So the teacher e-mails the guidance counselor to confirm the origin of the new new kid.
(Insert pause full of furious brainstorming.)
"HAITI?!?"
left
random thoughts from middle America since Nov. 8, 2006
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Joke of the Day, Except It's Not A Joke Edition |
So the teacher e-mails the guidance counselor to confirm the origin of the new new kid.
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nothing |
It's a fine line down the slippery slope that separates doing from did or intended or used to back in the day. Out of the habit, I am struggling mightily to write here. The back side is littered with fragments of thoughts, incomplete drafts, the detritus of can't-quite-make-it-work. I try and fail, try and fail, try and fail. And yet, I have not quit, though you'll have to take my word, being nothing here to prove otherwise. I suppose this is strategery 432, writing about not being able to write in the hopes that it leads to writing. Not yet, anyway.
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Taking the progress out of health care reform |
It's been a long time since I posted here. Guess I haven't I haven't had much to say. Then I saw this.
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multi |
Today's one of those days when I look up from correcting the Portuguese spelling (not that I know uma palavra of Portuguese) in a letter home to a family who doesn't realize that the location of their new apartment will require the deeply SPED son to change schools while talking to a graduate who has stopped by discuss his moral turpitude immigration problem and college applications while putting together a Spring schedule for the Vietnamese newcomer who is terrified of change while supervising make-up work for the kid who is suddenly failing my Civics class while explaining the Industrial Revolution and nativism and the need to keep trying to a girl whose history teacher has just told her she's not worth her time and she might as well quit while trying to get ready for my next class while loaning lunch money while making a note to check with the clinic about the ringworm and the pinkeye and the teenage miscarriage while my lunch grows cold and it occurs to me: there must be an easier way.
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taper madness |
I would totally feel better if I went out and ran around the block. I know this with absolute certainty. Nevermind that it's after eleven p.m., pitch black and cold, and that my street doesn't have streetlights not to mention blocks. Not to mention the fact that the ten godawful slow miles today already aggravated my knee, and I'd get barely anywhere before limping home feeling worse than when I started. That is entirely irrelevant. I need endorphins, stat. Or whatever biological compound that would quell these quite literal jitters. Perhaps I'll start smoking just so I can quit; that jones might outweigh this one. Maybe. Or at least distract me from the loop of based-oh-so-slightly-on-reality thoughts that are racing through what's left of my mind. Five months of training will pay off-or not--two weeks from today if the meantime doesn't kill me.
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to reiterate |
I think I'll make a sign, or better yet a series. Paper the hallway down to my door with a Burma Shave shout-out no one would get.
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the lunatic fringe |
So it turns out that if I were to stream the duly-elected President's Back-to-School speech into my classroom next week I would be eligible for the same suspension as the teacher who played NWA's "Fuck Tha Police" to her class without permission. Both, I'm told, are in the same category--get this: potentially objectionable--and thus students or their parents must have the choice to opt-out. Stay in school? What socialist propaganda!
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Let Them Eat Big Macs |
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in retrospect |
I wouldn't mind a little manufactured teenage drama. A little he-said she-said would-he did-he ask her out. A bit of I-forgot-my-homework, a dash of can-you-believe-her-hair. A side of and-then-and-then-and-I-would-never cut by how-could-he-even-dare. I would take all that eye-rolling, whispers, and passed notes in straight-up even trade for the kid caught between divorced parents, the runaway, and the drugs. For the lingering affects of past abuse, for the brushes with the law, for the bad bad choices oft repeated, truancy, and petty theft. For "sometimes I think I wanna die." For the After School Special come to life.
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eyewitness |
The kids tell a story, or they did, for too long of a while, about me moving faster than they'd ever seen me move. I was snatching a cell phone from a girl who kept pushing it; it was a triumph of one-upmanship and stealth.
This is not that story.
It is, instead, a story of red-and-white streak from the door to the far corner. Of a file drawer yanked out, and a lunch tossed in.
A lunch. A sandwich, and breadsticks, and an apple. A lunch.
And the time it takes for me to form a question-- "What?" and "How?" and "Why?" all competing on my tongue--the door again opens, far more deliberately now. The posse has arrived. And the perpetrator is out and then in again, and I rise to take my turn.
"Don't do it! Don't do it! Ms. P.!" Volume low, urgency high.
And I hope my look back to the culprit says, "Are you nuts?!" Because good grief. In seconds, I've ratted him out. But the time it will take to get past the fact that he thought or expected or even hoped that I'd lie to cover up a petty theft, even without a half-dozen other witnesses? I have yet to calculate.
"What have I ever said or done that would make anyone believe I'd do that?" I ask the onlookers, "What?!" A shrug. A shake of the head. Blank stares.
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Crime wave |
As if last year's flood weren't enough, my town seems to be going to hell in a handbasket. Though I live in what is lovingly referred to as "the hood", I've never felt unsafe. Recent events are troubling, though.
On the morning of March 24, a woman was robbed at gunpoint in the 1400 block of First Avenue East while she was sitting in her car in a parking lot. Robbery at 7:40 a.m.! And I understand the culprit dropped two beers out of his pockets during the crime, and returned to fetch them.
Less than 18 hours later, two men were shot at Who's on First sports bar, 1323 First Ave. SE. Granted, this happened at a more fashionable hour for crime, but still.
As if that weren't enough, there's now this.
I can hardly wait for summer.
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Day One |
It's his first day of school since 2001. Seven years, no eight, since a desk and a teacher. His first day since he was ten.
We've been working for an hour, maybe more, when I realize. We have practiced introductions, spelled his name, begun at the beginning. He's shown that he knows the English alphabet, mostly, and more numbers than I expect. He now understands me when I repeat phrases like, "Open your notebook," or, "Write your name," commands that teachers give. We're working hard and we're smiling, each of us for our own reasons.
And then I try some math.
The gaps I see don't shock me or particularly surprise, but something does not, shall I say, add up, so I pause to figure it out. And in a conversation I cannot begin to transcribe, all Spanglish and cryptic notes and telepathy, I conclude, definitively, that the boy's education was not as I've been told. For once, I hadn't seen his papers.
"No secundaria?" I repeat, once more. He shakes his head; I nod. He looks at me a little warily.
"Okay," I say and again to the wordless question, "It is okay." A pause. "Tomorrow," I add, thinking of the algebra that is looming, "tomorrow, a different math."
As if it's that easy in a high school that has "raised its standards" by knocking out the steps. As if the fact that no one in the office noticed they were granting credits from a primary school report card--I confirmed it later--won't complicate day two. I know exactly what's ahead: more phone calls and paperwork, more compromise and confusion. A headache, guaranteed. And that's the best case scenario. But at the moment I only feel a good kind of tired because I taught, and my student learned.
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intervention |
"I'm not going to tell them that. Are you nuts?"
"You won't be in trouble," I say, without quite knowing if it's true. But he rouses himself from his slouch in the corner and goes willingly to Chemistry for the first time maybe ever. And when he leaves I abandon my gathering class and warn him as he walks that if he won't go to the nurse, I will. I veer first to Guidance, roust his counselor then his principal, assemble a posse that fans out between classroom and clinic. The speed of our steps tells the story.
Doors are opened and shut, chairs pulled up beside. Denials are issued and vitals are taken. All are inconclusive.
I again meet his principal out in the hall. "He says he was joking, that you just overheard." I tell him the actual story, the one about the friend and the pills and the pain he was feeling: the facts as presented to me directly a ten-minute eternity ago. The father is called.
I'm not wrong. I am not mistaken. His past habits, his struggles, his complaints this morning--it adds up to a negative sum. Officially, what's true is irrelevant. His early morning confession is like shouting "bomb!" at the airport: say the word, be exited regardless. Liability is the watchword. But it's not why I dashed down the hall.
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just do it |
How can I capture that tone?
"Ms. PppppPPPPpppPpPPPPpppPPppppPpppppp," is a whine that rises and falls, a failed wheedle that tightens my shoulders. A mistake. It is a too-common greeting before 7:30 a.m., an ungodly hour for conversation, let alone begging, let alone demanding, let alone insisting that all one's problems should go elsewhere for blame.
"I need a new geometry teacher." It's the second week of the semester.
"No." Even if it were possible, it wouldn't happen. "Besides, you said you liked him."
"Not now. He's going to fail me. He wants to." And with that, the button's pushed.
"Do we really have to have this conversation?" I want to say. "Do we really have to do this?" Do I really have to say for the six hundredth time that nobody wants kids to fail and that a 41 on a test in a class that you've skipped is not the teacher's fault?
I log in, pull up the grades, point out the zeroes and listen to him cling to an alternate reality where telling the teacher that attendance is none of his business has no consequence, where paying attention is entirely optional and effort is not required. We both are frustrated, him because he wants it to be easy, me because he's making it hard.
"Your grade. Your graduation. Your responsibility." The dreaded "R" word pulls the trigger:
"I don't care!"
"If you didn't, you wouldn't be in here," I say, and he raises his eyes to the ceiling with the universal adolescent gesture for, "why won't you do what I want?" The bell rings and the round ends. He walks away muttering, and I stand silent, resetting. It is 7:40 in the morning.
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Krugman: The Obama Gap |
from the New York Times
“I don’t believe it’s too late to change course, but it will be if we don’t take dramatic action as soon as possible. If nothing is done, this recession could linger for years.”
So declared President-elect Barack Obama on Thursday, explaining why the nation needs an extremely aggressive government response to the economic downturn. He’s right. This is the most dangerous economic crisis since the Great Depression, and it could all too easily turn into a prolonged slump.
But Mr. Obama’s prescription doesn’t live up to his diagnosis.
The economic plan he’s offering isn’t as strong as his language about the economic threat. In fact, it falls well short of what’s needed.
Bear in mind just how big the U.S. economy is. Given sufficient demand for its output, America would produce more than $30 trillion worth of goods and services over the next two years. But with both consumer spending and business investment plunging, a huge gap is opening up between what the American economy can produce and what it’s able to sell.
And the Obama plan is nowhere near big enough to fill this “output gap.”
Earlier this week, the Congressional Budget Office came out with its latest analysis of the budget and economic outlook. The budget office says that in the absence of a stimulus plan, the unemployment rate would rise above 9 percent by early 2010, and stay high for years to come.
Grim as this projection is, by the way, it’s actually optimistic compared with some independent forecasts. Mr. Obama himself has been saying that without a stimulus plan, the unemployment rate could go into double digits.
Even the C.B.O. says, however, that “economic output over the next two years will average 6.8 percent below its potential.” This translates into $2.1 trillion of lost production. “Our economy could fall $1 trillion short of its full capacity,” declared Mr. Obama on Thursday. Well, he was actually understating things.
To close a gap of more than $2 trillion — possibly a lot more, if the budget office projections turn out to be too optimistic — Mr. Obama offers a $775 billion plan. And that’s not enough.
Now, fiscal stimulus can sometimes have a “multiplier” effect: In addition to the direct effects of, say, investment in infrastructure on demand, there can be a further indirect effect as higher incomes lead to higher consumer spending. Standard estimates suggest that a dollar of public spending raises G.D.P. by around $1.50.
But only about 60 percent of the Obama plan consists of public spending. The rest consists of tax cuts — and many economists are skeptical about how much these tax cuts, especially the tax breaks for business, will actually do to boost spending. (A number of Senate Democrats apparently share these doubts.) Howard Gleckman of the nonpartisan Tax Policy Center summed it up in the title of a recent blog posting: “lots of buck, not much bang.”
The bottom line is that the Obama plan is unlikely to close more than half of the looming output gap, and could easily end up doing less than a third of the job.
Why isn’t Mr. Obama trying to do more?
Is the plan being limited by fear of debt? There are dangers associated with large-scale government borrowing — and this week’s C.B.O. report projected a $1.2 trillion deficit for this year. But it would be even more dangerous to fall short in rescuing the economy. The president-elect spoke eloquently and accurately on Thursday about the consequences of failing to act — there’s a real risk that we’ll slide into a prolonged, Japanese-style deflationary trap — but the consequences of failing to act adequately aren’t much better.
Is the plan being limited by a lack of spending opportunities? There are only a limited number of “shovel-ready” public investment projects — that is, projects that can be started quickly enough to help the economy in the near term. But there are other forms of public spending, especially on health care, that could do good while aiding the economy in its hour of need.
Or is the plan being limited by political caution? Press reports last month indicated that Obama aides were anxious to keep the final price tag on the plan below the politically sensitive trillion-dollar mark. There also have been suggestions that the plan’s inclusion of large business tax cuts, which add to its cost but will do little for the economy, is an attempt to win Republican votes in Congress.
Whatever the explanation, the Obama plan just doesn’t look adequate to the economy’s need. To be sure, a third of a loaf is better than none. But right now we seem to be facing two major economic gaps: the gap between the economy’s potential and its likely performance, and the gap between Mr. Obama’s stern economic rhetoric and his somewhat disappointing economic plan.
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#@$!! |
Of course he did. Of course! He did! Blago appointed a black guy. And when he or some lingering toady thought of it, I bet they laughed and laughed and laughed. Or quoted, say, Borat when he encountered an Uzbekistan embassy.
I can't believe I live here. Is it possible to secede? It's not as if Chicago, our de facto capitol, even acknowledges that this part of the state. The "governor" never even sees Springfield, home of the legislature and a renovated yet empty mansion, so seventy miles southwest of there is surely off the edge of their world. And most every Missourian I've ever met seems to think that the universe ends somewhere over the Mississippi, or that the only thing East of St. Louis is East St. Louis, either that or the neighboring strip clubs. So, clearly living neither there nor there, we can hereby declare ourselves independent. It'll be like Texas, way back when. I believe the Lone Star Republic managed for ten years. Surely that'll be long enough for this to all blow over, to just be an unfortunate episode that the Dems somehow rose above.
Yeah, I don't believe it, either.
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Frank Rich: Two Cheers for Rod Blagojevich |
By Frank Rich in the New York Times
ROD BLAGOJEVICH is the perfect holiday treat for a country fighting off depression. He gift-wraps the ugliness of corruption in the mirthful garb of farce. From a safe distance outside Illinois, it’s hard not to laugh at the “culture of Chicago,” where even the president-elect’s Senate seat is just another commodity to be bought and sold.
But the entertainment is escapist only up to a point. What went down in the Land of Lincoln is just the reductio ad absurdum of an American era where both entitlement and corruption have been the calling cards of power. Blagojevich’s alleged crimes pale next to the larger scandals of Washington and Wall Street. Yet those who promoted and condoned the twin national catastrophes of reckless war in Iraq and reckless gambling in our markets have largely escaped the accountability that now seems to await the Chicago punk nabbed by the United States attorney, Patrick Fitzgerald.
The Republican partisans cheering Fitzgerald’s prosecution of a Democrat have forgotten his other red-letter case in this decade, his conviction of Scooter Libby, Dick Cheney’s chief of staff. Libby was far bigger prey. He was part of the White House Iraq Group, the task force of propagandists that sold an entire war to America on false pretenses. Because Libby was caught lying to a grand jury and federal prosecutors as well as to the public, he was sentenced to two and a half years in prison. But President Bush commuted the sentence before he served a day.
Fitzgerald was not pleased. “It is fundamental to the rule of law that all citizens stand before the bar of justice as equals,” he said at the time.
Not in the Bush era, man. Though the president had earlier vowed to fire anyone involved in leaking the classified identity of a C.I.A. officer, Valerie Plame Wilson — the act Libby tried to cover up by committing perjury — both Libby and his collaborator in leaking, Karl Rove, remained in place.
Accountability wasn’t remotely on Bush’s mind. If anything, he was more likely to reward malfeasance and incompetence, as exemplified by his gifting of the Presidential Medal of Freedom to George Tenet, L. Paul Bremer and Gen. Tommy Franks, three of the most culpable stooges of the Iraq fiasco.
Bush had arrived in Washington vowing to inaugurate a new, post-Clinton era of “personal responsibility” in which “people are accountable for their actions.” Eight years later he holds himself accountable for nothing. In his recent exit interview with Charles Gibson, he presented himself as a passive witness to disastrous events, the Forrest Gump of his own White House. He wishes “the intelligence had been different” about W.M.D. in Iraq — as if his administration hadn’t hyped and manipulated that intelligence. As for the economic meltdown, he had this to say: “I’m sorry it’s happening, of course.”
If you want to trace the bipartisan roots of the morally bankrupt culture that has now found its culmination in our financial apocalypse, a good place to start is late 2001 and 2002, just as the White House contemplated inflating Saddam’s W.M.D. That’s when we learned about another scandal with cooked books, Enron. This was a supreme embarrassment for Bush, whose political career had been bankrolled by the Enron titan Kenneth Lay, or, as Bush nicknamed him back in Texas, “Kenny Boy.”
The chagrined president eventually convened a one-day “economic summit” photo op in August 2002 (held in Waco, Tex., lest his vacation in Crawford be disrupted). But while some perpetrators of fraud at Enron would ultimately pay a price, any lessons from its demise, including a need for safeguards, were promptly forgotten by one and all in the power centers of both federal and corporate governance.
Enron was an energy company that had diversified to trade in derivatives — financial instruments that were bets on everything from exchange rates to the weather. It was also brilliant in devising shell companies that kept hundreds of millions of dollars of debt off the company’s bottom line and away from the prying eyes of shareholders.
Regulators had failed to see the iceberg in Enron’s path and so had Enron’s own accountants at Arthur Andersen, a corporate giant whose parallel implosion had its own casualty list of some 80,000 jobs. Despite Bush’s post-Enron call for “a new ethic of personal responsibility in the business community,” the exact opposite has happened in the six years since. Warren Buffett’s warning in 2003 that derivatives were “financial weapons of mass destruction” was politely ignored. Much larger companies than Enron figured out how to place even bigger and more impenetrable gambles on derivatives, all the while piling up unseen debt. They built castles of air on a far grander scale than Kenny Boy could have imagined, doing so with sheer stupidity and cavalier, greed-fueled carelessness rather than fraud.
The most stupendous example as measured in dollars is Citigroup, now the recipient of potentially the biggest taxpayer bailout to date. The price tag could be some $300 billion — 20 times the proposed first installment of the scuttled Detroit bailout. Citigroup’s toxic derivatives, often tied to subprime mortgages, metastasized without appearing on the balance sheet. Both the company’s former chief executive, Charles O. Prince III, and his senior adviser, Robert Rubin, the former Clinton Treasury secretary, have said they didn’t know the size of the worthless holdings until they’d spiraled into the tens of billions of dollars.
Once again, regulators slept. Once again, credit-rating agencies, typified this time by Moody’s, kept giving a thumbs-up to worthless paper until it was too late. There was just so much easy money to be made, and no one wanted to be left out. As Michael Lewis concludes in his brilliant account of “the end” of Wall Street in Portfolio magazine: “Something for nothing. It never loses its charm.”
But if all bubbles and panics are alike, this one, the worst since the Great Depression, also carried the DNA of our own time. Enron had been a Citigroup client. In a now-forgotten footnote to that scandal, Rubin was discovered to have made a phone call to a former colleague in the Treasury Department to float the idea of asking credit-rating agencies to delay downgrading Enron’s debt. This inappropriate lobbying never went anywhere, but Rubin neither apologized nor learned any lessons. “I can see why that call might be questioned,” he wrote in his 2003 memoir, “but I would make it again.” He would say the same this year about his performance at Citigroup during its collapse.
The Republican side of the same tarnished coin is Phil Gramm, the former senator from Texas. Like Rubin, he helped push through banking deregulation when in government in the 1990s, then cashed in on the relaxed rules by joining the banking industry once he left Washington. Gramm is at UBS, which also binged on credit-default swaps and is now receiving a $60 billion bailout from the Swiss government.
It’s a sad snapshot of our century’s establishment that Rubin has been an economic adviser to Barack Obama and Gramm to John McCain. And that both captains of finance remain unapologetic, unaccountable and still at their banks, which have each lost more than 70 percent of their shareholders’ value this year and have collectively announced more than 90,000 layoffs so far.
The Times calls its chilling investigative series on the financial failures “The Reckoning,” but the reckoning is largely for the rest of us — taxpayers, shareholders, the countless laid-off employees — not the corporate and political leaders who led us into the quagmire. It’s a replay of the Iraq equation: the troops, the Iraqi people and American taxpayers have borne the harshest costs while Bush and company retire to their McMansions.
As our outgoing president passes the buck for his failures — all that bad intelligence — so do leaders in the private and public sectors who enabled the economic debacle. Gramm has put the blame for the subprime fiasco on “predatory borrowers.” Rubin has blamed a “perfect storm” of economic factors, as has Sam Zell, the magnate who bought and maimed the Tribune newspapers in a highly leveraged financial stunt that led to a bankruptcy filing last week. Donald Trump has invoked a standard “act of God” clause to avoid paying a $40 million construction loan on his huge new project in Chicago.
After a while they all start to sound like O. J. Simpson, who when at last held accountable for some of his behavior told a Las Vegas judge this month, “In no way did I mean to hurt anybody.” Or perhaps they are channeling Donald Rumsfeld, whose famous excuse for his failure to secure post-invasion Iraq, “Stuff happens,” could be the epitaph of our age.
Our next president, like his predecessor, is promising “a new era of responsibility and accountability.” We must hope he means it. Meanwhile, we have the governor he leaves behind in Illinois to serve as our national whipping boy, the one betrayer of the public trust who could actually end up paying for his behavior. The surveillance tapes of Blagojevich are so fabulous it seems a tragedy we don’t have similar audio records of the bigger fish who have wrecked the country. But in these hard times we’ll take what we can get.
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Michael Moore makes perfect sense, if only they'd listen |
Moore can also be found here.
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1-800-@#$!%$! |
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.