Browns Bridge Academy

Um.... you were saying?

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 13:30:00 +0000

Yeah, it's been a good long while. The Headmaster figures that about one year between posts is what the people want.

Here is a video from a series you can find on Youtube called "The Sagan Series". This is the third installment. It is narration by Carl Sagan from the documentary "The Pale Blue Dot", put to music and video. The Headmaster was so moved by this video that he has incorporated the entire series (and it's companion "The Feynman Series") into the Academy's science curriculum.

Before watching the video, the Headmaster feels it is important to frame it into the proper persective by recalling some facts about our universe.

The speed of light is 186,282 miles per second, or approx. 671 million miles per hour.

- at that speed, it takes a little more than one second to reach the moon from earth
- at that speed, it takes 8.3 minutes to reach the sun from earth
- at that speed, it takes about 6 hours to travel from one end of our solar system to the other (from the sun all the way out to its furthest planet Pluto)

Now, consider that there are more than 400 billion other suns in our Milky Way galaxy, each with their own solar systems.

- at the speed of light, it takes 100,000 years to travel the length of our Milky Way galaxy
- at the speed of light, it takes 2.5 million years to travel from our Milky Way galaxy to our close neighbor, the Andromeda galaxy

Now, consider that there are more than 400 billion other galaxies in the universe.

Enjoy...

Big-Tent Party?

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Mon, 22 Nov 2010 18:54:00 +0000

Those conservatives sure know how to appeal to the broadest possible base, don't they?

Robert Ehrlich Was Right. Once.

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Tue, 05 Oct 2010 14:44:00 +0000

You may recall the Headmaster's surprise at discovering he lived in "Lorton Country". Since the Headmaster's O'Mehrlich sign mysteriously disappeared from the East Grounds in the middle of the night, he felt the need to continue his contribution to the neighborhood sign wars.

This may be the only known case where Robert Ehrlich was right.

Done and done.

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Sun, 03 Oct 2010 23:01:00 +0000

The Academy is happy to report that it is actually possible for the Headmaster to finish a project. Today he completed the stone planter box on the east entry. The Headmistress is pleased indeed.

Recall the demolition process on the old battleship gray sandstone planter box...

And here then, is the completed project...

While the Headmaster never likes to give away his building secrets, we did manage to record some of the construction process. Enjoy...

Sign Wars

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Tue, 14 Sep 2010 20:43:00 +0000

A political sign goes up in a neighborhood. And then the very next day, another. And then, overnight, it's as though those two signs had gotten together and got BIZZEEEE!

Fortunately for the Academy, our little neighborhood has been spared. Until yesterday when the Ehrlich bunch started a fight. Then the O'Malley crowd got into it. Now, the signs are springing up everywhere.

Today, the Headmaster took the matter into his own hands and created a sign that would make any Unitarian proud.

Let's hope this calms things down a bit.

Lorton Country Has "Qualities"

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 01:02:00 +0000

Today the Headmaster was surprised to learn that he lives in "Lorton Country". Kyle Lorton is the "fiscally responsible" "family guy" who "has ethics". (Picture Chris Farley doing Bennett Brauer here) Sure, Lorton may not be "camera friendly", and he may not "wear clothes that fit". Yeah, he may "lack hygenics". And he doesn't "own a toothbrush" or "let his scabs heal". But dammit, he "can win!"

Seriously, is that the best they can say about this aspiring state senator - that he's a "family guy"? We're not sure what that means, beyond the fact that he likely "has family". The Headmaster also has family, but we don't recommend voting for him anytime soon. And can we define "fiscally responsible"? How about: "I'll fund the things I want to fund, and not the stupid things THEY want to fund". Sure, the Headmaster would love to fund a Ferrari in the driveway and think himself positively responsible for doing it. But the Headmistress might beg to differ.

Sigh...

And don't even get us going about "has ethics"! It's like having a friend set you up on a blind date -- "Really, you'll like her - she has looks!"

Ah, but now we see from whence this tepid endorsement springs. Probably from the bottom of a growler of Fordham Copperhead Ale.

Postscript:
We thoroughly enjoyed the following excerpt on Mr. Lorton's official website:

"I will not compromise on principle, but... I will work with anyone who will work with me."

Sounds like a nice way of phrasing the Headmaster's motto: "My way or the highway."

How Much Will You Take For The Unused Lithium?

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 14:50:00 +0000

The Headmaster has always maintained that yardsales are a perfect venue for witnessing the absolute worst in human behavior. They make even homeschooling listservs look like models of order and decency by comparison. This is why he avoids them like the plague. That is, until this weekend when the Academy joined an alliance of regional schools to conduct a yardsale to benefit school children in Haiti. Now if you think yardsale rats will run you down looking for the bargain of the century, wait 'til you tell them that all proceeds will benefit a third-world country struggling to recover from the disaster of the century. Oh yeah baby, it's on. It is so totally and completely on.

You might not normally connect Juicy Couture dresses for toddlers with questionable judgment, but when, in the context of helping impoverished kids obtain badly-needed school supplies, a discriminating shopper offers $1 for a $90 dress worn only once for the opening of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince at Regal Snowden Square 14 Theaters - well, one must draw a line somewhere.

The worst of the worst are the "early birds", which is a euphemism for (kids, if you're reading this, cover your ears) "professional asshole". These are yardsale rats who seem to find joy in haggling with you over a nickel. See, they're gonna need that nickel to defer the cost of listing fees when they resell your gently-used possessions through Craigslist at 2000% markup.

It's 6am. You stand in your driveway before a pile of "stuff-that-was-destined-for-this-yardsale-the-moment-you-impulsively-bought-it", sipping coffee and contemplating your setup strategy. It's the quiet before the storm. Suddenly you see them drive by and hit the brakes, followed by the urgent whining of the transmission as they back their utility van over your carefully placed orange parking cones. They pause to size you up. Slowly they emerge and walk up as if skulking into an adult bookstore. You can see it in their hollow eyes - lost souls with no conscience to speak of. "Hey, mind if I look around?" they say without looking up. "Sure. Hey, mind if I poke you in that hollow eye with this distinctive, hand-forged fireplace poker from Woodland Direct in lovely vintage finish that is sure to complement any decor?"

Ah well, it's just "stuff". If you go into it with the expectation that you are going to get rid of a lot of unwanted merchandise and maybe make a dollar or two, you won't be disappointed. Alternatively, you could just take a heavy dose of lithium two hours prior. Then, afterward, take all your proceeds and go buy some more silly-bands.

Will and Grace

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Sun, 15 Aug 2010 19:43:00 +0000

At first glance, this sign appears to be a simple and funny play on words related to the recent heat spell. But it is actually using those words as metaphor for the tension between the concepts of free will and grace. According to the Merriam-Webster Abridged, Grace is defined as "unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification".

It works like this: an all-knowing, all-powerful and infallible God creates mankind, but makes them imperfect through the concept of "free will". Then, by dangling the carrot of eternal happiness he requires them to control their free will in order to strive for moral perfection. Knowing they would fall short, he then provides "Grace" to allow them an opportunity to get the carrot anyway.

Sounds logical (if not a little whacked) until you start actually thinking about it. See you can't think about it without poking into a few hopelessly knotted tangles like Jesus Christ and Predestination. According to Predestination, this grace-giving God knows who will get the carrot (i.e. the "Elect") and who will not get the carrot (i.e. the "Reprobates"). Which begs a few obvious questions:

- why is Grace given to get the carrot and given to not get the carrot?
- if Grace is given and the Elect are known, then why sacrifice Jesus Christ?
- why answer the prayers of the "doomed" reprobates?
- why bother bringing the reprobates into the world in the first place?
- if He intervenes to help me upgrade to first class, doesn't that mean I'm Elect?

Catholicism: Predestination is God's decree of the happiness of the Elect. God's infallible foreknowledge (and thus predestination also) includes free will. God's foreknowledge cannot force upon man unavoidable coercion, for the simple reason that foreknowledge is nothing more than the eternal vision of what happens in the future. God foresees the free activity of a man precisely as that individual is willing to shape it - predestination is not predetermination of the human will.

In other words, moral decisions based on your free will determine whether you get the carrot, and God knows what decisions you will make. But let's keep going...

Election is a consequence of God's foreknowledge. By definition, the Elect are those whom God infallibly foresees will be saved (Rom 8:28-30). By this definition, it is impossible for the Elect to be lost, precisely because God foreknows who will not be lost. But since election depends on God's infallible foreknowledge, we simply have no way of knowing whether or not we are in that category -- God knows with certainty His Elect, but we do not. The Elect are predestined in the sense that God knows them, and enables them by grace, to be saved.

So let's see if we have this straight. God knows already if you're saved (Rom 8:28-30). He knew it when you were born. He knew it BEFORE you were born. So why does God bring us here when he knows we won't get the carrot, unless it is for the sheer amusement of watching us try to raise kids or take tours of the Spy Museum? If you're beginning to feel like the control group in some sort of cosmic experiment, you're not alone. It may be that your entire purpose on earth is to highlight (through your failure) the success of the carrot-holding elect.

Can you imagine working your whole life (or even one day) toward some fuzzy promise to "get paid" in the end if you do a "good job"? There's no one around to provide a clear definition of "good job", and so you have no way of knowing where you stand at any given point. Heck, you don't even know what the "pay" is! Maybe the Muslims have it right after all - hew as closely as possible to a strictly literal interpretation of ancient holy texts, and you've given it your best shot. And you know exactly what you get in the end. Sure, you have to live your whole life in the Dark Ages, but you'll get 72 virgins while the rest of the world strives for some lousy carrot.

According to most religious doctrines, homosexuality is like an express lane for Hell - forget HIV, gays are all going to Hell HOV. The Apostle Paul mentions homosexuality as a sin which keeps man from the Kingdom of God (1 Cor 6:9-10). Remember that 90's show Will and Grace? The name succinctly sums up the tension between free will and grace, which cannot be more aptly demonstrated than in a show about a heterosexual-turned-homosexual man. Was Will exercising his God-given ability to choose, while Grace's role (ever optimistic, if not somewhat unwitting) was to "save" him? Was the show demonstrating that the concepts of grace and free will are inextricably linked, such that grace and salvation will always be available to us, in spite of the temptations of free will? Or was the show simply a vehicle to get Megan Mullaly's boobs into our living rooms? (Thank you Lord)

We can't seem to make sense of it all. Through prayer, we seek guidance and assistance from God to "show us the way" - to make the right moral decisions. And yet, He already knows what decisions we will make, and through that knowledge He knows whether we're destined for Hell or Eternity. In fact, His intervention would be the undoing of predetermination, which would make Him... fallible. We ask Him for help in all kinds of issues - help with our finances, help with our relationships, help getting five minutes alone with Megan Mullaly - and yet for all we know our name isn't even on the VIP list. So what's the point again? Some faiths believe that since the Elect are predetermined, Christ died only for the elect. Doh! Can you imagine? They were already good to go! Dammit!

As it turns out, this church sign had nothing whatsoever to do with any of these concepts. See, we told you this AC thing was going to catch on!

Cut, Print, Check the Gate. Moving on.

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 01:31:00 +0000

If you can imagine buying tickets to see Luscious Jackson in concert, and then after arriving being handed a microphone and informed that it's karaoke, you have some idea what it was like today when the Headmaster escorted the students on a "tour" of the Spy Museum in Washington DC, near Chinatown.

From the Spy Museum website:

"Think of it as a live action adventure in the second oldest profession on earth. Only you’re the spy. This one-hour adrenaline-fueled interactive experience is no exhibit. It’s simple, really. You have to locate a missing nuclear trigger before it ends up in the wrong hands. No pressure. Just crack a few safes, decode some messages, interrogate a suspect double agent."

See, this isn't a tour. This is acting without even being paid scale. This is why the Headmaster avoids Murder Mystery Dinner Theater and Japanese Steakhouses at all costs. When he dines out, he wishes to be served, and prefers not to be part of the "entertainment". Imagine going to a fine restaurant where the chef navigates a serving cart to within three meters of your table, then asks you to open wide while he flips your meal into your mouth one bite at a time with great fanfare. Grilled scallops soar through the air in slow-motion as you wait with mouth agape like a hooked fish. Diners four tables away have instant access to your complete dental history, and they wince at the site. "Ooooh, gosh... he should have flossed". Yeah, all the onion volcanoes in the world won't make up for that experience.

Anyway, after some preliminary play acting, the Headmaster's tour group of a half-dozen parents with kids were herded into a themed room representing the lobby of a third-world hotel. Here they were given an initial briefing of their mission and asked to select code names for themselves. The Headmaster quickly set upon "Cupcake" as first choice, and "Twinkles" as second, but as it turns out those names were already taken by the time it came 'round to him. So he froze for a moment, then just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Steve Shapero!" he said, whereupon Cupcake, Twinkles and Excalibur all shot him a look of utter disdain as if to say "You stupid noob, you're endangering the entire mission".

"Sorry," says the Headmaster sheepishly. Then, almost pleadingly, "The website said there'd be no pressure!"

See, this is why the Headmaster would rather not be part of any "interactive" experience. That is, unless he's touring a museum for the OLDEST profession in the world.

How to Lose a Caterpillar in 10 Days

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 16:00:00 +0000

While working on the stone wall today, the Headmaster was visited by a Tiger Swallowtail caterpillar. She crawled on over along the rock ledge, then raised her head up to inspect the Headmaster. At first glance, the caterpillar's head appeared to have a bit of the Red Queen about it. Bulbous. Then it suddenly dawned on the Headmaster that the eyes weren't eyes at all. According to Batesian Mimicry, certain insects evolve the features of other insects (or even vertebrates) in order to appear more dangerous to predators.

Upon further reflection, however, it may be that these features are not designed to scare off predators at all. Viewed from a different perspective, perhaps with a few Emilio Pucci accessories thrown in, these eyes scream out "I'm looking for commitment". Makes us wonder how the species survives at all, given a physical feature literally designed to scare the bejeezus out of all the male caterpillars.

Cut scene. Camera pans in on Ms. Caterpillar's steady boyfriend, on a tour of wine country with his college buddy. "Look, if these chicks want to drink Merlot, we're drinking Merlot." His buddy yells back "I am NOT drinking #*%&ing Merlot!"

Anyway, after several minutes of inspection, the caterpillar walked off and left the Headmaster to his business. A wise decision on her part.

Belly on up

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 19:06:00 +0000

Regular readers (yes, we're talking about you three) know that the Academy broke ground this spring on the new James M. Chandler Septic System on the north grounds. Part of this project involved eliminating a section of fence in order to get the big equipment onto the grounds. This breach in force protection didn't go unnoticed. The deer have begun spreading picnic blankets out by the pool each morning, raising the age-old question - what to feed the unexpected guest? Ever-aspiring to be a better host, the Headmaster invested a small fortune installing an all-you-can-eat salad bar. Going for an English-Garden look, he framed the vegetable garden with hostas, black-eyed-susans, heather and more. This has become the Academy's "loss-leader" - tempting the deer in and then selling them on the good stuff like tomatoes and basil. The response has been overwhelming, and we're happy to report that we've nearly moved our entire inventory.

sigh...

While mowing the lawn this past week, the Headmaster discovered that the deer are not the only ones bellying up to the bar. The back fields were nearly blanketed with the most curious caterpillars. Euchaetes Egle, to be exact - or, simply the Milkweed Caterpillar. Remember milkweeds? As a kid, the headmaster used to find them, crack them open and blow the seed spores all over the yard. This no doubt endeared him to the local Eu. Egle population, if not to his dad.

Between the Eu. Egle, the tent caterpillars, the slugs and the local deer, the only green thing left at the Academy is the grass. Now all the Headmaster needs is a herd of goats to completely eliminate all yardwork.

"Be-e-e-e-lly on up boys, I'll be hanging out at the pool with the deer. I hear they have cucumber sandwiches with fresh basil."

Hey Beer Man, Two Over Here!

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Thu, 05 Aug 2010 19:23:00 +0000

Heat Index 105. Ok, so it’s hot. But we're not buying into this whole “global warming” thing because we just checked and it’s -40 on the summit of Mount Everest right now. Talk to us when the Sherpa are wearing Bermuda shorts and selling lift tickets.

Meanwhile, the Headmaster will be spending more and more time down at the local church, where they’ve taken to enticing the masses with promises of thermal comfort. Wouldn’t you think that climate control is simply the cost of entry in the church business? Can you imagine a sign in the middle of winter -- “COME ON IN. WE’VE GOT HEAT!”

But as we all know from Marketing 101, it doesn’t take much to create an artificial demand for any given commodity. This AC thing could catch on, and soon every church will be advertising it. That’s when they’ll start looking for “differentiators”.

“EVAPORATOR COIL BLESSED BY THE POPE!”

“REFRIGERATED COMMUNION HOSTS!”

“OUR HVAC IS CERTIFIED KOSHER!”

Down at the Unitarian they’ll be all like “ENERGY STAR AC with R410A – CERTIFIED GREEN!” Just watch the parking lot fill up with Priuses.

Sigh. Makes us long for the good old days. “We’ve Got JC”.

Dear God:

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 19:18:00 +0000

As church signs go, this one ain't bad. The Headmaster is amused by the double-entrendre of the expression, and even of specific words within the expression. Very clever.

This sign leads the Headmaster to ponder the whole concept of prayer, and of communication with God in general. There is no accounting for it. Well, at least, there is no accounting for it unless you're using the accounting methods of Enron. Which reminds us that Enron CEO Jeffrey Skilling once reflected from his jail cell that "We were doing God's work". Hm... How'd he know he was doing God's work, without having had some communication with God? Probably email.

To: God
From: j.skilling@enron.com
Date: Wednesday, August 8, 2001 10:06 pm
Subject: Ongoing Operations

God - we're employing questionable accounting methods in order to continue fleecing investors out of billions. Do you want us to proceed with this work?

Regards,
Jeffrey Skilling, CEO Enron

From: Mail Delivery Subsystem
To: j.skilling@enron.com
Date: Wednesday, August 8, 2001 10:06 pm
Subject: Returned mail: see transcript for details

----- The following addresses had permanent fatal errors -----
[God]
(reason: 550 Host unknown)

To: God
From: j.skilling@enron.com
Date: Wednesday, August 8, 2001 10:07 pm
Subject: Fwd: Ongoing Operations

I'm taking that as a "Yes".

Regards,
Jeffrey Skilling, CEO Enron

But wait, following the collapse of the highly-leveraged derivatives market and subsequent taxpayer bailouts didn't Goldman Sachs CEO Lloyd Blankfein also claim he was doing God's work? Taken at face value, that perspective seems entirely whacked, but then I suppose one might argue that literally everything we do - whether good or bad - is God's work. Sitting on the toilet this morning, leafing through the Headmistress's Soma Intimates Catalog, I was doing "God's Work". And who could argue that the woman modeling the Brianna Lace Thong with Unlined Lace Cami Bra wasn't doing God's work?

[crickets chirping]

I thought so. But I digress...

Where were we? Ah yes, accounting. How do we account for a personal God who answers prayers and communicates with his creations? Here we have a person living in utter misery, praying for food or medicine for her children. It never comes. Why has she been ignored? Is it because she is bad? Is her faith lacking? And here we have another person living in relative luxury, praying for a winning lottery ticket so he can quit his job. After all the excitement of hitting the numbers, this new millionaire states "God has answered my prayers!" Hm... Could it be that God is having difficulty sorting his "Inbox"? Maybe the suffering mother's message got lost between advertisements for discount Viagra and Russian brides. Maybe our "personal" God needs a personal Assistant.

These thoughts run through the Headmaster's mind anytime he is tempted to "pray". How can one pray for anything, knowing the suffering that exists throughout the world? What could I possibly pray for, other than to end all suffering? But then, how do I plead with God to end that which He himself created? In fact, how can I ask God anything, unless it's to determine why there is such suffering in the first place, and why the prayers of the suffering should be ignored while prayers of the clearly advantaged are answered?

A person I know prays constantly. He literally prays for hours each morning. Whenever there is occasion for prayer, like at a funeral for example, he is always called upon to step in with prayer. He claims to have a "personal" relationship with God. I remember once he went to the airport to catch his flight home, but when he got there he realized he'd missed his flight - he thought his ticket was for Monday when it was actually for Sunday. After changing his tickets, he waited for hours for the next flight. They ended up bumping him to first class and he got to wait in the first-class lounge. He told us that it was God's intention for him to miss his flight, so that he could fly home first class. Hm... So God intercedes on behalf of our travel arrangements, even while millions suffer unspeakable living conditions?

The Headmaster just can't work it all out. Is God toying with us? Let us pray for answers.

They've Gun' Plumb Crazy...

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 22:15:00 +0000

First, the Academy wishes to go on record as squarely for gun rights. We happen to believe that the right to own guns is a critical part of any democracy. When only the government has guns, democracy is in trouble.

And now, on with our regularly scheduled program...

Here's an unusual development from Texas. I know, it's really WEIRD to think that anything unusual might happen in Texas, but stick with us on this. First, the good news - they have not seceded yet, so we've got that going for us. But ok, so a man fires a handgun at the entrance to the Capitol building in Texas - fortunately no one is hurt. Following the incident, metal detectors are installed at the entrance to prevent people from carrying guns into the building. This creates a bottleneck for people trying to get in. So they set up an "Express Lane" for people who have a permit to carry concealed weapons. Yes, you read that correctly - in the aftermath of the Capitol shooting, the quickest way to get into the Capitol is to have a handgun. People like me who don't own a handgun will have to get into the metal-detector line, behind the 60 kids who just got off the yellow buses without handguns. At least, that's if we ever, you know, get the urge to go to Texas.

Now, we have nothing against Texas, in fact we think it's a great country or continent or whatever it is. It's just that, like with any guest who keeps saying they're leaving but they never do, we feel it may be time to force the secession issue.

Reese's Fecal Matter Cups...

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 16:17:00 +0000

...Now in convenient bite-size piecesfor those "On The GO"!

With unemployment hovering near double digits, job market trends continue to buck tradition. According to a 2009 CNN Report, Hunter-Gatherer jobs are the among the top ten emerging careers for 2010. And so there is hope for graduates of the Academy. That's why we encourage their fascination with shows like "Survivorman", where host Les Stroud navigates the globe in search of the perfect destination to spend 5 days and 6 nights. Think Expedia is cheap? Les Stroud can book your accomodations for free! (provided you don't mind eating animal feces on occasion to boost your caloric intake)

The incredible thing about Survivorman is that Mr. Stroud has no crew - he is completely alone in these hellish places. What's more is that he films the ENTIRE show on his own. For anyone who's seen the show, it's a marvel to behold: here's some long-range footage of Les climbing up a mountain, and suddenly you realize he had to climb back down just to retrieve his camera equipment, then climb back up again. It's no wonder he has to eat animal poo just to keep his energy levels up. It's enough to inspire the Headmaster to begin filming his home-improvement exploits. If he only had a video camera...

It is with great fanfare that the Academy announces its 2010 Candy Fundraiser.
But we prefer not to send our students out door-to-door since that would require them to venture outside. It's not that we're averse to forcing them up off their ~~lazy asses~~ seats, but getting them outdoors might require us to go outdoors, and we're busy just now sitting on our ~~seats~~ lazy asses. No, we'd much prefer it if you could just send us the money. This new and innovative fundraising program works like this. Next time you're standing in the checkout line and you reach for a 5-pound Super-Sized Mega Package of Reese's Cups, just picture that long-range footage of poor Mr. Stroud sitting on a rock ledge all by himself eating goat feces, knowing that he'll have to ~~get off his lazy ass~~ interrupt his meal just to go retrieve his camera. Put the candy bar back, and then take whatever outrageous price the store intended to gouge you for it and send it to the Academy.

In the meantime, we'll have to stick with simple still-shots. When you view these before-and-after photos (technically both are "during" photos), consider that the poor Headmaster had to go all the way back and retreive his camera equipment after snapping them.

Completion Backward Principle

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 12:31:00 +0000

Remember Fee Waybill of that 80's band "The Tubes"? Nah, neither do we. But it's an interesting photo nonetheless.

In 1981 The Tubes put out an album called "The Completion Backward Principle", with the Billboard top-ten hit "Talk To Ya Later". This is way before the Headmaster's time, but the title of the album refers to an actual project management technique in which the manager calculates critical path by way of a backward pass through the schedule. The Headmaster's brother used this technique back in the days when he was a Coast Guard officer. We don't recommend it because... well, the Coast Guard used it. (note - the Academy Supports The Troops©®™)

Today the Headmistress was pleased to see that progress has been made on the new fieldstone planter. (fieldstone baby!) The poor Headmaster was faced with a critical problem when it was discovered that the original foundation of the planter was not level. Normally, you start with a level foundation and work your way up from there. But it would have taken a solid week to dig out the foundation and start over, so the Headmaster built the planter box in a kind of back-assward fashion.

Two courses of block were set on top of the sloping foundation, and then a form was built to pour a concrete "leveler" on top of the structure. Hm... "The Completion Backward Principle".

Maybe the Coast Guard had it right after all...

Eight is Not Enough - Get The Whole Flat

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 14:24:00 +0000

If you think decorating is hard, landscaping is harder. It's like decorating with biology. How many Ralph Lauren paint chips did you have to go through before you selected that nice Soho Loft Buff for your living room walls, with Toulumme accents in satin finish? Imagine if you first had to send a wall sample off to your local county extension for testing, then determine if your color palette was compatible with the wall's Ph. Then you had to ensure the wall was receiving a suitable amount of sunlight or it would quickly fade to Country Kitchen Powder Blue, which, while bad enough, when paired with a Toulumme accent might give off bacterial toxins. Then it turns out your wall requires an hour of work each day to keep it looking good. And just when you thought you had it right, you wake up one spring morning to discover your living room is stripped down to the bare drywall. Soho Loft is an ANNUAL? Doh!

There isn't enough feng-shui in the world to save your butt in that situation. Better just call Martha Stewart and have her send over a botanist. With samples.

When landscaping is done right, it REALLY looks good - prudent use of clustering, contrast, staggered bloom timing, layering and hedges (as in, mutual funds - you're gonna have to call your broker if you're thinking of doing any serious landscaping).

But landscaping is rarely done right, because it's usually done by economically- and phylogenically-challenged homeowners like the Headmaster. Most DIY landscaping falls into two main categories. The first is what the Headmaster calls Smurf Gardening, where each spring the homeowner travels to Home Depot to purchase some weed whacker string and returns with a half-dozen plants (celosia, dusty miller and marigolds are favorites) which are placed randomly around an entryway or at the base of a large tree. Sometimes a gazing ball is installed to enhance the viewing experience.

The solution to this is simple clustering. Never purchase less than a dozen of any annual flowering plant. In fact, go crazy and just get the flat. They don't reproduce, so what you buy is what you get. Unlike perennials, which WILL reproduce and therefore a single plant can propagate itself to create a cluster after a few years. So to recap - it's all about clustering. Well, adding a sexy smurfette won't hurt either.

The second category is more of a Covert Operation, where the only conceivable purpose of the landscaping is to obscure whatever is going on inside the house. Let's say your hobby is putting on some white leg warmers and acting out your favorite episodes of Eight Is Enough. Stapling the J.C. Penney curtains tightly together isn't fool-proof, so you'll want to plant some Taxus Yew right up against the house and just let it go. Or if you want to get fancy try Rhododendron, but we recommend laying low until it has time to get all "leggy".

There are variations to these methods. Here are some of the most common...

The White Flag
Don't even get the Headmaster going about Leyland Cypress. With few exceptions, they're basically the landscaping equivalent of sweatpants - you plant a row of these and you're telling the world "I gave up, don't bother me". The only thing worse than planting rows of Leyland Cypress is planting them around a gargantuan Pinezilla. And here's the real trouble with Leyland Cypress - eventually a stiff breeze will come in and blow a few of them over. And then what have you got? Male-pattern Cypress. Better break out the sweat pants.

PINEZILLA
If trees had traveling sideshows, this pine tree would get top billing. Here, the homeowner appears to have grown a freakshow goldmine, combining The Gentle Giant with The Three-Legged Boy. The only thing worse than having a Pinezilla in your yard is framing it with rows of Leyland Cypress - like little sideshow barkers. "Ladies and Gentlemen, step right this way..."

Christmas in April
Here, you plant only azaleas - bunches and bunches of azaleas. For one glorious week in April you have the best-decorated house on the block. The only thing that could possibly be better is if you could hook them up to a solid-state relay and get them to blink to the tune of "June Is Bustin Out All Over". But then, suddenly it all just shuts down and goes brown overnight. You leave the decorations up all year anyway.

The QVC
This homeowner purchased "Wildflower Garden In A Can". Actually, he purchased a signature-series George Foreman Grill, which came with "Wildflower Garden In A Can". He spent a total of three and a half minutes designing and planting his flower bed, and then simply followed the directions on the can: "open and sprinkle the seeds around liberally". Because the flowers weren't compatible with his USDA Zone, most died. For those that survived, he had a difficult time differentiating weeds from flowers. But then they sprouted just enough flower-like seed pods to keep him satisfied. Now he thinks he's got a genuine wildflower bed, when in fact it is simply an exceptional collection of annual grassy weeds mixed with invasive yarrows. HEY DUDE! If you were shopping for a pet and QVC threw in "Wild Monkeys In A Can", would you open it?! The Academy has no sympathy for you.

The Monolith
Originally inspired by famous architect Tom Brady and his firm "The Brady Bunch, AIA", this technique requires an artistic eye. It also requires a great deal of patience - a sweater vest will help. Basically you plant rows of hedges along the perimeter of the house, wait ten years then trim them into all sorts of fantastical and whimsical shapes, like rectangles, circles and um... well that's pretty much it. It helps if you remove the front entrance to your home so there is nothing to break up the monotony.

The Squatter
Shoot, uh cain't cut 'er down, she's just always been thar." You have no idea how that big ugly conifer got into your front lawn, it's just always been there. So you mow around it. This look is greatly enhanced when you can grow a bunch of weeds around the bush, and then start cutting around the weeds, so the whole thing begins to look like some sort of boreal biome. This method of landscaping - if you can call it that - is like standing in front of the mirror with your razor in hand, staring at a big zit. You realize you're just going to have to go around that sucker.

The Mystery Package
Ok, you don't know what the hell it is, but you're gonna leave it there just in case it's sump'n. Here, the owner hasn't really bought into it - he's still on the fence. He's hoping the telephone pole is obscuring his indecision. Better to just bite the bullet and mulch a nice big circle around that bad boy. Hell, put a low-voltage spotlight on it. When you're loud and proud, being wrong just don't matter any more.

The Blob
A meteorite falls on your lawn, depositing a large green conifer-like creature. Some local teenagers witness the blob eating an off-leash poodle. They try to warn the police, but nobody believes them. Meanwhile, the blob just keeps getting bigger and bigger. This particular specimen is so large it appears to have its own address.

The Veggie
The Academy has nothing against vegetarians. They're going to save the world with all their great ideas. Ideas like planting acorn squash as ground cover for the walkway. In fact, with a simple pair of heavy-duty Wellington boots, you can convert these into "Steppables" - ground cover you can walk on. Of course, in late summer your guests will have to navigate around masses of rotting vegetation, but that's no biggie - just bring 'em in the back door! Better tell them to watch out for the Blob though. Local legend has it that it eats poodles, and your veggie friends certainly wouldn't want to see that. Plus, poodles are just so darned cute it'd be tough to resist the ensuing "Save The Poodles" campaign.

The Refuge
You can't remember who put that sign up on your property. Maybe the telephone company put it up. Maybe that weed put the sign up. Either way, you're taking no chances - that humongous weed is officially protected. The last thing you want is to be caught cutting it down by some Prius-driving veggie who plants acorn squash on his front walkway. It's a slippery slope from there to a trillion-dollar unfunded mandate.

The Double-Entendre
Ok, you know what? We're not even going there. Just trim the damn thing already.

The Academy's landscaping borrows on all these methods, but leans heavily toward the Covert Operation. Except the previous owners weren't doing anything nearly as interesting as acting out Dick Van Patten sitcoms - they simply wanted to hide the "decorating" they'd done. And by "decorating", we mean "covering every surface with McHale's Navy Battleship Gray semi-gloss". Dudes, did you get a deal at Sunny's Surplus? Seriously, EVERYTHING? When the Headmaster first moved in he had an overwhelming urge to jump overboard. In retrospect, perhaps abandoning ship might have been the better course.

Slowly the Headmaster is weeding the landscaping down to the bare essentials and then building it back up with some method to the madness. Mostly though, he wants all the new architectural features of the Academy - especially the new windows - to be exposed. When he installs a whole flat of gazing balls on the north grounds, he wants to stand proudly in the front window admiring his leg warmers.

Incremental Build

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 13:47:00 +0000

In software development, the old waterfall method reigned for decades. Under this method, a product is developed as a single, monolithic structure where no single piece stands on its own, but rather all the parts make up the whole which is delivered as a turn-key system at the end of a project. As waterfall projects go, the Headmaster worked a few of Niagara proportion back in the day.

The waterfall method went out of fashion largely because of the significant risk associated with waiting until the end to see what you got.

Program Manager: "Boss, that big program we were developing won't work."

Boss: "WHAT?!"

Program Manager: "We lost twelve man-years of time."

SLAP (the boss slaps him across the cheek)

Program Manager: "..and forty million dollars."

SLAP (the boss slaps him across the other cheek)

Program Manager: "..and... the Vorpel Sword."

Boss: "OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!!"

Exeunt, stage right. Enter, Incremental Build. This is where the product is decomposed into smaller, more granular working parts, each of which may stand on its own to provide a service to the other working parts. Because the parts are smaller, you get to see them in action sooner. Some of the parts may be bundled together to provide a working prototype for certain functions. Some parts may be discarded altogether or redesigned. In the end, the parts are bundled into a final product. "You're saying it doesn't work after spending three days and 4 thousand dollars? Hm.. Whatever. I need a pig here!"

The Headmaster likes to think of the Academy as simply a working prototype, where all the parts are under development but in the end they'll all come together in a glorious crowning achievement, presented with much pageantry to a very pleased Headmistress. Hey, it could happen!

Here is how the typical project starts - a process the Headmaster likes to call "spontaneous decomposition" (and although the phrase hints of instant destruction, the reader should rather visualize the Academy slowly decomposing over time). The Headmaster pours himself a cup of coffee and steps out onto the front patio to survey his realm. His proud smile fades as a critical eye falls on a large, outdated stone planter - sedimentary stone painted battleship gray, with white highlights over the mortar joints. He recoils in horror: Sedimentary stone - OMG! Hm... something must be done.

Setting his coffee down, he picks up a pry bar and begins dismantling the planter, completely unaware of the spectacle created by a barefoot, pry-bar wielding man in boxer shorts, hacking madly at a perfectly good stone planter. Four hours later, all the landscaping in the front has been cut down, the planter is gone, and the Headmaster's coffee is as cold as two tons of sedimentary stone sitting in a pile of rubble on the front lawn.

"Won't the Headmistress be pleased", says the Headmaster, "when she finds that the stone planter has been decomposed into a base foundation of concrete block! All that ugly, 500 million year-old, quarried Paleozoic rock to be replaced with Pre-cambrian fieldstone, deposited onto North American fields by receding glaciers. Fieldstone baby!"

We believe it's more likely that she'll be concerned with the glacial pace at which the Headmaster will deposit those fieldstones onto the block foundation. He's already moved on to the next prototype.

Schools Without Walls

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Sat, 10 Jul 2010 13:06:00 +0000

Oooh, yummy - a rainy Saturday morning. Isn't it great to wake up to the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof? It puts one in the mood for the tallying of walls. Seriously, the Headmaster got out of bed this morning and promptly counted the number of finished walls at the Academy. Clearly the Headmaster operates on a higher plane, but it may be that his right dharma eye has veered slightly off course.

At this point, the astute reader will ask what, exactly, constitutes a finished wall? Perhaps the most concise definition will simply be one that don't need no more fixin'. But by that definition, in some parts of Howard County studs and insulation will do nicely, whereas in Clarksville we'd need to factor in Vivienne Westwood wallpaper procured by our trophy wife.

Therefore, a slightly more narrow definition is wanted. Let us propose then, for purposes of rainy Saturday morning tallies, that a finished wall is defined as a plane in space that a) projects a smooth surface to the eye across the entire plane; b) provides for a smooth transition to adjoining planes; c) is 100% covered with a continuous coat of paint in one color; d) is bordered top and bottom with appropriate molding; and e) supports no artwork from Ikea.

(Note: we could go on and on about the definition of "appropriate molding" with discussion of proportionality and muted highlight colors, but that's a topic for another day - in the meantime do please try to contain your excitement)

So, how many walls in the Academy fit that proper definition? Exactly four, as it turns out. And we ditched all our Ikea artwork long ago after seeing it featured in the cult-status film "The Room", but that's a sordid tale that is best left untold.

When expressed as a fraction comprised of percent-complete over time, and then contemplated under the weight of seemingly endless rain (when will it STOP ALREADY!?), these results might have the effect of inducing paralyzing depression. But that's before we account for the fact that those four walls do not technically belong to the Academy in the strictest sense - they belong to a tenant who rents them (here, we'll use the term "rent" in the most liberal sense). So it appears that Browns Bridge Academy has taken the homeschool concept of "schools without walls" very literally, since in fact the only way to express the quantity of finished walls at the Academy is by using a number that is a whole number but not a natural number.

{pause for effect...}

Haha! Hahaha.. ha.. aha... aha.... ahhh, homeschool humor. That's a good one.

Er, where were we? Oh yes, our poor Headmaster. He is back in bed, with the covers pulled up over his head, and we think it may take something stronger than Naproxen to coax him out...

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 01:40:00 +0000

The Headmaster is presently reading a book entitled "Sit Down and Shut Up". This, coincidentally, is the name of the Headmaster's trademarked homeschooling lecture methodology. The Headmaster is currently suing for the rights. The book, according to its subtitle, contains "Punk Rock Commentaries on Buddha, God, Truth, Sex, Death and Dogen's Treasury of the Right Dharma Eye." Now if you're anything like the Headmaster, you've had it up to here with punk rock commentaries on the right dharma eye, but maybe this one is exceptional. We'll see. It may all depend on how the lawsuit goes.

You know it's the dog days when you wake up in the morning with a stack of fresh clean tee-shirts, and then you can't find a single clean one for bedtime. That nice neat stack of folded cotton sits in a damp, stinking heap on the floor of the laundry room. If they made a scratch-n-sniff card for it, the only conceivable name would be "Wrestling Holds - Worst Case Scenario".

Welcome to summa' baby.

The local church has recently taken advantage of the heat wave to warn passersby that it could be worse, with a certain implied message that it most definitely will be worse in the Headmaster's case. Hm.. how'd they hear about THAT?

Seriously, churches peddling gloom and doom - haven't they heard that it's all changed now? It's all supposed to be hip and cool and kumbaya. Church signs are supposed to advertise hip-hop socials and all-night sleepovers with Dirty Dancing marathons. How are you going to lure impressionable young minds with stories of the devil? I mean, here's some anti-establishment dude with a fu-manchu who bucked authority and got sent to his room where he spends his days stewing and thinking about revenge.. Ohhhhhh.....

Last month a neighbor of the Academy left for a six-month tour in Iraq. The Headmaster offered to maintain his lawn while he is away. After all, the Academy does Support The Troops©®™. The Headmaster recalls the awkward final words at this neighbor's going-away party. By way of saying goodbye, the Headmaster stated that he'd take good care of Mr. Neighbor's lawn, to which the Missus Neighbor giggled at the obvious metaphor. After a nervous laugh and suspicious glance, Mr. Neighbor parted with a handshake that can only be described as menacing.

Well, with that handshake firmly implanted in his mind, the Headmaster certainly has been earnest in his lawn care - and there is no metaphor stated or implied. But it's official that in his earnest pursuit of lawn perfection, the Headmaster has contracted Lyme Disease. Since Mr. Neighbor maintains some sort of bizarre firewood/dead brush mausoleum under some trees in his yard, the Headmaster is pretty sure he contracted the disease while cutting the neighbor's lawn. Doesn't this qualify for some kind of military medal? Purple heart, green clovers, yellow moons - something? I mean, the Headmaster is fighting ticks over here so the neighbor doesn't have to fight them over there.

The Headmaster's brother was extremely alarmed to hear of the Lyme Disease diagnosis. This is to be expected from a man who owns three farm tractors, a zero-turn mower and a John Deere trailer to haul it all around in. I mean, if yard work were expressed in terms of manhood, the Headmaster would be Pee-Wee Herman, and his brother would be John Holmes (who is some dude - we hear - who is quite a manhood). Meaning, that if the Headmaster contracted the disease, the only hope for his brother would be to lock up the tractors and practice complete abstinence.

The Headmaster's brother had the most curious visceral reaction to the news, launching into a tirade about the uselessness of ticks. Something along the lines of "Those bahstids have absolutely no purpose - they are of no use to man whatsoever! They sit around just waiting for some poor unsuspecting schmuck to come along, then they jump on and suck his blood like leeches! Bahstids!"

This anthropocentric perspective amuses the Headmaster to no end. Of course, the notion that EVERYTHING on Earth must have some purpose that benefits man is firmly grounded in the biblical worldview. It's as though we expect ticks to provide us with some direct benefit - removing corns from our feet or mixing killer martinis or something - or we discount their right to exist at all. Would it never occur to such people that ticks - like man - have merely been given a shot at life and are simply trying to survive? That's what was so great about the old Far Side cartoons - they presented an alternative "arthropod-centric" worldview, where the poor unsuspecting schmuck who happened to walk by was merely there to benefit ticks. And so the Headmaster is happy to do what he can. Hey, ticks are people too...

Tha' bug life, yo

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Sat, 03 Jul 2010 09:51:00 +0000

Some of the Academy's students have been known to play a game called "Flinch", where the object is to do something that makes someone else flinch. We use the word "something" here as a euphemism for "nearly maim and cripple". Intervention is generally required to minimize the carnage.

The Headmaster has recently acquired a disturbing propensity for flinching - a trait that he feels is very unbecoming of someone of his age and stature. (Oh yes, he's got stature. He's got stature coming out of his butt. We mean that figuratively, not literally like those old people you get behind in the grocery checkout who have stature literally escaping loudly from their butts. But the Headmaster chooses to wield his stature discreetly, which pleases the Headmistress. As for tenure, he's still working on that.)

The Headmaster's flinching is not to be confused with his nervous tic. The latter is related to the Academy's dwindling endowment, the former is related to various and sundry creepy-crawlies that inhabit the grounds and jump out to scare the beejeezus out of him.

It is simply amazing that the smallest of creatures can make us flinch. I mean, here the greatest predator on the planet jumps at the sight of a little bitty spider. Flinching must be built into our DNA.

Picture this scene: An idyllic day in the life of cro-magnon family.

Mr. Caveman struts around the cave swinging his club, being all stature-esque and everything. Mrs. Caveman demurs. Mr. Caveman's friend Eddie, parked on the sofa for the last three days, looks on in admiration, not noticing Mr. Caveman at all. And at that moment, when perhaps Mr. Caveman contemplates the meaning of that look of admiration, a little cave spider happens to bite him on the toe. Whereupon Mr. Caveman is dead within three days. Eddie's sense of opportunity is dampened slightly when he realizes that Mrs. Caveman produced twelve homeschooled cave-brats, and she is currently blocking the exit. From this point on, spiders have tended to make men drop their clubs and jump onto countertops screaming like little girls.

The Headmaster was recently bitten by a distant cousin of that early cave-spider, and found himself attached to the bed for days with no conceivable way to get out. The Headmistress, not known for demurishness, ordered him up and to the doctor. Five hundred milligrams of ibuprofen later, the Headmaster was back strutting around the Academy swinging his club, baby!

Tigers developed teeth and claws to survive. Insects developed toxins to survive. Man developed Naproxen. So watch out little spider-hopper-tick-thingy. I am not afraid of you and I will beat your ass.

(note - "I am not afraid of you and I will beat your ass" is the title of the eleventh full-length album by Hoboken-based alt-rock band Yo La Tengo. Hey yo, what do you expect from a Jersey band?)

We're All Here For The Donuts

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Sat, 26 Jun 2010 01:50:00 +0000

The Headmaster can't seem to get this church sign out of his head. The message is so jarring, it seems more appropriate to show it as a negative image - just like in those sensational news stories. Zoom into the image and cue the scary music as the announcer says: "Does this Montgomery County church want its congregation to commit suicide? Story at 11."

I mean, even while speaking theological truth (depending on your interpretation of the Bible), it turns the tables on just about everyone's interpretation of LIFE. I mean, why else are we here, if not to live THIS life to the fullest?

Since the dawn of man, we've made up stories to help answer the age-old question Why are we here? These stories have never really been up to the task, so the philosophers have stepped in to try and help. And while I mean no disrespect to you philosophers (what, you think philosophers don't read this blog?), when you have a question so tough that you have to call in the philosophers, you're pretty much screwed.

So what have the philosophers had to say about this question? Imagine the conversation if you had them in a room:

Thales: We're here because of the water.
Anaximander: No, we're here because of the fish.

Pythagoras: BEANS!

    awkward silence

        Look, we're here because of the beans...
          ...and to drive our kids nuts with math.

Socrates: We're here to [talk and annoy people].
Plato (waking up): Yeah, what he said.
Epicurus: I don't know about you guys, but I'm here for the donuts. Have you tried these chocolate cake ones?
Aristotle: We're here to organize things. Dammit Epicurus, now you've mixed the cake donuts with the glazed.
Homer: Doh!

And that was all BEFORE Christianity. When Jesus came along he simplified things. And that's when everything got real complicated. Think the Bible has the answers? The Bible is what produced that church sign. And that church sign sets the Headmaster's head to spinning with thoughts of another conversation:

God: My Son, I'm sending you down to live on Earth, my grand creation. I made it just for you. It took me six whole days to deck the place out with everything you will need. Grain, vegetables and animals to eat. Water to drink. Resources to make shelter. Dinosaurs to make oil for your SUV. Slaves to... oh, wait, scratch that - I keep forgetting. But oh, the women - beautiful women to provide love and warmth and... ummm... children, but don't hold that against me. Did I mention the women are beautiful?
Man: Wow, sounds great! I can't wait to live there!
God: Well yes, but I don't really want you to LIVE there.
Man: Well, then where?
God: I mean, yes you're going to live there, but I don't want you to live your LIFE there. I mean... your REAL life is with me, and lasts for eternity. But only AFTER you've lived on Earth for some number of years. I can't tell you how long you'll be there, but if you are very good and virtuous, you will come back to me and your life on Earth won't matter.
Man: Uh, then why send me there?
God: ... Look, it's very complicated. Just go there and be good, then you will see.
Man: So if I'm good, then I will come back to you to live my REAL life? For eternity?
God: YES! You've got it! Um... except that being good isn't technically good enough. You see, I made you imperfectly. I mean, perfectly imperfect. That is, I MEANT to make you imperfect. So you will not be able to remain virtuous. But you will be forgiven if you believe in my son.
Man: You mean, believe in myself?
God: No, I mean my REAL son.
Man: But I thought I was your real son.
God: Yes my child, I am your father, but... look, it's complicated.
Man: Women?
God: Yes, but it's not what you think.
Man: Oooookayy.

[pause]

Man: So let me see if I've got this straight. I go to earth for some unknown number of years, act virtuously, believe in your REAL son, and then I'll be able to live my REAL life with you for eternity?
God: Yes! Well, except that you technically don't have to be virtuous, as long as you believe in my son. I mean, that's the important part. Because I made you to be bad, you'll need to be forgiven.
Man: By you?
God: Yes.
Man: Oh for crissakes.
God:
Man: sigh.... So anyway, you're saying I can do pretty much anything I want, as long as I believe in your son?
God: Well... technically speaking, yes.
Man: Hm... Tell me about the women again.

Life Sucks. Thank God!

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Fri, 25 Jun 2010 12:26:00 +0000

Browns Bridge Academy spends an enormous amount of time and money maintaining the Marty P. Wasserman Pool and grounds on the West Campus, named after Academy alum ('71) and former Maryland Secretary of Health Martin Wasserman, who commissioned the pool in 1980. The Board of Regents recently considered a motion to rename the pool for the current Headmaster, who had commissioned a major overhaul of the facility. However, events conspired to divert the funds into the James M. Chandler Septic System on the North Campus.

Given the extent of pool facility maintenance, it is odd that at a recent board meeting a different pool was on the agenda. It seems that the students have begun spending all their time in another pool, hastily constructed by the neighbors one Saturday afternoon using a shovel, a screwdriver and some Bud Light. Its dimensions can best be described in terms of inches, and its grounds consist of some patchy grass, one dandelion and a lawn chair. Huh. There's no accounting for 11 year-old taste.

On Tuesday morning, the Academy's pool maintenance crew required some parts that could only be found at a specialty store in Bethesda: The Anglo-Dutch Pool and Toy Company. Yes, we are not kidding - imagine what you'd get if you took a pool store and fused it together with a toy store. After accomplishing this feat, if you were thinking your creation lacked a certain obvious incongruity, you might name it Anglo-Dutch when you, the proprietor, are in fact Arabic. Sigh... only in Bethesda.

On the drive to The Anglo-Dutch Pool and Toy Company, the Headmaster passed Hampshire View Baptist Church, where he encountered an exceedingly odd church sign. Being an erstwhile church sign photographer, he simply had to stop and snap a photograph. He then spent the remainder of his drive contemplating the meaning of the sign. As it turns out, Bethesda wasn't far enough to work it all out. But one thing did stick in his mind - the back of the sign had the words "God Bless the USA". The Headmaster didn't take a photograph of the back of the sign, because the church had deemed the message SO IMPORTANT that it constructed a 20-FOOT BANNER ACROSS THE FRONT ENTRANCE!
(side note - the architecture of the church fit nicely with Tuesday's theme of incongruity)

Isn't it odd that the pastor of this church can't see the incongruity of his messages? Or maybe he just believes that America figures prominently in post-rapture politics. Ah well, far be it from us to understand the higher logic of eschatology. We're simply excited to learn that nothing in this earthly life seems to matter, so we're actually better off letting the pool, the grounds - in fact the entire Academy and its student body - go to pot. But we'll continue to maintain the James M. Chandler Septic System, just in case it figures prominently in post-rapture scatology.

Wii Teached 'em Good

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 02:29:00 +0000

At a recent Friday afternoon faculty gala (yes, we have them quite often - don't judge us), the discussion centered on the testing of homeschooled children. Should they be tested to ensure they're receiving an appropriate level of education?

On one end of the homeschooling spectrum we have un-schoolers who might be using the Playstation 3 curriculum, and on the other end of the spectrum we have... well, schools like the "Whiddon Flying Aces". At this school, it's all about organization and gettin' her done. Let's all face east and pay homage to Bowie's finest.

Some un-schoolers are actually very successful. Others, as we've noted, think the term "manipulatives" refers to Wii joysticks. What, if anything, should be done? Some of us feel that they should be left alone. The argument goes that it's their choice to harm their children, and it's really no business of ours. Others (the Academy included) beg to differ. I mean, we don't actually care if parents want their kids to spend their careers under paper hats, but their failures invite general scrutiny. And by scutiny, we mean jack-booted officers kicking in doors, confronting students down the barrel of a sharp #2 pencil and interrogating them with questions like "what's the formula for the area of a cylinder?" and "What are you doing for socialization?" It's enough to make the Headmaster hole himself up in a cabin in Montana for years, learning survival skills and writing a homeschooling manifesto...

[awkward pause]

Today the Academy had its annual review. After hiding the Wii controllers, we did the best we could. Then we handed out the paper hats.

Music To My Ears

mystreba@yahoo.com (Jim Chandler) — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 12:56:00 +0000

The definition of beauty arises from the recognition of ugliness ...Hu-Nu

A distinguished music student recently advanced from 6-string acoustic guitar to 8-string electric guitar.

With AMPLIFIER.

Since the Academy suffers from a deplorable shortage of dollars and a deafening surplus of decibels, it was a momentary lapse of judgment indeed that drove the Headmaster to approve spending the former to purchase MORE of the latter. But the Headmaster's judgment is a topic for another day.

Hoping to justify this recent expenditure, the Headmaster was pleased to learn from the head of the music department that this student had achieved a milestone accomplishment - at ten years old he was the youngest student ever to have memorized Recuerdos de la Alhambra (Memories of Alhambra), written by Spanish composer Fransisco Tarrega. It is a long piece, lyrically simple, yet technically complex. It begins on a note of melancholy, then progresses to an uplifting tune. According to Wikipedia:

The piece showcases the challenging 'tremolo' guitar technique often performed by advanced classical guitarists. Using this technique, a single melody note is plucked repeatedly by the ring, middle and index fingers in such rapid succession that the result is an illusion of one long, sustained tone. The thumb plays a counter-melody on the bass between melodic attacks. Many who hear this piece initially mistake it for a duet rather than a challenging solo effort.

One can only imagine the self-righteous grin advancing across the Headmaster's face. But just like an amplified note, such a grin is doomed to be short-lived.

At a recent faculty gala, this student was asked to perform the piece. In hindsight, the Headmaster might have paused to settle first on an acceptable definition of the term "perform". You see, this piece requires enormous digital dexterity - even on a composition for six-string guitar the fingers on the left hand are stretched in ways that can only be described as unnatural. And this is while the right hand is simultaneously employing the ring, middle and index fingers in rapid succession to maintain the illusion of one long, sustained tone, and also employing the thumb to maintain a counter-melody on the bass between melodic attacks. Yeah, it's tough enough to explain it, much less PLAY it. Fast. And lyrically.

To put it in simple terms, while the student does a wonderful job with it, playing very fast and pausing only occasionally to get the right fret fingering, it's a performance only a mother could love. Well, or a guitar player. Or maybe even a Headmaster trying to justify the expense of it all.

In a later gathering of attendees, the department head asked someone what he thought of the performance. Stammering in a valiant attempt to combine honesty with tact, he managed only to say that he'd been shocked at the end of the performance to learn that the student wasn't merely tuning his guitar.

It might be that the value of this recent capital expenditure is to help refine the definition of beauty.