The Pantheon Outcast

Times are bad. Children no longer obey their parents, and everyone is writing a book.

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 00:01:00 +0000

Myself included.

Keep a weather eye on the Kindle Store.

This is just the tip of the iceberg......

I’m No Conspiracy Theorist…

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Tue, 03 May 2011 02:57:00 +0000

But consider the following episode occurring in a fictional land, not unlike our own:

The President's poll numbers are down. He's getting slammed in the media for everything from his cabinet appointees to the price of gasoline. Practically every word of his mouth is a complete and utter contradiction of a previous campaign promise. Even one of the most popular public figures in the media is able to force his hand on a fiasco surrounding his place of birth. A victory by the other side is all but assured in the next election (if they can just pick the right candidate and get one whiny ignoramus to shut her hole for ten minutes) in the wake of policy after failed policy, a skyrocketing mountain of debt, rampant unemployment, and a completely untenable illegal immigration problem.

What's the President to do? How can he get the American people behind him again? How can he capture the "hope" he promised to every living soul in this nation? And more importantly, how can he distract the citizens of this country from the real issues plaguing the nation?

How about he takes out the most vile, reprehensible mass murderer in modern American history?

A plan is hatched in the darkest, most secret corridors of the White House. The President will do in 24 hours what couldn't be done in the past ten years – the terrorist mastermind responsible for the most deadly attack on US soil will be captured or killed. Within a day, acting on "information" from the CIA and Military Intelligence, as well as a few clues from an unknown source known only as "The Courier," the compound where the terrorist has been hiding for seven years is located – in a fortified lair an hour's drive from the capital of an allied country. Then, an elite, covert strike team is "hand-picked," and sworn to the utmost secrecy – even from their own immediate commander. The invasion is planned, scrutinized, and given the green light within 24 hours of its inception. Shadowy black helicopters descend on the compound, and even though one of them crashes within yards of the target, no alarm is raised, no defensive fire is encountered, and no members of the strike team are even slightly injured. The target purportedly used a woman as a human shield, and yet he is swiftly dispatched by a single shot from one of the elite soldiers. Either the other denizens of the compound meet the same fate, or flee into the night.

Within the same 24-hour frame, the body of the world's most infamous terrorist is examined, transported to an aircraft carrier 1000 miles away from the strike zone, the DNA tested, (against what is never explained) and, once his identity is "confirmed," it is subsequently dumped into the sea according to a religious ritual that experts say is not only untraditional, but offensive as well. Not one shred of evidence remains to prove such an event even occurred – the "strike team" is, of course, sworn to the utmost in secrecy; no names or details of the operation can ever be released to the public in the name of National Security. The President immediately goes on the air and informs the public that the man responsible for 3000 American deaths, as well as holding the entire nation in a grip of fear and panic, is no more. A cheer is heard reverberating across the country. Citizens dance in the streets and exalt his name in chants and song.

But there are no pictures. No eyewitness accounts. No testimonies given by the combatants of either side. No video, no physical evidence, no declassified documents, and most importantly, no body. The body of the most feared, hated, and wanted terrorist of the modern age simply no longer exists.

There is not one shred of proof that this event even occurred, except the words of a President and his Administration desperate to hold onto their waning power.

Sleep soundly in your beds, America.

All is well. All is well.

The Truth About E$E, Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 01:59:00 +0000

I realize that I haven't written anything in some time, but an article I came across this afternoon sufficiently raised my ire enough to say something. Over at gothamschools.org, the teacher layoff bill introduced by State Senator Flanagan was enumerated in plain black and white. I'm not going to go into the specifics of it – you can certainly read it for yourself, and, if you have a shred of intellect, grind your teeth in frustration over many of the details – but I'd like to comment on one point made in the article:

"…the bill was written with input from the mayor's office, along with groups like Educators 4 Excellence — an organization of teachers who, with funding from the Gates Foundation, has put forward its own proposal to change teacher layoffs."

I'd like to examine this statement, because people unaffiliated with the public school system might wrongfully conclude that any of those people mentioned have any idea as to how to educate children. Let's start with the obvious; I won't thrash a deceased equine here, because hundreds of people in and out of NY have previously pointed out that Emperor Bloomberg doesn't have the slightest idea as to how to run a school system. So, when the article mentions, "Mayor's Office" it should be noted that the two people involved in such decision making are the aforementioned Mr. Bloomberg, who has repeatedly demonstrated that he cannot effectively have the streets cleared of snow, let alone competently assess the state of the NYC Public Schools, and the newly appointed Schools Chancellor Cathie Black, a millionaire crony of Bloomberg who not only has never taught a day in her life (and as such, was forced by the state to employ an experienced "educational advisor", which begs the question, "Why wasn't the advisor simply appointed to the position?") but regards the schools as a business with a profit margin, and who has surmised that the solution to the overcrowding problem in the schools is "Birth Control."

But those two clowns are not the ones I take issue with – at least not here. It's the disingenuous group known as "Educators 4 Excellence" run by post-adolescent lovebirds and former NYC teachers Sydney Morris and Evan Stone. In the interest of fairness and disclosure, Educators 4 Excellence should point out two things. Since they won't, I will.

1) It is not run in any way by educators. Both Stone and Morris are no longer affiliated with the NYC Public Schools. In other words, they are not educators. After just three years of teaching, they abdicated their positions in order to secure a $160,000 grant from the Gates Foundation to run their propaganda machine. Perhaps that's for the best, as neither of them ever completed the certification process necessary to teach. Using the NYS Certification Database, one can plainly discover that the "Educators" are not licensed to teach in NY State. Even though through their TFA program, (more on that in a moment) Stone and Morris were guaranteed to receive a fully subsidized NYS Teaching License, they failed to do so. A person who spent less than three years in a classroom, never received tenure, never received a license, and walked away when a better, non-teaching opportunity came along, can, in no way, shape, or form, refer to themselves as "Educators." Who are you educating? You have no class. In more ways than one.

2) The only thing "excellent" about either of them is their ability to exploit the system for their own advantage. Both are Teach For America alums, and if you're not familiar with TFA, let me summarize the organization thusly: Freshly-graduated college kids from the Midwest and notoriously liberal California suburbs, with little to no "real-world" experience, are thrust into classrooms in economically depressed areas of the country with a scant five weeks training. Being part of the program, they are guaranteed teaching positions, oftentimes surpassing real teachers with real experience applying for the same position. Why would a principal want to hire some kid with no credentials? Two reasons – one, because they have zero experience and no license, they are paid at the very bottom of the NYC pay scale, which currently is $45,530. Conversely, a principal would have to pay a fully licensed teacher with a Master's Degree and five years experience $56,048. When you consider that a school of 650 students (the norm for NYC) has a staff of 70 or so teachers, that $11,000 savings per teacher is substantial. Secondly, since they are untenured, the Principal can effectively order them to complete any task or risk being terminated. It doesn't matter anyway, because "according to a 2006 Newsweek article, between 10 and 15 percent of [TFA participants] drop out before completing the required two years, forcing the schools to scramble for replacements while the students go without. Even if they do fill out their requirement, only one in three TFA teachers stay on at their school after those two years. 38 percent of TFA alumni do not work in education at all, and many of those who do leave the classroom for administration." Stone and Morris represent the vast majority of TFA'ers who want nothing to do with actual classroom teaching after their term of "service" is up.

Speaking of costs, TFA participants receive an education award of $5,350 at the end of each year of service (a total of $10,700 over the two years), and major expenses during the five week training " institute" (e.g., housing, food) are covered. Furthermore, Teach For America offers awards in the form of interest-free loans and, in some cases, grants to help cover "transitional" expenses ranging from approximately $1,000 – $6,000. In addition, in the case of TFA members working in NYC, they receive a fully subsidized Master's Degree from Hunter College, Fordham University, or Bank Street College. A graduate degree in Education from Fordham University costs $1050 per credit for a total of $31,500. Essentially, within two years, Sydney Morris and Evan Stone cost the taxpayers about $90,000. Actually, when you consider that the NYC Department Of Education paid $11,000 in overtime between them for the 2008 fiscal year, the two founding members of E4E have racked up over $100,000 in benefits. Truly Excellent.

I don't have a problem with people attempting to fix the problems and inequities of the NYC DOE. If you haven't noticed, my entire blog is dedicated to pointing out the failures of the city school system – failures that come from administration, parents, students, and yes, teachers. What I do have a problem with are opportunistic frauds and publicity hounds like Stone, Morris and their ilk. They are in no way "dedicated" to fixing the system, nor are they interested in educating NYC's youth. Every time Morris opens her mouth, she mentions "our children," or "my children." She's 25 and not currently employed by any school system. Unless she and Stone have finally tied the knot (yes, they are a romantic couple, in case you haven't figured that out yet), she has no children. The children of NYC belong first and foremost to their parents, and, when working closely with the schools, to the teachers that have sacrificed so much of their own time and resources to make sure that they provide those children with the best education that is possible within a flawed system.

You are not "Educators," Mr. Stone and Ms. Morris. You are not "Excellent." You are presumptuous, dishonest, hypocritical, inexperienced, exploitive and opportunistic. Drop the rhetoric, go back from whence you came and leave the policy making to those of us who have done so much more than merely dip our toes in the system in exchange for handouts, subsidies and payoffs.

You are not worthy to wipe the chalk dust from our shoes.

Reason # 1147 To Enroll Your Kids In Private School

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 15:32:00 +0000

Here's a brief story I'd like to relate while it's still fresh in my mind; typically, my articles are 3-4 pages, and quite frankly, it's far too hot to create such a magnum opus tonight. So, I offer you an ultra-condensed version of a disturbing event which took place this past Friday.

Actually, to set the stage, we have to go back to the previous Friday, when the Superintendent of our District happened to be visiting our school. To explain why he was there, I'd have to go over the one-page cap I've set for myself for this article, so suffice it to say that he was trying to do in late May what he should have been doing all year long – namely, his job.

While he is visiting, a student decides it would be a real hoot to throw a glass bottle out of a third-floor classroom window. And since the universe is not without a sense of humor, the bottle travels along a trajectory which terminates at the windshield of a brand-new car parked on the street outside. A car that just happens to be owned by the Superintendent. Personally, I love when things like this happen.

Soon, there is a flurry of activity. The student, a girl, (only by the most technical definition of the word, however) is quickly identified and pulled into the main office for questioning. The Superintendent calls the police. The Principal calls the girl's parents. Statements are given and recorded, the police pack up their fingerprint kit (yes, they really used a fingerprint kit), and the Superintendent limps his car into the nearest Safelite repair facility. His last words before leaving? "I want that girl suspended!" Picture a 5'5" tall balding Jewish man in a $50 suit screaming that line in a hallway while sweat streams down his face, and you will have perfectly captured the essence of what it is like to experience working for the DOE on a daily basis: Anger, frustration, short, loud idiots.

Ok, now stay with me on this one. There are two types of suspensions within the NYC DOE: A Principal's suspension, also known as "In House" in which the student is removed from class and must spend up to five days in a separate classroom, (staffed by a teacher) isolated from the other students. Usually this type of suspension is perused for garden-variety infractions – cursing, cutting, interrupting the "educational process," etc. The other type of suspension, for more serious infractions, is known as a Superintendent's Suspension, wherein the student is removed from the school and must attend classes at something known as an Alternative Instruction Site for up to 90 days. Students who have received a Superintendent's Suspension have been found guilty (via a disciplinary hearing) of crimes ranging from destruction of school property to arson. In order to attend that hearing, the dean, or a member of the administration, must enter the occurrence into the DOE's discipline computer database and wait for approval. What am I getting at here?

The Superintendent of the District, the man who is in charge of 15 schools, 50+ administrators and thousands of students, did not even have the power to suspend a student who completely and fully admitted to throwing a bottle which caused massive damage to a brand new automobile. A week later, and the girl is still at school, attending classes, and basically mocking the disciplinary procedures of the Department of Education to anyone who will listen.

Oh, but it gets better. The Superintendent, in his blind rage, demanded that the Principal investigate the teacher who was in charge of the class during the incident in question. Since he's the boss, she had no choice but to acquiesce to his demand. So, that's why this past Thursday, the teacher in question, the Principal, and I sat in her office and discussed the incident. Remember, I am the teachers' representative and am to be present at all proceedings, meetings, or discussions which may negatively impact their careers. The teacher, a 17-year Veteran, calmly recounted the incident, which went a little something like this.

Teacher notices that the student has a glass bottle in her possession (something that is banned by the DOE). Teacher tells the student six times (yes, six) to put it away or throw it out. The student ignores him, and five minutes later, throws the bottle out of the window.

The Principal listens to his story, nods her head, and tells us both that the entire meeting was just "procedural" and that the teacher shouldn't worry.

The next day, the teacher receives a letter in his permanent personnel file which states that he has been "Found negligent in the incident which led to the destruction of property, as he should have physically removed the bottle from the student's possession." We are told time and again never to physically confiscate any contraband from a student, as that student could turn around and claim that he was "injured" during the removal, and sue the school and the teacher.

So, to recap: Student destroys the windshield of a brand new car belonging to the Superintendent of Schools. Superintendent is powerless to suspend said student, and she remains on school grounds. Instead, Principal places a disciplinary letter into the file of the classroom teacher for not engaging in a disciplinary action that he has been told not to take against students.

And you thought it was just the school budgets that are fucked?

When In Doubt, Just Put Down “C”

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Sat, 01 May 2010 00:43:00 +0000

Ah, it's that time of year again – warm breezes rich with the sweet scent of ripe blossoms, the flutter of feathered creatures taking wing into the sun-dappled twilight, and the gut-wrenching panic which storms into every elementary and middle school across the city of NY. I'm talking, of course, about State Testing time – that two-week period of the year in which administrators lock themselves in their offices, teachers race like frightened mice through the halls, and children from every borough vomit uncontrollably before trudging to school. For you see, the entire 180+ day school year is but a mere farce, a façade of "education", a mockery of enlightenment. The DOE does not care one iota about what takes place in the classrooms for 174 days; the real measure of a student's success, and by extension, the success of the school and the efficacy of the teachers is what transpires during six days in April and May. During that time, every single student enrolled in the NYC Public schools (except for those that are exempt for "language" difficulties) must take and pass two tests in Math and ELA (English Language Arts). And by "pass" I mean, "Score higher than a 13." Because that was the minimum raw score for a passing grade on last year's 8^th grade ELA exam. 13. Out of 44 points. If you took a pencil and randomly guessed at the questions, the odds were in your favor to pass the tests. Education blogger Diana Senechal did exactly that on the ELA and Math tests' multiple choice sections and passed both despite not filling in the written portions of either test. Yes, she left the entire written portion of both tests utterly blank and still managed to score high enough for promotion.

Long story short, a comatose raccoon could pass the NY State Performance tests, so do the schools really make as big a deal about them as the papers and pundits say they do?

Oh hell yes.

In our school, it all started six months ago. We received a memo reminding us that the testing period was rapidly approaching (rapidly, as in "six months from now") and we should begin preparing the students. Preparing them for what? Randomly stabbing their pencils at a Scantron grid? Like I do with most memos from the school, I quickly and dutifully added it to my circular file. Since then, every single "Weekly Bulletin" has included a note at the bottom informing the staff of exactly how many weeks were remaining before the "big day." Once March was over, the pressure really began to mount. We administered two full-scale practice tests in two weeks time in both subjects. This meant that for six days, the first four periods of the day were spent doing nothing except forcing the students to take a practice Math and ELA exam. And we did this twice. 48 periods, or approximately 36 hours of instructional time were completely diverted to taking practice tests that could be passed simply by bubbling in A B C D over and over again until the end.

Then, last week, we were all given a memo outlining the "procedures" involved in administering the tests. Look up the phrase "Pants-Crappingly Ludicrous" in a dictionary and you will find an image of our school's testing memo. For legal reasons, I cannot reproduce it here, but nothing is stopping me from giving you, dear readers, a taste of the mind-bending idiocy that is the NYC DOE:

Everything in the room that contains text must be removed or covered. Everything. Vocabulary words, student work, calendars, even the maps. One year, long ago, I was told by the principal that I had to take down the American Flag. When I asked him why, he said, "There might be a reading passage about flags on the test." Why do we cover these things up? Because, according to those involved in establishing the testing procedures, those things "have words on them." And do you know what they tell us to cover them with? Get ready for it: Newspapers. Motherfucking newspapers! When I pointed out in a meeting once that newspapers, as far as I could tell, contained words, I was told to stop being so "contrary."
While the students are taking the test, the teachers are not allowed, for any reason, to sit down. They must "vigilantly" circulate throughout the room the entire time. The first portion of the ELA test takes 3 periods to administer. That's two hours and 15 minutes. That's right, during testing, NYC tells teachers that they are not allowed to sit down for two and a quarter hours and must walk up and down the aisles. And for what purpose you might ask? I haven't the slightest idea. We're not allowed to speak, gesture, or otherwise engage the students during that time. Even if a student is sitting at his desk and filling in every circle on the grid, or doodling dinosaurs in the essay section, we are not allowed to say one word to them.
Teachers are not allowed to have a pen in their pocket during testing. I have never once been given a satisfactory reason as to why not. All NY State tests must be taken in pencil; at no point may a student use a pen. So it's not like I'm going to use it to change student answers or anything. To be fair, we're not allowed to have pencils or markers on our person, either. A few years ago, as I was proctoring an exam, the testing coordinator came around to my room specifically to tell me to take the Sharpie marker out of my pocket. Seriously.
The school is expected to provide a testing environment that is free from distractions. Ok, I can see that. However, during two separate "testing meetings," the faculty was told that we should refrain from "wearing clunky shoes or loud jewelry." Yes. Loud jewelry. Obviously, the ridiculously high failure rates in NYC schools can be directly attributed to thunderous necklaces and cacophonous watchbands.
In my third year of teaching, I was assigned to hallway duty during the tests. My job, I kid you not, was to stand in the hallway and escort students to and from the bathroom during the tests. Not because the school wanted to make sure that they went straight there without lingering, but to prevent cheating. How? Because, and I quote, "Students might try to read something in the hallway." What would they read?! The Fire Exit signs?! How the Christ could that possibly help them on an ELA test?! In any case, while I was standing in the hallway (for three hours), I passed the time by enjoying a fresh cup of steaming hot coffee. While I was sipping my morning drug, a man who I had never seen before approached me and said, "There's no eating or drinking during the test." I thought he was joking or something, so I responded, "Well, it's a good thing that I finished my test early, then. Ha Ha Ha." Without cracking a smile, he repeated, "There's no eating or drinking during the test." I explained to this man that A) I was not proctoring a test, B) I was a teacher, not a student, and C) Who the hell are you? Turns out he was an auditor from the state who visited schools to make sure they didn't "Breech Protocol." Those were his words. As if we were conducting nuclear missile launch drills or something. So, we had a little discussion about the reasoning behind this particular edict. I swear on a stack of Silmarillions that this was his answer: "Let's say that there was an emergency in one of the testing rooms, and you were called in there to help, but on your way in you tripped and spilled your coffee on a student's test." He didn't say anything else, so I prompted him: "Yeah, and…" But he didn't answer. He just smirked at me and stood there. So, I responded in the most reasonable, logical fashion – I took another sip of coffee. He stormed off, and, as I later found out, reported to the principal that I had "Breeched Protocol" and the school ended up getting fined. Fined! Because I was drinking a cup of coffee in the hallway! Of course, the guy neglected to find out my name, so I didn't receive any disciplinary notices, but according to a colleague of mine, and fellow union representative, I could have. Not only that, I could have lost my teaching license for drinking a coffee in the hallway during a NY State test.

So, after all the memos, all the warnings, all the pressure placed on everybody, I bet you're thinking that the school took every measure possible to prevent a "protocol breech," and everything went off without a hitch, right? Wait, hold on, I can't stop laughing at that sort of naivety. Here's what actually happened:

The school forgot to turn off the "change of period" bells. So much for a "distraction-free testing environment." Every 45 minutes, the bells went off three times. Oh, and then the fire alarm was pulled by some miscreant, leading the principal to make an announcement over the PA to disregard it.
Three rooms which were scheduled to be used for testing were not "prepared," meaning that they still contained a vast amount of visible words. Neighboring teachers (including myself) had to rush around and tear down everything from the walls, lest the students gain an unfair advantage on the ELA test because there was a map of South America on the back of a door.
The testing coordinator only packaged three spare pencils in with each testing packet because she refused to believe that more than 10% of the students would forget theirs. Teachers were racing around the hallways looking for extra pencils, because, let's face it, half the students aren't prepared for class, ever. Why should this day be any different for them?
The test was supposed to start at exactly 9:15 (this is a time set by the state, and cannot be altered for any reason). The AP didn't announce the start of the test until 9:18. This seems like a minor point, but when you consider that a teacher can lose his credentials for drinking a cup of coffee, then it doesn't seem so trivial anymore, does it?
At least two teachers that I know of were scheduled to be in two different testing locations at the same time. Hence, when they finally worked it out, they were late to the next assignment, causing the teacher they were replacing to be late to his next assignment, and so forth. The person who was supposed to be replacing me didn't show up until 35 minutes into the fourth period.
The testing coordinator was supposed to generate labels for each student – labels which list their name, address, class, school student ID number and other such pertinent information and are affixed to the tests. She didn't. It would have taken all of 10 minutes to do so, as the data is already in the computer, but she didn't. These labels are used by the scoring committee in the grading process. When I inquired as to what we should do, I was told, "Oh, just write it on the back of each test." Irritated, I said, "You want me to write all that information by hand on the back of 30 tests?" The answer? "Nah, just their names, the other stuff doesn't matter." Right. Because there is only one "Ashley Rodriguez" enrolled in the entire NY public school system. Oh, wait, there are five of them in the 8^th grade at our school alone.

Here's the best part of it all. Our school has five Assistant Principals. We don't need five AP's, but five we have at a cost to the taxpayer of roughly half a million dollars a year. If you are a regular reader, then you know that they spend their days either hiding in their rooms, or sauntering about the building whipping "Unsatisfactory" ratings on hardworking, unsuspecting teachers. On the first day of the test, two of the five Assistant Principals were absent. On the one day of the year where their particular skills of "roaming aimlessly about" might have actually come in handy, two of them decided to stay home.

And before you ask, yes, I had two cups of coffee during the test. And there was a Uniball Vision riding in my pocket the entire time. As far as I can tell, the Earth didn't crash into the Sun because of my breech of protocol. Although somewhere, the Angel of Idiocy was weeping…

I Think I Can Help You With The Budget Crisis, Governor Paterson

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 01:12:00 +0000

Earlier this week, I had the good fortune to attend a hearing for a colleague at the Department of Education's headquarters. She had allegedly been absent and late numerous times the previous year, and, consequently, was given an Unsatisfactory rating by the principal of the school. I can't (for legal reasons) divulge the intricacies of the hearing, but I can dispassionately detail for you my experiences.

Interesting Fact #1: The receptionist at the desk was mentally retarded. I don't mean that as a childish insult, I mean literally, she had an obvious mental deficiency. She spoke really, really loudly, but, simultaneously, really, really slowly, like a 78 record being played back at 33 and at full volume. Yes, a record. You know, the shiny vinyl discs that people used to use to play music? In any case, in addition to groaning everything she said, she also didn't bother to greet us or ask us our names or case number when we approached her desk. I had to ask if we were supposed to sign in or something. She sighed VERY LOUDLY, and screamed, "Sign in! Sign in!" and thrust a clipboard in our general direction. After doing so, I gave the clipboard back to her, and she proceeded to throw it to the side of her desk, where it landed with a clatter. At no point did she ever pick it up to see who we were, or what we were doing there.

Interesting Fact #2: As my colleague and I sat in the waiting area discussing her case, the receptionist picked up the phone, dialed a number, and begin to VERY LOUDLY make an appointment at a clinic to get her thyroid examined. I know because she asked the person on the other end TEN TIMES a) if she had reached the clinic and b) when she could come in to have her thyroid looked at. Presumably, the clinic hired from the same employment pool as the DOE. During this time, the office phone rang 15 times, but went completely unanswered. Remember – this office is in charge of adjudicating "Unsatisfactory Rating Appeals" which could make or break a teacher's career and reputation. After making the appointment (Thursday at 11 AM), the receptionist proceeded to dial another number (ignoring three more incoming calls) and VERY LOUDLY explain to the person on the other end the types of difficulty she was having with her thyroid. She was so loud that a woman, who may have been some sort of supervisor, came over from another office, to see what the problem was. The receptionist then proceeded to explain to the supervisor EXACTLY what she had just said on the phone during both conversations. Halfway through her story, the supervisor threw her hands up in the air, and walked away, rolling her eyes so hard that I could hear them scrape against the back of her skull.

Interesting Fact #3: Ironically, even though my colleague was being called to this hearing for excessive lateness, the hearing officer himself was five minutes late. I pointed this out to him during my witness statement.

Interesting Fact #4: I wasn't actually allowed to attend the preliminary motions of the hearing, as I was appearing as a witness, and not as a Union Rep, so I had to stay in the waiting room – even though the Principal and her witness were allowed to be there for the entirety of the hearing. And by "there," I mean "the comfort of her office back at school." See, even though the accused teacher and her witness had to trek all the way to Brooklyn, the principal and her cronies could "attend" by means of telephone conference call linked to a speakerphone in the hearing officer's chambers. This puts them at a distinct advantage.

Interesting Fact #5: The witness for the principal is a retired administrator currently "supervising" one of the academic departments at our school. He has no supervisory powers, and has absolutely nothing to do with teacher attendance. When I pointed this out to my colleague's counsel, she asked that he be removed from the proceedings. Naturally, since he was only present via telephone, we have no way of knowing if he complied or merely remained quiet during the hearing, intermittently passing notes to the principal and coaching her via head nods.

Interesting Fact #6: As I sat idly in the aforementioned waiting area, I decided to forego leafing through three year-old issues of Better Homes and Gardens and decided to do some detective work instead. My investigations went unnoticed, because the receptionist, perhaps troubled by her thyroid, got up and left the office completely empty save for me and the phones ringing off the hook. The first thing I noticed was the "Quality of Work Life Program" certificate hanging behind the receptionist's desk. A Quick Google search on the ol' Blackberry told me that this was a joint labor-management program whose activities included "employee recognition events acknowledging longevity of service and perfect attendance." Basically, the receptionist was rewarded by the city for being inefficient and unprofessional for an extended, uninterrupted period of time.

Interesting Fact #7: My investigation also uncovered a "Work Schedule" posted on the wall of the adjoining office. From what I can gather, there are only 20 hearing officers who preside over everything from U-rating and Discontinuance Appeals (of which there were 50 scheduled that week) to Step Two Union Grievances (of which there were 26 that week alone). They work from 9 AM to 2 PM and then again from 3:30 until, well, until whenever they finish up. Grievance hearings are only scheduled for 15 minutes; each hearing officer presides over three a day, consecutively, and presumably can be done with work at 4:15 – a work day of 5 hours and 45 minutes. That's 35 minutes less than a teacher (you know, the people who are always being lambasted as overpaid and underworked) must work according to contract. I have no accompanying citation, but a friend of mine who is a former Union Rep told me that Hearing Officers make in excess of $100,000 a year – they also get the same vacation time as teachers, by the way.

Interesting Fact# 8: In total, according to the posted schedule, the DOE employs 20 Hearing Officers in five separate rooms to hear 75 cases per week. That particular week, the schedule informed me that each officer was scheduled to hear 4 cases a day, one of which only lasts for 15 minutes. My colleague's hearing lasted just under an hour; that puts the average workday for Hearing Officers at 3 hours and 15 minutes.

Interesting Fact #9: Also during my investigation, I discovered that not one person was actively working. There were 12 or so people in the main office, and during the time before and after giving my testimony, not one of them seemed to be doing anything remotely involved with hearings. They made coffee and oatmeal in the office microwave, they talked about the Oscar winners, they made and received personal phone calls (two doctors' appointments and one home improvement contractor), and they surfed the internet and chuckled to themselves. Mostly, however, they milled around aimlessly sipping their various beverages and shuffled in and out of each others' offices either laughing at jokes or mumbling to each other. In all honesty, it was like watching extras on the set of a movie taking a break between camera set-ups.

Interesting Fact #10: The receptionist came back after 20 minutes, sat her desk, and did absolutely nothing for the next 20 minutes. Literally. She did not answer a phone, pick up a pen, or use the computer. She sat there and stared at her monitor, smiling to herself. While I was testifying I, admittedly, have no idea if she continued to sit there and do nothing during the period of time I was not there to observe her. Perhaps she regaled some other poor soul with tales of her thyroid.

Interesting Fact #11: I was finally called into the hearing room where I basically sat in a chair and read verbatim a statement that I had prepared some days prior. It took all of five minutes. My statement could have been notarized and entered as a sworn deposition, but according to the DOE rules, I had to present it in person. The only thing I was asked was, "Do you have anything else to add?" This is when I pointed out that I found it humorous that the hearing officer was late to an appeal dealing with employee lateness. Even he laughed. Then I was ushered out the door and sent back to the waiting room. Time spent in an official capacity during the hearing: seven minutes. Cost to the city: $154.97 in per diem rates for a substitute for my classes plus my daily salary, which is pro-rated to around $383. (Cost of emailing or faxing my testimony to be entered as a legal deposition: .03 Cents). Cost to cover my accused colleague's classes for the day: the same $154.97, plus her pro-rated salary of $555. Cost of the Hearing Officer's salary per actual appeal hearing: $111. Total cost to the City of New York (and the taxpayers) for attempting to give a 23-year veteran teacher an Unsatisfactory rating for being 3 minutes late a few times to school: $1358.94

Epilogue: When we returned to the school, the accused teacher successfully lobbied the principal to reimburse her for the $20 she spent on parking in downtown Brooklyn, the Principal called me a "liar" and the accused teacher called out "sick" the next day.

If I could actually make this sort of stuff up, I'd be a successful novelist by now.

And In Other News: Water Is Wet

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 03:16:00 +0000

NYC School Chancellor Joel Klein released a statement yesterday in which he defended his pet project, the Charter Schools. In this statement, Klein asserted that:

"Despite the financial handicaps detailed in the IBO study, charter schools in New York City have been exceptionally effective. Charter school students outperform students in district schools by seven points in both reading and math, and, in one of two recent studies establishing the effectiveness of City charters, researchers found that the longer students remain in our charter schools, the higher their achievement is compared to similar students in district schools."

Seriously, Joel? Charter School students outperform the regular district students? Do you think that might have something to do with the fact that Charter Schools recruit and handpick their students based on NYS test scores? Or the fact that students who have failed the NYS Proficiency Tests are NOT ALLOWED to enroll in the 99 charter schools currently in NYC? Or if they do fail they can be kicked out and sent to those "underperforming" district schools? Or how about the fact that students who exhibit behavioral problems are summarily removed from the school and placed back into their zoned district school, allowing the remaining students the opportunity to concentrate on their education without the added distraction of troublemakers, malcontents, and other recalcitrant thugs? Did you willingly overlook those variables?

Or does Joel Klein really think the parents, teachers, and taxpayers of NYC are astonishingly stupid?

An Open Letter To Mayor Bloomberg

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 01:23:00 +0000

Dear Mike,

As of this writing, you've closed 97 schools, with 20 more slated for the chopping block by year's end. To defend such actions, you've blamed the low test scores, the teachers, Albany; let's face it: you've used up every possible excuse under the sun. We all know what you're doing, Mike – you want to close the NYC Public Schools in order to make way for your pet project, the Charter Schools. The informed citizens of NYC are well aware of this plan, as are they cognizant of how Charter Schools work – you handpick the administration of such schools, dump a bunch of money in their laps, and let them have the run of the joint and the pick of the litter when it comes to both staffing and enrollment. You hire wet-behind-the-ears teachers just out of college, or fresh off the bus from the Midwest, make them work until 6 PM everyday (sometimes including Saturday), deny them their rights and privileges by barring their entry into the United Federation of Teachers, and after two or three years in the system, either summarily fire them for arbitrary reasons, or violate their sanity so thoroughly that they toss up their hands in disgust and resign.

Think I'm attempting to inject a bit of hyperbole into my argument? I personally know a teacher who was forced to paint her own classroom in one of these charter schools. Another was fired on the last day of the school year because it was determined that the goals that her students met in June didn't completely match the predictions she had made while filling out a form in September (even though every single one of the students received a 3 out of 4 on the NYS math test). I know a guidance counselor who was removed from his school and "temporarily reassigned" to the rubber room because he annotated an official document in purple ink. Last year, when you made the decision to use teachers to grade the NYS ELA exam, and took over 100 of them (myself included) out of their classrooms to do so, I learned that there are teachers out there who teach 6 periods in a row (that's four and half hours to people who have never been in a classroom, like you Mike) without so much as a bathroom break. I met teachers who aren't given a lunch period on Fridays because that's when the principal decided they should attend "professional development" meetings. After learning that I was a UFT representative, I had a line of teachers waiting to tell me their own tales of abuse, and let me tell you Mike, if you hadn't so thoroughly indoctrinated the public into believing that NYC teachers were a bunch of worthless, unprofessional part-time workers, one phone call to the newspapers would have blown your whole scam out of the water.

And it is a scam, Mike. Your whole attitude towards education is at best apathetic and at worst maliciously self-serving. Newsflash, Mr. Mayor: We didn't vote for you. We didn't endorse you. After you pulled the wool over the eyes of the city council and the people of New York City, you made it back to sit on your throne by the skin of your teeth. 50,342 votes, Mike. That was your margin of victory. 50,342 people too ignorant or too scared or too comfortable or too foolish decided that the best choice to lead our fair city was a megalomaniacal billionaire with delusions of grandeur and an axe to grind against both NYC teachers and the children they serve.

Yes, Mike, the children. You shortchanged them too. See, your Charter Schools not only get to handpick their faculty and administration, but they get to recruit the students as well – systematically denying entry to any child whose success (and by extension, the success of the Charter School) is in doubt. There are no English Language Learners in Charter Schools. No students with disabilities, either emotional, physical or developmental. No Special Education students, no emotionally disturbed students; if a kid has a speech impediment, he's not allowed to enroll in a Charter School because he might tarnish the otherwise gleaming image of the jewels in your crown. Your Charter Schools are not some groundbreaking bastion of higher learning – they are edifices of educational segregation. That's one hell of a set of jewels you've got there, Mike.

So where do all of those kids go? The struggling students, the underperforming students, the ones who need assistance and intervention more than most? You dump them into the standard public schools, cram them into the classroom, and then siphon off that school's budget for your own projects until there's nothing left. The school I at which I teach is using American History textbooks from the year 2000; in our educational environment, Sept. 11^th never happened, Iraq is still under the iron grip of a maniacal dictator, and Barack Obama was just a little-known State Senator. Last week, I visited a school in which every student is given a laptop computer; we don't even have a copy machine. And when the scores go down, you shrug the shoulders of your $3000 suit, close the schools, appoint one of your lapdogs and say, "It's the teachers!" No, Mike. It's not. It's you.

I am not the only one, Mike, who is dissatisfied with the direction and attitude you and your indifferent crony, Joel Klein, are taking when it comes to both the education of NYC's children and the careers of thousands of dedicated, professional educators. A quick Google search turns up hundreds of sites where parents, teachers, and other interested parties are voicing their displeasure. Their cries will only grow louder, Mr. Bloomberg, and wadding up hundred-dollar bills and sticking them in your ears will not drown them out.

I can promise you that.

Sincerely,

Valannin

10-year veteran teacher,

Concerned Citizen,

Whistleblower Extraordinaire.

Parental Fail of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 21:45:00 +0000

I had the good fortune today to speak to the mother of one of my all-time most useless students, an altogether pointless creature we'll call "E." "E" hasn't turned in any homework or assignments in over a year (he was a student of mine last year as well), wastes entire class periods writing a sentence on a piece of looseleaf, crumpling up said looseleaf, and then writing the same sentence over again, and concocting excuses as though he was paid to create them. The excuses for his lack of work range from "I didn't have a pencil," to, "I was sick for a week," to, "Everyone in my family was abducted by Somali pirates." Over the last year and a half he has failed every major subject for every marking period. In fact, he wasn't even supposed to be promoted to 8^th grade, but, hey, holdover rates make Bloomberg look bad, and thus, was in fact pushed along. Every time someone says that "social promotion" in the NYC Dept. of Education is a myth, I chuckle, then punch them repeatedly in the neck.

In any case, yesterday, one of my colleagues took away "E's" Sidekick mobile phone. Yes, cell phones and other electronic gadgets are prohibited in NYC schools, but little things like rules, policies, and laws don't mean a hill of beans to today's parents – if their darling little pantswetter wants his iPod, then damn the man, he's going to be allowed to bring in his iPod. As soon as his mother found out that her son's electronic distraction was confiscated, she roared up to the school with an axe to grind. Understand, dear readers, that "E's" mother has never visited the school for any reason, despite the fact that she has been called in numerous times by teachers and administrators to discuss her son's educational failings. Not once.

Here's the conversation that I, another of my colleagues, and the mother had concerning the incident. Please keep in mind that I was five minutes late to the meeting, and as such, missed the opening salvo:

Mom: I don't understand why y'all had to take away E's phone – other students have their phones in school too! (Note – this is a common, albeit retarded argument that every parent attempts to make – why are you singling out my kid when others are just as rotten?)

Me: Are you the parent of those kids too?

Mom: No.

Me: Then don't worry about them. Worry about "E." He was playing with his phone in class, and hence, he had it taken away. If we didn't see it, then nothing would have happened.

Mom: But he's not the only one!

Me: You used that argument already; sing a different tune.

Mom: Y'all are just picking on him. It's always "E," no one else gets in trouble!

Colleague: No one is picking on your son – he broke the rules, we took away his phone. We do it all the time, trust me, he's not the only one.

Me: And even if he was the only one, you should be a lot more concerned about his classroom performance than his cell phone. You realize that he is failing, right?

Mom: I don't know why, "E" tells me he does all of his work!

Me: And yet, he actually doesn't. He still owes me assignments from last year. He's failing. We sent you a progress report a month ago where it clearly states the amount of work he is missing.

Mom: I didn't get no progress report.

Me: Well, we sent them out. Just like we do every year – it's not like this is a new procedure or something. (Note, progress reports are sent out one month before the end of the semester).

Colleague: What I find interesting is that we have sent home four separate notices for you to come pick up your son's report card from last semester, and you ignored all of them, and yet here you are today, 12 hours after we took away his cell phone.

Mom: I don't understand.

Me: What Mrs. My Colleague is saying is that it seems that you place a lot of importance on a cell phone, but not very much importance on your son's education. You know, considering that he has been failing everything for the past year and a half and all.

Mom: I'm sorry, my English is not so great. I don't understand.

Colleague: (God love her) Your English was pretty good when you came in here yelling at me for taking away his phone!

Mom: (Actually starts rambling in Spanish, despite the fact that she had been conversing with us in English for the past five minutes)

Me: (Looking quizzically at my colleague) Seriously? I speak Spanish, you know. I understood every word you just said. (I really don't speak Spanish, but I know enough of it after 9 years in the Bronx to know that she just repeated back in Spanish everything she had already said in English)

Mom: Oh.

Me: Yeah. So, anyway, to sum up, your son doesn't do any work in class, he doesn't do any work at home, and he's failing every subject. He is not going to go to high school. And, apparently, he plays with his phone in class, which is not allowed.

Colleague: And he was late to my class every day this week!

Mom: But it's not only him! Why are you picking on him!?

Me: You know what, we're done here. It's obviously a genetic problem.

The mother storms off down the stairs. My colleague (god love her) waits until she is out of earshot and then goes off on the greatest rant I have ever heard in my life:

"Motherfucker thinks she can come up in here and play me for a fool – Bitch, this is America, speak English when I'm talking to you – Next time I see that motherfucking phone I'm going to throw it out the motherfucking window!"

It took me at least ten minutes to stop laughing.

Epilogue: During class today, "E" spent two straight periods (close to 90 minutes) writing a grand total of three sentences of a five-paragraph essay assignment. He got out of his seat six times to sharpen his pencil, talked about video games with another waste of carbon next to him, and threw a bunch of crumpled up paper (presumably his work) at a girl sitting in an adjacent group.

Now, I'm sure you're all asking yourself, "Why, if he failed every class for two years, was he promoted?" Or perhaps you're saying to yourself, "Maybe the child doesn't understand the work, and maybe that's why he is doing so poorly." Here's my answer to both: "E" was able to be promoted simply because he keeps passing the NY State ELA and Math tests. That's all. That's all the DOE cares about – not if a student is actively engaged in the educational process, not if he learns and assimilates pertinent skills that will someday make him a useful, contributing member of society – only if he manages to pass two, 90-minute tests. Tests that a blind, mentally challenged ferret would have no trouble passing. And if you think that's just me exaggerating, consider this: On the written portion of the test, if a student writes anything – and I mean even a single vertical line – the test graders are not allowed to give him a zero. I've graded the NYS ELA tests five times, and every single time I get into arguments with the supervisors because I flat out refuse to follow the NYS grading policy, something I'll cover in more detail in the near future.

Suffice it to say, that regardless what "E," and thousands of students like him, do in class, he is guaranteed to graduate so long as he can score a little better than a 55% on a test.

NYC DOE– Celebrating Mediocrity for close to a Decade.

The Sum Total Of Each Man's Giving Determines The Standard Of Man's Civilization.

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 00:22:00 +0000

Awhile back, I was asked about the best way to improve the current state of the Department of Education. The answer, dear readers, is simple and direct: Dismantle the Department of Education and completely privatize it. Far be it for me to say that all government institutions are vast, labyrinthine, bureaucratic morasses of lies, corruption and inefficiency, but, well, they are. I don’t want to get too heavily into the politics of it all, (saving that for a later date), suffice it to say that whatever the government touches, swiftly and painfully crumbles. And it’s the taxpayers who ultimately suffer. That’s right, not the “children” – the hard-working, middle class taxpayers. Why? Because their tax dollars are being used to fund a miserable failure of an educational system. If New Yorkers really knew what their taxes were paying for, there would be rioting in the streets.

Sound harsh? Too bad. The graduation rate for NYC students has hovered around 50% for the past decade or so, and it isn’t getting any better. Let me say that again, slower and with more emphasis – at present, there are approximately 1.1 million students in the NYC Dept. of Education, and only about half of them will graduate high school. Currently, there are 1.6 million people in New York between the ages of 18 and 25 with no high school diploma. Why? Again, simple answer: culture.

The majority of NYC public school students are Black or Hispanic, and regardless what the touchy-feely-everyone-hold-hands-and-sing-Kumbaya crowd thinks, people may all be created equal, but they certainly aren’t raised that way. Blacks and Hispanics consistently score the lowest on standardized tests, have the highest suspension rates, and the lowest graduations rates. And, to reiterate, I am telling you all that the reason for this is that the overwhelmingly vast majority of Blacks and Hispanics (but not all) come from an empty, lazy, destructive culture built upon instant gratification, false victimization and a sense of entitlement.

In my almost decade-long tenure as a NYC teacher, here’s how I rank NYC students, (General Education students, mind you – not Special Ed) according to achievement, work-ethic, behavior, and attitude:

1) White Girls/ White Boys: Even though I’ve had thousands of students, I’ve only had 10 or 12 White ones (and by White, I mean European – typically Eastern European or similar). White students are polite, well-behaved, always turn their assignments in on time, ask intelligent questions, read and write at or above grade level, and adhere to the rules. In my experience, 100% of the time, they come from a two-parent household where there is an activated phone line and email address. They are well-supplied, clean, and never late to class. Typical GPA in English Language Arts and History (the two courses I’ve taught) is somewhere between 95 and 100.

2) Indian, Middle Eastern and Asian Girls. By Indian and Asian I am referring to students from India, Bangladesh, Pakistan, and China. They are almost exactly like White students in terms of achievement and behavior, and their parents are always accessible. 9 times out of 10 they came to this country at a young age, not knowing a word of English, but after a year or two in ESL classes, they can read and write at or above grade level. GPA, between 90 and 100.

3) Indian, Middle Eastern and Asian Boys. They only fall below the girls because, hey, I work in a middle school – pre-teen boys are naturally immature regardless of their cultural background. Even factoring in this variable, the boys’ GPA is still between 90 and 100.

4) Hispanic Boys / Girls from Central or South America. This would include students from Ecuador, Chile, Nicaragua, Mexico, Venezuela, etc. Despite the language barrier, these students are hardworking, ambitious, and polite. Their parents (both of them) are involved in their children’s education, and give really nice gifts at Christmas; the respect for teachers and education in general is high. GPA anywhere from 85-100; in fact, at our school for the past two years, the Salutatorians have been South American Girls.

5) “Black” students from either Africa or the Islands. These students outshine their African-American counterparts by at least 50%, despite typically being poorer and having to learn English at some point in their lives. Although they are hardworking and prepared they can sometimes be disruptive when they attempt to fit in with the Americanized Blacks. However, one call home to the parents puts the brakes on that sort of behavior almost immediately; African and Islander Black parents will actively reprimand their children, sometimes with belts and sticks. I’ve seen an African mother hit her son so hard that he flew across the room and bounced off the lockers, all because he got detention for not wearing his uniform. That was the last time that ever happened. By the way, if you want to tell the difference between African Blacks and American Blacks, all you have to do is look at their names. If the first name is pronounceable, but the last name isn’t, the student is African. The converse is true for American Blacks. Example: Robert Mbanefo is from Nigeria; De’Quatief Tyler is from the Bronx. GPA between 80 and 85.

6) Guyanese Students. Even though the official language of Guyana is English, these students typically score low on standardized tests and read below grade level. They all seem to have colored contact lenses and iPods, though – especially the girls who try their hardest to emulate the Puerto Rican girls in attitude, dress, and behavior. The boys fare a little better in high school, but only with supportive parents. GPAs are typically in the 70’s, maybe low 80’s.

7) Puerto Rican and Dominican Girls. This one’s a toss-up. Even though something like 90% of them come from single-parent homes, they make a concerted effort to not end up like their mothers. Usually, they do the minimal amount of work it takes to pass, but pass they do, and will typically keep the boys in line during class. Since most don’t have fathers at home, they regard male teachers with a lot of respect. If they don’t get pregnant by 18, and have a modicum of intelligence, they will most likely graduate high school and secure menial, yet decent jobs. The vast majority though will keep the cycle going by having children before they are old enough to rent a car, and be unmarried at that. GPA is usually between 65 (the lowest passing grade in NYC) and 75. On a side note, there are 20+ Puerto Rican women who work in my school, ranging in age from 25-50; all of them have at least one child and not one of them is married. Not one.

8) Puerto Rican and Dominican Boys. Another toss-up. If they actually make it to school on time, and turn in their work, they will have a slight chance at succeeding. However, a casual glance at my grade-book tells me that every single “Latino” boy is missing more than half of his assignments and has been late to class almost every day. And when they do turn in their work, it is sloppy, incomplete, and looks as though they wrote it while crouching outside in the hallway five minutes before class. Quite possibly the laziest human beings on the planet. Typical grades are anywhere from 55-65.

9) American Black Girls. Besides being loud, crass, rude, and unapologetic about their behavior, they are the second-lowest performers in class. Every third word out of their mouths is either a curse, a threat, or an unintelligible grunt, and that’s when they actually show up to class. Most of the time though, they spend the class periods roaming through the hallways starting fights with each other. Seriously. The girls are more violent than the boys.

10) American Black Boys. Where do I begin? Despite actually having been born and raised in the United States, their test scores in ELA are typically lower than both English Language Learners and Special Education Students. I will explain why using this anecdote: When I was a first-year teacher, I was talking to a colleague about the lack of emphasis placed on education in American Black homes. She told me that she had given back a student’s homework that was done incorrectly. The student complained by saying, and I quote, “But Miss, I be done did it!” My colleague responded, “Yes, but you ‘be done did it’ all wrong.” The next day, the mother of that student came up to school irate at the fact that a teacher should fail her son based on, get this, “the words he be sayin’.” My colleague explained that since it was English class, her son was being graded on how well he used English. The mother screamed at her that, “Well, that’s the way we be talking!” American Black Students fail because they have been raised with a false sense of entitlement, in a culture that glorifies conspicuous consumption, misogyny, violence, and over-indulgence, supported by a society that continually makes excuses for their shortcomings. Not one Black Boy in my classes is passing, but every one of them has brand new $150 sneakers and shiny new cell phones. They are suspended from school at a rate 10 times that of White students, and have a graduation rate in NYC of 34%. That’s right. Only 34% of Blacks in the NYC school system graduate high school.

50 years of the NAACP, the UNCF, Affirmative Action, and every other social program ever concocted by a left-leaning apologist has been a complete and utter failure. I blame Langston Hughes who said, "A dream deferred is a dream denied." No it isn't; what an asinine statement. Deferred means "delayed" or "postponed." You want your dreams to come to frutition? Try working for them yourself. Now, I know that some hot-headed readers out there are going to jump down my throat for this, but here’s the reason for the failure in black and white (pun definitely intended):

American Black and Puerto Rican/Dominican students in New York City fail because they come from a morally bankrupt, backwards, indolent culture that is completely indifferent to education because it is free.

Yes. Because it is free.

In NYC, and specifically the Bronx, so-called minority families are supported in every way through social programs, AKA, your tax dollars. Section-8, WIC, Medicaid, TANF, AFDC – they all contribute to the lackadaisical attitude these groups have towards their own personal responsibility. In other words, since their housing, food, energy bills, health care and other such expenses are paid for by others, they have no vested interest in society, and thus, they make no efforts towards anything past selfish, shallow fulfillment. And it has a snowball effect – the more bills that are paid by the taxpayer, the more they demand. The public educational system is just another example of how a taxpayer -funded system is abused by the very people it was created to help. I’ve told hundreds of parents over the years that their children are going to fail, and all I receive is a shrug of the shoulders. Since they aren’t paying a dime for their kids’ education, what do they care if their kids succeed or not? After all, if the kids fails out of school and isn’t able to get a job, then Uncle Sam will be along with a nice fat paycheck for them, just like he gave to Mom and Dad. And Grandma and Grandpa. And so on. If we, as responsible members of society want to break this cycle, then we have to only make one tiny, almost imperceptible change to the NYC educational system: charge tuition. Not a lot, mind you, I’m only suggesting approximately $100 a month. $50 a month if you have two kids. Doing so will have a threefold effect:

1) Since there are 1.1 million students in the NYC public schools, such a nominal tuition will provide a much needed boost to the city’s coffers - something along the lines of approximately $1.3 billion a year. My school makes the teachers pay for copies and chalk, and I’m sure we’re not alone.

2) Parents will actually have vested interest in their children’s education, and therefore, will concern themselves with their kids’ success. Parents who are forced to pony up tuition every month are going to want to see a return on their investment, in the form of a passing grade.

3) If parents know that each one of their kids is going to cost them an average of $75 a month, then maybe they’ll limit their procreation activities to a more Vulcan-like rate; once every seven years. The biggest threat to this planet isn’t global warming, or terrorism, it’s overpopulation.

I’ll even take it one step further. I propose that every time a child cuts school, or is given detention, the parent is fined $50 by the city. If he chooses not to pay, then that month’s WIC check or Section 8 subsidy is cut off. Conservatively, I would estimate the end of truancy and insubordination within one year. “Minority” parents live and breathe by their wallets, and, as such, that’s where the city has to hit them.

So, my plan might not exactly be privatization, per se, but it’s a step in the right direction. My arrangement would also limit the number of administrative supervisors in each school, refuse principalships to anyone who has less than ten years teaching experience, and remove Mayor Bloomberg and his crony Joel Klein as heads of the Department of Education in favor of people who have an iota as to what they’re talking about.

But one step at a time, my friends, one step at a time…

Department of Ed Fail Of The Week

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 01:31:00 +0000

After an “observation” last week by AP Hellhound, she decided that her usual negative write-up wasn’t a sufficient medium in which to display her displeasure with my teaching methodology, and as such, scheduled a meeting with me to discuss the shortcomings of the lesson. In addition to the usual cavalcade of stupidity, she had this to say to me:

Hellhound: I was very confused as to what exactly you were doing with the students.

Me: You were confused? It was a Writer’s Workshop – the students had written an essay, and I was speaking to them individually in conference. You watched me for over 30 minutes, and even presumably read some of the students’ work over my shoulder. What, exactly, were you confused about?

Hellhound: Because I don’t know why you chose to do it.

Me: Two reasons: One, because they had just completed a first draft of the essay, and needed guidance on how to proceed, and two, because you told me specifically that I should incorporate Writer’s Workshop into the lessons.

Hellhound: I told you that?

Me: You sent me to five separate training conferences over the course of five days on the exact topic of incorporating student writing into the Balanced Literacy model! I was out of the school for three days and had to give up a lunch period. So yes, you told me that.

Hellhound: Well, I don’t think that the Writer’s Workshop was an effective use of instructional time.

Me: Whoa, wait, you’re going to have to repeat that, because it sounded to me like you said something completely asinine. (Yes, I do in fact talk to the supervisors like that, because at this point, a) it makes for great dialogue in my blog posts, and b) I just don’t care anymore). You’re saying that the Writer’s Workshop is a waste of time?

Hellhound: Don’t put words in my mouth, Mr. Outcast! I never said it was a waste of time. I said it wasn’t an effective use of instructional time.

Me: That’s pretty much the same thing. Waste of time / not effective use of time. I don’t see the difference. Can you explain the difference? Or would you care to stumble backwards and recant?

Hellhound: It’s not a waste of time! It’s not effective! That’s what I said!

Me: Even though you sent me to five workshops on using that exact method in class?

Hellhound: Yes.

Me: Hmm, ok. Well, since you think what I do in class is not effective, I need you to come in and model for me what is effective (Note – it is an administrator’s obligation to provide educational support to teachers, in the form of training, supplies, or by modeling lessons). So, when can I expect you?

Hellhound: Oh, I can’t do that, I’m extremely busy.

Me: So you won’t?

Hellhound: I didn’t say that! I am busy and couldn’t possibly model a lesson until sometime in December.

Me: Ok, well, I guess I’ll just continue on being ineffective then. (Exit, me).

For those of you not acquainted with Ms. Hellhound, she is the Assistant Principal in charge of English Language Arts and Literacy, and makes approximately $125,000 a year. And what, pray tell, has she been too busy doing over the past week? Photocopying spelling words. Yes, I’m serious.

If you have a child, and he or she is currently attending a NYC public school, then I respectfully submit that you should visit the main office of that school tomorrow, and pull your kid out so fast, he leaves skid marks on the linoleum.

Your Tax Money At Work, Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 23:44:00 +0000

I was sent to a workshop today, which essentially means I sat in a room for five hours and listened to an overpaid Literacy consultant make a mockery of the educational system. How overpaid? How about $1200. You read that right - the facilitator of today's workshop makes $1200 a day, which pro-rates down to approximately $100 for every ludicrous thing she said. How much of a mockery? Without getting too much into detail, (I've been told I tend to be too verbose in my postings), keep this in mind while reading the exchange we had below.

1) The Facilitator of the workshop has never taught one day in a New York City public school.
2) The Facilitator of the workshop does not possess a New York State teaching certificate.
3) The Facilitator of the workshop is not even from the United States.
4) The Facilitator of the workshop spent five hours telling veteran, NYC schoolteachers that everything they do in the classroom is wrong.

Let me set the scene for you: Twelve English teachers sitting around a table, drinking coffee, and squirming uncomfortably in their seats while a middle-aged Australian woman flips through Powerpoint presentation slides at the speed of light explaining "the proper way to introduce balanced literacy into a writing workshop." Ok? Got it? Simple. A person who has never taught English Language Arts before is going to attempt to lecture 12 veteran teachers on the proper way to teach English Language Arts.

We were discussing the “workshop model” of writing. That’s just what Literacy consultants call “editing.” Basically, a teacher sits with a student, reads their writing, and then they “conference” about it. (I know; ‘conference’ is a noun. Ironically, Literacy consultants, staff developers, and other people not directly involved in the act of teaching love to turn nouns into verbs and make other syntactic gaffes). Here's the conversation that we had, in its entirety, for your reading pleasure:

Overpaid Idiot: Teachers should never write on student's work!

Veteran Teacher with 11 years’ experience: Um, why?

Overpaid Idiot: It's damaging to their writing!

Another Veteran with 6 years’ experience: So how do you correct grammar?

Overpaid Idiot: You don’t. You notice it.

Me: And once you’ve noticed it, what do you do?

Overpaid Idiot: You make it a point to conference about it at a later time.

Me: Wouldn’t it make more sense to correct it right in front of them, so they know exactly why it’s wrong?

Overpaid Idiot: No! It doesn’t matter. Self-expression is the most important reason for writing!

Me: It’s not an Art class, it’s a writing class. Shouldn’t we be, you know, teaching writing? Grammar, and spelling and conventions and all that? I mean, have you seen our students’ writing? It looks like a dyslexic ferret threw some ink on a piece of looseleaf.

Another Veteran Teacher with 33 years experience: When I was in school, we diagrammed sentences. We had a whole separate class for spelling, vocabulary and grammar. And you’re saying that we shouldn’t teach it?

Overpaid Idiot: (I swear she actually said this) Children today are not the same as children were when you went to school. They need to be taught differently. It’s a new century.

Me: You know, when they get to college, professors are going to expect them to know how to write properly. The guy that teaches Psychology 101 isn’t going to care about “self-expression.” He wants to see indented paragraphs and subject-verb agreement. In fact, I’m pretty sure the high school teachers are going to want that too.

Overpaid Idiot: (Again, this is her actual, unedited, unembellished response) It’s not your job to prepare them for high-school.

Me: What? Whose job is it then? I’m an 8^th grade teacher. There’s no one between me and high school. So, I’m pretty sure it’s my job.

Overpaid Idiot: But it’s not.

6-year Veteran teacher: I don’t understand what you’re saying. We’re supposed to be teaching English, but you want us to do it without teaching English?

33 year Veteran Teacher: They learn grammar in Spanish class! They should do the same in English!

Overpaid Idiot: It’s your job to discover their strengths and weaknesses, and then base your lessons around that.

Me: So we should teach grammar, but not correct grammar.

Overpaid Idiot: Not on the students' papers.

Me: Because it be ‘damaging.’

Overpaid Idiot: Yes. We want them to be able to fully express what they are thinking without a bunch of red marks all over their paper. I don’t even own a red pen!

Me: Or a teaching license, apparently.

Much stifled laughter, as I exit to get coffee.

$1200 a day. Now, raise your hand if you were one of those brilliant minds who re-elected Michael Bloomberg? You were?

Shame on you.

Diogenes struck the father when the son swore.

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 00:32:00 +0000

Picture this – you’re at work, minding your own business, when a co-worker / customer / clerk / other alliterative individual comes up to you out of the blue and says, “Hey, you know what I’d like to do? Punch you really hard in the stomach.” Then this person winds up and does exactly that. Twice. The person then attempts to run away, but you grab their bag in an attempt to hold them for the authorities whom a witness to the assault has just called. The assailant then says to you, “Your life is over – I’m going to kill you.” A security guard arrives and takes the perpetrator away.

You fill out sheaves of paperwork, including an injury report and a sworn statement and present them to your supervisor, who turns around and tells you that the person who assaulted you is going to press charges alleging that you grabbed them. You protest loudly - to the supervisor, to your union representative, to the police that you were the one who is the victim, that you were injured, that you have ten separate witness statement which attest to the fact that you were indeed assaulted, that you were minding your own business, attempting to do your job when out of nowhere you were attacked by a person who not only has a criminal record, but is currently on parole for a previous assault – but you are told that not only are you going to be investigated by an outside agency for unprofessional conduct, but that if you attempt to enter the police precinct to file an assault charge, you will be arrested and booked on the very same charge.

I know what you’re saying – “Valannin, this couldn’t happen. Criminals may have rights, but surely the justice system would never treat a victim in this matter.”

And I’d say, well, if you are a teacher in the NYC Department of Education, that’s exactly what would happen. Because that’s exactly what did happen to a friend and colleague of mine just yesterday. I’m not exaggerating or hyperbolizing – he was literally standing in his room, talking to a group of students when an 8^th grade girl, who has been left back twice, suspended numerous times for various infractions, and arrested for beating the tar out of another student, approached him, told him she’d like to hit him, and then punched him in the stomach twice so hard that he doubled up and hit his knees. She laughed, and attempted to run away, but the teacher grabbed her backpack and held her while another student went to locate a School Safety Agent (who was most likely texting on a cell phone and eating chips). The girl was restrained by the officer, all the while shouting that she was going to kill the teacher; he went into his office to fill out various forms and statements.

When he presented his report to Principal Warbear, she informed him that the girl’s mother wanted him to be investigated for child abuse and that she was going to press charges. Despite his objections, and the witness statements, the principal told him that there was “nothing she could do,” because that’s what the parent wanted, and he would just have to wait until tomorrow to see what happens. He immediately called the police, who explained to him that yes, he could file assault charges against the girl, but since her mother had already done so first, if he entered the precinct house, he’d immediately be arrested.

So now this poor man, who is a 17 year veteran of the school, and well-liked by staff and students (well, all but one apparently), has to spend the night in mental agony – tossing and turning and twisting his hands together, all the while wondering, “What did I do to deserve this? Why have I been betrayed by the very system I have served for so many years? All I wanted to do is teach…”

But there is no teaching left to do, ladies and gentlemen. We are but mere babysitters (albeit very well paid ones) to the immoral offspring of an amoral culture. A culture that disdains education, ignores ethics, but glorifies greed and violence and selfishness. And why not? That’s all they know – from their music to their movies, from every word uttered from their ignorant lips. We’re talking about a culture of people who have almost unanimously decided that it is perfectly acceptable to call each other “Nigger,” just as long as no other culture dares do the same (not that I'd want to; I personally think that anyone who freely uses this expression should be summarily executed, regardless of their race). A culture that defended the song “Cop Killer” as “art” and graffiti as “self-expression.” A culture whose yearly parades, festivals and parties erupt in an orgy of violence, destruction and rape. This is the “urban” culture, the ghetto mindset – a celebration of depravity and lawlessness and entitlement.

And this is who we attempt to teach. A Sisyphean task with no equal.

Futility, thy name is The Department of Education.

I spent my formative years in a Catholic school (which explains, in part, my raging atheism), back when teachers were regarded with sort of a hushed reverence. Students sat in the classroom silently, we took notes, we raised our hands, and we did our homework. And God help you if you spoke out of turn, interrupted the class, or defied the teacher – you’d get a smack on your hands with the ruler from the teacher, and then a few more from your parents after your home was called. Where I come from, parents worked with the teachers to ensure that their children were 1) receiving a quality education, and 2) behaved in class. Sure, we had a handful of troublemakers, but they were identified early, expelled, and sent, coincidentally enough, to public school. See, when a parent has to write a check each month for their child’s education, they don’t want to put up with any nonsense. They have a vested interest in their children, the school, and thus, the community as a whole. Ghetto parents have none of these sentiments. School, much like their rent, their welfare check, and their food stamps, is free, and as a result, they have absolutely no respect for the people handing out freebies. If anything, they view us as a bunch of suckers.

Step One in reforming the NYC Public School System? Charge the parents tuition. It doesn’t have to be exorbitant, but it has to be enough to make a statement to a culture of people who care about nothing except the Benjamins. Hit them in the pocketbook hard enough, and maybe they’ll elevate education to a more worthy level on their hierarchy of priorities. Perhaps somewhere above “buying new rims for their cars” and “purchasing 71 pairs of sneakers.”

And don’t think for an instant that this is an isolated incident – during my nine-year tour of duty with the NYC DOE, I myself have been sent to the hospital six times; a “student” broke all the toes in my left foot on my very first day in the classroom (more on that at a later date). I’ve got a file cabinet jam-packed with witness statements, injury reports, and safety grievances, not to mention an eidetic memory bursting with anecdotes and stories that, if ever brought to the public’s attention, would boil the blood of every John Q. Taxpayer living in NY City.

Which is what I fully intend to do of course. One incident at a time.

Before I end this tale, let me bring the readers up to speed on what happened to the student. I’m sure by now, you’re dying to know what sort of punishment is meted out to a thug who assaults a teacher in a NYC public school:

Nothing. No expulsion, no suspension, hell, she wasn’t even given an hour-long sentence of clapping erasers after school. She was however, in class the very next period, telling another student that she was going to “punch him in the fucking face,” because he was “a pussy.” May I remind you, dear readers, that the child in question is a 14 year old girl.

Who, in four years or so, will become pregnant, send her bastard offspring to public school, and thereby continue this nauseating and frustrating cycle.

Hey, At Least I Wasn't Told To Burn In Hell...

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 20:40:00 +0000

This is the text of an email I had to send today. I wish this was merely a joke, but sadly, it's all true. The notes in italics do not appear in the original email:

Dear Chancellor Klein,

Upon arriving at work this morning, I was notified by a colleague that she was asked to give up her classroom and move to another classroom at the opposite end of the hallway. She agreed, moved a few of her things, and began teaching in the new room. Unfortunately, this classroom was already occupied by another teacher who, because of the change, was told that he no longer had a classroom in which to teach and instead had to rearrange his entire schedule.

When I inquired as to why she was asked to leave, she replied that it was so the administration could turn her classroom into a “literacy center.” I asked her, “What is a literacy center?” She responded that not only did she not know, but the administrator who initiated this wasn’t entirely sure either. I then asked her why she agreed to move without further inquiry or protest, she replied, “When the administration says something, I don’t argue. Besides, it’s no big deal.”

I went to speak to the administrator in charge of literacy (note – it was the administrator known to readers as Hellhound) who was behind this debacle, but our discussion did not last very long. Here is our conversation in its entirety:

Me: Why did you move Ms. X and Mr. Y from their classrooms?

Administrator: Because we are turning Ms. X’s room into a Literacy Center.

Me: Can you explain to me why we couldn’t use one of the already vacant rooms on the second floor?

Administrator: Because Ms. X’s room is next to my office.

Me: So it’s a matter of convenience to you?

Administrator: Yes.

Me: Regardless of the inconvenience foisted upon Ms. X and Mr. Y?

Administrator: We all make sacrifices for the good of the school.

Me: Can you explain to me what a Literacy Center is?

Administrator: It is a room filled with leveled books. Where students can go and pick out books based on their reading level.

Me: You mean like the library we already have?

Administrator: No, because all the books will be leveled. (Note – leveling a library means that the books are arbitrarily classified and ordered based on reading levels that was concocted by an outside subcontracting company, in this case, a company named Fountas and Pinnell. Keep in mind that there are four separate “reading level” formulas used by four different companies, and not one of them agrees with the others).

Me: Wouldn’t it have been easier just to level the books already in the library? You know, by putting little stickers on them or otherwise labeling them? That way, no teacher would be affected.

Administrator: Mr. Outcast, every time this school attempts to do something, you find only the negative.

Me: Well, uprooting two teachers from their classrooms after two months of school seems pretty negative at first glance. Maybe if this idea had been discussed prior to implementation, we could have identified the possible problems and made changes. But you only told both of these teachers this morning that this would be happening. So who exactly is going to be running this new Literacy Center?

Administrator: We don’t know yet. I have to go.

She then walked away without continuing the conversation.

Mr. Chancellor, every ELA teacher in the school already has a leveled classroom library containing anywhere from 100-500 books. We have a school library with a few thousand titles, and three separate “book storage rooms” containing an unspecified number of books and materials that no one has the key to except the Principal and a $1200 a day “Literacy Consultant.” (Note – I’m not kidding about this either. Our school actually pays someone $1200 a day to come in and explain to professional educators how to level their library. Keep in mind that this particular consultant has never taught one single day in the United States of America in her entire life. But more on her in a later post). Because of this change, two teachers and 6 separate classes have been affected, but no one can provide a satisfactory reason as to why it had to happen in the first place.

I’m hoping, Mr. Chancellor, that you can shed some light on this conundrum.

Sincerely,

Valannin.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why working for the NYC Department of Education is such a grand adventure - not a single day will go by without countless morons demonstrating their infinite idiocy all in the name of abject stupidity. Stay tuned for the Chancellor's exciting and enlightening response! (Note - the odds are 500-1 that the only individuals who will even read my original email are the 11 people who visit this site).

The Most Beautiful Fraud In The World

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 03:50:00 +0000

I’ve come to talk to you tonight not about politics, or the Department of Ed, or any of the other topics usually covered here on this site – no, tonight, you and I are going to lament the passing of a dear friend, one who has shared in our collective consciousness for over a century, and has brought joy, laughter and inspiration to innumerable individuals. I’m referring, of course, to the death of the American movie theatre experience. It had been on life support for half a decade or so, languishing and sputtering away, and after last night, I think it’s time to close its eyes forever.

Let me begin by saying that I have always been, and always will be a fan of movies. Notice I didn’t say “of the cinema,” because that’s just a pretentious way of saying, “I like films that no one actually understands, but I am too fearful of being mocked by other pretentious assholes to say that I didn’t actually understand them either, so instead I’ll call them art.” David Lynch has forged an entire career catering to these people. No, movies are something different entirely – one of the last great shared entertainment experiences left in our dying culture. If you think about it for half a minute, the entire concept of the movie theatre is sort of odd: you pay money to sit in a darkened room with a few hundred other individuals so that you can watch a recording of actors on an enlarged screen. Now, watching live sporting events I can understand – 90% of the event is the stadium experience in the first place; the hot dogs, the beer, the high fives, and the human bond that is created though the feelings of euphoric elation, (or crushing defeat). Sports, and likewise live concerts, are a visceral, active activity, full of sound and fury. Watching a movie, however, really shouldn’t be. I mean, at one point, it was –audiences screamed, laughed, or cried during the appropriate times, and then they were courteous enough to shut the hell up and let everyone else enjoy the rest of the show. Unfortunately, the entire process of watching a movie in the 21^st Century has been completely stripped of any and all enjoyment. Allow me to elaborate.

This Saturday, a friend and I decided to go and see the new “horror” movie, Paranormal Activity. I put horror in quotes because not one millisecond of the film was even remotely frightening. Now, this isn’t a movie review site, and I’m not going to belabor the point, suffice it to say that the movie certainly doesn’t live up the hype surrounding it. Fine, I can live with that – I’ve seen plenty of bad movies in my day. But that’s not what bothered me about the whole event. What really, really irked me was the absolute frustration I felt with what should be simply the periphery of the movie-going experience.

First of all, it was impossible to buy tickets online to this movie. For whatever reason, we had to drive 20 minutes to the theatre to even find out if there were tickets available. I realize that people survived by using the box office for almost a hundred years, and that online ticketing is a fairly new process, but I can’t think of one logical reason why, if the process is in place for 99% of all other movies, the theatre would opt out for one film. We arrive at the theatre, stand on line for fifteen minutes and ask for two tickets.

$22 dollars.

Twenty-two dollars.

No matter how I type that out, it seems absurd to me, like a cow regarding a rusted engine block in a cornfield (if you understand that reference, then you and I need to get together for drinks).

$22 for two people to sit in a room and watch a movie. I don’t want to get all Grandpa Simpson here, but when I was younger, you could bring a family of four to the movies for 20 bucks and still have enough change left over to buy snacks. But I’m not stupid – I understand the effect of inflation, and cost of living increases and all that, but really? $22? For a movie that was made on a $13,000 budget? Ok, fine, whatever. You can’t put a price on selfish pleasures.

So we move to Stage One of the Theatre Security Checkpoint, where a bored –looking woman rips the ticket in half, hands me the stub and I shove it, forgotten, into my back pocket. This action would later turn out to be a mistake. Because, according to International Law, one cannot fully enjoy a movie without six pounds of stale popcorn slathered in “butter”-flavored industrial lubricant, we head off to the concession stand.

A word or two about concessions. When I was a kid, you could buy three things to shove into your mouth at the movie theatre: Popcorn, Candy, and Soda. That’s it. This triumvirate of snacks should have been good enough, but not for the average, modern theatre-goer, oh no. Now theatres are offering corndogs, pizza, chicken fingers, ice cream, nachos, vitamin water, and cappuccino. Cappuccino. At a movie theatre. Can we as Americans not go 90 minutes without a $7 flavored caffeine fix? The people who buy cappuccinos at movie theatres are the exact same people who eat sushi at baseball games. I stick to the tried and true classics – large popcorn, two medium sodas. The popcorn, which tasted as though it was popped during the Eisenhower administration, was served in a cardboard tub large enough to qualify for a zoning permit, and the “ medium” sodas, I’m pretty sure, had their own ecosystem complete with tidal movement. The snacks themselves weren’t the only thing Supersized, because as soon as the concessions girl stopped bantering with her idiot co-workers long enough to fetch them for us, she presented us with the bill:

$18.50. For popcorn and sugar water.

So far, the night has cost me $40.50. If I had gone to Walmart, (not that I would ever set foot in the Magical Kingdom of Unbridled Consumerism), I could have bought three movies on DVD, four 2-liter bottles of soda, and two boxes of microwave popcorn for almost the same price.

“But Valannin,” I can hear you say, “you’re not paying for the movie; you’re paying for the movie ‘experience’!” Really? Because here’s what I experienced:

After collecting our rations, we attempted to make our way to the theater, where we temporarily stopped at Ticket Checkpoint #2. This time, a surly man with communications device in his ear made us show our stubs yet again. Now, let me point out that I’m already in the theater. I have spent the equivalent of a day’s pay (at the current minimum wage rate) on tickets and snacks. And I have already shown my ticket at the door. In fact, I’m pretty sure that despite the level of incompetence the first ticket checker may exhibit on a day to day basis, she certainly wasn’t going to let us into the main theatre area without doing her job. The ticket is buried in my back jeans pocket, and I’m holding the 1100 pounds of provisions, so my friend was charged with the task of rooting around in my ass pockets for a scrap of cardboard that someone has already checked. Finally, the Ticket Secret Service was satisfied that we had not counterfeited the ticket stub (although, at those prices, that seems like a tempting option), and we were let through – where we would stand on another line. No big deal – we weren’t there long enough to complain, and soon we headed to the theatre door –

Where our fucking tickets were fucking checked one more fucking time by another fucking moron with a walkie talkie. (By the way, no matter what line of work you are in, if you habitually carry a walkie talkie, and are not an active law enforcement officer, then you are, in fact, a douchebag.) I, being the ever curious soul that I am, enquired to Serpico as to why we needed to go through a third ticket check. His answer? “The show is sold out, and people try to sneak in.” Sneak in? From where? You can’t even get into the main lobby without a ticket. Is this movie so entertaining that hordes of theatergoers are camouflaging themselves as decorative shrubbery in an attempt to gain access?

Finally, we are inside, and manage to secure two seats in the direct center of the auditorium. I take the whole theatre seating arrangement very seriously – traditionally, the back of the theater is for teenagers who want to grope each other and engage in other nefarious activities, and the front is for morons who walk in during the first ten minutes of the movie. We sit, construct a rudimentary support structure for our silo of popcorn, and settle in to watch the previews, which, in this particular case, were ten times better than then actual movie.

Remember when, ten minutes or so before a movie, there’d be nothing to do but stare at the red curtains, listen to the horribly piped in music, and perhaps engage in conversation with your movie-going partner? That’s not good enough for 21^st Century Americans. Before the previews, there were ten or so minutes of non-stop, pulse-racing advertisements for local businesses interspersed with ads for the theater we were already in. Yes, nothing gets me in the mood for a good horror movie more than a woman with a speech impediment beseeching me to visit her nail salon. If we aren’t entertained (or solicited to) every second of every day, why, there’d be full-scale riots and a complete breakdown of civilization.

Ironically though, even the ten minutes of car ads and music videos aren’t enough to prevent this, as civilization collapsed a long time ago, as evidenced by the human side show that performs concurrently with the movie. The guy in front of me spent the first 20 minutes of the movie texting on his Blackberry, in blatant disregard for the five separate announcements telling people not to do this very thing. Seriously, there was a sign in the front of the lobby, another sign at the door to the theater, a video, and two audio announcements telling people to please, pretty please, put your cell phones away. Consider the level of intelligence one must have to spend $11 on a ticket, only to waste one-quarter of the movie communicating with someone who isn’t actually in the theater about what they are going to do when the movie is over. People aren’t interested in what they are experiencing at the moment or what others are attempting to experience – it’s all just background noise for their own selfish endeavors.

Now I say this without any malicious, racist intention, but if you want to actually experience a movie, you know, by paying attention to the dialogue and completely immersing yourself in the story, it behooves you to visit a theater in a primarily Caucasian neighborhood populated by people over the age of 40. The black couple to the right of me simulcast a play-by-play for the benefit of all those around them who happened to be visually and mentally impaired and only spoke Ebonics. For instance, every time the male protagonist did something, the male color commentator (pun definitely intended) would intone, “That be fucked up, yo,” providing an extra dimension of cultural interpretation as to the character’s motivation. His girlfriend, or, perhaps more appropriately, baby momma, would counter the character’s actions, by giving insightful commentary as to what she would do if she were in the character’s situation. For example, in one particularly tedious scene where the female lead ran back up the stairs after being frightened by a chandelier, Baby Momma exclaimed, “I’d be out the house.” I really don’t know the reasoning behind the black community’s obsession with the conjunctive form of the verb “to be.”

In all fairness, though, it’s not just the blacks – it’s anyone who has been cursed by the urban, hip-hop culture. The girl behind me, a 20-something (age and IQ) Hispanic woman laughed obnoxiously before repeating back every word of dialogue whenever the characters said something humorous, which, to my mind, never happened , but to her, occurred every fifteen seconds. In addition, because her attention span was only slightly longer than that of a dead ferret’s, she must have missed the initial introduction of the characters, electing instead to collectively refer to them as “Nigga.” For example: if the male lead said, “We’ve got to get out of here,” J-Lo would snort, and then exclaim loudly, “Nigga just said we got to get out of here!” She did this no less than 30 times during the movie. If I had a gun, the opportunity, and a choice between killing her or Osama Bin Laden, my decision would be ultimately predicated solely on who was more obnoxious during the movie.

About three seats next to J-Lo was another young “urban male” who, not only walked in ten minutes late, but during any quiet or tense part in the movie, would mutter in a stage whisper, “This is boring yo,” and then play with his cell phone. Since he came in completely alone, and wasn’t actually with anyone in the theatre, this means that he was speaking to no one in particular. Perhaps he was hoping that, in his immediate vicinity, there would be another urban male who would reply, “Damn right, dawg,” and the two of them would forge a long-lasting and meaningful friendship based on their mutual contempt for anything that didn’t feature a continuous, unending stream of exhilaration.

It saddens me that these people cannot go more than ten seconds without anything less than total, constant, sensory stimulation. And if said stimulation could not be found at the very event they paid to attend, then they would seek out a temporary fix from handheld electronics. It’s as if the entire population of Americans between the ages of 2 and 30 are addicts in an unending pursuit of stimulus. To say he was distracting would be an understatement – after the tenth time he said “This is boring, yo,” I was planning to break off my armrest and beat him to death with the cup holder, you know, just to keep everything exciting for him. Fortunately with about 30 minutes remaining in the movie, he got up, left, and never returned. I’m completely serious. He paid $11 to see a movie and found it so interminably uninteresting that he actually left the theatre. Maybe he got a particularly electrifying text message alerting him to a more exciting movie in progress he could ruin for all those around him.

Just so you don’t think I’m solely picking on the minorities, sitting in the back of the theatre was a group of teenagers of varying ethnicities who decided that since this was a horror movie, they were going to scream at everything that happened on screen. Even if what was happening wasn’t remotely horrifying. A door opened? Scream! A man stood up? Scream louder! A shadow passed by the wall? Scream for almost a minute straight so that no one in the theatre could hear the next six lines of dialogue! I wonder if they would have screamed with the same intensity had I run up the aisle and forcibly drowned one of them in my jumbo cup of Coke. I’m thinking, no, as they would have been completely desensitized by video games by this stage in their lives.

Finally, the credits rolled and the movie had come to an end, (“Scream!” , “Nigga said ‘scream!’” ) and I was finally able to get out of the theatre and drive back to my apartment where I have 2 terabytes of movies that I have, uh, “backed up” onto my computer. That’s approximately 2000 movies. And the collection keeps growing. Thank you, Internet, for facilitating my hatred for humanity by allowing me to watch downloaded movies in the comfort of my own home, isolating me from our society’s cavalcade of idiots, and saving me hundreds of dollars in ticket costs. So, barring some unanticipated, momentous cinematic event, I’m staying out of the theaters completely. Sorry, Hollywood, you’ve seen the last $40.50 that you’re going to get from me for a long time.

And for those of you that are planning on talking, texting, or breathing too loud when The Hobbit comes out in 2011, keep in mind that I showed up to the premiere of The Return Of The King with a five-foot longsword. Not surprisingly, it was eerily quiet in my section of the theatre. I’m just saying.

A Field Guide to NYC Teachers

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 00:55:00 +0000

I think I have established the fact that the Administration of my school and I do not get along. And there are plenty of reasons for that, which, at one point or another, will come out on this site. But I don’t want anyone to think I’m merely a disgruntled teacher grinding an ax in the specific direction of the administration – oh, no, that’s not the case in the slightest. The administration is but one component of the Tetragrammaton of Idiocy which drives the NYC Public School System, albeit a very forceful and inept one. Today we’re going to explore the next weakest link in the chain: the teachers.

There are four types of people who decide to become teachers, types which I will enumerate below in order from the most innocuous and good-intentioned to the downright reprehensible. Keep in mind, that if you are a parent of a child in the NYC Public School System, your child has at least one of these types of teachers at any given time.

Type Number One: People who become teachers because they love teaching; Also known as “The Professors.”

They operate solely on the idea that imparting their wisdom and knowledge to multiple generations of American schoolchildren is the most noble and important thing a person can do. For them, teaching is a vocation, rather than a profession, and they are completely devoted to the art and craft of instruction. They usually have multiple degrees in the content area of which they teach (another way of saying they are experts in their field), have had “real world” experience outside the bubble of academia, and will most likely destroy you in a game of Trivial Pursuit or Scrabble. Professors have absolutely no patience for things like bulletin boards, rubrics, or lesson plans, have no need for a “teacher’s edition” of anything, and refuse to put smiley face stickers on essays. They are loved by students and parents, but hated by administrators (and the other teachers). These people make up approximately 10% of all NYC teachers (and yes, I like to include myself in their ranks), and their numbers are falling fast.

Type Number Two: People who become teachers because they love children; Also known as “The Mommies.”

Typically hold a “teaching degree” from some little Liberal Arts college somewhere, and possess the entire collection of Disney Films on DVD. They are good with dealing with children’s issues and concerns, but their eyes will glaze over if you attempt to discuss with them anything more profound than Judy Blume. They are characteristically sweet, good-natured, lively, and most likely have a pocket full of tissues at all times. As successful as they are in the classroom, Mommies will always be of the (erroneous) opinion that a teacher cannot be effective unless he / she is also a parent. Will, unfailingly, take maternity leave at least 3 times during their career. Parents, administrators and students under the age of ten love them. Everyone else thinks they’re insipid and annoying. They make up a full 40% of all NYC teachers, but their ranks are dwindling too.

Type Number Three: People who get into teaching because they think they are going to “make a difference.” Also known as, “The People I Want To Punch Repeatedly In The Throat,” or, more simply, “The Vacancy Fillers.”

Typically, they are Caucasian, fresh out of an Ivy League college, (where they majored in something like “Women’s Studies” or “Social Justice”), are from a wealthy family in the Midwest, and use words like “reductive,” “diversity,” and “mission statement” in normal, everyday conversation. Their teaching positions are the first full-time jobs they have ever held. If they owned a car, it would be an Obama-stickered Prius, but they don’t because their parents foot the bill for a pre-war brownstone in Williamsburg. Most likely they devour and regurgitate the dogma of so-called education writers like Lucy Caulkins and Lisa Delpit but will sanctimoniously wrinkle their noses at E.D. Hirsch and Diane Ravitch. Vacancy Fillers received their teaching credentials through an alternative certification program like Teach For America, and, consequently, are completely beholden to said program’s ideology, which usually has nothing to do with children’s education, and everything to do with children’s self-efficacy. They are under the misguided belief that every single child is capable of receiving a full academic scholarship to Harvard, but their theory will remain unproven because after two years, Vacancy Fillers will either quit the system altogether (to go to law school, of course), or enter an Administrative Training program. Students mock them behind their back and throw school supplies at their heads, but Administrators love them. Every other type of teacher hates every molecule of their existence. Unfortunately, they make up about 30% of all NYC teachers, and, equally unfortunate is the fact that every year, there seem to be more of them than there are of us.

Type Number Four: People who became teachers because they mistakenly believed it was an easy job. Most commonly known as “The Veterans.”

Sometimes, they are a combination of Types 2 and 3, but most likely, they are people with no other marketable skills. They passed the certification tests by the skin of their teeth, teach directly out of the textbooks, and give multiple choice tests for every subject. They clock in two minutes before the first bell and two minutes after the last, and throw a tantrum anytime they are expected to perform any task that falls outside of their narrow zones of proficiency or comfort. They take all ten contractually allowed sick days and never stay for any program for which they aren’t being paid overtime. During class, Veterans will sit at their desks, eating lunch or texting on their cell phones while the students are engaged in pointless busywork. They use the same lesson plans over and over for years, regardless of how ineffective or boring they might be. Every day at work is one step closer to retirement, and they will never let a day go by without reminding everyone within earshot of that fact. They are only loved by other Veterans. They make up the remaining 20% of the NYC teachers and you should thank the benevolent deity of your choice that their numbers are rapidly dwindling.

Coming soon – an in depth look at each of these types, complete with analysis, examples, and even more sardonic, arrogant mockery.

Keep the change, please

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 20:45:00 +0000

So I got a Facebook message at 5 in the morning from my friend in Norway who wanted to be the first to tell me that The Anointed One, Barack Hussein Obama, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. My first thought, much like every other intelligent person around the globe was, "Why?" I mean, I'm pretty familiar with Mr. Obama - skinny dude, uses the word "change" a lot - I just didn't know that he had accomplished anything in the "world peace" department. Not as much as, say Al Gore or Jimmy Carter or Yasser Arafat. So I did a little research and was shocked to discover that all it takes to win a Nobel Prize is to have a "vision!" Imagine that! I mean, that's precisely the reason why Mr. Obama was awarded the Prize - for having a "vision of and work for a world without nuclear weapons." Amazing. The press release didn't list any actual "work" that he did, other than a speech given in Prague a couple of months ago where he told us all how "dangerous" nuclear weapons are.

Well, hell, my dad always told me how dangerous fireworks were, but I don't remember him getting any Nobel Prize. Maybe it slipped my mind. I'll have to ask him about it; it’s probably in his sock drawer or something.

The Nobel Committee press release goes on to say, "Only very rarely has a person to the same extent as Obama captured the world's attention and given its people hope for a better future," Those are pretty strong words for a man that was nominated for the award only 12 days into his Presidency. But it’s not like the Nobel Committee has ever come across a “rarity” like Obama before. Oh, right. Gandhi. Yeah. He was nominated 5 separate times but never ended up receiving the award. Maybe he didn’t have any “visions.”

Further in the press release, the Committee says that Obama’s award was granted “for his extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between people.” Except for Netanyahu, Prime Minister of Israel. And Tenzin Gyatso, the Dalai Lama (and past authentic Nobel Laureate). And Nevada Governor Jim Gibbons. And Chris Wallace. Extraordinary!

But they're 100% correct. No person has deserved this award more. An insignificant, meaningless award given to charlatans, murderers, and publicity hounds. Enjoy it, Mr. Obama; you've earned it. You've conned the world into thinking you're the second coming of the Messiah with your silver tongue and ill-fitting suits. Me, I'm going to go have a few scotches and have a "vision"of writing the world’s greatest novel. Given the state of mind over there in Oslo, I expect to be receiving the Nobel Prize for Literature within 12 days…

A Confederacy of Dunces

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 03:46:00 +0000

People who aren’t teachers always say the same three things to me: “Wow, you’re lucky, you get the summers off,” and, “You must love kids,” and, “Wow, I could never do that job!” What people don’t seem to realize is that teachers need their summers off for their own psychological health, teaching more than three years will drastically change your perception of children, (and most of the rest of the human race as well) and yes, not only could you not do this job, you wouldn’t want to do this job. I’ve been teaching in the NYC public school system for close to nine years, and I wouldn’t wish my job on my worst enemy. Which, ironically, is the NYC public school system.

Why? Because the entire New York City Department of Education is a perfect example of an entropic system – in fact, it was designed to fail. Don’t believe me? Since 2002, the NYC Schools have been under the direct control of Mayor Mike Bloomberg, a man who has demonstrated time and again that he knows absolutely nothing about education. How else would one explain the inability to deal with abysmally low graduation rates? So, ever the politician, Bloomberg appointed long time crony Joel Klein, a man who has demonstrated time and again that he doesn’t know anything about education either, to come in and clean things up. Klein managed to do two things – lower the number of school suspensions (he managed this feat by refusing to suspend students for even the most violent crimes. We had a kid who brought a 12” knife to school in his backpack, and his suspension application was rejected by the city), and hire the sorriest bunch of administrators he could possibly put together. Truth of the matter is that the vast majority of school administrators (Principals, Assistant Principals, etc) are not only severely lacking in teaching experience, but they have no interest in education at all.

Let me repeat that for dramatic effect:

Administrators of NYC Public Schools genuinely have no interest in educating children whatsoever.

How can I make this outrageous statement? Keep reading.

Let me start by giving you a rundown of the people who are “in charge” of the school in which I have worked for almost nine years:

The Principal, whom readers know as Warbear, has held a NYS Permanent Certificate in Special Education since 1996. She became a school administrator in 2004. Our senior AP has held a Nursery, Kindergarten & Grades 1-6 Permanent Certificate since 1998, and became an administrator in 2005. The ELA AP, you know her as the one who damned me to hell, so we’ll just go ahead and call her Hellhound, was also issued a Nursery, Kindergarten & Grades 1-6 Permanent Certificate in 1996; she became an administrator in 2004. The AP in charge of sciences has the most experience – 20 years as a licensed “Industrial Arts” teacher. You know: shop class. Our AP in charge of “Special Education But It Isn’t Quite Clear What She Does All Day”, received a School District Administrator Permanent Certificate in 2005; she does not now, nor has ever, held a teaching license in the state of New York.

There you are ladies and gentlemen –the illustrious leaders of our NYC Middle School. None of whom have ever taught so much as a single Middle School class in their entire lives.
It’s not just my school, oh no – the practice of hiring and placing people with little to no educational experience is endemic to the entire system. Principal of Urban Assembly Academy of Civic Engagement? Zero years teaching experience, received Administrator’s license in 2008. Principal of New Millennium Business Academy Middle School? No teaching license, holds only a provisional Administrator’s license. The Bronx School of Diplomacy principal? Ditto – no teaching license, and a temporary Administrator’s license which expires in three years. The Bronx Mathematics Preparatory School? That’s right – the principal hasn’t taught a day in his life and holds only a temporary Admin license from 2007. The Bronx School of Science Inquiry and Investigation? Hmm…no records are found at all of the principal’s license. And that’s just a small selection of schools in the Bronx. You can try it for yourself: Just search for a school here and then cross reference the principal here. Hours of fun.

But, Valannin, you’re saying to yourself, that doesn’t prove that the administration doesn’t care about education! No? Well then try this on for size:

I arrive at work everyday at around 7:30 AM – we don’t actually have to be in the building until 8, but there’s always plenty of work to be done. I walk in today and notice that my timecard is missing from the slot (yes, we actually have timecards, like common laborers in a sweatshop or something). I ask the payroll secretary, who, despite being the only other person in the school who is legally allowed to even touch my card, doesn’t know where it is. I’m about to give up and just go to my classroom when one of the paraprofessionals motions to me that not only does she have my card, but a notice for me as well. Isn’t that nice! A paraprofessional with no administrative or teaching license has access to my payroll card and is handing out official notices to boot! What a professional atmosphere I work in!

The letter she hands me says the following:

“You are invited to attend a three-part series of a Balanced Literacy Workshop…blah blah blah…” I stop reading after the words “Balanced Literacy” (I’ll explain why in a future post) and “invited.” See, in the strange world in which I was raised, when someone “invites” you to something, you have the opportunity to decline. I’m not big on workshops; I’ve been to dozens of them over the years and have never learned anything of any importance, or anything remotely related to my job of teaching English Literature. Usually workshops consist of Dept of Ed administrators (read: people with very little teaching experience) or overpaid consultants hawking the next great methodology in teaching. Methodologies, I may point out, that have failed. Hard.

Before I stuff the invitation in my bag (I save every piece of paper ever given to me by administration; it’s fun to watch them squirm when they claim to have “never said that” while you are waving the very notice on which they have said exactly “that”), I glance down at the time and date of the workshop. 8:30, October 6th. Gee, today is October 6th. I’m being told about a workshop being held in another location less than an hour before it starts?

Brilliant planning, and entirely indicative of the way the administration manages time in our school. Two years ago, they planned to have the entire 8th grade class pose for the “senior group picture” outside in the yard at 2:45 PM. We dismiss at 2:58. Ever try to coordinate 300 eighth graders in the Bronx to get together for a group picture 15 minutes before dismissal? Let me ask it another way – every try to line up 300 meth-addicted retarded goats and get them to board a canoe blindfolded during a hurricane? Same thing. I knew that such an exercise was going to be a failure from the get-go, and as such, I didn’t even bother to take my class downstairs. Sure enough, there were three fistfights and the kids ended up breaking a steel gate. Needless to say, the photo-op was postponed.

So, I made my way up to my classroom and began preparations for the day. I had planned to begin a complex project involving symbolism and literary theme, and I had some loose ends to tie up. Flash forward to about 10 minutes into first period. A teacher walks in, let’s call him Mr. D, clutching a coverage slip (that’s what teachers get when they have been assigned to cover a class for an absent teacher). We have the following conversation:

Mr. D: Oh, you’re here.

Me: As far as I can tell.

Mr. D: Then this must have been a mistake.

Me: I guess so.

He leaves. Not two minutes go by before AP Hellhound makes an appearance in the classroom. Here’s the transcript of that conversation:

Hellhound: Why are you here?

Me: I work here.

Hellhound: Aren’t you supposed to be at some meeting? (Notice how she says “some meeting.” If she was the AP in charge of ELA, wouldn’t she damn well know where I was supposed to be?)

Me: No administrator informed me that I would be attending any sort of meeting today.

Hellhound: Oh. Well, I think you are. (Again, what’s with all the pathetic dancing around of the subject?)

Me: Nope, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be here, unless you know something I don’t.

Hellhound: (MUTTERS SOMETHING INDECIPHERABLE UNDER HER BREATH AND SCURRIES OFF)

Two more minutes go by and yet another AP sticks her head in the room. For sake of this anecdote, we’ll call her Rosie, since she has been blessed with all the grace, charm, and beauty of Rosie O’Donnell, if she suffered a debilitating brain injury.

Rosie: You’re here…

Me: Why does everyone keep saying that to me?

Rosie: Warbear wants you downstairs in the main office.

Me: Now? I’m in the middle of class.

Rosie: Yes, now. I’ll cover the class. What are they doing?

What are they doing? It took me an hour to plan the lesson and a whole period the day before to explain it to the class. I wasn’t about to explain it in five seconds as I went out the door. So, I left and made my way to the office, where, sure enough, Warbear was perched on her throne. Standing in the back of the room is Hellhound. Here is the conversation in its entirety:

Me: Ok, yes?

Warbear: (feigning puzzlement) Mr. Outcast, can I help you?

Me: You just asked me to come down here. Rosie came into my room and told me that you wanted to see me now.

Warbear: Don’t you have somewhere you have to be?

Me: Yes, teaching class. I’m in the middle of instruction.

Warbear: I believe you’re supposed to be at a workshop? You were told to go.

Me: No, I was invited to go, and I respectfully decline the invitation.

Warbear: (GETTING ANGRY) Why?!

Me: A couple of reasons. One, I didn’t find out about this workshop until today at 7:30, and two, since it was an invitation, I decided that my job is more important than sitting in some workshop.

Warbear: Do you know what your job is? Your job is to do what I tell you to do.

Me: No, I’m pretty sure that my job is to teach English to 8th graders in this school.

At this point, Warbear snorts derisively, waves her hand dismissively at me, and makes a chuckling sound that can only be interpreted as “Oh, please.”

Me: (not wanting to get into yet another fight) Look, had you informed me of this workshop in advance, I could have made other plans. I’m in the middle of a project with my class. When did you first find out about the workshop?

Warbear: I don’t know. Ms. Hellhound, when did we find out about this?

Hellhound: Um, two weeks ago.

Me: Then why didn’t you inform us then?

Warbear: Because we didn’t know that there were going to be seats available until last night. (Seats? I’ve been to these types of workshops before. You sit in the library of some school with a dozen or so other people on folding chairs. It’s not exactly like trying to get Pink Floyd tickets).

Me: Even so, it might have been a good idea to let us know from the beginning that you were planning this. I’m just asking for a little professional courtesy here.

Warbear: But Mr. Outcast, if we weren’t able to get the seats, then the teachers who wanted to go would have been disappointed. We couldn’t tell them two weeks ago because they might not have been able to go.

Me: What?! If no one knew about the workshop until this morning, how exactly would they be disappointed in something they had no prior knowledge of? If you weren’t able to get the seats, then you could have just not told us.

Warbear: (GETTING AGITATED BECAUSE THE TWO ARTHRITIC MICE RUNNING THE LOGIC CIRCUITS IN HER HEAD JUST KEELED OVER AND DIED) Mr. Outcast I have no time for you! I can’t speak to you!

Me: You have to! You called me down here! You took me away from my class and all you’ve done is talk in circles!

Warbear: You do what you think you have to do. You want to call the Chancellor, go call the Chancellor. (Note – I emailed the Chancellor an hour later). Go call a lawyer.

Me: Ok, fine, I’ll go call a lawyer. Then I’ll call the NY Post and the President of the United States. I’m going back to class.

So I leave and go back to class. Rosie is sitting in one of the student’s chairs, which is pretty funny in and of itself, because it looks like someone dropped a zeppelin on a barstool. She pries herself up and says, “So you’re here.” I respond, “I was given a choice. And here I am.” She leaves, and I pick up where I left off. On a side note, one of my students tells me, “Ms. Rosie tried to make us do something stupid to the project, but I told her that Mr. Outcast knows what he’s doing.” And yes, she will be getting extra credit tomorrow.

Not five minutes goes by and the classroom phone rings. It’s Warbear yet again.

Warbear: Mr. Outcast, what are you doing here?!

Me: I’m teaching my class.

Warbear: Didn’t I tell you to go to the workshop?!

Me: Um, no, actually, you didn’t. Your exact words were, “You do what you think you have to do.” I have to teach. My students will always come first.

Warbear: Mr. Outcast, I’m asking you nicely now, will you go to the workshop?

Me: It’s too late for that. Maybe if we had this conversation two days ago, things would have been different. I can’t talk to you now, I have students waiting.

And then, I hung up. Of course, after the two periods were over, I fired off an email to the Chancellor, the union, and pretty much everyone else I have in my little black book who may be able to assist me with fighting the insubordination letter which is certain to arrive tomorrow.

Angry yet? Let’s crunch some numbers: I teach six periods on Tuesday, which is about one period above the average, to three classes containing 30 students each. Had I gone to the workshop, 90 students would not have received any meaningful instruction in English for today. Ah, but it gets better. I wasn’t the only teacher “invited” to attend today’s snore-fest; four others were given the same honor. Assuming that they also teach three classes, or 90 students, that would make a grand total of 450 students who would not have received any meaningful English instruction today.

Let’s look at it from a financial perspective: I get paid approximately $386.75 a day to teach. Had I gone to the workshop, the city would have paid me that same amount to do absolutely nothing. Plus, all six of my classes would have to have been covered by a substitute teacher at a rate of approximately $40 per period. Given that each teacher has an average of 5 teaching periods a day, the school would have to spend approximately $200 to cover that teacher’s program. My attendance at the workshop would have cost the school, and by extension, the City of New York, approximately $586.00. Four other teachers did attend the workshop, and so, their absence from the school cost taxpayers approximately $2350. Had I gone, the total would have been $2932.00. And that’s just for one day.

Remember when I said that the invitation referenced a “three-part series”? The administrators, in all their infinite wisdom, scheduled three of these workshops. This means at some point, the five administrators in our school sat down and figured that it was perfectly acceptable to take $8798.88 from the budget in order to 1) pay teachers not to work and 2) pay other teachers to cover the classes from which the original teachers were absent. (That’s not even counting the cost of the workshop itself. That’s right, each attendee at a workshop can cost a school upwards of $200. I don’t know the exact cost of this particular workshop, so I won’t speculate here.) In addition, despite all the rhetoric being thrown around involving NYC students and their apparent lack of “rigorous instruction,” the administration further decided that 450 middle school students should miss out on a day’s worth of ELA instruction. On three separate days. So that their teachers can sit in a room and fill out a chart entitled “What we know about Balanced Literacy.”

Now here’s the punchline. At the end of the day, I ran into one of the teachers who actually attended the workshop. She’s a 12-year veteran middle school teacher. Here’s the conversation we had:

Me: So, how was it? On a scale of 1-10, 10 being “total waste of time?”

Ms. B: 10

Me: Interesting. And what did you all talk about?

Ms. B: Same old shit we talk about at every workshop.

Me: Didn’t learn anything new? Helpful?

Ms. B: Nope.

Me: When did you find out about it?

Ms. B: This morning. Hell, the school didn’t even know about it until last night.

Me: What do you mean?

Ms. B: When we walked in, the person running the workshop said, “Oh, here’s the group who didn’t even sign up until last night.”

Me: Hmm…Interesting. Did they happen to give you any handouts or documentation?

She rummaged through her bag and then handed me a blue folder which contained about five Xeroxed papers in it. I didn’t even bother to read through it, for the label on the front of the folder said it all:

Balanced Literacy K-8
Knowledge Management Enrichment / Intervention
Special Education

That’s right. It was a workshop for Special Education teachers. I’m not a special education teacher. Neither are half of the other teachers who attended.

They don’t know, and they don’t care.

Why Johhny Is A Bloody Moron, Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 03:40:00 +0000

Because of my almost decade-long tenure as a NYC Public School Teacher, and my position as a union leader, people often ask me, “Why are the graduations rates in NYC so low?” and, “How come this generation of students seems so much dumber than previous generations?” and, “Is there one underlying reason behind the abysmal failures of the Department of Education?” The truth of the matter is that there are many factors behind the 54% graduation rates, 5^th Grade reading levels of high school students, and every other indicator that there are close to 1 million students in New York City that won’t be able to spell “unemployed” correctly on their future welfare applications. Over the course of the next few weeks, I’ll try to shed some light on this conundrum: the NYC DOE has a budget of $17 billion dollars, yet produces students who are so ill-equipped that in the coming years, they will not be able to independently function either economically or socially.

By way of explaining the primary reason behind these failures, I’d like to recount an anecdote that occurred just this past Thursday. I was summoned to the Principal’s office to discuss “a problem.” As a union leader, I am privy to 90% of the school’s “problems,” which, according to the administration, are 100% the fault of the teachers. This particular problem revolved around some laptop computers that were purchased for the sole purpose of student use. Please keep repeating these two variables in your mind while reading. Laptop computers. Student use. Ok, ready? Here we go.

I was in the middle of teaching an English lesson to a group of students comprised of both general and special ed students, when I receive a call from the principal, who, for the sake of this anecdote, we’ll call Ms. Warbear. Because that’s what her name actually means when translated from the German words which make up her name. Seriously. Here is the conversation we have, in its entirety, verbatim:

ME: Hello?

WARBEAR: Mr. Outcast, where are the willows?

ME: Um, what? Who is this?

WARBEAR: It’s the principal. (Note – she never uses her name, just her title). I want to know where the willows are.

ME: (PAUSE) Is this a riddle or something? Because I’m in the middle of class here –

WARBEAR: (SIGHS) Can you just tell me where the willows are?

ME: …Down by the river? Look, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about, I’m in the middle of class, and don’t have time to locate your wayward trees…

WARBEAR: (CHANTING, AND RAISING HER VOICE) The willows! The willows! The willows! The little mini laptops! Where are they?!

ME: (RESIGNING MYSELF TO THE FACT THAT THIS CONVERSATION CAN NOT BE ANYTHING BUT EXCRUTIATINGLY PAINFUL) Why are you calling them “willows”?

WARBEAR: Where are they?!

ME: They’re in my room, in the closet, locked up…

WARBEAR: I need them. Now.

Remember, I am in the middle of teaching a class in a room other than my own, I cannot leave said class, the laptops about which she is screeching are locked in a 10’x4’x3’ steel cage inside of a steel-doored closet, secured with two separate bolt-action locks. If the laptops suddenly went radioactive, and reached critical mass, it would still take ten minutes to get them out. I try to explain, using as many single-syllable words as I can, that her request is impossible, and I’ll talk to her later. I gently end the conversation by hanging up on her, mid-screech. Also keep in mind that no one, in any culture, in any language, for any reason, has ever, or will ever call laptops "willows." Except for her. Someday, the color of the sky in her world will be revealed to me.

Three hours pass, and there is no further contact until the end of the day, when, as I am signing out, I notice a post-it note on my time card. The note reads, “You may see me at the end of the day.” The note is unsigned, and does not, in any sort of way, indicate who the “me” is, or who might have placed it on my time card. Knowing that a fairly intelligent person would have at least scribbled their initials, I deduce that it is in fact the principal who wishes to talk to me. If I had even the most ephemeral glimpse of the events that were about to transpire, I would have just walked out the door, hopped into my car, and driven home. Alas, I decided to pop into her office to follow up on both the strange phone call and message.

A little perspective is warranted here. The principal never leaves her office. Never. For any reason. She arrives at 7:45, hightails it to her deskchair, and remains firmly planted there until 5:30 or so when it is time to leave. Even during lunch she doesn’t leave the room, instead electing to wheel her chair from the desk to the paper and food-strewn conference table to eat and then back again. I’m not even sure if she has legs.

I enter the office, and am greeted by both her and one of the assistant principals, who, for sake of this anecdote, we shall call Ms. ELA. Ms. ELA is the assistant principal in charge of “Literacy,” despite the fact that she consistently spells numerous words wrong on departmental memos, and didn’t know what a syllable was until two years ago. Seriously. At our school, we have five assistant principals, each specializing in their own brand of incompetence. But more on that later. I sit down, and am immediately sucked into one of the most bizarre conversations I have ever had the displeasure of having. You’ll have to trust my eidetic memory and the fact that I write down everything being said during a meeting and I have not added, nor omitted anything to this dialogue. Once again, here is the conversation, in its entirety:

WARBEAR: Ok, so let’s hear it.

ME: Um, you asked me to come. I don’t know why I’m here. Is this about our phone conversation earlier?

WARBEAR: Yes, tell me about the computers. Why did you say that the teachers couldn’t have them?

Note: During that morning's ELA (English Language Arts) meeting, Ms. ELA said that teachers could use the laptops in my room to execute some mundane, unnecessary task, which I won’t describe right now, suffice it to say that it is indeed mundane and unnecessary. I corrected Ms. ELA, saying that those laptops were for the students.

ME: I didn’t. I said that those particular laptops are part of a class set, which I didn’t want to separate. If five or six people came and borrowed them, then the set would be incomplete when a teacher wished to use them for class. We have plenty of other computers for the teachers to use….

WARBEAR: Who put you in charge of the laptops? I’m the principal here!

ME: Um, you put me in charge of those particular computers when you saw fit to store them in my classroom, give me the key to the cabinet, and tell Mr. Tech Director (not his real name) that I would be responsible for overseeing their use.

WARBEAR: Well, I’m going to have to have a talk with Mr. Tech Director if he thinks he can go over my head!

ME: You specifically told him to put me in charge of them. I was there when you said it. We were all sitting in this room, about two weeks ago, in the precise locations we are sitting now.

WARBEAR: But you are not a tech teacher! It is not your job! The job belongs to the tech teacher on your floor!

ME: Yes, fine, but Ms. Tech Teacher (again, not her real name) doesn’t have room in her classroom for the cabinet, and in fact told me yesterday that she didn’t want any added responsibility, and was glad that I was taking care of it.

WARBEAR: That’s not what she told me ten minutes ago. I just talked to her.

ME: I doubt that; I was in her classroom all last period, we walked downstairs together, and I watched her as she clocked out and left. I’m not saying you’re lying or anything, but you definitely didn’t talk to her.

WARBEAR: Well, we’ll have to call her in here – I don’t want any of this “she said, she said” nonsense. (Note – in the four years this woman has been principal, she has been responsible for more atrocities concerning the English language than Dan Quayle and GW combined, including, but not limited to, the senseless slaughter of every cliché, proverb, slogan, idiom and quote).

ME: Ok, call her in.

WARBEAR: No, I’m not going to. You have to realize that I’m the principal here – stop trying to steal my job!

ME: (PUZZLED) I’m not trying to steal your job – I’m trying to do mine. If you don’t want me to be responsible for the laptops, then fine, whatever, take them out of my closet then. I don’t want to get in the middle of some ridiculous power struggle here.

WARBEAR: This isn’t a power struggle – this is about you doing whatever you want!

ME: I’m not doing anything except making sure that our students have access to technology. As it is, you didn’t program any of my 8^th grade classes with anything except core subjects. All they have is English, Math, Science and History. For six hours a day, every day. They have nothing else. They have no Art, no Music, no library period, no technology lab. They deserve more (Note – it’s completely true. There are entire classes at the school who do not receive instruction in Art or Music, and never get to visit the library or computer labs. But one period a week they sit in the Auditorium and do nothing. For 45 minutes. We have 5 Assistant Principals, but only one Music and one Art teacher).

WARBEAR: (SMUGLY) Mr. Outcast, your class is programmed for extra core subjects because they are the Honors Class and they need the extra time.

ME: First of all, only one of my classes was given the designation “Honors” class – the other two don’t have art or music or lab or library either. Second, there is no such thing as an “Honors class” in this school, because two years ago you cancelled the program! (Note – this is completely true. Two colleagues and I spent six months designing a Gifted and Talented program for the school, only to see it get dismantled because one parent complained that it was unfair that some students were accepted and others weren’t. Specifically, her kid. More on stupid parents later). Thirdly, even if every one of my students was in an honors class, wouldn’t that mean that they should have access to things beyond the scope of the ordinary curriculum? There’s a lot more to education than teaching to a stupid state assessment test you know.

WARBEAR: (SUPREMELY SMUGLY) Well, maybe that’s why your classes do so poorly on the state tests! (Note – in nine years, my students have gone up an average of 27% on the state ELA assessment tests. One year, they went up 61%. Last year, my ELA class had the highest average score increase of every 7^th grade in all of the 67 middle schools in the Bronx. Yeah, “poorly.”)

ME: (NOT EXACTLY WANTING TO GET INTO THIS DISCUSSION RIGHT NOW, BUT NOT WANTING TO BACK AWAY FROM IT, EITHER) I’m not here to prep students for a test. I don’t care about the test. I have never cared about the test. I care about educating our students so that they can be intelligent, functional members of society with skills in abstract reasoning and rational thought. Something that is apparently sorely lacking in our culture.

MS ELA: (WHO UNTIL THIS POINT HAS REMAINED SILENT) That’s not a very good attitude for a Literacy teacher to have…

ME: I’m not a “Literacy” teacher. My NY State certification is in English Language Arts and Literature. My undergrad degree is in English Literature. My Graduate degree is in English Literature. I’m not here to teach kids to read. We have faculty members for that, but I’m not one of them.

MS ELA: Well, you still have to care about the test and do what we tell you! (I thought this wasn’t a power struggle)

ME: You can tell me to do whatever you’d like, and I’m still going to make my decisions based on 1) The State Standards for ELA, and 2) my professional, expert judgment. And my expert judgment says that our students need more access to technology, and less test prep. The NY State ELA Standards don’t mention “test prep,” so you know what, I’m not going to do it. (Note – Yes, I am an arrogant asshole)

MS ELA: (GETTING ANGRY) I’m a parent – (Note – this is the phrase that people use when they have run out of intelligent, valid arguments. It is a logical fallacy, writ large, and if I have to explain why, then you are probably the type of person who uses the phrase, “I’m a parent” to start off every sentence) – and I wouldn’t want to hear a teacher say that he doesn’t care about the state tests! You would never say that to a parent!

ME: I say it all the time! Ask them! At every parent-teacher conference I say the same thing – “I don’t care if your kid gets a perfect score on the ELA test or not, all I care is that he / she is prepared for high school and beyond.” And they nod their heads, agree, thank me for being honest, and then buy me Christmas presents. I got a phone call last week from a parent who thanked me for getting her daughter into college. (Note – this is sort of true. It was the student herself who called to thank me, and her mom got on the line later). If you’d like, I’ll write out a letter right now that says, “Dear parents, I don’t care about the ELA test in the slightest. I care only about raising the intelligence level of your child.”

MS ELA: (LITERALLY GETTING OUT OF HER CHAIR, FISTS CLENCHED, FACE RED) If I was the parent of one of your students, I’d come up to your room and make sure you went straight to Hell! (Note – This is not an exaggeration or hyperbole. This is an exact quote. From an Assistant Principal in a middle school. To a 9-year veteran English teacher and Union official. Yeah.)

WARBEAR: Please sit down, please sit down, please sit down…

ME: I think I’ll be going now. Have a great afternoon. (EXEUNT)

I made my way to my car, turned on the radio, and sat there for a few minutes re-reading and updating the notes that I had taken during the meeting. There it was, in stark black and white. Straight to Hell. That’s where an Assistant Principal of a middle school believes teachers should go if they refuse to teach to the test and demand more access to both extra-curricular activities and modern technology.

Let me repeat that, because it’s really the crux of my entire argument against the DOE. A NYC School administrator vehemently believes that any teacher who chooses meaningful instruction over test preparation should forever burn in the infernal depths of Hades.

Think this was a one-time occurrence? A freak meeting where emotions overtook reason and tempers flared? Stay tuned.

Dan Brown's The Lost Symbol - An Amazon Review

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 19:39:00 +0000

Even though I haven't been updating this blog in, oh, two years, I figured I'd sign in and add this review I did for Dan Brown's latest "epic" novel, The Lost Symbol. I've actually read every book by Mr. Brown, simply because I, as a writer, wanted to get a glimpse inside the mind of a man who managed to sell 80 million copies of a book which, quite frankly, wasn't very good. I'm talking about The Da Vinci Code, which, despite being the furthest thing from "literature," was somewhat entertaining. So I downloaded the rest of his catalog and read them over the course of a few days. When I finished, I raised my hands in absolute puzzlement, and exclaimed, "Eh?" Quite simply, Brown is probably the richest, least talented author working today for reasons I cannot fathom. He, much like writer Dean Koontz, director Michael Bay, and rock band Nickelback, has simply released the exact same work over and over again, changing only the titles and - for whatever reason - the public keeps dumping money on his doorstep. In any case, I'm not posting today to analyze, but simply to disseminate my review, which, thanks to a great group of Amazon commenters was pretty widely and unanimously praised (well, except for one smarmy asshole - I'm looking at you, Christopher Chappelear). In any case, here it is in its entirety. Enjoy:

Three years ago, Dan Brown and top executives in Hollywood and the publishing world assembled Thomas Harris, Dean Koontz, Michael Crichton, Paulo Coelho, Jimmy Wales, Abir Taha, and Rhonda Byrne in one room and said:

"Hello and welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight you are being tasked with creating a novel of epic proportions - one that will keep multitudes of airline travelers mildly entertained for a few hours while simultaneously insulting the intelligence of anyone who possesses anything higher than a Bachelor's Degree in Communications. Gripping intrigue; explosive revelations; multi-dimensional, original and sympathetic characters; realistic, cutting-edge technology; finely crafted and astonishing plot twists; meticulously researched detail - this book will have none of these! Instead, randomly tear some pages out of your own manuscripts, staple them together and have the product on my desk by Tuesday night; we need at least a week to whittle down your blathering drivel into a 120 minute screenplay."

"I'll be on the phone with Hanks' agent negotiating a deal where we send him a blank check, and he reciprocates his end of the contract by laconically intoning his dialogue while stumbling about in a tweed jacket, so just slide whatever you come up with under my door. Remember, it's got to be at least 450 pages - if it doesn't snap the strap of a Timbuk2 messenger bag, it's not literature!"

"Someone needs to throw in at least three dozen references to "things people do on the internet" too, please. You know, just try to work in the words 'iPhone,' 'Twitter,' BlackBerry,' and 'Google' every ten pages, that way readers will know it's a taut techno-thriller. And set it in Washington DC. Yeah, like National Treasure 2. People liked that, didn't they? Jimmy, have your boys just print out everything they have on the Freemasons, George Washington and Isaac Newton. Yeah, I know we used him before; we honestly don't know any other scientists. What do you mean your editors don't actually fact-check their information? So it's all just a hodgepodge of hearsay and conjecture? Actually, that's perfect."

"So, yeah, we have to have a love interest, too. And by love interest I mean "woman with whom the protagonist has no chemistry whatsoever." I don't know, a beautiful, wealthy, impossibly intelligent woman who not only is involved in ground-breaking research in a scientific field that doesn't technically exist (but is going to change Everything Forever!) but also somehow gains the ability to make incredible leaps in logic minutes before our protagonist, thereby completely undermining the purpose of his entire character. Which reminds me - we're going to need a villain, too. Has there ever been a 6' tall, rich, muscular, bald, psychotic antagonist with giant tattoos who kidnaps his victims for the purposes of his own "transformation"? What's that, Tom, you don't think so? Good - run with that. Throw in a plot twist about him too. Something that's never been done before. And how about some minor characters as well - an impeccably dressed black man who has keys that open every single door in Washington, an old blind priest who speaks solely in riddles, and oh, what the hell, a deformed, female chain-smoking Japanese midget with a gravelly voice. Yup, all in the same book."

"Um, ok folks, I think we're done here - Oh, right, thanks Rhonda, I almost forgot - the ending! People have been waiting years for Dan's newest, colossal secret! One that will be sure to rock the very foundations of every society on our planet, destroy centuries-old beliefs and shatter ideologies into powdered glass! Here it is - get ready - The Bible. Reading the Bible will teach you things. Things that every single human being alive already knows, but they don't know they know. But once these things are pointed out, people are going to feel incredibly stupid that they didn't see them before. But they're also going feel uplifted because they now know that they're one with God. Or they're the same as God. Or they made up God. Or they're made of God. It doesn't matter. Just mention "God" and "hope" and people will get all choked up. Abir, you have some experience here - just make it sound spiritual, inspiring, and wishy-washy all at the same time."

"Can you also make sure to bury this Bible in some well-known, but highly implausible location that certainly won't be figured out in the first 20 pages by anyone more observant than a small, retarded child? I don't know, Dean, somewhere in Washington - but it's gotta have a pyramid on top. Yeah, a pyramid, like at the Louvre. Dan likes pyramids, ok? Are there any places like that in Washington? Anything vaguely pyramid-shaped? Just Google it, you'll find something. And make sure a shadowy government agency first tries to stop our protagonist, then ends up helping him using sophisticated technology that couldn't possibly do the things the book says it can do. Just make something up - like time traveling thermal cameras or something. Or how about that liquid breathing fluid stuff from The Abyss? That's got blockbuster written all over it. No, Michael, we're not actually going to mention The Abyss in the book - that would be utterly ridiculous.

"Koontz? You had another question? Yes, of course - I was just getting to that. Every single chapter should end in a mini-cliffhanger that doesn't actually advance the plot, but instead leaves the readers completely unsatisfied, forcing them to stay awake for another two hours in order to reveal some insignificant and unlikely plot point. Typically, each chapter should end with one character literally pointing out something to another character, but never telling the audience what it is they are pointing at until the reader has consumed at least 30 more pages. Needless to say, the thing they are pointing at should leave both characters either "shocked," "incredulous," or "amazed."

"Everyone knows what to do? Great. All right guys, let's get cracking. Paulo, if you could stay behind for a minute; we found 87 more languages to translate your repetitive, mindless pedantry into. The rest of you, thanks for coming, please pick up your cartons of money on the way out..."

Done. Congratulations; you've just read The Lost Symbol. I just saved you $17.00 and six hours. No need to thank me. And if you're still interested in ciphers, riddles and secret messages, I've embedded my own within this review - a diabolical code that I spent as much time crafting as Brown did on this steaming pile of pulp.

Out Of The Ashes

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Sun, 08 Jul 2007 17:15:00 +0000

The answer, to those who have been asking, is YES, I am alive. And well. Too well, actually. And when Valannin has nothing to bitch about, Valannin doesn't feel much like writing. In fact, you might go as so far as to say I'm relatively happy. It's true; I haven't had a drop of Scotch in months! Wine, beer, Vodka, Tequila and a little crack, but no Scotch. Partly because I'm all out, but mostly because a lot of the reasons behind the drinking of the scotch have somewhat vanished.

Give it a few months; I'll be back on the sauce. Optimism abounds.

Don't worry, I haven't lost my edge. I still think someone should stuff Al Gore and Michael Moore into a burlap sack, shove them into the back of a Ford Thunderbird and drive it into the Hudson river. Live Earth, what a joke. Millionaire rockstars who took their private jets to the venue and then plugged in 50 or so 100 watt amplifiers to play overprocessed corporate rock under 1100 spotlights are going to tell me to conserve energy? Get fucked.

But I'm calm, see? No fifteen-paragraph rants about it, no vitriolic accusations, and no links to hypocritical articles. Just two little words: "Get Fucked". There is beauty in simplicity.

So where does this sudden inner peace come from? Why the 180 degree turn from alcohol-soaked pedantic missionary for all things rational to this laid-back, huggable soul? No, I didn't find Jesus, discover the meaning of life or become a vegetarian. In fact, if you call me "huggable" to my face, I'll shoot you in the kneecaps and then eat your liver. It's just that in three weeks I'll be making the long trek to the Roof of the World to hobnob with the monks, take 4200 pictures of brightly dressed locals shopping for yak cheese, and buy regionally produced beaded necklaces for 1000% more than they cost to produce.

So, yeah, I'm going to Tibet. Why, you ask? Let me start out by saying that booking trips like this usually involves careful consideration, planning, budgeting, and preparation. In true classic Valannin form, however, Tibet became a reality after a imbibing an entire bottle of Gewurztraminer amid the discovery of a credit card with a fair amount of the limit remaining. (not my credit card, mind you, thank you travelling partner!). That was about three months ago, and in 25 short days, we shall see what hath been wrought.

I'll be sure to keep you all updated on how a pack-a-day smoker is going to survive at an altitude of 20,000 feet, especially in a country that has never heard of Filet Mignon, baseball, or flush toilets.

Oh, and be sure to check out my new MySpace page at:
http://www.myspace.com/pantheonoutcast

There's nothing there at the moment other than a really great song, but I want to be one of those MySpace whores who have like 1100 friends, so shoot me a request or add some comments.

Please, no pictures of your fucking cats.

Namaste!

Move Over, Atticus Finch

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Sun, 25 Feb 2007 16:47:00 +0000

Occasionally, when I’m not actively engaged in my daily responsibilities of whiskey-drinking, cigarette-smoking and guitar-playing, I like to do a little pro-bono work for the American public. When people, or groups of people, begin to make astronomically stupid claims that they are “owed” something from the rest of the population, I step in and make sure that there is some merit to their arguments. Here is the transcript of one such mediation:

All rise. The honorable Judge Valannin now presiding over the case of Pure Logic vs. The People of the Incorporated Village of Hempstead, New York. This case will determine whether the people have any justifiable claim in their demand for a taxpayer-funded hospital facility in their vicinity.

Ok, folks, you can take your seats. Before we get started, I need to know who will be speaking for the defendants.

Your honor, I am Dr. Aubrey Lewis, I’m a Cardiologist from Merrick, Long Island. I’ll be speaking on behalf of the 65,000 people who live in Hempstead and demand Justice in the face of this neglectful, oppressive action!

Dr. Lewis, let’s not start the grandstanding just yet, ok? Tell me, why have the people chosen you as their advocate? Other than your medical qualifications I mean.

I don’t understand.

Well, Dr. Lewis, you’re not actually from Hempstead, New York. You live and practice in Merrick.

Yes, but these people have decided that I am best qualified because these people are my community, my brothers and sisters. The mileage between us may be great, but the ties of history are strong!

Dr. Lewis, all you had to say was “Because I’m black, and so is almost 53% of the Hempstead population.” That’s really it, isn’t it?

Well, yes, but…

Let’s move on. Dr. Lewis, what exactly is your claim? And please, once again, try to keep the drama to a minimum.

In 2003, The Village of Hempstead lost the only medical facility that was feasibly in close proximity to the people. The Hempstead General Hospital went bankrupt and closed its doors due to mismanagement and may I say, like the levee system in New Orleans, this empty building stands as a metaphor for the political neglect…

Whoa, whoa, there. The Levee System? What does that have to do with the hospital closing?

Like I was saying, the minority community has suffered far and wide at the hands of the so-called “privileged ruling class” in our country. The fact that so many of our brothers and sisters died as a result of neglect in New Orleans…

1,464.

What?

1,464. That’s how many people in Louisiana died as a result of Hurricane Katrina. And since Louisiana as a whole is made up of 32.5% of your “brothers and sisters”, I’m going to assume that 476 black people died as a result of the hurricane in that state. And, according to the Louisiana’s Governor’s office, 112 people die each day regardless of the weather. This is a poor metaphor, Dr. Lewis. Can we move on with the facts, please.

Yes, Your Honor. As I was saying, due to the closing of the hospital in 2003, the people have no medical care facility in their immediate area in which to receive both preventative and emergency care…

When you say “immediate area”, can you be a little more specific?

Sure, the original hospital was located at 800 Front Street, 1.3 miles from the village center. That is certainly within walking distance for most of our residents…

Walking distance? Sick and injured people don’t typically walk to the hospital, do they, Dr. Lewis? And you keep using the plural possessive pronoun “our”. May I remind you that you’re not actually from the town of Hempstead.

Granted, Your Honor. But at the very least, you must concede that the hospital’s former location was convenient.

Oh, most certainly. Having a hospital within five minutes driving time from the village center is definitely convenient. Now you’re saying that there are no other hospitals within a similar radius? I find that most distressing.

Well, there are (mumbles under his breath)

I’m sorry, Dr. Lewis, I didn’t catch that. Can you please speak more clearly?

Three, Your Honor, there are three Hospitals in the vicinity, but they are overcrowded and none are as close as the former…

Clerk, access Mapquest.com on my laptop and bring it here to me. (Receives laptop) Thank you. Ok, according to Mapquest, the closest hospital to the village center is Mercy Medical Center in Rockville Centre. It appears to be 1.82 miles, or about five minutes away from your village center. How exactly is that not “close”?

Oh, it is, but Mercy is overcrowded.

The website says that there are 387 beds available. How many were available at your former hospital?

213.

So Mercy is larger. Hmm. Interesting. Upon further analysis, there seems to be two other hospitals within ten minutes driving time of the village. Winthrop University Hospital is 2.78 miles away, or nine minutes (and has 591 beds) and Nassau University Medical Center is a 1500-bed facility only 10 minutes or 4.10 miles away. So, in summation, even though your former hospital has closed, there seems to be three viable alternatives all within a ten-mile driving radius of the Hempstead Village center. Am I correct?

Well, yes, but what happens if we experience a hurricane, other natural catastrophe or terrorist action? Minutes can mean the difference between life and death in emergency situations…

A hurricane? The last hurricane with the intensity of Katrina (if I may be so bold as to use your flawed metaphor) was Carol in 1954, and it caused only 65 deaths. Plus, according to the United States Hurricane Landfalling Probability Project, there is only a 26% percent chance that New York will be hit by a Category 3 hurricane in the next 50 years. Hardly cause for concern at this point in time. And, color me skeptical, but if New York were to experience another terrorist strike, chances are probably pretty remote that they would choose the Village of Hempstead as their next target. Terrorists tend to go after symbolic places of note, inhabited by people of power and influence. Or locations with a high population density, such as nightclubs, strip malls, or, ironically, hospitals. The very fact that the residents of Hempstead are lacking one may just be the key to the town’s salvation.

But everyone is born equal, and we're entitled to health benefits just like everyone else! Why should the minority community suffer at the hands of…

Who said that you weren’t equal? Look, the residents of Scarsdale, NY, whose per capita income is $89,000, approximately six times that of Hempstead’s $15,737 and happen to be 84% white, still have to drive an average of five to ten minutes to their closest hospital. Color and socio-economic status has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that sometimes not everything is conveniently placed in your backyard. You want to turn this into some sort of commentary on racial inequity, further polarizing our society, but the cold hard fact is that, in the words of the immortal Rolling Stones, you can’t always get what you want. Especially if you choose to complain about it instead of actively seeking to remedy the problem. According to my files, you had a protest yesterday concerning this, did you not?

Yes. Dozens of our supporters braved the bitter cold yesterday to fight this injustice!

Hmm…my files say “almost 60 people” showed up. And yesterday it was 43 degrees outside. Hardly bitter. No, the only thing bitter here, Dr. Lewis, is you. You, the successful Cardiologist who can’t seem to understand is that you cannot force the government to reopen a private hospital that filed for bankruptcy due to the fact that the majority of its patients rely on Medicare, a system that has seen major cuts in its distribution levels over the past decade. Remember, a private hospital is a business like any other, and exists to make a profit. If they fail to do so, they will close up shop. I find it hard to believe that you went through almost 20 years of higher education without learning the basics of the Free Market Economic System. According to my sources, the average salary of a cardiologist is $261,886 per year. If your patients were primarily Medicare recipients, I think you’d find that your income would greatly diminish. Besides, you have the same net worth of approximately 17 residents of Hempstead combined, and therefore could not possibly speak on their behalf. You are nothing more than a publicity hound who seeks to exploit your “brothers and sisters” while only sharing the most tenuous connection to them, that of skin color. I don’t suppose you have any plans to open your own free clinic within the boundaries of the Town of Hempstead, do you?

Probably not…

Well, then, this court finds you to be irrelevant. And, on the basis of the facts, and only the facts, I, Judge Valannin, protector of the laws of reason, logic and common sense, find that Dr. Aubrey Lewis, on the behalf of the people of the Town of Hempstead, has not presented sufficient prima fascia evidence to warrant a further investigation into this matter. I find all claims to be nothing more than unsubstantiated grandstanding, most likely to further Dr. Lewis’ career or lay the groundwork for a future political position, and thereby dismiss said claims with extreme revulsion.

In other words, you’re all full of shit, so get out of my courtroom lest my Louisville Slugger find your backside.

Court Adjourned.

Tolerance Is The Virtue Of The Man Without Convictions

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Sun, 04 Feb 2007 19:20:00 +0000

I know I'm a month late, but I finally made a New Year’s resolution: I’m going to stop being tolerant of things I cannot possibly tolerate. Quite frankly, I’m getting sick of the word and the abstract, often syntactically incorrect usage foisted upon us by the Thought Police of the American media and the educational system. You can’t watch a news program, or pick up a textbook without the word being flung at you from every corner, more often than not accompanied by a sense of shameful obligation. Religious tolerance, cultural tolerance; I’ve actually heard the phrase “gender tolerance” spoken more than once while at University. Because those in the aforementioned fields are typically of a one-sided, fanatical ambition – namely to strip the individual of the thought processes which makes one individual – journalists and educators co-opt words for their own purposes and reshape them to suit their own will and agenda. Incorrectly using the word “tolerance” to be a synonym for “acceptance” or “respect” is a perfect example of affront to the English language and the intelligent people who speak it.

Let’s take a closer look at the word. Merriam Webster indicates that the etymology of the word “Tolerance” is the Latin tolerare meaning “to endure, to put up with.” The very first definition given is: “to endure or resist the action of (as a drug or food) without serious side effects or discomfort.” Not quite applicable here. The second definition is “to allow to be or to be done without prohibition, hindrance, or contradiction b : to put up with.” This is a bit more apropos, and given the inclusion of the modifier “or contradiction” slightly frightening. But more on that in a moment. Dictionary.com adds a third iteration, “to endure without repugnance; put up with.” Now that has the idiomatic potency to prove my point. Nowhere in that last description is a word or phrase that remotely alludes to what the Thought Police desperately wish it to mean, namely “respect.”

The word respect has completely different shades of meaning. As a verb, “respect” means precisely “to consider worthy of high regard” and as a noun, “the quality or state of being esteemed.” There is no delicate balance here; the words are not interchangeable and, if you consider it carefully, are actually closer to contradictory than equivalent.

My multiple degrees in English (plus the fact that I’m frighteningly brilliant) give me the authorization to go ahead and further simplify this linguistic chaos. Every time you hear someone say that we should “tolerate” someone who is different than us, what they are actually saying is “we should endure the fact that he is opposed to the status quo, but we are prohibited from having a rational discussion about said opposition.” Remember, lurking within the definition of “tolerance” is the quantifier “without contradiction.” Ergo, the word tolerance is closer to the word “permissiveness” than to the meaning that the Thought Police would like ascribed to it.

You may ask why I suddenly had this epiphany, and I would counter than there is nothing sudden about it. My past articles will bear me out on the fact that typically, I dislike anyone who mindlessly agrees, accepts, mollifies or gives lenience to any segment of the population that clearly does not deserve it. However, while reading the news this morning, I came upon a particularly disturbing example of the further decay of American traditions and attempts by a tiny, insignificant portion of the population to undermine the principles on which this great, but fading republic was founded. The College of William and Mary, the nation’s second oldest (and I’m sure, at one time, finest) universities has recently been busy denying their traditions by stripping away the vestiges of their history in the name of “tolerance.” Earlier this year, school President Gene Nichols decided that he would remove a 70-year-old brass cross from the University Chapel in the historic Wren Building and lock it away out of sight in deference to students who don’t feel like they are “part of the community.” Now I know that the intelligence of the average college student has decreased in the past decade or so, but would you honestly apply to an institute of higher learning without leaning its history?

William and Mary was founded in 1693 as an Anglican institution; in fact, its governors were required to members of the Church of England. Originally, the school was structured to instruct students in the advanced study of moral philosophy (logic, rhetoric, ethics) as well as natural philosophy (physics, metaphysics, and mathematics); upon completion of this coursework, the Divinity School prepared these young men for ordinatinon into the Church of England. It was the first university to teach political economics, housed the nation’s first law school, and is responsible for the founding of Phi Beta Kappa. Notable alumni include Thomas Jefferson, Henry Clay, John Marshall, James Monroe and George Washington. At first glance, it sounds like a place I’d like to attend.

Unfortunately, times they are a-changin’, and the university has lost some of its original luster, tarnished with the pledge of “progress.” Although nearly 30% of the school’s 5,600-person student body still attends in order to obtain a degree in the Social Sciences, History or Government, there is a substantial amount of young people completely dedicated to wasting their time and their parents’ $30,000 tuition money. Only 21 people graduated in 2005 with a degree in Mathematics, but 44 secured one in Kinesiology, which is the “scientific study of human movement.” Approximately 12% of the student body earned degrees in Chemistry, Biology and Physics, but 14% received Bachelors Degrees in Music, Visual Arts, Ethnic Studies, and something called “Parks and Recreation.” I wonder what George Washington would say if he knew that more graduates in 2005 had majored in Theatre and Speech than in Philosophy and American Studies combined. The school that once boasted Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations as a required textbook has only conferred 98 more Economics degrees than ones in the Fine Arts in the past five years.

What exactly does this survey of academic trends in William and Mary’s graduates have to do with the fact that the university president removed a cross from the chapel? Everything. For you see, this is a perfect example of an institution fostering “tolerance” of a tiny, but vocal, segment of its population while completely failing to recognize that their university has strayed far from its goal of being a “Place of Universal Study, a perpetual College of Divinity, Philosophy, Languages, and the good arts and sciences...to be supported and maintained, in all time coming”. The 1691 House of Burgesses (engineer of the aforementioned quote) would hardly be pleased to know that “all time” had indeed come.

Take a look at some of the quotes from students who support Nichol’s removal of the cross:

“Because we're a public college, it's a better thing so that people are more open and more welcomed into the community," said Clara Ngomba, 19.

How did someone with such a tenuous grasp of the English Language get accepted into William and Mary in the first place? Ms. Ngomba is part of the “Contemporary and Cultural Issues Committee” (or as they liked to be called, the Contempo Cult) for William and Mary’s University Center Activities Board. (This group of students “informs students of applicable and important issues through speakers, debates, and discussions.” How noble. Here’s a link to their event schedule for the month of February. Wow. I’m overwhelmed with the possibilities.) Her goal in life is “To find at least a small bit of joy in everyday.” Another brilliantly parsed statement from Ms. Ngomba, I might add. You know, Ms. Ngomba, I’ll bet that the 5,171 White Christians and 281 Hispanic Christians who make up 72% of your student population found a small bit of joy in that small, brass cross that you feel is preventing people from being welcomed into the community.

Ro'ee Mor, a student from Israel, said that as an Orthodox Jew he was uncomfortable when he and other freshmen were taken to the chapel during orientation. Since the cross' removal, he sometimes goes to the chapel to meditate. ‘I feel more an integral part of the community due to this symbolic action,’ he said.

Mr. Mor is the VP of Multicultural Affairs for William and Mary’s Hillel Organization, an international group whose mission, taken directly from the website, is to “Maximize the number of Jews doing Jewish with other Jews.” Apparently they truncated the part reading “at the expense of other religions and cultures and in direct defiance of 314 years of American History.” Mr. Mor, if you are uncomfortable with the image of a cross in a chapel in a university founded by Christians, and you still have the gall to be a VP of “Multicultural” Affairs then I submit that you are indeed, a bloody fucking moron.

Oscar Blayton, a Williamsburg lawyer who in the early 1960s was the first black person to attend William and Mary as an undergraduate, sees having the cross on display all the time as religious bigotry. ‘Some of these people that are upset about the cross issue have a notion that it is a predominantly Christian community and Christians have more rights than other people,’ Blayton said.

It’s a chapel, Mr. Blayton. That’s where religious symbols are supposed to reside. I’d somewhat agree with you about the bigotry part if the cross was transplanted to your front lawn and then set aflame.

The real problem here is that college students, and the faculty, see the university as a microcosm of the world at large. However it is not. It is an insular, selective, biased institution that an ex-girlfriend of mine used to refer to as a “bubble-world.” For four or more years, students only interact with others who exist within the same self-sustaining bubble. Kids from wealthy families who can assume the astronomical financial burden that is college tuition commune only with other rich, spoiled, self-absorbed kids. They major in subjects that have no bearing on the world in the global sense; what good are you to the majority of the human race if you spent your formative years studying the nuances of groups which comprise less than 5% of the world population? And because they have been given their first real taste of adult freedom and responsibility, they confuse this with a sense of entitlement – just because you have to get up at 8 AM for a Women’s Studies class (after a long night of inebriated fornication) and cram for a “Physiology of Lance Armstrong” final (yes, that’s an actual course at William and Mary) doesn’t mean you have the intellectual or experiential wherewithal to become crusaders for social justice. Shut up, take notes, and get a job that will contribute more to society than just your self-centered rantings.

And finally, I firmly believe that it is this faulty notion of “tolerance” that breeds more hate and divisiveness throughout the world. We as intelligent human beings should not be tacitly accepting of the views, opinions, practices or beliefs of any group until both sides are willing to participate in a reasonable, rational discussion. You want me to respect you? Then do something worthy of that respect. You can ask me accept, ask me to esteem, ask me understand, but don’t tell me to “endure without criticism.” Because then all I’ll see is your own disrespect for my position, as well as your narrow-minded stupidity.

Oh, and sign the petition.

Stand Clear Of The Closing Doors, Please.

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Mon, 29 Jan 2007 03:13:00 +0000

Welcome back to another fun-filled hour of “Are You Fucking Kidding Me?!” - the game show that makes you want to sell all your worldly possessions, hop on a plane to Rarotonga and spend the rest of your life cultivating taro with the locals in utter silent reflection that America is completely and unconditionally lost.

Here’s how it works, sports fans. First, read this article from the NY Daily News. Ok? Done? Great. Now, count the statements which made you want nothing more than to claw your own eyes out with rusty, pitted gynecological tools. Did you get six? No? Well then, you’re either an ultra-liberal, bleeding heart or a complete and utter moron. Sorry, you lose; get back there in the pits with the rest of the blind, mindless automatons.

For those of you playing the home version of the game, here’s the correct answers:

1) The Federal Government, you know, the group to which you pay upwards of 30% of your salary every year, is giving half a million dollars to the MTA, a privately held company, to assist them in installing fences along their train tracks. Why?

2) Because two weeks ago a 13 year old boy was hit and killed by an eastbound LIRR passenger train. Tragedy? Hardly. Seems young Ari Kraft was spray-painting the train signals at the time and dashed across the tracks directly into the oncoming train. I, for one, think this is the best disciplinary initiative since the “Three Strikes Law,” and it behooves us as civilized people to follow it to its logical conclusion. Graffiti, made popular by “urban culture” (read: thugs, criminals and society’s bottom-feeders) is nothing but a blight on our landscape, and for years those who choose to desecrate public edifices with their juvenile scribblings were merely fined a few dollars or a couple of hours of community service (ironically, removing graffiti). The recidivism rate for vandalism would drop incalculably if, instead of fines, we shove all graffiti “artists” directly in front of the Number 6 Bronx Local.

3) As if this wasn’t a ruinous enough waste of taxpayer dollars, Rep. Anthony Weiner (a Democratic Congressman from Queens. Did I mention that he’s a Democrat?) is planning on proposing something he has creatively dubbed “Ari’s Law”, which would earmark $20 million (once again, of your hard-earned dollars) to “securing tracks around homes and schools.” We already had something like that when I was younger, Mr. Weiner; it was called “parents.”

4) The Executive Director of the MTA chimed in on the non-event saying that it was “incumbent upon the MTA to take as much preventative action as we can.” I don’t know, those “Authorized Personnel Only” and “Danger” signs, not to mention the flashing lights and 200 ton steel projectiles moving at 55 miles an hour seem like warning enough to me.

5) Another Democratic representative, “Councilman” Eric Gioia (did I mention that he’s a Democrat, too?) threw his two cents into this three-ring circus, saying that he has known for some time about the “problem areas” of the MTA, but declined to share them with the public because that might be giving a “road map to terrorists.” Terrorists! Only in America can a city official completely fail to do the only job for which he was elected, namely protecting the safety and interests of his constituents, and rationalize that failure by invoking the malevolent appellation of “terrorists.”

6) Number six is a bit of a stretch, so bear with me. If you read the original news report, you will discover that Ari Kraft, prior to his encounter with the Huntington Rush Hour Express, had recently celebrated his Bar Mitzvah. Hmm. And following his death, who is there to fleece the taxpayers? Why it’s Anthony Weiner, one of The Jewish Daily Forward’s 50 most influential Jewish Americans. The same guy who said that it was “not the place of the Department of Health to be deciding on religious practices,” referring to an 2005 investigation into a Rabbi who may have transmitted herpes to three infants during the ritualistic oral suction of the circumcision wound. Color me suspicious, but do you honestly think that anyone would give a shit if “Devon Jones” or "Tyriq Williams” had been hit by that train? I submit that, no, they would not. Politicians in New York only become concerned about black people who have been shot by the police more than twice.

Look, out of all the ways to die, being hit by a train is the only one where it 99.99% the victim’s fault. Trains don’t come careening around an intersection or sneak up on people in the darkness. They are deafeningly loud, they are brightly lit, and most of all, they ride on two fucking rails which are fixed in place. If you don’t want to get hit by a train, stay the hell off the tracks, it’s that simple. The fact that two elected officials should squander millions of taxpayers’ dollars simply because a spoiled, dim-witted vandal was too busy breaking and entering, trespassing and vandalizing private property to notice the speeding train bearing down on him should be enough to make you sick.

And if that doesn’t, then consider the fact that Rabbis routinely go down on infant boys as part of a “religious ceremony”, and yet it’s the Catholic priests who are vilified. At least they have the self-control to wait a couple of years.

I’m going to get letters on this one, I can just feel it.

F**K The Machine!

noreply@blogger.com (Valannin) — Mon, 22 Jan 2007 23:16:00 +0000

In my neverending quest to make myself miserable, I decided this past Saturday to go shopping. I’m not a consumer whore, and don’t need every latest bleeping gadget; in fact, I wasn’t even looking to purchase anything for myself. The DVD player we use at school was broken (yes, we have ONE fucking DVD player. The NYC Board of Ed spent more money last year on photocopies than on supplying the teachers. But that’s a story for another day), and I wanted to pick up an inexpensive machine. Plus, I needed a copy of the movie Lord of the Flies as we had just finished reading the novel in class, and what better way to kill two hours than with a little cinema. Lastly, I figured I’d get a set of headphones for my bass amplifier to redirect the slap, pop, thump my neighbors have been hearing for the past two weeks. Don’t say I’m not a considerate guy.

As I have mentioned before, I consider myself to be a rather efficient shopper: I know what I want, speed myself directly to the store most likely to carry the merchandise, make my purchases and go home. But for whatever reason - call it fate, call it karma - I have been thwarted in almost every attempt to do this very thing. I blame this on the fact that I still have a miniscule shred of faith in humanity.

Knowing that the country’s idiots are still mostly sleeping before noon, I get up at 9 AM and head to Best Buy, the nation’s largest consumer electronic store and principal employer of high-school drop-outs (well, behind Wal-Mart, anyway). And before all of you “knowledgeable” Best Buy employees write to me and attempt to prove what experts you are in your field, let me stop you here and say, “No you’re not; you are troglodytic morons who couldn’t get hired digging cesspools even if you were born with a shovel up your ass.” And even though I already know this, I still managed to put myself through the torture that is shopping in a retail establishment.

My first contact at Best Buy is a tired looking black teenager at the door who attempts to greet me by breaking down his corporate-office-supplied script into a monosyllabic drone, accented in the brogue of Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn:

“Hel-lo-and-we-come-to-Best-Buy. If-there-any-thing-you-need-be-sure-to-axe-a-ass-o-ci-ate.”

Frankly, I don’t want people greeting me at the door. Anywhere. For any reason. I see it as nothing more than retail welfare; for all intents and purposes, big box stores are providing employment opportunities to people with absolutely no tangible skills. Consider this:

The Best Buy near me is open Monday through Saturday, 10 AM to 9 PM and Sunday 11 to 7. That’s 74 hours a week, 296 hours a month. Considering that the New York State minimum wage is $7.15 an hour (and assuming that the robotic greeter doesn’t command a higher salary) that would mean that Best Buy spends $2116.40 a month on a person who cannot pronounce the word “ask” correctly. According to Adecco, a temp agency, greeters in Idaho make between $10-$12 dollars an hour. That’s an average of $40,000 a year wasted on employees whose jobs are essentially meaningless. However, as we will soon see, all employees of Best Buy are essentiality meaningless.

Like I said, I only needed to purchase three items, an activity that should take no more than 20 minutes. Plus, I knew exactly what I wanted, as I had looked them up on Best Buy’s website before coming into the store. My first stop was the DVD section. I don’t usually buy a lot of DVD’s, mostly because once I buy the latest movie, a week later the studio releases the “Super Deluxe Nine-Disc Platinum Collector’s Remastered Criterion Screaming Orgasm Edition” of the very same film. They actually had one of these for Clerks II. Who in their right mind would need two discs of director’s commentary on an hour and half movie about two fat guys making penis jokes? Other than people who work at Best Buy.

In any case, I perused the “Drama” subdivision of the DVD’s because Lord of the Flies is indeed drama. Not there. Then I tried “Action”. Still nothing. As I was looking, an employee with a painfully vapid expression on his face approached me and we had the following brief conversation:

Employee: Finding everything all right?

Me: No, but mostly because I’m not looking for “everything.”

Employee: (Failing to grasp my subtle humor) Can I help you find something?

Me: Yeah, I’m looking for the 1990 version of Lord of the Flies.

Employee: Oh, it’s right there in “Sci Fi”. (points me to it and walks away).

Why, I asked myself, is Lord of the Flies in the Science Fiction section? Could this be yet another example of the boundless stupidity of the Best Buy staff? I got my answer when I saw that the “associate” had directed me to a copy of Lord of the Rings. Which is a great movie, but I already have the “Twelve Disc Special Extended Widescreen Manic Obsession Edition” of that.

Long story short, they don’t carry Lord of the Flies. So I move on to the “Home Theater” section hoping that they don’t try to sell me an 8-track player. Luckily, this particular area was a barren wasteland, devoid of any “knowledgeable staff” and I was able to browse unmolested. However my frustration continued as, even though they had 23 different models (yes I counted) of DVD players on display, it turns out that they were sold out of every single one except for, you guessed it, the most expensive model. How fortuitous.

I’m not even going to point out that Best Buy, whose slogan is “Thousands of Possibilities” had exactly one model of headphones for sale and they appeared as though they were manufactured in Turkmenistan and crafted out of surplus ham radio components.

Alas, it seemed as though my quest was at an end. Dejected, I headed back to my car and faced the crushing realization that I would not be buying anything that day. As I drove home, however, I spotted the familiar sign of P.C. Richards, which, for those of you who don’t live on the East Coast, is a family owned chain of about 50 electronic stores scattered throughout the Tri-State area. According to their website, they have been in business for 97 years, which is quite a feat for a store selling merchandise which requires electricity.

Surely, thought I, a much smaller store would have a greater merchandise selection. Such displacement of logic can only truly manifest after spending an hour in a gargantuan retail wonderland such as Best Buy. Besides, I’d rather give my hard-earned shekels to Mom and Pop than to a soulless, avaricious corporation hell-bent on cornering the electronics market. So, with my hope elevated, I swung into the parking lot.

This was mistake number one. Upon entering the store (without the cheery harangue of a minimum wage greeter, I might add), I immediately realized why Best Buy was flushing these guys down the retail toilet. Most of the merchandise they had on display indeed looked as though they had been in business since the turn of the century. They had Walkmans. They sold car stereos with tape decks. I think I saw a Victrola marked down to 300 Green Stamps. And worst of all, they were completely sold out of any DVD player costing less than my weekly take home salary. And the only headphones they had in stock were pink. Enough said.

On my way back out of the store, I paused at a display of a $7000, 50” flat-screen television just long enough for one of the ravenous salesmen to catch a whiff of my existence. Mistake number two. Without an introduction or even a simple “hello,” a middle-aged salesmen sporting a JC Penny’s shirt and tie combo had sidled up endeavoring to persuade me, using every technique in his arsenal of marketing, that my life would be nothing more than a façade of tenuous fulfillment concealing a rotten core of failure and contempt unless I forsook my debt-to-income ratio and immediately purchased this particular television. Here’s the actual transcript in its entirety of our conversation:

Salesman: You know, that’s the new XBR KDL!

Me: Yes, it’s all clear to me now. I’ll take it.

Salesman: Are you serious?

Me: Yes. Can I have it delivered today?

Salesman: Well…no…actually, it’s not in stock. We can have it by Thursday, though!

Me: What a shame. I’m taking a vow of poverty on Thursday. Have a nice day.

Poor Shelley Levene. He actually followed me to my car with a calculator clutched in his hand.

The epilogue to this story is that Amazon.com had everything I was looking for and will deliver it on Thursday. I love happy endings.