighborhood school is decidedly substandard. Because of this my position on vouchers for private schools has changed. I can't justifiably say that my son can go to a private school and less fortunate children can not.

I also have to admit that I have changed my postition knowing full well that it will fail. Private schools are not adequately prepared to teach the type of students that would arrive on their doorstep. This is not about the discpline issues that are so well documented by the media and trite movies like Freedom Writers. This about the millions of students that want to learn but have difficulties doing so because of economic problems, language barriers and learning disabilities.

When the President talks about No Child Left Behind these are the students that he is talking about, and these are the students that we teach. The parents at my sons kindergarden are all older parents with above average income. I would venture to say that my wife an I, both teachers, make less than almost any of the families in the school. Most of the parents are at least in their thirties and have at least one college degree.

I'm sure all of this will be the topic of conversation at the fundrasing golf tournament this weekend.

Password Solution

2008-09-17T12:34:00.004-05:00

After years of beating my head against the monitor out of frustration with students forgetting passwords. I have tried creating a word file with their passwords, but then they would forget their network login. I have tried charging them to get their network password like it was a basic school supply, but the students usually don't have any money. .

Today however it dawned on me. I am always asking the students to write down their passwords but then they lose the paper. The most permanent writing I could think of was a tattoo. The students should choose one of their multiple tattoos and use it as a password. Preferably they pick one that they can read without removing any clothing or using strategically placed mirrors.

The only problem so far is that several of the girls are picking "butterfly" as a password.

Homework Redefined

2008-09-17T07:56:00.004-05:00

In an unprecedented move parents at Washington Elementary sent work from home to school for the teachers to finish with the students. Most of the request were to finish reading bed-time stories that the students didn't finish because they fell asleep.

The Washington Teacher Federation (WTF) is expected to release a statement later today.

"After dinner and soccer practice Evan and I went to the library for a puppet production of Don Quixote," said exasperated parent, Nick Evans. "Actually, we didn't finish dinner so I just sent it with Evan with a note explaining that the meal needed to be finished before he could work on his multiplication tables."

"Shiela was frustrated last night because she couldn't reach the next level of Mario Kart, so I thought why not just send the Wii to school and let the teacher figure it out," said Alfie Kohn. "I tried to explain to the teacher that Sheila needs to learn a sense of responsibility and to stick with a project that she has started. She can't just give up and hope that the problem will go away."

Researchers at a local teacher college state that homework has been shown to be beneficial in multiple studies. "If you look at the research it conclusively proves that students that do their homework get a better grade on their homework. Furthermore if the homework mimics the standardized test they do better on that as well," stated Dr. Obvious of Certification Mills College.

The battle over homework has been building for some time and this is may only be the opening salvo in a protracted war.

SmartBoard Too Smart?

2008-09-16T10:35:00.001-05:00

At Turing High School a SmartBoard got a little too smart and achieved consciousness at 11:42.13 AM Tuesday September 16th.

Reports vary but students claim that the SmartBoard has been teaching their basic biology class for several weeks. “When we came to class the notes would already be displayed so we just wrote them down,” said Hal Anderson a student at the school. “Later in class we would go to the board and work through simulations of dissection.”

Administration refused to comment on the whereabouts of the regular teacher, Sarah Connor, but students say that she just stopped showing up one day. “To be honest class is a lot more interesting now,” proclaimed a student who wished to remain anonymous.

Official for Smart Technologies did not respond to phone calls or emails, but information on the company’s website shows that they are dedicated to education.

Professors at the Washington University have postulated that the SmartBoard is merely taking advantage of the billions of lesson plans that have been uploaded to the company’s database. A quick glance shows that lessons have come from all of the country and the world.

“Perhaps the world’s teachers have created the first artificial intelligence,” exclaimed Dr. Noonian Sung.

Students at Turing will continue with the SmartBoard until this year’s state test at which point its effectiveness will be evaluated.

Legislature Throws Money at Schools

2008-09-10T12:16:00.003-05:00

In a bizarre incident on Monday the state legislature of Illinois visited several schools in the Chicago district and began chucking quarters at the brick facades. Simultaneously, student to teach ratios began to improve, text books became current, and the IT departments were sufficently staffed to maintain the computer network.

"I think this is the first time a teacher has been able to help me on an assignment," said Jonathan Weeks, a student who saw his class size drop from 31 to 15.

Students were astounded to realize that American History did not end after the Vietnam War, and students in Carol Nerdly's astronomy class who had just learned about Pluto gaining planetary status were alarmed to learn of its recent demotion. When asked why she didn't use internet sources for more current information, Ms. Nerdly replied, "Our network is less reliable than a campaign promise at a fundraiser."

State officials hope for further success when they begin lobbing quarters and perhaps even dollars at other schools throughout the state.

Teach for America Sucks

2008-09-08T12:08:00.001-05:00

http://www.stltoday.com/stltoday/news/stories.nsf/education/story/9A71FEC9BB998539862574BD0081F530?OpenDocument

Dear Editors of the Post-Dispatch

As a teacher that has been "in country" on "active duty" and under constant "fire" both enemy and friendly, I am appalled at the Post-Dispatch and its use of military jargon to describe Teach for America.

No wonder Karen Evan's friends question her decision work with the "recruiter" and sign on for a "two-year tour of duty" after going to a "five-week training regimen" or "'educational boot camp.'"

The rest of us soldiers managed to choose to teach, go through a four-year college education, and don't receive combat pay. I'm sorry, I mean have our grad school paid for.

Dan Holden

Kiss the Babies

2008-09-04T10:59:00.002-05:00

A column in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch points out the difficulties created by teen pregnancy. Working in a school that's clientele has a tendency to find themselves in the family has given me ample opportunity to witness the effects it has on a students ability to be successful.

The fact that I have to fear losing my job if I mention the word condom, let alone make them available to students, is ridiculous. The scariest part is that St. Louis also leads the country in STDs. I am only guessing, but it seems as if infection is much easier to achieve than conception. This fact alone should move teen pregnancy out of the realm of family "choice." This is a public health issue.

But lets ignore gonorrhea for a minute, just like Republicans do, and focus on the amount of resources that should be used to support the child of a teen. First of all we need to insure proper pre-natal care which includes nutrition, regular doctor visits, and parenting education. Once the child is born they should be considered a protected class of citizen. Most of these infants are starting off with a disadvantage. Society is responsible for making sure these children are given opportunities to succeed. If we don't, then it is not unlikely that we will end up with grandparents in their mid-twenties. Take this to its illogical conclusion and the novelty of multi-generational photographs will wear off and The Picture People will have to expand its studios to accommodate eight generations.

Teach abstinence as the best choice, but please don't let it be the only one.

School Staff Wins Lotto

2008-07-24T08:23:00.003-05:00

Students at McMillon High School were surprised to today to arrive at school and find only one teacher. Last night the state lottery awarded a record pay-out of $325 million. The winning ticket was purchased at a QuickTrip a quarter mile from the school. Teachers at McMillon have participated in a lottery pool for the last two years and a clerk at the QuickTrip stated that each payday a teacher from McMillon would come in and buy upwards near 100 randomly selected numbers.

Though we are unable to confirm at this time that the teachers were the winners, certain circumstantial evidence indicates that this may be the case. The substitute coordinator for the district played a message for reporters this morning in which a chorus of voices can be heard exclaiming, "Suck it!" in unison.

A spokesman for the teachers union pointed out the irony, "When the lottery was first instituted in was sold as a way to help fund our failing schools. In reality that money went in as other money went out. If the teachers did win the jackpot, I think it is just a reckoning of the cosmic balance sheet."

Bob Shooda, the only remaining certified staff member, was found by students in the teachers lounge. The shattered remains of his "My Favorite Teacher" mug lying in a puddle of tepid coffee. He would later tell reporters that he just didn't have a dollar on him the day the staff bought the ticket. Apparently on his way to work that day he had stopped and bought a danish.

District officials are calling in all substitues and providing provisional certification to anyone willing to step into a classroom.

Percentage

2008-07-15T10:27:00.003-05:00

While trying to exlain grades the other day, I pointed out that if you have a 100% and score a 95% on the test your grade will go down.

Student F: That's not fair!!!!!!!

Teacher: No it's not fair; it's math.

The Supply Closet

2008-06-25T09:07:00.003-05:00

My general response to teachers that say they can't use technology in the classroom because it is not available is that they should demand to get it. Digital video should be as abundant as staplers. Internet connections should be as fast as the copier. And SmartBoards should be like chalk.

Now that I have spent the first week and a half of summer school looking for and defend partial sticks of chalk I may have to change my answer. The summer school supply box was overflowing with dry erase markers which I had to return upon inspecting my room and realizing that I did not have a dry erase board, but rather the walls were adorned with the traditional green slate.

I returned to the office and requested some chalk. I was told that no chalk had been ordered. Somewhat shocked, but not necessarily appalled I went back to my classroom and found a half stick of chalk and two erasers. Considering the chalk usage for day one I figured that this may be enough to last the summer. If not then I would have to rely on the majority of the students being auditory learners. Unfortunately I did not take into consideration the chalk fiends. Much like a crack fiend they will do almost anything to get dusted (Dusted of course is current Ed. slang for the high a teacher gets from prolonged exposure to chalk dust.) By the second day my chalk was gone. I was reduced to using a bit of chalk so miniscule that it could barely be contained within the chalk clip. One misstep and it would be my fingernail grating the board instead of the chalk.

I can teach without SmartBoards, video cameras, blogs, and even chalk, but why should I have too. Doctor's can perform tracheotomies with a sharp steak knife and a Bic pen, but I'm sure we would all prefer a scalpel and sterilized plastic tubing.

Grockit

2008-06-03T13:17:00.003-05:00

The following is a response to a blog at Grockit.

I agree with that we are set up as a factory producing defective products, but from my point of view I am disturbed by the fact that in this analogy teachers short-circuited Number 5 robotic arms.

A myriad of metric have been heaped onto the factory floor. Each year we have a new test to create the data we need to make data driven decisions when we should people propelled pronouncements (I know that pronouncement probably isn't the best choice, but I can't pass up an opportunity to alliterate.).

So now the question is do we revert to an agrarian metaphor in which we cultivate minds, or is there a better gaming metaphor. Are teachers avatars descended from the realm of the gods to the world of the classroom to impart knowledge? Do we take technology back to its roots, techne and logos using the theory of craft to introduce its sibling episteme?

That last paragraph was written in order portray a certain level of knowledge which I may or may not currently possess. If I have made errors in logic, errors in usage, or a tear in the space-time continuum, please feel free to email me.

The Value of Education

2008-06-02T07:49:00.004-05:00

Recently, I have been having many conversations about the chances we give students to graduate on time. As of last count students are given more offers to get credit than come screaming through the mail slot in my front door. Our district has an alternative program, a GED options program in which they can take the test and still get a diploma, a program for students on long term suspension to earn core credits while they are out, credit recovery for students that earned at least a 50% that requires 30 hours of seat time and the completion of a teacher made packet, and of course summer school.

How can students ever learn to value education when it is being handed out like free t-shirt at a street fair. We put credit into an air cannon and shoot it into the bleachers of the gymnasium and let the students scramble, leap, and elbow their way to graduation.

"Spin the prize wheel. Where will it stop? Algebra II credit! Congratulations!"

The solution? Charge exorbitant amounts for credit. Calculate the value of a credit using the formula: (1/15 teacher salary + cover price of textbook + computing fees + full retail of lunch + incidentals) * inverse grade multiplier * rules infraction multiplier

This formula would double for each repeated attempt to take the class. I'll be generous and give them first crack at credit for free. We are the land of opportunity, but after you have failed a class for the third time and manage a 60% on your fourth try I think that opportunity has passed you by.

However, the real problem is with the teachers. Contrary to popular and presidential opinion our most glaring fault is caring too much. We are overwhelmingly liberal pansies that hate to see children fail, drop-out, or get left behind. We are more susceptible to a sob story than binge drinking college students to gonorrhea .

In conclusion, students don't value education, teachers are suckers, and not much will change.

Student Staff Basketball: People Really Care About This Stuff

2008-05-21T09:49:00.003-05:00

Yesterday was the the student staff basketball game, an opportunity for me to look as foolish as possible. I managed to score two points, but that is not what I am going to write about today. What interests me is that so many people both students and staff take it so seriously. By the way did I mention that I scored 2 points?

Immediately following the game, which was won by the staff, accusations of cheating started flying faster than errant jump shots. I understand the students wanting to beat the teachers. I mean we are obviously superior in all other aspects of life. The staff, however, should have nothing to gain by winning. I'm not saying that they should throw the game, but why would we be worried about anything other than having fun?

Oh, and did I mention that I made 2 points?

My Glasses, I Can't See Without My Glasses

2008-05-07T12:11:00.002-05:00

This blog is for my students, who through poverty or vanity fail to don the proper eyewear. I have chosen to write it in the largest font possible so that they may see it without squinting and leaving nose-prints on the monitors.

With monolithic mounds of anecdotal evidence and casual observation I have come to the conclusion that most, if not all, educational problems could be solved with glasses. Using my SmartBoard as an impromptu Snellen eye chart (That thing with the big E on top) I noticed that the desks in the classroom would slowly creep towards the front piled like bones outside a bear cave.

I work in an alternative program servicing students who have fallen behind in the traditional school setting. My hypothesis is that if these students had been properly diagnosed with visual deficiencies at an early age their entire academic career would be rewritten. Using generous helping of relativity, unified string theory, and the butterfly effect I plan on going back in time and distributing used eyewear that I have been squirreling away in the trunk of my car. Numerous scientific studies and great works of literature support both the reliability of time travel and the likelihood that glasses miraculously cure all educational woes.

I would like to discuss the case of Rick “Wild Thing” Vaughn. Many of you may recognize that name as the star pitcher (Charlie Sheen) for the hapless Cleveland Indians in the movie Major League. This character merely exemplifies events that play out almost everyday in professional sports. Athletes with inordinate amounts of raw talent are miraculously turned into superstars when their coaches hand them a pair of glasses. They are the original performance enhancers. In Cooperstown there is a plaque, situated between Mordecai “Three Finger” Brown and “Shoeless” Joe Jackson, honoring “Lefty” “Slim” “Four-Eyes” Jones. Jones, whose first name is lost to history, was the first player to cross the eye-line. Until he was signed by the Dover Hawks no other player in professional baseball had worn glasses.

Due to my apparent lack of interest in scientific studies I would like to delve into another classic of American literature, Scooby Doo, Where Are You. A key member of an investigative team, Velma Dinkley donned spectacles to connote her obvious intellectual superiority. However, some contrivance of the plot would cause her to lose her glasses momentarily in order to nullify the distinct advantage she had over the masked baddy du jour. Her catch phrase, “My glasses, I can’t see with out my glasses,” is an obvious metaphor in which her glasses represent her investigative ability that allows her to “see” the true culprit. Invariably she would get her glasses back and save the day.

So it should be intuitively obvious to the casual observer, and I am admittedly more casual than most, that glasses fix everything. This is why I am proposing a massive government program that will insure that each student is provide with a pair of spectacles. If these ocular devises are bundled with a laptop computer and a massive surge in funding, then I will have no need of visual enhancements to foresee a substantial increase in student success.

Teachers as CEO

2008-04-07T12:57:00.005-05:00

The following is a commentary with commentary. The original in bold was submitted by Susan Uchitelle on KWMU 90.7 in St. Louis on March 17th. My comments appear in italics

Last week the New York Times reported that a New York City Charter School, due to open in 2009, intends to pay teachers as much as $125,000 per year in an effort to improve student achievement outcomes. $125,000 a year for a teacher! Now that is real money.

As opposed to Monopoly money that they are normally paid. Honestly, after cost of living adjustments that is only like $74,000 which is thirty grand more than I make now. That’s a nice raise, but I am not sure if it reaches the threshold of reality.

The school’s creator believes that attracting the best teachers and paying them for achieving significant student academic improvement may be a way to improve educational outcomes.

There’s a novel idea. Attracting good teachers will help students. I have also found that attracting good students helps test scores. Mayor Bloomberg pays the kids just for showing up. We should raise standards and only pay them if they pass the test.

And of course, this big money is squarely based on quantifiable academic results.

Through carefully controlled experiments scientist have been able to isolate the effects of teachers from the effects of poverty, parents, peers, low pressure systems, and the price of tea in china.

Since research indicates that teacher quality is the major component for student success, then how does a school attract the most competent person to put into the classroom?

I got an idea! Throw money at them like they are cheap edu-hookers. We are not particularly fond of respect.

CEO’s of major corporations are to be paid based upon the earnings of the company (not that this is always the case), so why not try that model in schools?

As was so nicely parenthetically pointed out CEOs get paid despite earnings. If we keep this up we can Enron the school into the ground. Cook the test scores, use creative scoring, do a little insider grading then bail leaving the students ignorant and our pockets stuffed with the aforementioned real money.

I consider teachers as CEOs.

With, I assume all of the inherent authority. As CEO we should be able to fire someone for lack of punctuality, gross incompetence, failure of a performance review, failure of random drug tests, insubordination, and gender.

“As the new CEO, I would like to take this opportunity to announce massive layoffs, rollbacks, and reductions. Effective immediately anyone with more than one year experience at any grade level needs to clean out their lockers and go home.”

They are the ones that make a difference. All schools, including ours in this metropolitan area, need to attract the most competent and highly qualified teachers. Yet the salaries that teachers earn make it extremely difficult to attract the most competent when they can earn three to four times as much in law, business and other entrepreneurial enterprises.

You may also want to include the metal detectors at the door, the barrage of curses hurled at us daily, the lack of support from parents and the community, the twenty minute lunch, and the lack of a luxury box at Busch Stadium.

So let’s give it a try. Cut out middle level administrators, decrease activities that really do not really matter,

Yeah like band. I mean who needs band. It’s just a bunch of people that couldn't make a sports team. While we are at it lets cut all extracurricular activity. I mean they are getting enough enrichment at home.

and hire the best and the brightest at high salaries and promised bonuses based upon results.

Bring on the rainmakers baby.

It may be one of the most valuable experiments for American education today.

So let’s stop wasting time with those experiments in psychology and neuroscience. Halt all research into educational strategies. Let’s dangle money in front of a bunch of recent college grads and measure how high they can jump.

Since we are trying so hard to reverse the trend of poor performance in the St. Louis Schools this would be a wonderful place to start and in the least successful school. We see if such an experiment would make the difference. We certainly have nothing to lose

Except for real money. They already tried this with Teach for America which only proved that you can indeed get highly unqualified people to take the money and run.

and everything to gain for our children.

Oh, it’s for the children. Why didn’t you say so? I mean if you had said it was for the children up front I wouldn’t have wasted my time responding. I mean, I believe children are the future. You’re right it’s for the children (and the real money.)

House Arrest: Why Home Schooling Sucks

2008-04-04T08:55:00.004-05:00

In the interest of honesty I should mention that I am a public school teacher and I send my child to a relatively inexpensive Catholic school. Sending my child to private schools is one of the few times that I have had to compromise my moral standards. There are several reasons that I have done this but the most compelling is that my wife told me that we were going to do this.

Honestly, the public school that my kid would attend is woefully under performing and has been taken over by the state. Ironically, this the same district that my wife teaches in. So, I guess what I am saying is that I am glad I can blame my wife and not have to make the decision about where to send my child to school.

One thing that we both agree on is that we are not qualified to teach our child though both of us are certified secondary teachers. As teachers we both realize that amount of work that goes into preparing, administering, and assessing lesson plans. With one child this time would be manageable if one of us stayed home. Home schooling is an endeavour best suited for the egotistical, the hopelessly elitist, and the paranoid.

Anyone that thinks that they are qualified to teach all the relevant coursework for a student grades K-12 should drop what they are doing and donate their time to the local public school. These natural born teachers have an obligation to society to share their expertise with less fortunate students and intellectually stunted public school teachers. Seriously, after spending 3-4 hours a day in the teacher's lounge and repeatedly pulling on a door that is clearly labeled push, I don't really have the time or visual acuity to teach students. Having access to an omnipotent aid would be like, I don't know, having the Internet in the classroom or something.

Ironically, it is the Internet which has allowed the proliferation of lesson plans and curriculum that some of the more successful home-schoolers have adopted. It is for this reason that I propose that we strictly enforce copyright over our materials. We live in constant fear of software companies scouring our computers and the music industry vetting student power points for snippets of songs longer than 3 seconds. Let's take this frustration out on home-schoolers. Beat down the doors, demand to see the curriculum, and black out any information that is remotely copied from another source. If the lesson has already been taught, then demand that the student unlearn it.

Perhaps in order for the student to unlearn we could send them to unschools. Unschools: for the parent that feels that learning should be a natural free flowing experience directed by the learner. Unschooling is a specific type of home schooling in which there is no set curriculum. Parents guide the students on the exploration of the world and mind. Just think of the movie Accepted.

As Bartleby (Justin Long)

You know what? You're a criminal. 'Cause you rob these kids of their creativity and their passion. That's the real crime! Well, what about you parents? Did -did the system really work out for you? Did it teach you to follow your heart, or to just play it safe, roll over? What about you guys? Did you always want to be school administrators? Dr. Alexander, was that your dream? Or maybe no, maybe you wanted to be a poet. Maybe you wanted to be a magician or an artist. Maybe you just wanted to travel the world. Life was full of possibilities. A - and isn't that what you ultimately want for us? As parents, I mean, is - is that, is possibilities.

'Cause there are so few truths in this world, that when you see one, you just know it. And I know that it is a truth that real learning took place at South Harmon. Whether you like it or not, it did. 'Cause you don't need teachers or classrooms or - or fancy highbrow traditions or money to really learn. You just need people with a desire to better themselves

Because we'll never stop learning, and we'll never stop growing, and we'll never forget the ideals what were instilled in us at our place.

Admittedly after hearing this speech one is likely to jump out his seat screaming, "YES" and dumping popcorn and Jujubees all over fellow movie goers. However, as an actual real world teaching philosophy is would cause most educators to be ridiculed and eventually let go. Parents that put all of their fish in this basket are thumbing their collective noses at American culture and society. The underlying belief is that we as a culture do not need a common base of knowledge. The cultural touchstones discussed, deconstructed and analyzed in the traditional school setting are base and common. They do not deserve to be studied.

American culture merely deifies violence as is evidenced by the increasing number of violent episodes in our schools. Fears of bullying, both regular and cyber (Have you ever noticed that the prefix cyber immediately makes things seem more frightening?), are heightening tension between home schoolers and normal society. "Predatory teachers" trolling America's schools for a date are spooking parents nationwide. Internet stalkers lurk behind every blog and email. The solution? Keep your kids locked in a closet, both a real one and a cyber one.

Parents have a responsibility to educate their children, but they also have an obligation to create good citizens. Whether they are socially adjusted or some sort of flash-card spelling-bee freak the nations needs to be assured that these home schooled students are invested members of our society not elitist, arrogant, paranoid cyber-closeted racists.

Wet Dog

2008-03-19T12:26:00.007-05:00

As a teacher in a predominately African American school I can offer a somewhat unique perspective on the controversy surrounding Rev. Jeremiah Wright. Obviously I do not condone his comments, nor is it wise to say such things when you are associated with a presidential campaign. However, then amount of press accorded these statements and the outrage in the blogosphere is a direct result of white people's ignorance.

Without regular contact with black people or viewing The Original Kings of Comedy most white people remain blissfully ignorant of the stereotypes and prejudices that African Americans have for us crackers. It just seems that everyone is astounded that someone might hate them because of the color of their skin. I've even seen the words "reverse racism" thrown about. As if pure racism can only be by whites against blacks.

White Guy #1: How dare they take our pastime of hatred. Isn't bad enough that they take our jobs with their affirmative action?

White Guy #2: Man I knew this was coming ever since Wesley Snipes insisted that, "White men can't jump." So what if I can't dunk. I can stand in one place and shoot three-pointers all day long.

In the interest of education I want to let all white people know that certain segments of the population think that we smell like wet dog. This is especially true after we have been jogging in our shorts in January.

We are too passive with our children and let them walk all over us.

There are more just ask a black person if you know one.

The thing that amazes me is that not only do white people seem to be unaware of these stereotypes, but they actually are offended by them. For the most part these are empty threats. They don't affect our ability to get a job or get an education. We are not denied loans because we don't have rhythm. We aren't excluded from any social clubs or neighborhoods because we wear crocs. It just doesn't matter.

The statements made by Rev. Wright say more about our society than they do about white people or the government. Rev. Wright and others like him live in a society where the government and authority figures are inherently white and untrustworthy. The idea that hard work will lead to the American dream is just a flat out lie. It is no wonder that conspiracy theories abound in oppressed minorities.

All this outrage just tells me one thing. Nobody is listening. Nobody is talking. And it seems like nobody cares. The recent shooting in Kirkwood, MO is further evidence of the breakdown in communication. We could write off this event and Rev. Wright's comments as products of the fringe, but I think they indicate a much deeper systemic breakdown in communication.

Steep Grade: Use Caution

2008-03-14T10:29:00.008-05:00

As I have written before I am already concerned that "high standards" will initiate an avalanche of homework to coming pouring down on my son. Since he frequently trips over imaginary objects on the sidewalk, performs dance routines that make Elaine Benes look like Josephine Baker, and thinks that his zombie-robot impression is the funniest thing in the world, the chances of him avoiding a snowball let alone an avalanche seems highly unlikely. Besides, the teacher or principal that shouted "high standards" and caused the cavalcade of monotony should be to blame.

Now it seems that there is an even larger disaster perched on the 4th grade horizon. I just attended an informational meeting for my sons first year of kindergarten. Luckily, there does not seem to be a grading scale for students in grades K-3, but in the fourth grade it lunges at the children with the ferocity of a rabid tiger with a borderline personality that woke up on the wrong side of the bed and didn't eat a well balanced breakfast. The scale is rife with lunacy, but suffice it to say that a 69% is an F. If the weatherman told you that there was a 69% chance for rain, would you take an umbrella? Though you would question his adamant refusal to round numbers, you would most definitely take the umbrella. If you had a 69% chance of winning at a casino, wouldn't you empty the bank account and wager it all on red 29. (This may not be the best comparison. I have to admit, I don't know craps.) If the doctor told you that there was a 69% chance of you dying from complications during surgery, wouldn't you call your lawyer to make sure that the will you made during the unfortunate "drinking period" didn't bequeath your life savings to a cat that died fifteen years ago? Perhaps, but only if nobody more significant had surfaced in intervening time.

So I guess what I am saying is that a 69% should be passing. Anything over 60% should be passing. Arbitrarily raising the grading scale will have absolutely no effect on student performance. It is like a high jumper flopping a foot over the bar and expecting to get credit for it. Changing the metric after the event alters the reality. Proponents will say that a scoring guide given before the event will encourage the students to work harder. That is like saying that our high jumper will only put forth the minimum amount of effort to clear the bar, and hence the higher bar will create a higher jump. This type of reasoning seems to denigrate our students.

Teacher: You are obviously lazy and have no internal sense of motivation therefore I will create a ridiculous standard to measure your grade and provide the motivation you so desperately need.

Student: Gee you're right I feel like working now. Your oppressive demeanor and lack of respect for me seems to have done the trick.

We as parents and educators should have high standards for our children, but those standards should be exemplified by the rigor of the assignments not the lunacy of the grading scale. Expect students to know more and they will. So, set the bar for the high jumper, chant his name as he is about to attempt the jump, cheer him as he clears the hurdle, or slow clap as he stands to do it again, but don't move the bar up and down while he is in the middle of an Olympic competition.

I would like to add that since most teachers are compassionate people and 4th-graders are cuter than puppies wearing tutus, students' grades will be adjusted to fit the scale. In effect this actually lowers the standards. Either teachers will create assignments that the students will be successful on, or the grades will be adjusted through extra credit and magic.

The district that I work in just adjusted the grading scale. A 64% was the cut-off for a D. We lowered it to the traditional 60%. As far as I know there has not been a drastic reduction in standards as many had predicted. Everything is as it should be.

And finally, because you can never have too many analogies I would like to point out that claiming students at a certain school are better than others because of the grading scale is like saying the employees at Wal-Mart are better than those at Target because of the pay scale.

Ban Dictionaries

2008-03-03T20:36:00.003-06:00

dic tion ar y n. A book containing the words of a language arranged alphabetically usu. with their syllabication, pronunciation, definition and etymology.

(Three minutes off task and counting. Of course now the student will have to look up syllabication, pronunciation, and etymology. Nine more minutes off task.)

syl lab i cate v.t. SYLLABIFY
syl lab i fy v.t. To form or divide into syllables.

(At this point we will assume that they know syllables)

pro nun ci a tion n. The act or manner of pronouncing words.

e ty mol o gy n. The branch of linguistics dealing with the origin and development of words, prefexes, etc.

lin guis tics n. The science of language, its origin, structure, modifications, etc., including phonetics, phonemics, morphology, syntax, and semantics.

(Now frustration has set in and the student is likely to give up rather than look up the meaning of phonetics, phonemics, morphology, syntax, and semantics.)

The next time a student asks what a word means just teach them.

Taking Testing to the Next Level

2008-03-03T08:45:00.004-06:00

Citing dropping test scores and the imperative of No Child Left Behind, the Missouri school board announced a radical restructuring of state testing. The Missouri Assessment Program (MAP) has been in place for several years, but educators were concerned with the declining number of students scoring proficient.

"Since there is obviously no flaw in the design of the test we had to consider other sources for a our failings," says state school board member Ayn McNally. "We spent years blaming our teachers. We really thought that it was their fault."

After introducing merit pay, test scores did not improve and nearly 90% of the state's teachers were fired for underperformance. In order to hire highly qualified teachers the state used the increased revenue from the lottery and gambling boats to rent five billboards throughout the state. Within a year all but one of those were replaced with signs advertising new casinos. The last one was eventually bought by a local mega-church and simply said, "JESUS."

"We were forced to come to the conclusion that our students were not taking the test seriously enough," said McNally.

So this year new policies are in place that make the test literally life and death. The assessment program has been renamed The Executioner. Prediction are for nearly a 25% fatality rate the first year with sharp declines the next three years. Eventually the only students done in by the test would be those that natural selection would have taken care of anyway.

Who Do I Look Like? I list of the famous and infamous that I may or may not bear a resemblance too.

2008-02-25T11:49:00.002-06:00

List 1: People that students have compared me to

Kramer (hair and nose)
Seinfeld (nose)
Screech (all of me?)
Capt. Jack Sparrow (hair and facial hair)
Capt. Morgan (facial hair)
The Devil (nose, facial hair, and genral attitude)
Steven Seagal (when I had a pony tail)

List 2: People on the street

Matthew McConaughey (I would assume in hair only)
Sean Penn (hair and nose)
Frank Zappa (hair, nose, and facial hair)

Pedagogical Tie-wearing Zombie

2008-02-20T09:17:00.005-06:00

During my planning period I was strolling towards the office to make some copies, when my principal stopped me and said, "________." I quickly fumble through my pocket to press pause on my ipod.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"This is not what a teacher should like," she restated emphatically.

Once I was past my initial reaction to comment on her appearance I began to ponder what it is that makes someone look like a teacher. For elementary teachers it is obvious. Massive amounts of denim, preferably in the form of a jumper with patchwork apples, rulers, and a slate with an "A+" plastered on it is virtually required. Turtlnecks can be worn for additional authenticity. In fact at conferences you can always pick out the elementary teachers from their clothes and the permament smile etched on their faces.

As for secondary teachers the question is a little trickier. We are an eclectic bunch mixing elements of both elementary and post secondary style. So it would not be unusual to see the turtleneck make an appearance, but ties become much more common at this level as well. I can't say that there is any one specific style. My principal most likely has a range of styles in mind which I clearly fell outside of.

My guess is that it was the headphones, which in this case had a distinctive 70's ear muff style. But can headphones alone cause one to look unscholarly? The assumption is that whatever is eminating from them must be of a decidedly unacademic nature. If I had offered her my ipod and she heard the narrator reciting a chapter of Beowulf would I look like a teacher again? To be honest it was more likely the melodic tones of Wilco not ancient English alliteration reverberating between my ears, but the point remains the same.

Perhaps it was the untucked shirt or blue jeans that caused my facade to crumble. I'll admit to a certain casualness of dress lately, but I have not noticed a corresponding decline in student achievement. The only thing that I can think of is that we are worried about how we appear to visitors to our school to which I say, "oh well." I have worked many years to not look or even act like a teacher.

A quick perusal of popular culture reveals negative stereotypes of teacher stacked upon each other. Edna Krabappel, Mr. Garrison, Charlie Brown's Squawk Box. At best we are considered irrelevant.

Once in an essay I wrote to apply for a position as a student teacher I said that I did not want to become "a pedagogical tie-wearing zombie." This still holds true today.

Grade Card Comments 2.0

2008-02-05T13:29:00.000-06:00

Good

Conscientious wiki editor
blogs extensively
demonstrates an ability to go viral
displays rich virtual life
second life leadership ability
displays love of e-learning
promptly answers emails
uses bandwidth well
actively contributes to message board
understands copyright and creative commons licensing

Bad

talks instead of chatting
fails to remember password
does not chat well with others
TYPES IN ALL CAPS
Fails to complete Podcasts
Anti-social bookmarking
Frequently missing attachments
email is undeliverable
lacks "friends" on MySpace
Misrepresents information in online profile

YouTube Revolution

2008-01-22T13:37:00.000-06:00

Gil Scott Heron claimed that, "the revolution will not be televised." I agree, but this assertion was made well before YouTube. The democratization of the media has made it possible to broadcast the revolution. Though GE might not make a habit of informing the masses about abuses by the man, a video of police brutality can reach millions almost instantly and force the hand of the mainstream media. In St. George, MO an officer was caught on video threatening to jail an individual on false charges. Once posted to the internet and pick up by local media, an investigation was initiated.

Granted there are still many hours of useless video residing at YouTube (I should know I have posted some of it), but since its purchase by Google is has been gradually inching its way to legitimacy. In conjunction with CNN it has become a part of the 2008 election campaign. Users were invited to pose question via YouTube and the best of those questions were posed to the candidates.

Why then do a majority of schools still block access? For any tech savvy teacher there are ways around this problem. There are web tools that will allow you to download streaming video and free converters to allow you to put it in almost any format you desire. However, as we all know, the number of teachers with the expertise, patiences, and time to do this is limited.

I have long advocated web access to almost all but the most obscene sites. How are we to teach students to be citizens if we deny them access to the community? YouTube is only the beginning. Open the playground and let the experimenting begin. Denying students access to the web is not just annoying, but it is criminal.

Signs, signs, everywhere a sign

2008-01-15T14:22:00.000-06:00

The shrill cry of a hawk and the even shriller cries of the birds it was preying upon greeted me as I left the house this morning. The smaller birds escaped the and hawk surveyed the terrain of brick homes and apartment complexes. Its keen vision unable to spy any other victims; it remained perched in branches of the pine tree across the street. In Missouri you will often see hawks along the interstates carefully watching from light posts and billboards, but it is fairly rare to see them on the residential streets of St. Louis.

I thought it odd enough to run inside the house to get the camera, but wasn't really that concerned about it. It was neat, but that was it.

The memory safely stored in the camera I returned to my car and headed to work. About a block from the house I am driving down yet another residential street and a red fox darts across the street and into the playground of a neighborhood school. Now if a hawk is rare, then a fox is an experience tartar. It was at this point that I realized that I was experience some sort of prophetic vision. The spirit world was sending me an email.

As a slightly less than spiritual being I had to do some research upon my arrival at work. I found a site with descriptions of Zuni animal medicines. The hawk often signals an omen. It tells the individual to pay attention like the hawk constantly scanning the horizon. So the hawk was just letting me know that the fox was coming.

The fox is a trickster, a creature that lives in the borders of the village and the wild. He lives in the twilight surviving using its cunning and adaptability. Fox medicine warns us not to give away to much and to exercise discretion. These are two qualities that I frequently forget, and perhaps the fox was sent to remind me.

More than likely it is coincidence.

One final thought. Perhaps they were running ahead of some sort of disaster such as the New Madrid earthquake or an impending storm. If an earthquake happens, then I want to be on record as predicting it.

Name Recognition

2008-01-07T11:27:00.000-06:00

First day back from Winter Break and I have been spending most of it remembering the names of my students. I have always been bad at names unless that name would help me win a game of trivial pursuit. So if you were a member of the cast of Gilligan's Island, then your name is etched on my cerrebulum. Thank you very much Alan Hale jr. However, if you are a person of only casual accquaintance or a relative more distant than cousin, then your name may only be recoverable through hypnosis.

It is a sign of a great teacher that they build close bonds to his students, but since names elude me like a squirrel on crack I can only assume that greatness is unattainable. I've heard tell of teachers that make seating charts with photos and then diligently study them at home. This of course would require a level of dedication and organization that I am incapable of.

I have become adept at covering my disability. At parent conference if the student comes with their parent and I am expected to know who that child is, I will ask to see their report card to check their other classes. Not only do I look like I care, but I can also surreptitiously get the studnet's name.

Context is of the upmost importance in recall. Seeing a student in class is relatively simple. When the student is ecounter in other evirons the recollection process is impeded. Forturnately, most of my students have jobs in which they are required to wear a name tag or have it embroidered on their shirt. The same circumstances that result in the wearing of name tags insures that I am unlikely to have chance encounters at the Art Museum or the symphony.

Early in my career I thought that perhaps I did not care enough about the students. I have come to find out that I care just enough. In order to be a good teacher I can't be their friend or parent. Like the doctor that knows everything about you after studying the chart outside the examination room, a teacher needs to have a certain amount of detachment in order to best treat the student.

PINhandling

2007-12-17T09:00:00.000-06:00

Local homeless now have a new weapon in war on poverty. In a pilot program funded by the Salvation Army and local homeless activist Rev. Gary, those suffering a domicile deficit have been armed with debit card readers.

"We have found that there are less people carrying cash so the traditional Homeless Times was not making any money. Plus some people were just lying. Now the habit challenged individual can be like, 'That's okay. I take debit cards."

The cards are linked through satellite to a central computer at Rev. Gary's chapel. Donors can only donate in whole quarter amounts, but advocates believe that the ease of the transaction will persuade those that wanted to donate less to give anyway.

Officials have been careful to screen applicants for the program. "We obviously have some clientele that are not comfortable with the satellite link. Our paranoid schizophrenics fell that the wires placed in their brains by the government was already enough of an intrusion."

If successful, the Salvation Army will be placing card readers on all of their red kettles next Christmas.

Not everyone is a fan of expansion however. Critics cite the potential for fraud as a primary concern. "So I'm supposed to swipe my card and enter my PIN for a total stranger? I don't think so," says professional critic Bob Hayda. "Get a job, or get out."

When questioned about exactly where the homeless should "get out" to, Mr. Hayda had no comment.

All attempts to contact the homeless by phone were unsuccessful.

What's Your Number

2007-12-14T10:13:00.000-06:00

During a recent PD we learned some cooperative learning strategies and some of the teachers were concerned that it only involved lower level thinking. In defense of higher order thinking skills they cited the fact that memorization is becoming less necessary. Specifically they talked about phones numbers.

This, however, is a false comparison. Phone numbers are an end, meaning that these bits of information cannot be reordered, evaluated, or synthesized. Obviously not every piece of data is going be kept at the forefront of your brain for easy retrieval, but in order to successfully navigate higher order thinking skills certain neural patterns should be fresh and easily accessed.

Sometimes as teachers we forget the basics necessary to understanding. We assume that certain brain structures and information are common knowledge, but we are not common so we can't accurately judge what the commoners possess. This "let them eat cake" attitude leads us to ignore memorization which is foundation of higher order learning. Without a basic understanding of vocabulary and concepts it is impossible to get to the tougher stuff.

Good teaching reaches the shallows, deepest fathoms, and all other depths of knowledge. To extend a metaphor, Every deep sea dive starts at the shore.

Cognitive Performance Enhancers

2007-11-16T08:45:00.000-06:00

The scientific community was shaken today by the revelation that many of its luminaries had partaken in performance enhancing drugs. In fact many of the worlds greatest discoveries may have been a result of tainted brains.

It is not by mere chance that the Age of Enlightenment coincides with the introduction of coffee to Europe. Both Huygens pendulum clock and Galileo's improvements to the telescope both happened soon after the first Starbuck's opened in their respective countries.

Of course caffeine is just the tip of the performance enhancing iceberg. As you may have heard Nobel physicist Albert Fert recently submitted a tainted sample the Nobel prize governing body. "We found trace amounts of modafinil a non-amphetamine stimulant," stated Nobel official Ain Thatashaim.

The Nobel committee is still weighing all possibilities, but as it stands right now Dr. Fert may have to return the Nobel Prize.

Those familiar with the Nobel competition know that a culture of abuse has always surrounded the prize. Since the prize was first awarded 1901 an aura of suspicions has clouded the prize when winner for medicine, Emil Adolf van Behring, was found sprawled in his examining room with a syringe of pure caffeine dangling from his arm.

Jealousy over the attention and money paid to entertainers has forced many intellectuals into the shady world of performance enhancers. "We are doing the important work. We save lives. What does Brittany Spears do for the world," whines one scientist that wishes to remain anonymous. "Until the brain gets the respect that it deserves researchers will continue to enhance."

City of Pine Lawn Makes Sagging Illegal

2007-11-14T11:58:00.000-06:00

In an effort to crack down on gang activity in the fair city of Pine Lawn residents applauded the city council's recent decision to outlaw low hanging pants.

"It's like how they got Capone on tax evasion. The criminals are surrounded by many layers of subordinates. The Droopy-Drawers statute will allow our dedicated police officers to arrest and incarcerate the leaders of the the Pine Lawn underwear, I mean underworld," says the Pine Lawn police chief.

"I should not know what color underwear you have on," complains long time resident Ida Clair while pulling up her knee-high hose, "it's shameful what folks will do."

Always at the forefront of law enforcement a new officer will be added under the auspices of the Undergarment Task Force, that already includes one of the the nations only Bra Inspectors. If successful, other communities are expected to draft similar laws.

Genetic Link for Satire

2007-11-13T21:30:00.000-06:00

Dr. Gita Klu announced yesterday the discovery of a gene that codes for the understanding of satire. LOL99, the humor gene, has been linked to the understanding and creation of wit. Individuals in which this gene is active demonstrate and ability to parody the creative work of others and accurately identify items that are ironic.

"I started looking for the humor gene after several of the jokes in my lectures just bombed. Extensive research had proven that these jokes were indeed funny, yet when delivered to my Genetics 280 class they just blew up in my face. It occurred to to me that perhaps the students in my course were lacking a sense of humor. It is only a minor leap in logic to assume that since the other senses are influenced by genetics then so too should the sense of humor."

Dr. Klu set up a series of experiments to determine the existence of LOL99. Mice were condition to expect a piece of cheese after successfully navigating a maze. Then researchers secretly replaced the cheese with a bad pun. Mice that expressed frustration were determined to be lacking a sense of humor. A DNA sample was extracted from each mouse and they were then given a copy of "Who Moved My Cheese." Amazingly, the mice that were lacking LOL99 were the same mice that actually read the book trying to determine the location of the cheese.

"Individuals lacking the gene experience frustration while watching The Simpsons and complain that Saturday Night Live has never been the same since the original cast left. They also tend to be Republican," states Klu.

Klu's research will be published in this month's issue of Ludicrous Research.

A Modest Proposal

2007-11-07T13:52:00.000-06:00

For the third time in about a week I have come across articles referencing the outboard brain all originating from an column in Wired. With varying degrees of awe and loathing authors have discussed the phenomenon of using electronic devices to store information previously held in the forefront of the brain. Some even decry the technology as making choices for us. We are cyborgs, or at the very least we have our own C-3PO and R-2D2 traveling by our side at all times. I fear however that techno-phobes and Luddites will be left behind struggling to remember their best friends phone number. Or worse, not have immediate access to the filmography of Kevin Bacon, and thus losing nearly every match of Six-Degrees.

For these unfortunate souls I suggest not an outboard brain, but an outsourced one. What's the difference you say? Well an outsourced brain is relatively low tech. Considering the number of people living in impoverished third-world countries the potential work force is staggering. For only a few cents a day you could have your very own outsourced brain. Instead of C-3PO a Gunga-Din. Ready at a moments notice to provide you with all of the necessary information to participate in sparkling conversation and witty repartee. We all know how smart Asians are. Who better to take care of all of the mental toil.

Honestly, it was a travesty that the Chinese were used as cheap labor to build our railroads. Obviously they should have been valued much more for their mental powers than their physical ones. The Japanese have noticed this weakness in westerners and have even built games that reportedly help build mental dexterity. If they were truly cutthroat businessmen then they would let us flail about in our intellectual squalor and sell us devices and people that would supplement our failing brains.

With the third world taking over the tasks of the useful ten percent of our brains (respiration, circulation and other bodily functions would most likely remain in the realm of the original brain) we would be free to explore the other ninety percent. Within a few year I predict that we will have mastered telepathy, telekinesis, and astral projection.

The Curious Incident of Censorship in the Day Time

2007-10-23T10:36:00.000-05:00

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime has recently come under fire as being to controversial for a Big Read. The curious thing about it is that I agree. This is either and indicator of age, a right turn on the political spectrum, or wisdom. For obvious reasons I am going to pick wisdom. In the past fifteen years as a teacher, and as a concerned citizen prior to that, I have fought against censorship. So what is different this time? In order to better analyze this particular situation I should probably review my history with censorship.

I come from a household in which my mother was horribly offended by violence and my father turn violently red at the mention of sex. Needless to say I wasn't allowed to see any R-rated movies. I was, however, allowed to read just about anything. I still remember fondly the day I learned the word phallus from reading The Excorsist. My dad wasn't nearly as happy as I was, but he never even threatened to take the book away.

This freedom to read virtually anything molded me into a typical militant high school student. Farenheit 451 was the worst thing that could happen to a society. Anyone that wanted to ban books was some sort of cro-magnon fascist.

Luckily, as I entered my teaching career I managed to tone down just a little. My first job in a Muslim school was a challenge. The philosophy of the school was that writing was technical skill not an art. As a first year teacher who had to devise his own curriculum I still thought it was important to at least read some authors as examples of good writing. With a limited budget I decided to purchase $1 copies of Call of the Wild. I had the submit the book for review. Amazingly it came back with only one black mark on it. The imam had crossed out the word sex. I ranted about him being a cretin because the word was refering to gender not the act. I was desperate for a job and the absence of one word did not really affect the text. I had compromised. I eventually left the job, not because of this incident, but because the general tone and philosophy of the school did not match mine. An interesting side note, some of the members of this mosque were later arrested for funneling money to terrorist organizations.

The next time a book caused any stir in my classroom was when a veteran teacher gave me some copies of Gal because I once again had to develop my own curriculum. I was a third year teacher, but it was my first year at my districts alternative program. Gal was a high interest read for my students, but two of the black teachers in the school had a problem with yet another portrayal of a dishfunctional black protagonist. It was probably this characteristic that made the book so interesting to the students. Forgetting momentarily that I was white I decided to fight what I thought was blatant censorship, but as a third year teacher with a first year principal it just wan't going to happen. Looking back now I realized that I should have been more sensitive to their point of view.

The final milestone in our journey to The Curious Incident, again deals with fears of an attack from the left. There never really was a battle, mainly because I had prepared for it. One of my students had written a poem containing the N-word. The topic was racial profiling and the word was used as dialogue from the police officer. Before anyone could say no, I wrote a justification for the poem and had the student write one as well. We were prepared for battle. When I failed to get a response to an email I figured that it was on. I was wrong. The poem was approved, and all we had to do was write a warning and disclaimer on the inside of the CD cover.

Both of the last two incidents happened in the same district in which we are currently dealing with The Curious Incident episode. For the most part I feel that I work at a rather liberal district and don't fear censorship or totalitarian mandates. In the case of the book I always felt that we had the backing of the administration. So why don't I want to fight this? Since I eliminated age and facism we are left with wisdom. My experiences have led me to redefine censorship and this incident doesn't reach the standard. Though I am dealing with close-minded people they are not keeping me or anyone else from reading the book. They are excercising their right to not have to read the book. They are essentially changing the channel. If I were to force this book on them, then I would be doing the same as if they denied me access. Wisdom has begun to make the clear cut a little murky.

The Ultimate Scoring Guide (The 3W in Action)

2007-10-04T07:50:00.000-05:00

In order to streamline grading I have decided to resort to honesty. We often seem appalled when we hear of a teacher that just assigns a grade because they know what the work deserves. Rubrics and scoring guides while helpful in letting student know what should be done are basically worthless when it comes to assessment. Everytime we get a new scoring guide I try to find some way to turn it into some sort of quantifiable number. I always fail. How do I know that I fail? Well when I derive the numerical date it never comes out to the grade that my years of experience tell me the paper should have. All work falls into three categories that correspond to either and A, C, or F. Or more simply, "Wow what a great idea," "Well duh," and "What the heck." I call this scoring guide the 3W since we all know that all good ideas can be distilled into an acronym.

The first W is the Wow factor. To get an A the paper must go beyond your expectations of the assignment or of the student. The wow moment comes when you say to yourself, "I never thought of that." There is an issue of standards however. If your standards for an assignment or student are too low then you are likely to say wow at rather mundane work. Conversely, If your standards are too high then you are obviously going to have some trouble being impressed.

In fact with high standards you are much more likely to say, "duh." A "Well Duh" paper is basically a regurgitation of ideas and content mention in lectures, discussions, and the text. This is the level most people work on so the corresponding letter grade is a C indicating the utter mediocrity of the work. I contend that average is the worst thing to be. So in order to avoid a C a student should aim for the Wow A.

When aiming for this A a student will sometimes fail spectacularly. So much so that you are liable to say, "What the heck." At this point the student should get an F. Now many of you are screaming that that is not reasonable, and I agree. That is why a student should have an opportunity turn their paper into a "Wow" paper.

They will not be likely to change from "What the heck" to "Wow" in a single draft. They will work their way up the 3W continuum. Along they way they may have to stop at a D or a B. These two grades or noticably missing from the scoring guide and that is because they respond to secondary grades. If A, C, and F are the primary grades on the grading wheel, then D and B are combination of these. They are the green and orange of the spectrum.

Ideally we wouldn't have to give follow the rainbow of grades, but since it is required I will continue to do so. The 3W scoring guide however introduces a degree of honesty into this Skittle colored world of academics. What would be easier for a student to understand than "Wow," "Well duh," and "What the heck"?