all Hobbes, no Calvin

Has enough time passed since the apalling Wal-Mart trampling death for me to publicly appreciate, or at least marvel at, the use of the word "Hobbesian" in the first news accounts of that horror?

As in, "A Wal-Mart employee in suburban New York was trampled to death by a crush of shoppers who tore down the front doors and thronged into the store early Friday morning, turning the annual rite of post-Thanksgiving bargain hunting into a Hobbesian frenzy." It's pretty much the perfect adjective, if a little obscure for the lede. Anyway. Just checking.

I'm not sure how much they'd have to pay me to be at Wal-Mart at 5 a.m. on any morning, let alone Black Friday, but at least I have the luxury not to go. It occurs to me that that thought extrapolates into, "at least I wasn't crushed to death by mindlessly selfish idiots while working at my crappy job," but them's the facts. Nasty, brutish, and short.

my gift to you

On this, the first big shopping day of the Depression, a free gift to those of us plagued by the less than self-sufficient. Click to make it readable.

In conclusion

at not quite 17

I've never been that teacher. It should be easy enough to do. Given that I don't have 150 students, acknowledging birthdays should be a snap. This year, the computerized gradebook program even alerts me that one is coming, so it wouldn't take much effort to recognize each kid's day in some organized way. Lord knows we celebrate mine. But every year by the time I think of it, I've missed somebody, and then it wouldn't be fair. At least that is my argument, at least that is my excuse.

I always wish I'd gotten it together, though. Monday there's a big one coming up. I hadn't remembered but when the gradebook did, I said something right away.

"Monday is your birthday!"

"No it's not." For once he shies away from attention.

"So you'll be 17?"

"That's the thing, Ms. P. You never know how old an illegal immgirant is." My response somewhere between an eye-roll and a sigh. "My ID says I'm 18." I am not scandalized.

I'm heartbroken, is what I am. Or something close to that. This kid is too aware of his situation, too cognizant of his plight. It's possible to overcome, and it's possible that he might. But at the moment he's seventeen, or nearly, and he doesn't have it in him to fight. He believes in predestination as much as any Puritan he just studied, he believes in That's The Way It Is. Odds are, he's not wrong, but I refuse to concede the point. Perhaps, in there somewhere, he's listening.

"Illegal immigrants don't go to college, Ms. P." That's his self-protective mantra. No reason for regrets or disappointment if the goal is empirically unreachable.

"Yes, they do. It's hard, but it's possible." I wish I had more than two examples.

We've had the conversation that starts that way a thousand times, in a thousand variations, though we each stick to our parts. A shame that the best I can offer him is, "You just don't know how things will turn out, what the law will be, where you will live; it's why you have to try." I sound more certain than I feel. Sometimes I ask if he wants to work as hard as his dad has, as hard as he is now, for the rest of his life. Sometimes he thwarts me with, "Yes."

The truth that lurks in that smart-ass answer always gives me pause. I don't really know if it will possible for him to make a different life; I just don't want him to give up. Not now, not at not-quite-seventeen, when it all should be beginning. One way or the other, he'll be fine; at work he's ridiculously conscientious. But unrealized potential is hard to take. Just ask either one of us.

What else?

Meldrick spans two stellar cop shows

I finally saw the final episode of "The Shield" tonight, thanks to YouTube (sorry for the wiki, but the FX Web site is either bombarded with traffic or already removed the show). My DVR handled the 90 minute finale ok, except for the sound. I knew I couldn't wait until it re-airs on Sunday, and I wasn't disappointed.

"The Shield" is, quite simply, the second greatest cop show on television. By second, I don't mean runner-up. Rather, the second show to earn "greatest cop show" honors. The first? Well that would be "Homicide: Life on the Street."

The common thread? Clark Johnson.

In 1993, Johnson became part of the original cast of Homicide, playing Detective Meldrick Lewis for all seven seasons and the reunion movie, as well as directing several episodes.

Johnson's directing credits include episodes of "The Shield" and he appeared in the finale. He was the guy who delivered Corrine and the kids to their federal witness protection future.

I leave you with this sample, while awaiting the next greatest cop show. I think I'll keep my eye on Clark Johnson.

greetings

I may or may not get a message tomorrow; I'm trying not to hope. I remember a Thanksgiving text last year, just two unanswered words, and I wonder about an encore. I haven't heard from him in a while, and my kids tend to fall into patterns. there's the one who always and only e-mails on my birthday, and never, ever responds to my reply. Until the next year, when the birthday wishes and vague update arrives exactly on the right day (it's easy to remember). There's the one who calls apologetically, always with some school-related question. The one who sends second-hand greetings and baby pictures. The pair of holiday callers. The handful who stop by randomly. The dozen who have disappeared from sight. That is the traditional route, graduate or quit, move on. But so many of them fail to cut the cord: just check my inbox from today: news of a job, congratulations, unsolicited advice. Arrangements made to have dinner with a girl whose lost her mother. It seems only right.

Most of the time these continued connections seem like a testament, that I'm doing what needs to be done. Sometimes I wonder if they mean that in some way I failed, that they see me as only a friend. I shrug and check my phone. Life's hard. There are worse things that I could be.

Until the game is won

My favorite overused football joke is -- "Why doesn't Iowa have a professional football team? Because Minnesota would want one too."

My favorite Iowa football memory is the 10-7 twilight win over Michigan in 1985.

That's really beside the point when it comes to this.

According to published reports I have no reason to question...

Iowa Fans Busted Having Sex in Metrodome Bathroom
Onlookers cheer and laugh to cheating lovers in bathroom stall

MINNEAPOLIS -- Two Iowa football fans were caught having sex in a bathroom stall at the Metrodome during Saturday’s Minnesota-Iowa game.

According to a police report, a Metrodome security officer saw two people having sex in a handicapped stall after noticing two sets of feet with underwear dropped to the ground.

Wait for it.

A group of 15 onlookers were gawking at the scene by the time officers broke the couple up and wrote them misdemeanor citations.

Wait for it.

The woman, 38, was turned over to her husband. The man, 26, was turned over to his girlfriend.

Oh, and Iowa won 55-0!

As God as my witness. . .

Yes, this is the Palin turkey-slaughter video redux-- BUT with commentary by Keith Olbermann AND bonus WKRP in Cincinnati Thanksgiving episode footage. It's totally worth the queasiness.

I missed two

Which means I got a 94% on this Civics test. How about you?

According to the outfit that made up the test, the average score of self-identified elected officals (out of the 2500 people in their sample) was 44%. Explains a lot right there.

milk money

"Do they expect me to read that little bitty print all the way at the bottom of the page?"

Well, yeah, honey, they do. I try, again, to teach her. Because the consequence of not following instructions, as she's learning, maybe, is not a zero in the gradebook but a blank spot in the refrigerator where the WIC-provided milk should be. An unnecessary crisis. A real-life lesson.

I state the facts but try not to scold. Chastising accomplishes nothing, at least not with her. And the baby needs milk. These are the things that I know. So I agree with her that her teen parent meeting is a good place to inquire, and we talk about food pantries, and I e-mail the nurse to try to ensure this girl follows through and gets help. Life is more expensive than her paycheck can cover. The baby needs milk. It seems the thing to do.

And then. And then today she's all excited. Something good has happened, or is about to.

"Guess what?" I play along with the query that usually makes me smile.

"I'm finally going to get an iPod!"

"You're going to what?!" I do not say.

As I consider my reply, she notices neither my silence nor the consternation I feel spreading over my face. She rattles on about her coming conspicuous consumption as I hesitate. She's a mother, but she's also a teenager. No excuse, but a reality. I know what to tell her; I have no qualms. But how to explain the obvious so she won't reject it? It's time for class, so I take the easy way, and I feel as if I'm playing hooky even as I teach. As if welfare reform is my job.

In her story I see the arguments against government help lining up to be counted, I see the appeal of snap judgment. I resist, even in my exasperation. She needs to learn about priorities and responsibility. The baby needs milk. They both need help, one way or the other. I need to find the words.

Working on a Dream

New Bruce sure does help to pass the won't-this-day-end time.

Talkin' turkey with Sarah Palin

Oh, the har. Goodbye and good riddance.

Five words or less

Stevens loses Alaska Senate race!

Insult to injury

Having previously documented my possibly irrational feelings regarding the end of A-B as we know it, I won't revisit why the close of this merger is a sad day in these parts. It's just a St. Louis thing, same as toasted ravs and a gaping hole where a stadium once stood. But anyone with eyes can surely share my offense at what they have done to the logo!

<

1-800-@#$!%$!

I get it, dude. Seriously. While I have not had your specific crappy job, I have had one pretty much like it--just ask my friend here--and I know there's only so much you can do. You've got to answer the calls and you've got to resolve the calls and you've got to reserve at least a small fraction of your brain for pretending that you are not trapped in that particular headset-and-keyboard purgatory. I know how it is.

But, dude. I cannot express to you how helpful it would be if you would focus just enough to listen to what I am saying and read the words that I know are glowing on your screen, me having recited, again, my name and my address and my e-mail address and my phone number and my incident number if not, again, my laptop's serial number, being that said laptop is packed up in a box to send it back to you people, if only you would SEND ME THE LABEL necessary for said shipping. How many times do I have to explain?

Four, apparently.

It's not as if I launched into a rant-- at least not at you. I saved that for the bastards at Charter, lack of Internets on top of lack of laptop being more than I could stand. But try to sell me more services in the midst of blaming me for your company's problem, and I make no promises.

But speaking of which, stupid me for believing the part where you said, "we'll ship it out," and then the part where you said, "it was shipped out," depsite the fact that you could not tell me how or when. Since--this is my favorite part--it never happened. Once because you thought I didn't know what I was talking about and once perhaps just for sport. Silly me for just checking the mail day after day. Patience is not, after all, a virtue.

But persistence is.

habit

It's a football Sunday ritual, the quick switch over to CBS to see if Andy Rooney has stopped yammering yet: that's the signal that The Amazing Race is finally about to begin. If the clock is still ticking or there's anything on the screen but that annoying old man, it's back to football, straightaway. Except for tonight, when we happened upon Barack Obama sitting down with Steve Kroft; instead of flipping away, the girl and I waited to see what he had to say, and I marveled a little, again, that we're finally going to have a new president and that, of all people, it's him.

It's been a long, long time since the sight of anyone presidential inspired anything in me but a spike in my blood pressure or a dash in the opposite direction. The notion of listening on purpose? Unthinkable. The result was just too painful. Now this man talks, and I stop to listen, and mostly, I feel better: a new habit, Change number one. This new behavior is going to take some getting used to--I'm kind of a rut girl--but this time I think I can manage.

January 20th cannot arrive fast enough

by Arianna Huffington

So, $290 billion into his bailout plan, Hank Paulson is calling for a do-over. Now there is a confidence booster.

Providing "I-told-you-so" talking points to the what's-the-rush crowd, the Secretary of the Treasury announced yesterday that the government is no longer going to use any of the $700 billion Congress allocated to the Troubled Asset Relief Program (TARP) to buy, well, Troubled Assets from financial institutions -- the original centerpiece of the plan.

Instead, Paulson is looking to fortify the financial industry by continuing to buy premium stock in banks (aka the Warren Buffett approach). Unfortunately, instead of sending Paulson a thank you note in the form of increased consumer lending, the banks are depositing the government checks and taking a wait and see approach. (Among the things they've seen: another $40 billion handed over to AIG.)

This is not to say that Paulson's midstream direction change is a bad thing -- indeed, the lip service he's now paying to putting the focus on consumers is encouraging -- but it shows just how uncertain official Washington is about how to keep the economy from imploding.

In the meantime, oversight of the massive bailout plan remains a mirage -- undermined by White House inaction and Congressional turf wars.

Remember all the promises that the $700 billion in taxpayer money would be closely supervised? No blank checks here, we were told. A special inspector general was going to be picked by the White House and Congress was going to hand-select an oversight panel.

But despite over a quarter of a trillion dollars having already been doled out by Paulson, so far both the inspector general position and the five Congressional Oversight Panel slots remain unfilled.

The White House appears ready to nominate New York prosecutor Neil Barofky as inspector general, though it's up in the air how quickly Congress would confirm him (if they confirm him at all). Among the looming issues, a squabble between the Senate Banking Committee and the Senate Finance Committee over which would have control of the confirmation process.

"It's a mess," said Eric Thorson, the Treasury Department's inspector general, who has been doing fill-in oversight duty until the special inspector general is confirmed. "I don't think anyone understands right now how we're going to do proper oversight of this thing."

Bartender, another round of lack of confidence for everyone.

Unfortunately, while Paulson waffles, the White House dawdles, and Congress dithers, the economy continues to burn.

The number of Americans filing new claims for unemployment last week -- 516,000 -- was the most since September 2001, in the wake of 9/11. And the number of people continuing to collect unemployment -- 3,897,000 -- was the highest it's been in 25 years.

"The labor market is deteriorating more rapidly than previously thought," Andrew Gledhill, economist at Moody's Economy.com, told CNNMoney.

In the past week, Ford said it would cut salaried employment costs by 10 percent, global delivery company DHL said it was cutting 9,500 jobs and financial service provider Fidelity Investment announced 1,300 job cuts. The list goes on and on: Circuit City, Pizza Hut, Morgan Stanley, Condé Nast, Yahoo, US Steel, Cesna, and QVC.

According to the Department of Labor, 240,000 jobs were lost in October, bringing the total of 2008 pink slips to 1.2 million. The unemployment rate is 6.5 percent, the highest it's been in 14 years.

On the housing front, another 84,868 homes were lost to foreclosure in October; there have been 936,439 home foreclosures since August 2007. And the housing future continues to look bleak: in October, 279,561 borrowers received at least one foreclosure-related notice, including default notices, notices of auction sales and bank repossessions, according to RealtyTrac. One in every 452 housing units received one of these. Nevada, Arizona, and Florida had the country's top three foreclosure rates.

Despite the carnage in the housing market, the White House continues to offer what the New York Times labeled "pathetic responses" and inadequate "half measures." And much-discussed legislation allowing bankrupt homeowners to rework their mortgages in court remains in a holding pattern, awaiting action from the lame duck Congress. I wouldn't hold my breath.

January 20th cannot arrive fast enough for the American people.

Commutin' Music

In honor of the fact that this week is never. gonna. end.

Parenting for dummies

Oh, how I wish someone would write this book. Maybe I should. It seems I'm qualified.

I don't know quite when I got so dumb, though the transition to high school seems logical. Once best buddies, our relationship seems to have deteriorated to angry dad and brooding son.

"Why can't you just let me figure it out on my own?" he said for the second year in a row as grades that started out so promising continued their downward spiral as the trimester quickly draws to a close. If only you gave me some reason to think you could.

Much as I appreciate e-mail progress reports from teachers, they only add fuel to the fire. Less-than stellar grades I can accept. Missing assignments I can't.

"You yell too much." Guilty as charged. My intentions are pure, even if my methods are flawed.

"Sounds like a normal kid," said the youth pastor we consulted today. Also, "does he understand consequences?"

Yes and no.

Serious consequences like throwing away a free education or accomplishing a dream of playing college baseball don't seem to resonate. But trivial consequences like the threat of missing a high school football playoff game as a spectator? That's enough, apparently, to prompt the suggestion that he might just quit baseball.

He didn't mean it, I hope. He just knows how to get my goat.

Maybe I went too far with the academic contract, but it doesn't seem unreasonable to me.

--Meet with your teachers to discuss strategies for improving grades and/or submitting missing assignments.
--Meet with geometry or Spanish teachers after school for extra help, or attend study table.
--Spend 20 minutes each without distraction studying geometry and Spanish each night.
--Begin using your planner so you don't miss any more assignments.

Is that really so unreasonable?

Failure to comply results in grounding, including loss of cell phone, computer, television, IPod and video game privileges. Most of those things didn't exist when I was his age, so maybe I don't understand how dire the consequences are.

Or maybe I just don't understand teenagers.

Much as I'd love to have my buddy back, my first responsibility is to be your dad. Admittedly, I have much room for improvement. But so do you. What do you say we work on that?