The Pantheon Outcast

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

2011-10-27T20:01:00.003-04:00

Myself included.

Keep a weather eye on the Kindle Store.

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

I’m No Conspiracy Theorist…

2011-05-02T22:57:00.001-04:00

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

2011-02-24T20:59:00.014-05:00

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

2010-06-12T11:32:00.001-04:00

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”

2010-04-30T20:43:00.001-04:00

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

2010-03-20T21:12:00.001-04:00

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

2010-02-25T22:16:00.001-05:00

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

2010-01-26T20:23:00.001-05:00

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

2010-01-07T16:45:00.002-05:00

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.

2009-12-19T19:22:00.008-05:00

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

2009-11-23T20:31:00.003-05:00

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

2009-11-05T18:44:00.004-05:00

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.

2009-10-27T20:32:00.005-04:00

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...

2009-10-22T16:40:00.003-04:00

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

2009-10-18T23:50:00.003-04:00

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

2009-10-15T20:55:00.000-04:00

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

2009-10-09T16:45:00.005-04:00

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

2009-10-06T23:46:00.002-04:00

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

2009-09-26T23:40:00.011-04:00

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

2009-09-17T15:39:00.002-04:00

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

2007-07-08T13:15:00.002-04:00

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

2007-02-25T11:47:00.000-05:00

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

2007-02-04T14:20:00.000-05:00

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.

2007-01-28T22:13:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-01-22T18:16:00.000-05:00

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.

Your Mileage May Vary

2007-01-16T20:56:00.000-05:00

So as I was getting ready for work this morning, I had the television on in the background, as I am wont to do. Usually, I just try to get a few soundbites of news, weather, traffic, that sort of thing -- arming myself with snippets of knowledge before heading out into the world. This morning, while lacing up my footwear (triple-ply leather, steel-toed, Croatian army surplus tanker boots. I work in the Bronx; form follows function), I managed to catch something that made me want to crawl right back into bed and pull the covers over my head.

Toyota has some new gadget they’re trying to push in their line of cars that are apparently named after children from the inner city (Yaris, Corolla, Tercel, etc) – just another useless toy that can only serve to further distract a driver who already is swerving into my lane so he can call friends on his flashy cell phone and tell them all about his new iPod dash charger / coffee warmer / anal vibrator. Toyota’s particular gizmo apparently offers both a hands free cell phone and automated map directions for people too stupid to look up where they are going before they leave the house. Remember the days of pulling into a gas station to ask Achmed how to get to the freeway?

In any case, I wasn’t as much concerned about the useless doohickey, but more about how they were marketing it. I present to you, in its entirety, the transcript to the commercial.

Man driving in shiny red Toyota Shaquille or whatever the fuck it’s called along a twisty road under a clear, blue, cloudless sky. He uses the Lazy Idiot 3000 to plot his course to some destination and then decides to call home. After pushing a button mounted in the dash, he crisply orders the car to “Call Home.” Within a half a second, as if she were waiting breathlessly for his call, his wife picks up.

Woman: “Hello?”

Man: “Hi Honey, I’m going to be late; I have a conference to go to.”

This cheerfully mundane conversation is interrupted by a pleasant female voice muttering something about “making a left turn.”

The wife, despite the distinct probability that she was with her husband when he purchased the fucking car (or at least has been privy to its electronic peripherals’ capabilities since), asks: “Do you have a woman in the car with you?”

The man attempts to answer, but is cut off by the car’s voice informing him that “the hotel is ahead on the right.” (We, the audience are supposed to assume that he’s attempting to find said hotel with the intent of attending the aforementioned conference. Perhaps he’s really got a trunk full of garter belts and camisoles and is going to meet his crossdressing lover, Phil. We don’t know).

Upon hearing the word “hotel” from the digital trollop, the wife shrieks “Hotel!?” and immediately hangs up.

The man, with a look of resigned dismay, punches the cell phone button again and sighs, “Call Florist.”

Then the scene ends and the viewer is treated to a “special financing deal” with an APR so high it would make Shylock gag.

End commercial.

Within that space of thirty seconds, even a foreigner with a rudimentary grasp of the English language is able to discern the following about what corporations think of their customers:

1. American “businessmen” go to conferences in the middle of the day, unplanned, at out-of-the-way-hotels.

2. American wives do not work during the day, but instead sit at home waiting for their husband’s call. They also have no idea what sort of electronic widgets their husband has had installed on their $30,000 car.

3. American men are so full of infidelity and hubris that they would brazenly call their wives while sitting directly next to their mistresses.

4. American mistresses are so stupid that they would verbally point out the hotel in which they are planning their carnal activities while their paramours’ wives are on speakerphone.

5. American women are shrill, illogical, over-emotional beings who jump to conclusions and hang up on their husbands without a shred of plausible evidence or without giving their lifetime partner even five seconds to explain.

6. American men are so whipped and cowed by their spouses that instead of calling them back to fully clarify a case of faulty logic, they instead resort to spending ludicrous amounts of money on overpriced floral arrangements in an attempt to mollify their idiotic wives.

7. Both American men and women agree that a bouquet of carnations and daffodils can simultaneously placate morons and repair obviously defective marriages.

You think I’m hyperbolizing? Turn on any network sitcom and you’ll see the same formula : Stupid father who is always wrong + Stupid mother relentlessly over-dramatizing every situation, + their Stupid, spoiled, precocious children = Comedy Goldmine.

This is one of the reasons I don’t watch TV and will never buy a Toyota.

I will, however buy a car from a company whose advertisements are geared towards cynics and realists:

Man driving his shiny new convertible, the "P-Nys NV", on his way to work. He pushes the button to activate the speakerphone and dials his house.

Wife: “Hi honey!”

Husband: “It’s 2 in the afternoon. What the hell are you doing home from work?”

Wife: “Oh, I, uh, had to pick up little Dakota from school before dropping her off at her tennis / swimming / piano / ballet / meaningless structure lessons. Thought I’d get a head start.”

Husband: “That sounds like bullshit to me. Dakota has soccer / macramé / fencing / contrabassoon lessons on Thursday…”

Man is cut off by female computer voice informing him that the hotel is ahead on the right.

Wife: “Do you have a woman in the car with you?? Are you going to a hotel?”

Husband: “It’s the car, dumbass. And I’m going to a conference that happens to be in hotel. That’s what I do for a living – I endlessly attend useless meetings and show PowerPoint presentations using words like “Brand Awareness” and “Synergy” so we can afford to buy talking cars and Dakota’s peanut allergy shots. And don’t change the subject. You’re the one who is mysteriously home in the middle of the day. What are you doing, fucking the gardener again?”

Wife: “Phil’s a landscaper, not a gardener, and I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so busy at all your meetings, you worthless prick!”

Woman hangs up phone. Man nudges the car up twenty MPH faster and hits the phone button again.

Husband: “Call Gun Shop.”

Finis.

Tempus Fugit

2007-01-01T00:12:00.000-05:00

It is never too late to begin rebuilding,
Though all into ruins your life seems hurled;
For see! how the light of the New Year is gilding
The wan, worn face of the bruised old world.
---Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Modo liceat vivere, est spes...

---Cicero

The Sword Of Justice Has No Scabbard

2006-11-05T11:09:00.000-05:00

White House spokesman Tony Snow said that today is a “good day.” That’s the understatement of the year, Mr. Snow. Today is a magnificent day. You know why? I’ll give you a hint: It involves Saddam Hussein.

Earlier, Saddam was sentenced to death by hanging for his role in the execution of 148 innocent Shiite Muslims in 1982. After a mandatory process in which nine judges examine the trial proceedings, and (hopefully) uphold the verdict, The Butcher of Baghdad will be swinging from the gallows in just one month’s time. He demanded a firing squad carry out the sentence, but I suppose he’s no longer in a position to make such requests.

But that’s not why it’s such a great day.

Iraqis took to the streets, cheering and celebrating that after a quarter of a century, justice has finally been handed down to their oppressive, tyrannical tormentor. One Iraqi citizen was quoted as saying that this is an “unprecedented feeling of happiness…nothing matches it, no festival nor marriage nor birth.”

But that’s still not why it’s such a great day.

You want to know why I, and so many Americans like me should also be taking to the streets shouting in absolute jubilation? Why I will be going to work tomorrow humming the Battle Hymn of the Republic under my breath? Why I have AC-DC’s Thunderstruck playing on repeat at an ungodly earsplitting volume at 10:45 in the AM?

Because this verdict, and the subsequent neck-stretching of one of history’s most contemptible monsters is 100% proof positive justification for every action taken by the current administration.

In other words, it means that George Bush was right.

And if he’s right about Saddam, and right about Iraq, he must be right about the War on Terror.

So take that, all you flag-burning, unwashed neo-communist peaceniks, you ignorant, loud-mouthed, trust-funded NYU protestors, you unqualified, self-righteous vapid tinsel-town celebrities -- and that means you Barbra Streisand, Tim Robbins (and your decrepit ancient lover Susan Sarandon), the Dixie Chicks andMichael Moore and every other script-reading, two-bit minstrel and publicity hound who dared speak out on a topic beyond your comprehension. Especially you Cindy Sheehan.

You take the knowledge that you were flat-out wrong, jam it down your throat, and swallow it like the bitter pill that it is. Swallow it and wash it down with a cold, frosty pint of Shut The Fuck Up and then sit there and watch the majesty of Justice unfold.

You’ve been Thunderstruck, motherfucker.

Valannin's Breviloquent Rhetoric, Take 1

2006-10-29T05:50:00.000-05:00

Being over a month since my last post, I felt it would behoove me to write a little something this morning. Partly because I enjoy writing, and partly so the 11 people who read my invective-laced tirades would not think I had finally succumbed to my diet of rare steak, Belgian beer and cigarettes. No, I am very much alive. Corporeally, anyway. My spirit, on the other hand, is another matter. I’d probably be able to better face the soul-crushing disappointments of life if I didn’t have to deal with the gnat-like annoyances that swarm around me on a daily basis. So I’ve decided to write a series of open letters to the people and groups who need to cease and desist all efforts to make my everyday existence as miserable as possible.

Dear Apple Computers: Stop telling me how much better than my PC your little toys are. They’re not. Macintosh are to computers as Hyundais are to automobiles. In fact, by using that smarmy little hipster guy with the wrinkled clothing in your commercials, you are driving me further away from buying your glorified WebTv.

Dear New Moms: If and when I ask how old your kid is, I don’t need to hear that he’s “18 months” - just say “2”. I don’t want to analyze his horoscope, so we really don’t need to be that precise. In fact, I really don’t care. I’m just trying to be polite.

Dear Fox, USA, NBC, et al. Please get rid of that ridiculous little icon the lower right hand corner of the screen. I’m not an idiot; I know which channel I’m watching.

Dear Everyone on the Bronx River Parkway: Please drive the speed limit in the middle lane and not 35 MPH in the right lane; I’m trying to merge and your brown Buick is in my way. If you’re scared of the high speeds, then get off the parkway and stay on the service roads.

Dear Comedy Central: Please play more than 8 minutes of a program before cutting away to a commercial. And if you have to do so, please make it a commercial for something other than your own station. I’m already watching it; I need no convincing.

Dear Cablevision: Stop calling my cell phone every night to explain to me your "hot new offers." I already use your cable, internet and phone service. What else could you possibly be trying to offer me? Besides, I pay for those calls, and I will be deducting the cost of each from next month’s bill.

Dear Chase Manhattan Bank: Stop sending me credit card applications. I have received 1100 of them in the past month. I will never use your services unless you lower the APR to something a little more reasonable than what Vinnie “Six Finger” Scarpetti might charge.

Dear Daily News: I’m no Yankees fan, but please stop blaming Joe Torre for the team’s ills. He’s an American League manager, which roughly means that he does absolutely nothing. The Yankees suck because they are a collection of overpaid, over the hill, steroid monstrosities who spend more time doing Pepsi commercials than taking batting practice.

Dear Hollywood: Please stop doing remakes of classic movies, especially those that replace the original star with a black actor. Putting Cedric the “Entertainer” in Rodney Dangerfield’s role for the new “Back to School” is an insult to pretty much everyone who comprises the movie-going public. Also, can you stop adding rap music to everything? From television commercials to blockbuster movies, practically every soundtrack seems to include either a rap song based on the title of the movie or some talentless idiot named MC Fo’ Shizzle saying “Yeah, Yeah, my Niggaz” over a ten second sample of a Led Zeppelin guitar riff. Even worse are the advertising jingles attempting to rhyme an instant oatmeal product or toilet bowl cleaner with an outdated hip-hop phrase like “Word up.” There are probably 1100 other genres of music available for you to exploit; let’s give Axl Rose some work, please.

Dear Museum Builders: Can you give it a rest with them in general, already? The United States has 23 separate Holocaust museums, and over a hundred devoted to Native American Culture. I have nothing against the academic study of history and culture, but that seems to be an awful lot of scholastic space devoted to two groups with a combined population of less than 4% of the nation’s total. In fact, there are more Holocaust museums in the United States than in all of Europe and Asia combined. I’m naturally suspicious of things like this. I remember when museums were all about art, anthropology and science, and not dedicated to propagandizing a political agenda.

Dear Cartoon Network: As much as I enjoy women in plaid skirts, please stop showing 1100 hours of Japanese animation on Saturday night. Every single new anime program that is introduced is exactly like every anime program to come before it: too frenetic, too loud, and with the exact same recycled plot. Are there no American cartoonists you could showcase? Bring back G.I. Joe and put these spiky-haired, sword wielding, bug-eyed, half-demons on ice.

Dear Hillary and Bill Clinton: Just shut the fuck up already.

Dear “famous” people vociferously sounding off in the current stem-cell debate: Your area of expertise is entertainment, and nothing more. In fact, you probably got into the fields of acting, singing and athletics because your performance in school was less than stellar. Keep this rule in mind: if you’ve ever recorded the voice of a cartoon animal for a Hollywood movie, then you have no business engaging in a scientific debate. To those of us who studied, those of you who mince around on stage or play a game in uniform are nothing more than the contemporary version of the traveling minstrel. The only possible exception to this rule is Ronald Reagan.

Dear Television Producers: Is it possible that you could come up with some programs that highlight the exploits of some people other than cops, doctors, lawyers, or male heads of households who are total bloody morons? Whatever happened to the acerbic talking sportscars, bands of cigar-chomping, renegade justice-seekers driving around in a custom-painted van, or costumed superheroes who never got the hang of flying? Go look up a gentleman by the name of Stephen J. Cannell; he might be able to lend you a hand.

Dear civilians involved with the 9/11 attacks: It’s a terrible thing that you lost loved ones; so did I. But that doesn’t give you any right or authority to dictate policy, question procedure, or instigate investigations into the events preceding the attacks, the subsequent clean-up of the site, or any future development plans that the owners of the property or the city of New York might be considering. 40 years later, and no one really knows who killed Kennedy; do you think the government really gives a shit if your husband’s left hipbone was recovered? If you want to grieve, then go light some candles in the park or something; the rest of the country is trying valiantly to move forward. And stop telling me that the firefighters are “heroes.” They’re not. They were merely doing their job, which just happens to involve dashing into burning debris. The hot dog vendor on Church Street who crawled on his hands and knees through the flaming rubble to rescue a woman trapped under a fallen doorframe is a hero. Basically, if you receive a paycheck for your actions, then your actions are not heroic.

Dear Cell Phone Companies: I have an idea. Instead of figuring out new and exciting ways for the Proles to get access to every conceivable manner of entertainment on their mobile phones, how about steering your Research and Development staff in the direction of securing simple phone service. I don’t want to use my phone to take pictures, download music, screen movie trailers, surf the web, send emails, broadcast last night’s episode of Lost, play Mario Kart, or chart my route through the Strait of Gibraltar. I would, however, like to use it to make a fucking phone call that doesn’t cut off after four minutes of conversation and doesn’t sound like I’m talking while inside a hollow aluminum tube. Why don’t you work on that?

Dear Senator Barack Obama: I’m sure you’re a pretty smart guy, but no one in America is going to cast a Presidential vote for someone named “Obama.” You could single-handedly solve this country’s immigration, social security, energy and foreign policy crises, but until you change your name to something that sounds less like either a radical terrorist or a Star Wars bounty hunter, you will have no political future. People who run this country have names like “George,” “John,” “William,” “Thomas,” and “James.” Take a tip from history and stay off Oprah.

And finally:

Dear Carlos Beltran: In the future, if it’s ever the bottom of the ninth inning in game 7 of the National League Championship Series, and there are two outs with the bases loaded, and your team is down by two runs, you should probably swing at the 3-2 pitch. I’m just saying…

October Awaits...

2006-09-18T21:49:00.000-04:00

You know what? Fuck the camel-riding hate-mongers and their unbridled, tyrannical acrimony. Fuck their empty threats, their archaic grudges, and every syllable of venom which drips from their uncivilized maws. You can't suppress my feelings of joy, my notion of nationalism, my pride. Not tonight.

Why?

Because the Mets just clinched the National League East Division Title with a shutout over the Florida Marlins. For that reason alone I am honored and blessed to be a New Yorker and an American .

It is indeed a glorious evening. Thank you Steve, thank you Jose, thank you Willie.

One more month, and we're gonna party like it's 1986.

Eyes Front, Pencils Ready

2006-09-16T20:38:00.000-04:00

Since I’ve been busy dealing with the first two weeks of the school year and haven’t posted in awhile, I thought I would re-emerge with a quick lesson on the fundamentals of logic.

Pay attention kids; there might be a quiz.

On Tuesday, in a speech to German university professors, The Pope quoted a manuscript written in 1391 by Byzantine emperor Manuel II Paleologus in which he says:

“Show me just what Mohammed brought that was new, and there you will find things only evil and inhuman, such as his command to spread by the sword the faith he preached.”

The Muslim community is outraged that the Pope would quote something that was written 615 years ago that would dare to characterize followers of Islam as “barbaric” and “uncivilized” so they respond by:

1) Attacking one Anglican, two Greek Orthodox and two Catholic Churches in the West Bank and Gaza using gunfire, firebombs and lighter fluid.
2) Shooting a nun to death in Somalia.
3) Threatening the Vatican with a suicide attack.
4) Addressing the Pope as “you dog of Rome” while promising to “shake your thrones and break your crosses in your home,” by “sending you people who adore death as much as you adore life.”

Therefore, students, we can surmise the following:

Either there is no word for “Irony” or “Self-Fulfilling Prophesy” in Arabic, or

Not much has changed in 615 years.

In any case, the Muslim community’s reactions to a book written over half a millennium ago directly underscore how sadistic, ignorant, and vitriolic they are towards Western Civilization. Diversity? Tolerance? World Peace? Don’t count on it. If even one of these brainwashed troglodytes are left breathing to disseminate their bastardized, maniacal dogma, our planet will forever be left asphyxiating in a dark, fiery tarn of chaos and devastation.

Why is anyone bothering to tiptoe around these psychopaths? You draw a cartoon that places them in a unfavorable light, they protest and blow things up. A respected world leader reads a passage from an ancient text, they protest and blow things up. I bet that that if you hawked up some phlegm on to the ground and it bore a passing resemblance to Mohammed, some wild-eyed bearded yo-yo would declare a jihad on everyone with an upper-respiratory infection. Let's give it a rest already with the diplomacy, and bridge-building and the soft, placating speeches and launch some fucking Trident II's directly at the Kaaba Rock.

Si Vis Pacem Para Bellum.

Class dismissed. For homework, please define the words "Troglodyte," "Vitriolic," and "Tarn." And ask your parents to buy you a rifle. You're gonna need it.

Ah, it's good to be back...I bet you missed me...

History Repeats Itself, First As Tragedy, Second As Farce

2006-08-24T19:39:00.000-04:00

To pick up from the last post in which it was revealed that Turner Broadcasting would begin censoring thousands of hours of classic cartoons to placate the six people in the world who actually take umbrage at having to watch an animated bulldog smoke a stogie. Scott points out in a response (in which he never cursed even once) that this is not an isolated incident, and our country is dangerously doomed to repeat our mistakes because instead of attempting to learn from them, we close our eyes and wish that they never happened. So, here’s my own tangential response.

History, as Alex Haley has said, is written by the winners. Make perfect sense to me; why would the conquered people make notes on their own failures? They can try to spin it to their advantage, so they come out of the event looking less bruised, but the fact of the matter is, for example, both the Roman and Aztec Empires fell. And we know why the Aztec and the Roman civilizations fell, and there’s not much we can do about either one. We know that the South lost the Civil War, and it’s water under the bridge. We can either learn from the mistakes of the vanquished, or fall in step with their cycle of failure and doom ourselves in the process.

And of course, as Americans, we are doomed to repeat our history, perhaps as punishment for our hypocrisy: This country was founded by slave-owners who believed that all men were created equal. They wanted a place where they were free to practice their religion, so they founded a country that does not, any longer, respect their religion. They dreamt of a land full of opportunities for prosperity, yet today they tax to death the corporations that provide the jobs, forcing them to outsource to cheaper, foreign labor. We revel in our absolute freedom of speech, just so long as that speech is tame, politically correct, and doesn't offend the scores of "victims."

As Americans we're forced into acknowledging, celebrating, and even worshipping every minor achievement by every special interest group since the dawn of mankind, but the history of the Straight White European Christian, (you know, the people that founded the fucking country in the first place) is permitted and encouraged to fade away into obscurity. And you know who is letting it fade? We are. By not fighting back and defending our history.

Want an example? Why does America have a holiday for Martin Luther King Jr. but not for Thomas Jefferson? Martin Luther King plagiarized his “I Have a Dream” speech from one given to the Republican convention in 1952 by an African-American preacher named Archibald Carey, Jr. Hell, his name wasn’t even “Martin”, it was “Michael.” Why are we so quick to assign holidays to identity-obscuring plagiarists, but not to one of the most important Founding Fathers of our country? The short answer: we are not celebrating history; people with an agenda are spinning the facts to weave a web of self-righteousness to placate voters.

Martin Luther King Day was the brainchild of John Conyers, a Democratic congressman from Michigan who, besides publically stating in Michael Moore’s Farenheit 9/11 that “congress don’t read most of the bills,” is a fervent Anti-Republican liberal, maintains an “impeach Bush” website, is a frequent contributor to Arriana Huffington’s (you know, the crazy woman who once said that driving an SUV was contributing to terrorism, yet owns a private jet) website and has been brought up on charges of misuse of federal funds by the House Ethics Committee in 2004. Does anyone honestly believe that this man is serving in the best interests of History, let alone the country? His agenda has been made perfectly clear; the reason behind his push for the holiday was to garner support from the Trade Unions. He didn’t care about King, or Civil Rights, or anything of that nature. He used King’s support of unionized workers as his platform to get Jimmy Carter elected, and wouldn’t you know it, Carter supported the King Day Bill. John Conyers used Martin Luther King, a man opposed to the Status Quo, to maintain his own personal Status Quo.

There are no true “Historians” being nurtured in the country’s universities anymore – there are only whitewashers of facts and guilty liberals seeking to right the wrongs of the past by changing the unchangeable. Plus, if you take a long-standing notion of history, and alter it, you get your fifteen minutes of fame. That’s where you get idiots like Bart Sibrel who is convinced that the Apollo moon landings were faked. He’s so sure of himself that even after he has been debunked by countless authorities, he continues to sell his DVD’s. There’s money to be made in reinventing the truth.

Want to hear a funny story? Of course you do. A few years ago, in grad school, I was taking a Computer Science class in lieu of an advanced mathematics course. The professor, a bored old man who spoke with a heavy German accent, was explaining how computers use multiple drive letters. While doing so, he remarked that some schools and companies in Los Angeles were no longer using the terms “Master” and “Slave” in reference to hard drive settings as they were deemed “offensive” to blacks, and L.A. County demanded that the industry change the way that they refer to those devices. (This is true, by the way, you can read about it here). Then he laughed. Then I laughed. Then the handful of black students in the class laughed. Only one woman did not laugh: a young, white girl in her early twenties with braids in her hair and a perpetual smug leer on her face. She told us that we have to be very careful with the words that we use because language is the “true oppressor.” An older black woman turned to face her and said, “I don’t care if L.A. calls their hard drives ‘niggers’ as long as they give me a job!”

I don’t know what History has to say on the subject, but I’m pretty sure that’s the only known occurrence of a graduate-level Computer Science class being dismissed early on account of simultaneous pants-wetting.

Want another example? A newly opened restaurant in Bombay was going to be called “Hitler’s Cross,” referring to the swastika symbol. The swastika was originally an ancient symbol first described in the epic Hindu poem Ramayana written in the 11th Century. It was referred to as svastika which translates roughly into "lucky charm” and it has been displayed all over India to bring good fortune. The symbol itself has been found (without explanation of course) on numerous pieces of ancient Bronze Age, Indus valley area pottery and artwork, in Zoroastrian Persia, and even appeared in the Vinca script, a set of writings dated to 4000 BC. Historically it had been used by the Bon faith of Tibet, as well as the Cao Dai of Vietnam and Falun Gong of China, and the Akan civilization of southwest Africa. The Hindu, however, are typically the only modern culture who continues to use the symbol in writings and festivals such as Diwali.

And yet, due to the pressure of an individual, one Elijah Jacob, the restaurant in Bombay was forced to change it name. Ok, ok, I’ll admit, the owner probably should have found a way to highlight the swastika without mentioning the name Hitler. But you know what, the symbol is representative of the owner’s culture, not to mention that it’s his restaurant, and he can do with it what he pleases.

There are about 5,500 Jews living in India, 4,500 of which live in Bombay. It is from this group that the complaint arose. There are 13 million non-Jews living in the city limits of Bombay, and an estimated 1.1 billion in all of India. That means, because of the overactive sensitivity of .03% of a city, or .004% of the entire country, one man should alter his business plan and abandon a symbol that has been part of his culture for millenia.

Do people like Elijah Jacob have nothing better to do with their time than calculate their current state of indignation? I suppose if you’re named after two separate biblical prophets you had better speak up for something, but whatever happened to turning the other cheek? And to Puneet Sablok, the owner of the restaurant, I say this: What exactly are you worried about? That .03% of the population is going to boycott your business? You should change your restaurant’s name to “If You Don’t Like It, Piss Off.”

So what’s the point of all of this? Aren’t we better off in a world where cartoon cats are not smoking, where Martin Luther King’s shortcomings are ignored for the sake of his life’s work, and all Swastikas are completely erased off the face of the planet? Shouldn’t we be glad to have our society portrayed as a clean, healthy, tolerant, egalitarian civilization that embraces justice and diversity?

And I submit, that no, we are not. Future civilizations will look back and regard us like a sorority girl wearing white on her wedding day. Perhaps they’ll smile politely, and perhaps whisper conspiratorially with their mates, but they won’t be as foolish as we are when we lie to ourselves. But History does not lie, does not deceive, does not pander. Only people are capable of such things. I think Percy Bysshe Shelly said it best: “Shit, I certainly have a lot of fucking Y’s in my name.” And then when it was pointed out that he was on the air, he cleared his throat and continued, “Fear not for the future, weep not for the past…” then he sort of just trailed off. But the point is, as long as we are honest with ourselves in the present, and stop trying to deny where we come from, then, and only then can we all sit down one day, shoulder to shoulder, harmoniously sharing a big old order of delicious Hitler Fries and laughing until the check comes…

Bob's Your Uncle, Have A Fag

2006-08-22T10:37:00.000-04:00

AOL / Time Warner / HBO / Cinemax / People Magazine / DC Comics / CNN / Turner Broadcasting decided this week that it was finished buying up every conceivable media outlet, and would instead concentrate on de-magnetizing the moral compass of the planet. Turner Broadcasting, who owns the rights to Hanna-Barbera cartoons, including Tom and Jerry, The Flintstones and Scooby-Doo, has decided to hunt through more than over 1500 scenes of the classic cartoons and edit out any which “glamorized smoking.”

According to the original complaint, which was directed to a British media watchdog, Turner has “proposed editing any scenes or references in the series where smoking appeared to be condoned, acceptable, glamorized or where it might encourage imitation.”

The spokesperson for Turner Europe, Yinka Akindele, was quoted as saying, “Our audience is children and we don’t want to be irresponsible.”

You don’t want to be irresponsible. So you will edit out scenes of a cartoon cat rolling a cigarette. Just in case a child decides to imitate his actions. But you will keep the scenes in which the same cartoon cat is repeatedly bashed over the head with a meat tenderizer, sliced in a guillotine, and then dropped off a 15 story building into a box of nails.

Right. Good thinking. There’s no danger of kids emulating violence using everyday items they might find around the house, butbut after watching Tom and Jerry, children have been known to rush out to Te-Amo and pick up a deck of Newports and a Macanudo.

Here’s some more insidious pictures of reprehensible individuals with their malevolent smoking apparatus:

Albert Einstein

JFK

Ol' Blue Eyes

I’m really eager for Turner Broadcasting to expurgate these images from the American consciousness, because I sure as hell don’t want my children growing up to be famous Statesmen, Artists or Scientists!

And here’s the best part of it all: This proposed blue-penciling of our history was brought about by one viewer who took “offense” at a Tom and Jerry cartoon being aired on a British television station. One man. Who isn’t even from the country that created the cartoon. Hey buddy, did anyone ever tell you that there are various switches and buttons on your remote control which allow you to choose the programs that you and your over-protected bastard spawn watch? Here's an idea: locate the "Power" button, switch off the telly for a few hours, go out of your flat and play some cricket in the loo or whatever it is the fuck you people do in England, and that way you won't have to worry about us Americans and our wacky animated rodents' nicotine addiction somehow influencing your idiot children.

I think George Carlin said it best: “If your kid has a role model, and you ain’t it, you’re fucked.”

England. A country that for half a century only had three television channels showing scantily-clad women being chased around a park bench by an overweight pervert in a sailor's hat is suddenly the de facto authority on ethics and decency in broadcasting.

Maybe I should write a letter to the BBC, expressing my moral outrage at the fact that the British consider items with names like “Bangers and Mash,” “Bubble and Squeek,” “Toad in the Hole,” and "Cock a Leekie Soup" to be food fit for human consumption. Think of the effects that a cooking show set in Manchester would have on the nation's impressionable youth! Televising such images may lead our most fragile and innocent citizens into thinking that it somehow glamorous to eat concoctions that sound like they were named after debauched sexual practices.

Utterly repugnant.

I Always Feel Like Somebody's Watching Me

2006-08-21T01:36:00.000-04:00

In addition to large cutting weapons, empty scotch bottles, stuffed anteaters, and espresso spoons that I have stolen from various foreign locations, I am also an avid collector of information. And not just academic information, like the life-cycle of the Peruvian Red-Bellied Humming Turtle, but honest to goodness, completely pointless and trivial bits of esoterica. For instance, did you know that in America, 12 people a day die while sitting on the toilet? It’s true. Also, were you aware that the Christian holiday “Easter” is actually based on Eostre, an Anglo-Saxon goddess of spring whose feastday just so happens to correspond with the Vernal Equinox? Again, true! Additionally, Jackie Robinson was NOT the first black major league baseball player; that honor goes to Moses Fleetwood Walker, who played center field for the Toledo Blue Stockings in 1884. Robinson was the first black player of the modern age to sign a formal contract. Coincidentally, Jackie Robinson’s uniform number, 42, is the exact number of games that Moses Walker played in his career. Coincidence? Douglas Adams would think so.

In any case, besides useless facts, I am also fascinated by human motivation, specifically the question, “What is it about people that makes them do the things they do?” It’s a pretty complex query, and not one that I can answer here and still have time for my aforementioned hobbies, but the magic of the internet helps me satisfy some of my curiosity.

Scroll all the way down to the bottom of this page and you’ll see, assuming you squint, a single, center-justified white pixel. That little blot is the physical manifestation of my web tracking software, which provides me with a wealth of information about the people who visit my site. For example, with said tool I can derive simple information about site visitors such as time, date and location, as well as which of my posts have been read. But, lurking deep within the code is a far more nefarious utility, allowing me to see your IP number, your internet service provider, and the path which you took in order to get to my site. This last function is actually recording something known as “referrals”, and in addition to letting me know whether or not you clicked on a link in order to visit little ol’ me, it also tells me from where you were linked. It’s kind of like playing an Internet version of “Six Degrees Of Kevin Bacon.” Just even more dorky.

Alright, so web trackers aren’t all that mysterious; 80% of the bloggers that I know have them on their site. But what really amuses me is the “Search Engine Keyword Referral Tool,” which does exactly what it sounds like it does – it lets me know what search string was typed into Google or Yahoo that leads users to this page.

I’ll give you an example: Click this. As you can see, typing in the words “Pantheon Outcast” brings up a list of pages that contain that set of words, or “string.” According to Google, there are 75,600 pages on the Internet which contain the string “Pantheon” and “Outcast”, and my site, based on usage and my shameless promotion, is the first one listed.

However, people stumble across my site accidentally all the time, usually while looking for other innocuous topics, and my web tracking software lets me know just what sort of people are skulking around cyberspace at three in the morning. Below are some of my favorite search strings from the past two months that have led people from Google, Yahoo and other search engines into my decadent realm of whining about prescription medicine and immigration reform:

“Skateboarding in Gretna Louisiana” Yes, my absolute favorite half-hour show on ESPN2.

“New York Amusement Park Haunting” Apparently Art Bell’s site was down that day.

“Allium Collective” I'm not sure, but I think it’s a Chicago-based emo band that sings about garlic.

“$1000 to $10000 sneakers” If he’s really interested, I’ll be happy to sell this person my “collectible” Converse All-Stars for a mere five grand. Seriously, if I ever meet anyone who pays $10000 for a pair of shoes, I will not hesitate in removing him from the gene pool.

“Mswati interview quest” All hail the non sequitur! Or it could be Tucker Carlson's new show.

“seven year old needs hyphen” I really, really hope this wasn’t a dire emergency and in their haste, grossly misspelled “kidney”. I’m not going to have a child’s death on my conscience because someone either made a typographical error or severely misunderstood their pediatrician.

“hal morris is homosexual” I'll admit, it's a far more interesting statistic than his on base percentage with the 1995 Cincinnati Reds.

“jim bob earn a living” I’ve been saying that for years, Dag Nabbit!

“swazi king choose a wife” More commands and finger pointing. It's amazing how many people feel as if they can exert some sort of control over both the mating habits of indigenous African royalty AND the dismal unemployment situation surrounding southern American farmers.

"large numbers of stupid people" That about sums it up.

"thabit abdullah sabian" I'm pretty sure he was the guest host for the Mswati interview quest.

"espn2 puerto rican dominoes" Oooh, you missed it, the playoffs were on last night right after "Skateboarding in Gretna Louisiana." I think "Jose" won. Capicú, vato!

"rye gum" Allium Collective's debut album.

"the legend of sockman" I may as well make it worth this guy's while, considering the same person used this search string three times to get to my site: A special prize to the first person who can submit either an epic poem or folksong in D minor chronicling the Legend of Sockman.

“beethoven's mother a prostitute” I can’t tell if this person intended his search to be incredulous: (Beethoven’s mother? A prostitute?) or demonstrative: (Beethoven’s mother: A prostitute!). See how important punctuation is, kiddies?

I swear I’m not making this next one up:

“Moni Valannin” A pre-emptive "Ha Ha" to anyone who says "Sitting in a tree..."

“facts about emperor vespasiano” Selected by the New York Yankees in the 8th round of the 1986 amateur draft A lifetime .304 hitter, and currently holds the 5th highest rookie batting average (.340) in baseball history. Oh wait, that’s Hal Morris. Well, they’re both gay.

And my Personal Favorite:

“I’m going to eat Maddox”

You know, it pleases me greatly to know that in a month or so, I'll be the first site that pops up whenever anyone Googles "the Peruvian Red-Bellied Humming Turtle."

And I'll know where they live...

I Can't Put My Arms Down...

2006-08-18T15:29:00.000-04:00

Welcome to the inaugural episode of The Pantheon Outcast’s Panoply of Science! We were going to call it “Science For The Brainwashed Masses,” but that title just didn’t play well in the Red States. In this week’s program we will examine a crippling disease that affects one in every ten adults who at some point during the day sit in chairs. Joining us today is the renowned German Physician, Doctor Friedrich Lügner, self-proclaimed expert on everything biological and recent recipient of the French Medallion D’or De L’Homme De Guerre.

First off, let me begin by saying that Americans are obsessed with “syndromes.” While attempting to watch the Home and Garden network for some informative tips on how to use candles in order to make my apartment look as homosexual as possible, I was forced to watch no less than 11 commercials for a drug called Requip. Apparently it is a groundbreaking new drug from GlaxoSmithKline, (the makers of Wellbutrin), to alleviate the crippling onset of a disease that they have completely invented. They call this onerous malady “Restless Leg Syndrome” or “RLS”, (because Americans are also obsessed with abbreviations and initials), which, according to the official restless leg website, affects 10% of all American adults. Ten percent. That means within 20 years, something like 26 million people will be taking Requip for a disease that does not, technically, exist. At $165 dollars per bottle, that represents a nice chunk of change for the suits at Glaxo.

According to restlesslegs.com, some of the symptoms of RLS include “compelling urge to move the legs, usually accompanied or caused by uncomfortable and unpleasant sensations in the legs.” This is compounded by the fact that, “the more restful the position and the longer the duration, the more likely it becomes that the symptoms will occur.”

I for one am astonished that Science has progressed to the point where doctors and pharmaceutical companies are able to determine that sitting in one place for long periods of time is uncomfortable. And to alleviate said problem, people merely have to take a simple pill! Wow, it’s like living in the age of the Jetsons! Where are the flying cars?

I’m sure at this point, you have many questions for Dr. Lügner, all of which he’ll be happy to answer with typical Teutonic efficiency and wit.

Just how serious is this RLS? Can it cripple / kill / emasculate me?

Oh, Ja, it’s very serious. Can you imagine being temporarily uncomfortable? Like when it’s too humid in your bathroom after a shower or there’s a piece of balled-up cotton in the toe of your sock? Well, that’s what it’s like living with RLS. Visualize having a momentary lack of anything short of total orgasmic bliss, and you can appreciate what the sufferers of RLS must endure. Luckily, there is an extensive network of people eager to capitalize on your pain.

I sometimes feel uncomfortable while sitting for hours at a time in meetings at my creativity-stifling job. Do I have RLS?

Well, it would not be ethical to diagnose a medical condition based on only vague descriptions of discomfort, but, yes. Yes you do. Ask your doctor about Requip immediately; he has boat payments to make.

But wait, Dr. Lügner, surely there must be some drawbacks to this revolutionary new panacea! Are there any serious side effects?

Mit Nichten! Requip is the product of years of development and millions of dollars of marketing, and pharmaceutical companies are just as concerned about your well-being as their bottom line. That being said, users of Requip will experience nothing but waves of indescribable relief! Well, relief and nausea, dizziness, somnolence, headaches, vomiting, syncope, fatigue, dyspepsia, viral infection, constipation, pain, increased sweating, asthenia, edema, abdominal pain, pharyngitis, confusion, urinary tract infections, abnormal vision and mild hallucinations. But that’s a small price to pay for being able to sit comfortably!

Will taking Requip interfere in my daily schedule?

Nein, not at all! Because the drug severely inhibits your ability to operate motor vehicles or focus your eyes, it is recommended that you take one pill immediately before going to bed! Everyday! For the rest of your life!

Couldn't I, you know, just get up and go for a walk or something every few hours?

Are you kidding? Walking around in your condition? Don't you know that you have a syndrome? Taking a walk while suffering the effects of RLS may lead to more debilitating situations like SYT (Stubbing Your Toe), FDTS (Falling Down The Stairs) or even MAITC (Missing An Important Television Commercial). Those are risks you just can't afford to take!

Speaking of not being able to afford something, I, like many other unemployed illegal immigrants, don’t have medical insurance. Is Requip expensive?

Can you put a price on happiness? A year’s supply of Requip is only $621.41! That means for the price of a daily cup of coffee and a bagel, you can sit around for hours on end without having to worry about whether or not your legs might get restless! Besides, those taking Requip are strongly advised against drinking caffeine.

Coffee and a bagel costs a lot more than $1.70, doctor.

Verpiss Dich!

What?

Well, that's about all the time we have today. Join us next week, or whenever the hell I feel like doing this again, for another stimulating episode of The Pantheon Outcast’s Panoply of Science! where we will closely examine the complications resultant from drinking 15 scotches over a period of seven hours like I was privileged enough to have done on Tuesday. And don't forget to buy Dr. Lügner's new book, "Boat Financing Made Easy!"

Rock and Roll, And A Little Bit Country

2006-08-11T12:44:00.000-04:00

In response to yesterday’s post, Scott writes, (among other things):

…I read a Thomas Friedman article a long time ago that basically said to shut the borders to any Middle Eastern country until they've cleaned up the mess that is spilling over from their bastardized religion. I don't for a second believe that Islam is evil, but it is being used by bad men as an excuse to perform it, and to motivate impoverished and hopeless people to join ranks…

…This thwarted attack will be a boon to supporters of national security, and should turn the tides back toward Republican candidates.

Scott, you’ve just described all religions, my friend. Although, in the case of Christianity, replace “bad men” with “people in Kansas who bake pies.” And although I’m not familiar with the Friedman article, I am 100% behind his position. I know we’ve been conditioned to unquestioningly accept the world’s “tired, poor, and huddled masses yearning to breathe free,” however those statements 1) happen to be merely a poem, and not national policy and 2) were written in 1883, when the immigrants coming to this country were interested primarily in working hard and assimilating into American culture and not very interested in blowing us up. We’re supposed to be a Melting Pot, not a Powder Keg.

Furthermore, it is amazing to me (and by “amazing” I mean “friggin ridiculous”) that there are any people left in the country that could possibly politicize any aspect of our national security. If Kerry were president today, I think I'd live in constant fear. Ok, well, not really constant, but I sure as hell wouldn't get on a plane or a subway. Same goes for someone like Gore. I've said it before and I'll say it again: The President of the United States should not be worrying about what kind of car I drive or how warm it is outside. The President's only job is to provide safety and security to the American People.

For example, aside from the tired old anti-war sentiment, the only other piece of rhetoric I hear from the Democrat’s camp is: "Oh, but what is Bush doing about Health Care?" I don't know, listening in on the conversations of radical Islamic terrorists and thwarting multiple attacks is keeping me pretty healthy.

(Besides, only fifteen percent of this country has no health insurance. That's 45 million. The unemployment rate is around 4.8%; that's around 7.8 million. So actual number of people without health insurance is 37.2 million. If you break that down per major city, using New York City as an example, about 3% of the population of every major city in the US is without Health Insurance. Doesn't exactly sound like a problem that should be rectified at the expense of National Security. Furthermore, this country has not had national health coverage since its inception: why the hell do we choose now to worry about it? If FDR, the crown prince of social programs, didn't establish a Universal Health Care system, why would we expect Bush to?)

Color me Fascist, but I'm all for wire taps, the same way I don't mind if a cop looks in the trunk of my car; I'm not doing or carrying anything illegal, and as such, have nothing to hide. The people who vilify the Republicans for "taking away their civil rights" most likely are doing, or planning something unsavory that they do not wish the authorities to see. I don’t want to live in a police state, where jack-booted Stormtroopers kick in my door at 2 AM looking for unfiltered cigarettes or other contraband, but that’s the stuff of Orwellian cinema, and not reality. Want to hear a quick story? Of course you do.

Two summers ago, I had been playing softball in Central Park with some friends from work. At the conclusion of the game, we packed up our stuff, and walked east, hoping to stop in somewhere for a couple of cold ones. Near the exit (around the 80’s; I’m not exactly Magellan when it comes to Manhattan), we, and every other pedestrian were being stopped by a few members of the NYC police department, as well as large, plainclothed men with sunglasses. They wanted to look through our bags.

As an American who has been more than adequately educated as to his rights, I immediately asked why. And, in all fairness, one of the officers complied with my request and told me that some big important Jewish organization (possibly Dreamworks Studios) was holding a big important benefit concert and there had been concern over possible terrorist activities. Now, I’ve been pretty clear on my position regarding Israel for some time now – I could care less if both groups bomb themselves back to the time of King Solomon (where they’d probably be very happy). But since this was taking place on my country’s soil, and any violence could very well affect my fellow American Citizens, I felt that the police’s concerns, and subsequent actions, were 100% justified, and I dutifully obeyed.

Some of the people in our group grumbled, calling them “Nazis” (yes, I appreciate the irony), but in the end, everyone complied with the directive. They had no choice, really, as the presence of the impassive gabardine suits made impractical any other action. And you know what, I really didn’t care about the fact that hundreds of thousands of dollars were being spent by NYC in securing a pro-Israel benefit, but not one penny was being spent on securing our softball game. Because indirectly, I WAS safe. In fact, the closer to Jewish people that I happen to be standing, the safer I feel. The last thing I want to do is hang around in a crowded arena filled with white, Midwestern tourists, because you know security there is going to be as overlooked as Paul Giamatti on Oscar night.

Speaking of missing the big prize, is there a rational person among us who thinks that the Democrat party will enjoy success in the next presidential election? Sure, the war in Iraq isn’t exactly going along swimmingly, but is that all the Dems are going to have on their plate? That and this Global Warming nonsense? I think the recent defeat of Sen. Lieberman in Connecticut’s State Primary shows just how fractionated the party, and its voters, actually are. I believe that, because of their infighting and almost complete lack of anything except a vague political platform, the Democrats will find themselves fighting against a strong, tenacious, and well-organized Republican force.

So thanks Scott, for your comments, and for the inspiration for this post. It's been getting a bit heavy in here lately; tomorrow I'll write something about, oh, I don't know, blenders. (I know there's at least one other person on the planet who might look forward to reading that).

Seeing Red

2006-08-10T10:24:00.000-04:00

Keeping it brief because I have to go oil my firearms and buy some duct tape, British authorities report today that they have "foiled" a plot by suspected Al-Qaida terrorists to blow up as many as 10 US airliners. You can read the story here, or continue perusing my acerbic assessment of the situation.

Good choice. In any case, conspiracy theories aside, this looks, according to US sources, to be “the real deal”. At the core of this investigation was the discovery that terrorists were planning on using “liquid explosives” as they simultaneously detonated multiple aircraft originating from Heathrow Airport. In response, British officials have banned all personal electronics, hand carried luggage (good news, people from Uganda, you can still transport wicker baskets on your head, apparently), and all liquids from all flights for the foreseeable future.

Quite chilling, and my hat is off to law enforcement personnel here and across the pond for thwarting this attack.

But.

What are even more disturbing are the following statements, taken directly from the article:

Statement Number One:

The suspects were “homegrown,” though it was not immediately clear if they were all British citizens, said a police official who spoke on condition of anonymity because of the sensitivity of the case. Police were working closely with the South Asian community, the official said.

I’m sorry, but that’s about as far from “homegrown” as you can possibly get. I don’t care what their passport says; South Asian Muslims are by no means British citizens. British people are. The biggest threat to Britain, and the world at large, is the rampant, unchecked migration of people (in this case, their humanity is severely in question) from Third World toilets and terrorist breeding grounds to the civilized world. Keep it homogeneous, and keep it safe.

Statement Number Two:

Laptop computers, mobile phones, iPods, and remote controls were among the items banned from being carried on board. Liquids, such as hair care products, were also barred on flights in both Britain and the U.S., raising the possibility that authorities were searching for a liquid explosive.

Huh. Instead of infringing upon the rights of civilized people everywhere, why not just strip search and / or ban Muslims? I know, I know, Islam is the religion of peace, gotcha. That’s funny, because I simply don’t see Catholics, Jews, Baptists, Hindus, Buddhists, Episcopalians, Shintos, Mormons, Amish, Russian Orthodox or Seventh Day Adventists plotting to blow up airplanes. Where I come from, if the dog shits in the corner of the room, you don’t beat the cat.

Statement Number Three:

Hannah Pillinger, 24, seemed less concerned by the announcement. “Eight hours without an iPod, that’s the most inconvenient thing,” she said, waiting at the Manchester airport.
Hmm.

You know what, on second thought, maybe a dozen or so 747’s simultaneously bursting into blazing fireballs is exactly what the white, Christian world needs to wake up out of the fog of self-possession that they have been operating under since, oh, I don’t know, 1969 or so. You’d think that September 11th , the Madrid train bombing, and the London Underground attacks would have shaken these people free of their shallowness and vanity. How quickly we forget. Here’s to you, Hannah, may you and your iPod be seated next to Achmed Bin Ramadan for eight hours when Britain finally lifts its travel restrictions. Let’s see if you recalibrate your definition of “inconvenience” then.

In the 11th Century, when the Saracens invaded the Holy Lands, Popes Gregory VII and Urban II struggled with the idea of launching an all out holy war, and their hesitation led to the fall of Jerusalem, Damascus, Tripoli, Acre, Constantinople and much of Spain. Where are our Milites Christi now? Our Knights Hospitaller? Our Khevsur warriors?

Right. Sitting in Starbucks, drinking $4.50 Venti Half-Caf Mocha Latte-chinos while text-messaging each other on their pink camera phones about how “inconvenient” it is to go without their iPods for 11 minutes.

You know, it’s hard to win a baseball game when your right fielder is picking his nose and your third baseman is examining the dandelions growing along the infield border. Just let me paint the Maltese Cross on the stock of my AR-15 and then put me in coach; I’m ready to play.

Money For Nothing And Your Kicks For Free

2006-08-08T10:06:00.000-04:00

As I was tooling around the net today, checking real estate trends in Queens, NY, I stumbled upon this Co-op for sale in Jamaica Estates. Go ahead, take a look, and examine all of the pictures. I pride myself on my keen eye for details, and thus, I can tell the following things about the current owner evidence of this Co-op:

1) He’s a “minority” of some kind, most likely Black. Evidenced by the outrageously enormous painting of some Nubian queen hanging over the headboard. Plus the fact that the apartment is in Jamaica, a neighborhood consisting of a 25% Black, a 28% Hispanic and a 16% “other” population.

2) There is more than one adult person living in this apartment. Evidenced by the two toothbrushes and two robes hanging in the bathroom. To be fair, one of the toothbrushes looks a little smaller than the other, so it could just be one guy and one kid. But not likely.

3) These people have a child. Evidenced by the pictures, the teddy bear and the Hello Kitty cushion on the stool in the bedroom.

4) Despite having a child, the owner smokes dope. Evidenced by the water pipe on the TV in the living room. Don’t bother asking me how I know what this is.

5) This man has made some really stupid choices throughout his life. How do I know this last piece of information? Take a look at this picture here:

Notice what is stacked up against the north wall? Sneaker boxes. 68 sneaker boxes. I counted. Plus, there are three pairs of sneakers sans boxes perched on top. That means that this man, despite currently living in a 562 square foot studio apartment with a child owns at least 71 pairs of sneakers. And that’s how I know the owner is male, by the way.

Let’s see if I can break this down into financial terms:

Average price of a pair of hip, happening sneakers like Air Jordans: $130 + 8.25% Sales Tax = $140.72

Total sneaker expenditure, (not including the pair currently being worn or any not lucky enough to get into the picture): $9991.47 give or take.

$10,000. This man has spent $10,000 on sneakers (made in a sweatshop that pays its employees about $130 a month). For sake of argument, that comes out to $833 a month spent on sneakers.

The maintenance on this Co-op is $330 a month, and assuming a 30-year fixed mortgage at 6.625%, the monthly mortgage payments are $415. Every four weeks, in order to put a roof over his and his child’s head, this man must lay out $745 dollars, not including gas and electric which average about $60 a month in a space that size.

So, not even taking into account credit card, car, or insurance payments (something tells me that this guy isn’t burdened with having to pay back Sallie Mae), he has to spend approximately $800 a month just to live. His sneaker outlay on the other hand is $833.

Now, most likely he didn’t buy those sneakers all in one year; it’s not practical, or even economically viable. Even if he collected them over a period of say, 6 years, by setting aside a portion of his paycheck and purchasing one pair of sneakers a month. This makes sense: placing $35.18 in a piggy bank, or under the mattress, or inside an empty mayonnaise container in the fridge and saving up little by little until he could run out to footlocker and buy these these objets d’art.

Now, let’s instead hypothesize that instead of buying 71+ pairs of sneakers, our friend decided instead to open a Citibank e-Savings account with an APY of 5%. He then, hypothetically, places the same $35.18 per week into that account instead of buying yet another pair of shoes. After the same 6 years, instead of having a collection of hideously ugly footwear, he would have accumulated $13,065.30.

And that my friends, is what separates the rich from the poor. Not entitlement, not corporate thievery, not capitalist greed. Wealth is accumulated through simply studying the fundamentals of economics and using common sense to make them work for you. Chances are, this guy was never educated on the rudiments of fiduciary responsibility; no one living in a studio apartment with his child buys 71 sets of anything except maybe Spongebob videos. But he can’t be a complete and utter moron (unless that chessboard in the living room picture is merely ornamental), and think that sneakers are going to be the road to a better life for he and his progeny.

Why did I feel it necessary to mention that he’s a minority and quite possibly black? For the simple reason that minority groups (and guilty white liberals) are always going on about the “unfair distribution of wealth” in this country. You know, there’s a reason why wealthy white guys continue to stay wealthy: their forebears didn’t blow a bunch of cash on worthless consumer products. And there’s a difference between being “rich” and being “wealthy.” Wealth comes from making intelligent financial decisions over an extended period of time until assets are amassed. Rich is a result of guessing six numbers in a state lottery. I think Chris Rock put it best: “Shaquille O’Neal is rich. The guy that signs Shaq's check is wealthy.”

I can’t tell you how many people I’ve met who live in rat-infested shithole apartments in Washington Heights with three roommates, but own all the latest gizmos, gadgets and electronic diversions. I have a friend that couldn’t afford a car until he was 29 years old, but manages to have an Xbox, a 60 gig iPod, and a flat screen TV. And when he finally bought his car, a $1200 beater, he spent another $1000 on a car stereo so loud that you can actually see the lyrics of his awful Reggaeton music floating in the air over his trunk. Another person I am acquainted with (notice how I danced around the word “friend”), is 33 years old, has no savings account, but spends $1500 a month in rent for a two-bedroom apartment, claiming she needs the extra space for her “studio.” I thought artists were supposed to be “starving,” not “stupid.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you had to make a big deal over this guy’s race, Valannin.” Sure it does. In the examples I have just presented, both people happen to be Hispanic. Or Latino. Or Boriqua. Or whatever the fuck they are calling themselves nowadays. The Caucasian friends that I have simply don’t do these things. Although they do watch poker on TV.

Point is, there is a disturbing trend going on, chiefly among minorities, (although white people are far from immune from my judgment), of people spending freely and above their means. As an enthusiast of both anthropology and psychology, I am significantly interested in human motivation, that is to say, the reasons why people have chosen to do what they do. Of course, I can only base my conclusions on observable data: I make inferences based on statistics that I have read and the actions of the people that I know. Not the most accurate sample, I’ll admit, but good enough to write an article and post it on a website that 11 people read.

So my question to you, loyal readers, is why? What makes people, particularly American minorities, spend thousands of dollars on periphery and playthings thereby sacrificing a secure financial future?

The reader with the most cogent argument gets a pair of these.

Shorter Of Breath And One Day Closer To Death

2006-08-04T13:53:00.000-04:00

Just a quick shout out to the following people celebrating their birthday today, or, owing to the fact that they may be dead, are having people celebrate it for them:

Percy Bysshe Shelley: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!

Louis Armstrong: Satchmo, baby. I done forgot the words.

Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon (AKA Queen Elizabeth)

Knut Hamsun: When good befalls a man he calls it Providence, when evil, fate.

Richard Belzer: You know, Det. John Munch from SVU!

Hon. Alberto R. Gonzales: I bet more people know who John Munch is.

Roger "The Rocket" Clemens: 341-172 W-L record, 4502 Strikeouts, Lifetime ERA 3.12

Billy Bob Thornton: Not funny 'ha-ha', funny queer.

And of course, Yours Truly: Raconteur, Blackguard, Iconoclast. Lifetime ERA 3.99

In Lieu of cards, socks, and Precious Moments Figurines, please send cash.

If anyone would like to join in the festivities, I'll be at Croxley Ales in Rockville Center downing a few single malts.

Slainte!

Back Of My Neck Feelin' Dirty And Gritty

2006-08-01T22:13:00.000-04:00

As I walked outside today to go shopping, I could swear that I dropped 11 pounds through water loss covering the distance from the front entrance of my building to my car. The asphalt in the store's parking lot had melted to the point that the shopping carts had sunk at least a half an inch into the macadam. The “frozen prepared entrees” case had become a haven of refuge for elderly people attempting to find some respite from the heat. By the time I made it back to my apartment, my clothes were dripping with sweat, and since it was too hot to cook, I ate a bowl of ice cream and two Sam Adams Summer Ales for dinner. It's hot. Damn hot. But you know what, it’s August and I expect that. I also expect it to be cold in February. That's how temperate climate zones work.

But you'd think this was a unique and mystifing phenomenon if you turn on the news. Every station, (cable or network), every newspaper, and every internet news site feels the need to devote an unrealistic percentage of their time, space and energy telling us how "dangerously hot" it is outside, and how we should "conserve power" and "drink plenty of fluids." Additionally, "senior citizens should stay inside," no one should "exert unnecessary energy," and instead everyone should find ways to "beat the heat." This of course is follwed by a warning that "opening fire hydrants is a felony and dangerous."

The next five minutes are devoted to informing us of every historical minute fluctuation in temperature since Lord Kelvin wow'ed them at the Royal Academy.

Pardon me, collection of news sources, but is the first time you've ever been to planet Earth? It gets hot EVERY summer and cold EVERY winter. It's not breaking news. It's not even a curiosity. What's next from these purveyors of the obvious?

"Stay tuned at eleven as Ashley McVapid informs our viewers on how they can prepare themseves for tomorrow's upcoming sunrise! Tips and tricks you won't want to miss!"

Fox News NY even went so far as to post this map on its website yesterday:

What is that, a chart of the geographical distribution of homosexuals in the tristate area? What are they trying to tell us? That every possible location in which people dwell is going to be a mix of fuchsia and terra cotta with a slight chance of vermilion in Trenton?

As I was struggling with my purchases in the elevator, a random tenant of the building, whom I did not know held the door for me. After I had selected my floor, he turns to me and makes the same inane comment that has been flowing freely off the lips of every idiot to the ears of complete strangers everywhere (under the guise of making small talk) ever since Paleolithic man evolved the capacity to speak:

"So, hot enough for ya?"

I coolly (ha!) responded, "Yeah, I feel as if Lucifer himself anally raped me with his infernal trident."

Blessed silence prevailed.

Tonight's forecast: Dark. Continued Dark throughout the evening, with a hundred percent chance of Bright by morning.

How Dry I Am

2006-07-31T00:19:00.000-04:00

It seems as though New York has finally gotten its head out of its phony moral ass. For years it was impossible to buy alcoholic beverages before noon on Sundays, and now, lawmakers in Albany have decided that as of July 30, 2006, that law will be replaced by one authorizing beer sales as early as 8 AM.

Just how did this travesty of justice come about? Well, it was once decided that it was depraved to drink alcohol, read, talk loudly, scratch yourself and other sundry activities on “the Lord’s day.” No, no, not in this moral land! So, starting around the 1600’s in Connecticut, laws were passed to keep people on the straight and narrow path, at least on Sunday mornings. Violators were heavily fined, and sometimes even whipped and beaten. While detractors of the law might cry that the government was “legislating morality,” the truth is, as many truths are, economic in nature. If people were at home or in the bar on Sunday mornings getting soused, that meant that they weren’t in Church getting fleeced and brainwashed. Can’t have that! The Church, and its exceptionally deep pockets, has always had incredible influence over almost every facet of daily life, including that of governance, and so the laws were passed.

A few states, such as Connecticut and Rhode Island, refuse to loosen their grasp on the outdated superstitions and draconian morality of the seventeenth century, and so, still have their blue laws on the books. But thankfully, we live in a progressive state (one that forces its drivers to wear seatbelts and refuses law-abiding citizens their Constitutional right to carry firearms, but progressive towards fermented hops) and now New Yorkers everywhere can skip the sermon and head down to the ol’ watering hole for a frosty pint. Way to go Pataki (you fucking wanker).

Now on that note, I’d like to relate to you, dear readers, an experience that I had about two months ago at the Super Stop and Shop in Yonkers. You see, I was restocking some essential items (taco shells, transmission fluid, and a desk fan. They really do diversify at Stop and Shop), when I decided to pick up a twelve-pack of Sam Adams Summer Ale. All was going well until I got to the checkout line and the cashier, who was less than intellectually gifted, informs me that she is unable to complete the transaction. Well, not in those words exactly. Think “less syllables”. Since I knew exactly where this was going, and desired to instigate a little trouble, I resolved to claim ignorance of the entire “blue laws” nonsense by disguising myself as an Irish immigrant, (adopting the worst brogue since DiCaprio in Gangs of New York). So here I present to you a short scene detailing the exact exchange entitled "I'm Moving The Fuck To New Hampshire":

CASHIER: (SCOWLING AT ME AS IF I WERE SMOKING CRACK RIGHT THERE ON LINE) You can’t buy no beer.

ME: (FEIGNING BEWILDERMENT) Um, why not?

CASHIER: It’s Sunday.

ME: I know that.

CASHIER: So you can’t buy it.

ME: Because it’s Sunday? Or is there another reason I’m missing?

CASHIER (BECOMING VISIBLY PETURBED): You not allowed to buy beer on Sundays. That’s the law.

ME: Is this an order from Stop and Shop, then, or is this some American thing?

CASHIRE: America. All over. You can’t buy no beer on Sundays.

WOMAN BEHIND ME ON LINE (SHOUTING): Bullshit! It’s just fucking New York. And you can buy it after 12 o’clock.

(A GLANCE AT MY WATCH TELLS ME THAT IT'S JUST AFTER 11:30 AM)

ME (TO THE FEMALE SHOPPER): So is this a religious thing, then?

THE WOMAN BEHIND ME: Who knows? Probably.

ME: Don’t they serve wine at church? Do they not like the stores cutting in on their business?

THE WOMAN BEHIND ME: (LAUGHS SO HARD SHE KNOCKS OVER HER CAPRI SUN JUICE BOXES.)

CASHIER: That’s the law, sir; I can’t sell you no beer. (ACTUALLY TAKES THE CASE OUT OF MY HANDS AS IF I MIGHT RIP INTO IT RIGHT THERE AND OFFEND BABY JESUS)

ME: No worries, then, I’ll be back in a half an hour.

The cashier continues to ring up the rest of my purchases; I pay, trundle out the door, load up my truck and smoke a cigarette. It’s now 11:50, so I head back into the store, pick up a fresh case of Sam Adams, and go directly back to the cashier. As I’m waiting on line behind a woman with two carts who was apparently making purchases for the entire Lithuanian Army, the cashier notices me and picks up the phone, presumably to call the manager. Just a point of information: 90% of the time that I’ve bought beer at the supermarket, the cashier had to call the manager over to get him to unlock something special in the cash register, as if purchasing alcohol required launch codes or something. By the time he gets there, the woman in front of me had left, so I plop the case down on the conveyor belt.

ME: (DROPPING THE BROGUE) Hi! Told you I’d return. (CASHIER JUST GLARES AT ME)

MANAGER (STANDING DIRECTLY NEXT TO THE CASHIER): Will that be all, sir?

ME: I’ve already done the rest of my shopping. Had to wait until the stars were in correct alignment for this though (PATTING THE CASE LOVINGLY).

MANAGER (FORCES A SMALL LAUGH WHILE KEYING THE REGISTER): Well, that’s the law, even if it is a bit silly.

ME: (SWIPING MY DEBIT CARD) I bet you that most people in my line of work would agree with you there.

MANAGER (TAKING THE BAIT): What sort of business are you in?

ME: (CASUALLY) I’m a priest.

(EXEUNT)

I know, I know. I’m going to Hell. But at least there, I can get two-for one Cuervo shots on Christmas morning.

Pander Me Out To The Ball Game

2006-07-28T12:03:00.000-04:00

You know, as much of a baseball fan as I am, I’ve never gone to Cooperstown to visit the Baseball Hall of Fame.

And now, I never will.

And why? Because it’s become a sham. Yet another political staging area for concessions, indulgences, and special dispensations. Is there nothing sacred in this fading republic of ours that can weather the storm of politically correct “privileges” once afforded to only the worthy?

In case you’re not a baseball fan (or are just a bloody moron who doesn’t know that such a thing exists), the National Baseball Hall of Fame is a repository and museum for the players, coaches and other assorted personnel that have made either positive or exceptional contributions to the game of baseball.

In order to be considered for the HOF, eligible candidates are required to garner at least 75% of the votes on ballots cast by the Baseball Writers Association of America. The process is a little more complicated than that, and I won’t bother to reproduce it all, but if you click here, you can read all about the other rules and regulations.

Here’s a short list of previous inductees:

Babe Ruth
Ty Cobb
Ryne Sandberg
Johnny Bench
Yogi Berra
Carlton Fisk
Jackie Robinson
Willie Stargell, etc, etc.

If you’re interested, you can view the entire list here

Notice something about that list? Right, every single one of them was a damn fine ballplayer and enjoyed both success and popularity. Here’s a sampling from the list of 2006’s inductees:

Andy Cooper
Biz Mackey
Cum Posey
Mule Suttles
Cristóbal Torriente
Effa Manley
Bruce Sutter

Notice anything about this year’s list? That’s right! Other than the fact that their names seem to suggest Faulkner characters or adult movie stars? With the exception of Sutter, the other inductees share two glaring traits:

1) No one’s ever heard of them,
2) They never played in the Major Leagues.

The 17 “special inductees” that the HOF is honoring this year are (at best) arbitrary choices from a pool of players that appeared in either the Negro or Cuban Leagues in the 1920’s.

Now let me point out that I am in no way denigrating the Negro Leagues. At a time that segregation was a blight on our country, Negro League players showcased some fine talent outside of the Majors – they didn’t just “succeed by overcoming racism” or any of that 1990’s feel-good hokum, but did so for the love of the game. And I salute them for that.

But.

These players were never elected to the HOF by the traditional means. Instead, a “special committee” consisting of two people funded by MLB sat in a room and unilaterally decided which of these obscure players would sit alongside Whitey Ford, Tom Seaver, and Sandy Kaufax in the hallowed halls of the National Pasttime. You know, to "embrace diversity." I'm guessing that there aren't any Black baseball players that actually deserve the honor?

Even worse than this, two of this year’s inductees never even played ball in this country! Why is the National Baseball Hall of Fame honoring players from the Cuban National Team? I can’t buy cigars from Havana, but Cuban players are given a distinctly American honor? I know it’s not the Congressional Medal of Honor, but give me a break.

And you want to know the really sad thing? Baseball greats such as Jim Rice, Goose Gossage, Bert Blyleven, Don Mattingly, and Tommy John did not receive the required number of votes, so they’ll have to wait another year for consideration. Their place was co-opted by the panderings of a “special committee.” And the most despicable part of the voting procedure is that players such as Ozzie Guillen and Hal Morris can never again be considered for induction because they failed to earn the requisite 5% of votes from the BWAA.

Will “The Thrill” Clark, first baseman for the Giants who was named MVP for the 1989 NCLS, and batted a career .303 with 2176 hits in 15 years, will forever be passed up for the Hall for lack of three votes. But Cum Posey is going in.

Take heart, Will, maybe in a few years, they’ll be a “Special Committee” for you, buddy.

And maybe me too. Hell, I never played in the Majors, but I tossed two consecutive no-hitters with the Black Roses softball team in the late nineties. Given the current practice of honoring anyone and everyone who ever spent some time between the lines, I should make it to the Hall by the middle of this century.

First round’s on me, Will. We’ll let Pete Rose pick up the rest.

I'm Shocked...Shocked!

2006-07-26T18:33:00.000-04:00

I came across this while doing some research for a much longer upcoming article, and felt that I had to at least make a passing reference to it. It must be important because it was right there on Google News’ front page. A member of a “boy band” is homosexual? Wow, watch out Woodward and Bernstein – what a scoop!

The entire country (save for those with IQ's larger than the size of their television screens) was floored by the announcement that Lance Bass, a member of the 1990's semi-successful teeny-bopper musical group “N’Sync” (note the creative, hip spelling), a band akin to Menudo, just lacking in the musical talent department, decided to come out of the closet.

I’m glad that the media is there to keep us apprised of every obvious and insignificant development in the lives of washed-up pseudo-celebrities. Next they’ll be telling us that Michael Jackson likes little boys or Barry Bonds takes steroids, or that Scientology is merely a scam committed to bilking idiots out of their money or that water is wet.

I suppose non-news is good news. It’s not like we’re at war, or Iran is developing nuclear weapons, or millions of illegal aliens are flooding our country, or North Korea engineered long-range missiles, or anything like that. Would you like some bread and circuses to go with your smoke and mirrors?

Stay tuned.

My Only Friend, The End

2006-07-17T15:13:00.000-04:00

Bless me Father for I have sinned.

It has been 77 days since my last post.

Why? Many reasons. Not in the least of which has anything to do with me not having anything to say. That’s just the problem; I’ve too much.

And quite frankly, I think I’m wasting both my time and bandwidth.

Look, Freud once said that 90% of the people of this world “just don’t get it.” Although I’m sure he said it in German. And I’ve always considered myself one of the blessed 10% who do “get it”. I’ve read countless pieces of literature, traveled to a dozen countries and twice as many American states, I’ve sat on the Great Pyramid and shook hands with the Pope (more like waved from a distance, actually, but close enough) I hold multiple degrees from three separate Universities in English Literature and Education, I studied painting in Venice and archeology in Egypt, I can speak two and a half languages (Spanish is just Italian spoken incorrectly), read in four and curse you to the ends of the earth in six, I can tell the difference between an Italian and an Elizabethan sonnet AND the difference between single malt and blended Whisky by the smell alone, (The Whiskey, not the sonnets. Sonnets don’t have an odor I’m aware of), I’ve had a play produced off-Broadway (off, off off. Like in a different ZIP code), I play guitar and bass and can muddle through a reasonably acceptable version of “November Rain” on the piano, and I can hold a conversation lasting for many hours (and many drinks) on every topic from international politics to the bioluminescence of creatures of the abyssal benthic zone to Hegelian philosophy.

I’m not saying I’m the quintessential Renaissance Man, but it’s not too bad for thirty years of life.

The problem is, that regardless of what I achieve, I feel that it is wasted on a population who is obsessed with the following:

1) Immediate, self-gratification
2) Popular Culture
3) Maintaining the status quo through indifference and / or complete lack of common sense.

So, from this point on I will not be posting articles on global terrorism, global warming, or some kid who got hit by a car in the Bronx. Why bother? The people who agree with me will continue to agree with me, and those who share an alternate view will continue to do so despite all evidence to the contrary. I share a kindred love of all that is logical with the 10% as well as a bitter loathing for the other 90%

My thoughts, my words are in vain. I realize this.

So instead, after today’s post, look for an entirely updated Pantheon Outcast, perhaps one that showcases a little more of my talents, and less of my frustrations.

That being said, it would dishearten loyal readers (all 11 of you) if I didn’t go out in my usual style (ie, caustic, acerbic, and judgmental), and present to you now a collection of biting, indicting, and all together exciting observations, platitudes and cold hard facts.

So sit back, pour yourself a drink, light up the carcinogenic drug of your choice and enjoy:

Valannin’s Semi-Complete Manifesto of Difficult to Accept, but Completely Honest Truths of Life. AKA, “Face ‘em now or rue them later”

Truth #1

There will never, ever ever, be “peace in the Middle East” short of a nuclear air strike. The Jewish people have absolutely no historic claim to Palestine outside of vague directives outlined in a 4000 year old book of fables written by half-demented, anti-establishment mystics. The longer Israel exists, the longer the fighting goes on AND, the longer the United States continues to support Israel, the more we will be drawn into their fanatical self-invented “conflict”. Eventually, the Muslims will win, because historically, they have been the more successful in this field. They conquered the European Crusaders and took the “Holy Land”, occupied Spain for 800 years, and effectively stole all of Asia Minor right out from under the Romans. Plus the fact that they are insanely brainwashed, breed like hamsters, and consider it an honor to die. The last time I checked, the Jews historically have not conquered anything, and whenever they offer up even the slightest bit of resistance, they are herded into ghettos and rounded up into train cars. The American people will ultimately suffer because of our illogical devotion to a dying race.

Truth #2

There is no such thing as “Global Warming.” It is a ruse designed, like all other ruses, to elevate the status of one group (in this case, hippy scientists) and to separate you from your money. The Earth’s climate, like all of its geology, works in an immense cycle, operating in time frames that we as humans cannot wrap our minds around. The scientific community has offered zero hard evidence that the global temperature is rising at anything other than an expected rate within normal parameters, and the skittish, selfish homo-sapiens that we are, latch onto the idea because 1) We’re easily fooled and 2) We hate the idea that our own personal space might somehow become uncomfortable. Tom Brokaw and Al Gore can make as many documentaries as they like, but they are flat out wrong. The only good thing that has come out of the discussion is the possibility of ending our dependence on Arab-controlled oil, but if hypocrites like Gore had let us drill in ANWR in the first place, we wouldn’t have had to sell our souls to the ululating tribes. He’s merely covering his tracks for being economically irresponsible. And speaking of economics, alternate-fuel research is not at the top of the list of priorities for automobile manufacturers simply because it would cut further into their profits than free-trade and NAFTA has ever done. It’s bad enough we allowed Japan to corner the market with tax-abatements and loosening of import tariffs, now we are forcing industries to pour billions into unnecessary research, something that in the business world would happen naturally anyway. They are corporations formed to make a profit, not make you feel good about yourself.

Truth #3

Blaming George Bush or the Republicans for any of the country’s ills is like blaming your gynecologist when your baby is born deformed and retarded even if, during your pregnancy, you smoked a pack of Winstons a day, drank like a fish, and ate nothing but McDonald’s cheeseburgers for nine months. Our “leaders” are neither good nor evil, but indicative of the people that elected them. Democracy does not work. Florida proved that. Anyone too stupid to figure out how to punch a hole in a piece of paper is not worthy in participating in the democratic process. Ditto goes for the people who can’t be bothered to learn the native language of the country they will presume to make decisions for. By the way, Bush-bashers, I realize that you never took political science in college, electing instead to take courses such as African-American Pottery and Homosexual Literature, but here’s some information for you. The President has very little direct power in American Government. Most of the power resides with the Supreme Court and Congress. You want to blame someone, blame O’Connor and Feinstein. These are the same idiots who voted down an anti-flag burning amendment. So now you can burn a flag with impunity, but not burn a cross. Oh, hypocrisy, thy name is America. Oh, and anyone who voted for or will vote for Hillary Clinton in the future should be hunted down and summarily executed. The only people dumber than Hillary supporters are those people who have kept Ted Kennedy in power for over 40 years.

Truth #4

Speaking of education, any degree program that contains the word “Studies” in it is an absolute waste of everyone’s time. African-American Studies. Women’s Studies. There’s even a degree program being offered at some universities called Queer Studies. People who hold degrees in those “fields” are directly responsible for all of the outsourcing going on recently. You want to study Queers? Hang out in Chelsea reading Truman Capote. How do you expect to positively influence the global community if you’re frittering your time away on your own little special interest groups? The problem with these groups is that their constant need for acceptance prevents them from accomplishing anything worthwhile. This is the 21st Century. No one really cares if you are black, female or homosexual. Keep your insecurities to yourself, study something productive that highlights your natural talents and go get a job in a field that will drag our country out of the economic miasma in which it has been floundering. And if you have no natural talents, and the only thing you have going for you is that you are black, female or gay, then go study a trade. We have enough non-profits, activist lawyers, and motivational speakers in this country. Go learn to fix a computer so we don’t have to keep paying someone in India to do it for us. You’re supposed to get an education so that you can contribute to the State and the world around you, not satisfy your selfish desires or shirk responsibility.

Truth #5

This is strictly for the American audience. Shut the doors and reclaim your birthright. Be proud of the fact that in a mere 200 years you and your kind managed to turn a land of swamps, rocky plains and wasteland into the greatest civilization that has ever existed. Americans do not need to constantly hear about the guilt they should be feeling for eradicating a few wandering tribes. They were not noble or strong. They lived in tents made out buffalo hides and worshipped trees. I’m sure they were nice people, but they were weak and even Manifest Destiny couldn’t hold a candle to the inherent superiority of the European culture, technology and above all, tenacity. If the Europeans had left them alone, they’d still be hunting elk with blowguns and sucking down peyote in their sweatlodges. That being said, its also time we shored up our borders. Contrary to popular belief, there is no need to have any more immigrants grace our land with their presence, least of all ones who have utterly failed at their own attempts at civilizations. Give us your engineers, biochemists and, yes, even your artists. You are truly worthy. But we’ll pick our own grapes and make our own beds, thank you. Besides, we don’t actually need immigrants for low-paying, high-labor jobs; we have enough “Studies” Majors to do it for us. And English should not only be the official language of America, it should be the only recognized one. Kudos to Gino’s in Philly for recognizing that. If you’d like to speak Spanish, move to Spain.

Truth #6

An open letter to all African-Americans (read: black people). I’ve got quite a few words of wisdom for you. It’s high time you chose a side. You’re not from Africa, you’re from Alabama, Tennessee, Detroit and The Bronx. You and everyone else need to give it a rest with the hyphens. Assimilate. We know you’re a different color, but that should be the only difference. Slavery ended 150 years ago -- get past it. Many, if not the majority of the world’s cultures have been slaves to another culture at some point in history, and they have let it live in history. Don’t let it become an excuse for your inability to succeed. You want to blame someone, look to your own camps. 50-Cent and the Wayans Brothers have done more to hinder Black achievement more than any plantation owner. 50 years ago, you had the best music. So good that White musicians “stole” it from you. What happened? How did you let it get like this? John Lee Hooker and Robert Johnson should rise from their graves, join with Aretha and gun down every last rap “artist” on the planet. Do you honestly think that rhyming about murder, drugs and bitches over a beat stolen from a 1970’s disco song is “art”? Besides, it’s not even your own anymore; the most successful rapper in the world is white. “Urban Culture” is a stone around your neck, and it’s dragging America down with you. Stop buying so many electronics for your car, overpriced sneakers and other pointless consumer products. White people are “rich” because they buy mutual funds and not spinning hubcaps. Besides, they make you look really, really foolish. And by the way, OJ did it, Michael Jackson did it, and Tupac deserved it. Find someone else to get behind.

Finally, some quick truths and advice I’ve learned over time:

If you take away the ability for a criminal to have a gun, he’ll stab you. Take way the knives, and he’ll mug you with a sharp stick. Put the criminals in jail, or better yet, kill them, and leave my guns alone.

Standardized tests are biased against the stupid. 65% should never be considered a passing grade.

More people in this country will die from breast, lung, and prostate cancer than died in the Holocaust. We need to stop subsidizing museums and start funding research.

AIDS is not an epidemic. It only affects illegal drug users and people with questionable sexual proclivities. I fail to see the problem.

If people who hijack planes are Muslim men between the ages of 18 and 40, then the airports are jeopardizing national security by “randomly” searching 75-year-old white women in the name of “fairness”. If you lose your wallet in the bus station bathroom, don’t look for it in your neighbor’s vegetable garden.

If you put down your iPods and cell phones for a bit, you’ll notice a bit more about the world around you. They are tools and toys, not necessities.

People who pour coffee into cups at Starbucks are not “baristas.” They are minimum wage employees probably majoring in Post-Modern-South American-Literature Studies. Stop inventing labels for your menial life. And no, I’m not going to tip you.

The civil war between Religion and Science is coming, and Science will win. You can’t claim to be a rational human being and believe that our 6 billion year old planet was created in 6 days by an invisible man who made humans out of dirt and impregnated a virgin who eventually gave birth to a man who could walk on water and rise from the dead. You might as well believe in elves, minotaurs, dragons and driads. Faith is a nice thing to have, but try putting that faith in your innate human intelligence and wisdom. Leave the fantasy to Tolkien and let the educated teach the science classes in high school.

Some guy who wraps a tree in bright orange fabric is not an artist. He’s a con man. Same goes for a “magician” who holds his breath for a week. Stop being fooled, people. Hold your awe for people who truly deserve it.

And finally, I’d buy a ticket at hotel mini-bar prices to watch Dave Winfield beat Barry Bonds in the kneecaps with an aluminum softball bat at the Meadowlands until he admitted to a live audience that he took steroids.

Oh, and don’t leap into the East River at midnight to retrieve your book of poorly written poetry…

*Finis*

Valannin

Celebrate Cinco De Mayo By Going Home!

2006-05-01T20:35:00.000-04:00

For all those out there who are marching, protesting, and otherwise creating a public nuisance in NY, LA, and various other cities across America, and are not currently of Hispanic heritage (I realize that immigrants come from all countries, but Hispanics make up the largest percentage), let me attempt to crush some of the pervasive myths and arguments surrounding the current immigration debate:

Argument #1: “America is a country of immigrants.”

This is by far the lamest and most insidious argument from the pro-immigration front. By appealing to less-educated people’s emotional (read: not logical) state of mind, this argument attempts to curry favor by ignoring history. Sure, America was built and developed my immigrants, but NOT ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS. The immigrants of the early 20th Century, you know, the ones who transformed this country from a dismal swampland of savages, abandoned their home countries with the dream of taking advantage of every opportunity The United States had to offer. They flooded the shores, luggage in hand, and waited on lines for processing, immunization, and citizenship testing. They didn’t hide like cockroaches in the back of a panel truck as it zipped across the border or wade through the Rio Grande under the cover of darkness. The people who made America great came here legally.

I heard Ron Kuby say today on his morning show that the Mayflower crew and other English colonists came to America illegally, too. Although I consider Mr. Kuby to be a despicable anti-American communist who defends murderers, gang members and terrorists for a living, I thought him to be better educated than that. When the so-called Pilgrims came to America in 1620, it was an untamed wilderness populated by roving bands of buffalo hunters. There were no cities, industry, or, above all, laws, (tribal customs notwithstanding). There was no question of legality with the English colonists, as there was no existing government in place to pass immigration laws.

Finally, to all those who are under the impression that immigration is part of the historical fabric of America, let me remind their selective consciousnesses that, historically, America’s streets paved with gold are tainted with the miasma of child labor, discriminatory voting laws, Prohibition, slavery, segregation, monopolies and the Clinton Administration. We’ve learned our collective lessons, and do not live in the past.

Argument #2: “Immigrants contribute to the economy of America.”

Easy rebuttal on that one. Sure, they buy iPods and Applebee’s steak dinners, but they also are a drain on our country’s finite resources. From energy to healthcare, illegal immigrants tap the waters of America’s pool, but do not contribute to it in the form of either taxes or Social Security. I don’t remember where exactly I read this, but in 1950, for every retired person in America, there were 30 workers paying into Social Security. In 20 years, there will be 3. That’s right, 3 workers for every retired person. Thank you Baby Boomers. The Census Bureau estimates that 8-9 million Americans are illegal immigrants (the actual number probably being about 2-5 million higher). Forcing illegal immigrants to pay taxes will go a long way towards Social Security solvency.

Furthermore, if those 9 million illegals would simply disappear, the economy of the United States would not falter one penny. The money that they typically spend on consumer goods would merely be offset by the fact that schools, hospitals, and other resources would no longer have to support a segment of the population that does not contribute to the tax base. As for employment, see Argument #3 below.

Argument #3: “Illegal immigrants do the jobs that Americans don’t want to do.”

Utter nonsense. Logically, if there were no illegal immigrants, these jobs would naturally get done, anyway. What, will our toilets go uncleaned or our lawns unmowed? No, we’ll do it ourselves as we have done for centuries. There’s a smattering of truth in every lie, however, and I blame this one on the 1970’s. This was the decade wherein the American educational system decided that hardcore math, science and literature was causing stupid kids to fail, and instead of modeling our schools after the far more successful European approach (where intelligent children are tracked towards demanding careers by issuing rigorous educational standards while the not-so-smart kids are given vocational training), the powers that be decided to hop on the Self Esteem Engine and take our country on a rollicking ride towards Failureville.

Couple the Progressive Education Movement with Affirmative Action, and you’re left with an American student population who is not only misguided enough to think that they are somehow entitled to success, but simultaneously are too stupid to read the preceding paragraph.

So, in the absence of technical training, and with a faltering educational system, plus an undeserved sense of entitlement we are presented with an undereducated populace who farms out technical jobs to foreigners and believes that physical labor is beneath them. Or, to put it another way, too many bench coaches, not enough utility infielders. And who is there to take up the slack? Certainly not the impoverished class. They’re too busy raking in the welfare. According to the Joint Center for Poverty Research, there were close to 3 million families on welfare as of 1998. (I know, pretty old statistics. Sue me. Every other report I read states that the AFDC sends out checks to 4.4 million familes, 90% of them being single mothers). By the way, 17%, or 756,000, of all welfare recipients are Hispanic.

Back to the point. Let’s say that we have, conservatively, 10 million illegal immigrants “doing jobs that Americans don’t want to do.” Gardening, dishwashing, maid service, jobs that would force Americans to lay off the $5 mocha lattes. If we get eliminate that number from our population, we open up millions of jobs to Americans who are too busy waiting for a check and pumping out babies. Notice that my statistics say 4.4 million families. I’d venture to say, just by means of observation, that those single parent families are not single child as well. If every one of those families has two children, then in 20 years, 9 million impoverished people will enter the workforce, thereby eliminating the need for immigrants altogether.

“But Valannin, you can’t just cut off single mothers! They’re relying on that check to survive!”

Well, you know what, I just solved the immigration problem; one economic issue at a time, please.

I apologize for the length and dryness of this article, but some things need to be said and cleared up. Speaking of which, let me make another thing perfectly clear: I consider the singing of the American National Anthem in Spanish as treason and tantamount to a declaration of war. We gave you the SAP button, and that’s all you’re getting. ¿Usted entiende? Good.

Un Dia Sin Inmigrantes

2006-05-01T07:10:00.000-04:00

Remember folks, May 1st is "A Day Without Immigrants", sponsored in part by angry Mexicans who believe it is their god-given right to be able to come to America and force TV stations to air more programs featuring giant chickens wrestling scantily-clad models while bow-tied fat men give away toasters, (or whatever the hell Sabado Gigante is supposed to be about), and by guilty white liberal congressmen who want to secure Hispanic votes by selling out their fellow Americans.

So everyone, if you're not beusy contributing to the American economy, do you part on this "Day Without Immigrants." Drop a dime on your local restaurant for hiring illegals to clean out the grease trap. Cut your own damn grass. Forcibly deport your dry cleaner. Burn the Mexican flag with a little salsa and a Dos Equis Dark. Kill and eat a family of grape pickers.

A day without immigrants. That's a start.

More on this later. I have to get to work before my job is replaced by six refugees sailing in on a raft made from a 1987 Chevy truck door....

It Could Be, It Might Be, It Is! Holy Cow! Jesus Goes 3 for 4!

2006-04-14T23:57:00.000-04:00

I haven't updated in a while, mostly because I've been a) working far too much and b) trying to figure out the direction I'm trying to go with these articles. Sure, I can log on and rant against the stupidities of human nature, but to what end? We all know that humans, by and large, are ridiculous, miserable little creatures and their antics, while sometimes amusing, are mostly pathetic and more often than not disturbing. All the data and statistics in the world are completely superfluous to proving this, as one only needs to read the paper or watch the news to discover what sad little puppets humans are.

Before this starts to sound suspiciously like a LiveJournal post, let me point out that I'm not currently wearing a black trenchcoat or listening to My Chemical Romance. Pasty vegans hunched over the keyboard pounding out "gothic" poetry that continually makes use of the "life"-"knife" rhyme scheme are ruining the "rant against humanity" method of pointing out societal ills. Pages full of well-constructed research aren't worth much either, as they can be dry and boring, and moreover, 80% of the world wouldn't understand them anyway. Or they would, but be quick to point out that their individual preferences and beliefs somehow take precedence over common sense anyway.

So what to do? Should I speak in well-intentioned platitudes reeking of pharisaicalness? That would be irresponsible. Plus, that's too many multi-syllabic words. How about cynical musings on events and occurrences that have irked me? No, that's too cliché. How about this: Broad, sweeping generalizations aimed at the facets of our society that the teeming masses worship like a giant, golden iPod. Sounds good for now.

Let’s start with this news article. Seems that a TV station in Willes-Barre, PA is refusing to air the home opener of a minor league baseball team because the game is being played on Good Friday. Apparently, due to “pressure from the Catholic community”, the station feels that “Good Friday is not an appropriate day for us to do that.”

Huh? It’s baseball. The American pastime. What the hell is wrong with showing a baseball game on TV during a religious holiday in a country founded by Christians? Is there something about the Wilkes-Barre Red Barons which undermines the Christian ideal? Do they sacrifice virgins to Beelzebub during the seventh inning stretch? Is their mascot a caricature of Longinus? Is the team owned by Anton LaVey? What in Christ’s name is so wrong with watching baseball on Good Friday? Should people sit around flagellating themselves while mumbling the rosary?

Look at that...no batting gloves. Jesus was old-school.

What makes this even more bizarre is that the station, in place of the baseball game, is going to show Inside Edition (a program that alerts the public to developments into the life of spoiled pseudo-celebrity Paris Hilton, namely, on whom she currently performing oral sex), Extreme Makeover (where undeserving dimwits get new storm windows installed by people far too attractive to be carpenters) , followed by an interview with Tom Cruise (the diminutive actor who leaps on couches and believes that the earth was created by an alien named Xenu). A wholesome sport like baseball is banned from the airwaves on Good Friday, but the Seven Deadly Sins-athon featuring Vanity, Greed, and Lust is just peachy keen according to the program director of WNEP. Nine innings of strike-outs and sac-flies would shake the foundations of the Catholic Church, but an interview with a man who impregnated a woman he wasn’t married to and who worships a false idol is perfectly acceptable?

Which brings me to this week’s broad, sweeping generalization:

The population of Wilkes-Barre, PA is composed entirely of bloody morons.

Yeah. That works.

No baseball on Good Friday. What horseshit. Baseball permeates the Bible, for Christ’s sake. Peter denied Jesus three times before being sent to the showers. Then Jesus took one for the team, sending the Disciples to the post-season against their cross-town rival, the Yankees. I mean, the Devil.

And, if you examine it closely, even the first line of the Bible mentions baseball:

“In the Big Inning…”

It's Hard Out There For A Deity

2006-03-06T21:11:00.000-05:00

Suprisingly, I'm not going to mention the Oscars. I bet you thought I'd have something to say on the topic, but frankly, I just didn't care. As I saw a grand total of "zero" of the movies that had been nominated, I figured it was a waste of my time to watch a three-hour award show filled with self-congratulatory praise, smarmy, off-handed political commentary and in-jokes that end up falling flat but still eliciting a polite titter from the self-proclaimed royalty of America. All I know is that Best Picture was won by a movie that less that .135% of the world bought a ticket to see and Best Song went to a bunch of thugs whose members include an individual named "Crunchy Blac", (whose previous hits included "Where da Cheese At?" and "Knock the Black off yo Ass") and subsequently is the only Oscar-winning song in the history of the Academy to include the phrase, "Because a whole lot of bitches talkin shit." Who said art is dead?

No, I'm here today to talk (briefly) about the most ridiculous "protest" movement I have come across. Oddly enough, I first heard about it while searching for a webcomic called "Sock-Monster." Don't ask. Anyway, when I got to the site, I was met with this message . For those of you too apathetic to click, here's the message in it's entirety:

From February 15 to March 20, I am participating in an electricity fast called Lights Out Chicago. I will be joining friends and family in refraining from using electricity in my home for 33 days in order to raise awareness of the lack of reliable electricity in Iraq. Over the past fifteen years, Iraqi civilians have had to deal with two U.S. invasions, sanctions, bombings, a ruthless dictator and a powerful insurgency. It is time we start helping our Iraqi counterparts rebuild their lives and infrastructure. Because of this fast from electricity, I will not be updating Sock-Monster for a month. On March 21, Sock-Monster will be back with new cartoons, but until then, I encourage you to spend some time getting involved in helping people whose lives have been burdened in our name. Lights Out Chicago is a part of Voices For Creative Nonviolence's month-long protest, the Winter of Our Discontent, and has been organized by members of VCNV, Peace Action, and the Allium Collective. For more information go to http://www.vcnv.org.

I know, I couldn't stop laughing either. A guy who draws a webcomic highlighting the adventures of a poorly drawn sock-puppet is going to "raise awareness" about the abominable living conditions in Iraq by not using electricity. And he is going to tell the world of his desire not to use electricity by using the Internet. Which, as far as I can tell, uses electricity.

Remember the good old days when people who had a political statement to make did so by actually doing something? Writing articles and essays, picketing, chaining themselves to a tree, immolating themsleves in full view of a CNN camera crew? For god's sake, this guy is a cartoonist; wouldn't drawing a series of political cartoons accomplish his goal of "worldwide awareness" much more effectively than doing nothing at all?

The electro-fast is being led by Voices For Creative Nonviolence, a Chicago-based grassroots(read: pointless) group of do-gooders hell-bent on ending a war that they know close to nothing about. Their website, (updated two days ago smack in the middle of their War on Electricity I might add), details their namby-pamby crusade against violence with the following planned (in)action:

Fasting: an open-ended 33-day fast, possibly including a relay fast, with individual activists fasting all or part of the period.

What? A relay fast? Part of the period? Where's the dedication? In 1963, Thich Quan Duc, a Buddhist monk set himself on fire to protest the Vietnamese government's oppression of the Buddhist religion. That my friends, is the ne plus ultra expression of allegiance to a cause. Turning off your iPod for thirty minutes hardly qualifies.

But that's par for the course for this generation of couch potatoes and video-game zombies. Apparently to them, inaction is action. Any idiot can sit in a room with nothing but candles and an acoustic guitar and call themselves a "rabble-rouser", but quite frankly, if you aren't willing to put yourself in either extreme discomfort or danger for your cause, then your cause is inconsequential.

And I won't bother even pointing out the fact that 99% of this country's resources are hardwired; directly or indirectly, these peaceniks (read: unemployed art students) will be consuming electricity whether they like it or not. The only type of "awareness" that going without food, or water, or gasoline or power for any period of time brings is that there are an awful lot of people in this country, nay, this planet, willing to take the easy, illogical way towards "bettering" the world.

But don't think they haven't made me sit up and take notice. On the contrary, for the next 33 days I'm going to to double my energy usage to make up for whatever miniscule effect the Voices For Creative Laziness might have had on the country's electrical usage. Right now, I have three televisons simultaneously playing the FOX News Channel while every single light in my apartment is blazing away in hopes that I may become a beacon of rationality in an otherwise dark, stupid world.

I think Maddox said it best when he penned, "For every animal you don't eat, I'm going to eat three..."

Children Should Be Seen, And Heard Screaming

2006-03-05T17:29:00.000-05:00

Just to switch gears a bit from the impending bloody global battles that will soon be fought by armies clashing over whose invisible man is more worthy of exaltation, I thought I'd offer a stirring example of how the very foundations of American culture are quickly and forever being eroded into dust. I only hope the grammar police don't cite me for the previous quasi-run-on sentence or my indiscriminate use of "hyphenate modifiers."

Last Friday, a group of students from the Holly Academy in Central Michigan was visiting the Detroit Institute of Arts, when one of the "next generation of educated adults", weaned on a diet of overindulgence by his Gen-X parents, decided that a 1963 abstract painting by Helen Frankenthaler was the perfect place on which to park his moist wad of masticated Wrigley's. The painting, entitled, "The Bay" is valued at about a $1.5 million dollars and will need to undergo two weeks of delicate restoration to remove the stain left by the gum.

The boy, who is 12 years old, has been suspended by the school, and according Julie Kildee, the Academy's director, has been disciplined by his parents.

Aside from the fact that the only discipline little Tucker / Taylor / Tyler is apt to recieve is ten minutes in the "time out chair" followed by a whole weekend deprived of his Xbox 360, what bothers me the most about this situation is a quote by Director Kildee:

"Even though we give very strict guidelines on proper behavior and we hold students to high standards, he is only 12 and I don’t think he understood the ramifications of what he did before it happened, but he certainly understands the severity of it now."

How strict were the guidelines set by the school if "don't stick gum on valuable artwork" was a subject not broached by the teachers? I can remember when I was but a wee lad being led around the labyrinthine Metropolitan Museum of Art knowing that if we stood any less than arm's length away from the paintings, we would have our knuckles broken by our teacher, a formidable 900 year old nun in a starched black habit.

Corporeal threats notwithstanding, even at 12 years old I had enough self-discipline to refrain from touching the exibits, let alone sticking my used gum on their frames. Instead of assessing students on their ability to "Sing independently with 85% or better accuracy in two-part singing," the Holly Academy should focus on training their students in the lost arts of Composure, Decency, and Common Sense.

Let me tell you a little story, which I swear on a stack of bibles stolen from hotel rooms is true. About two weeks ago, at about 10 o'clock in the evening, I was walking back from the convenience store around the corner from my apartment after securing some cigarettes for the weekend. Three junior high-school kids, about 13 or 14 years old, were approching from the other direction. Instead of parting or standing aside to let me pass, as children of my generation would do if their path was blocked by an adult, the kids continued to walk, three across, DIRECTLY INTO ME as if I were nothing more than a fogbank. I know that they saw me, as am I 6' tall and weigh 200 pounds - hardly an unobtrusive figure. And yet, here was some pubescent troglodyte colliding with me because he was under the mistaken impression that he was entitled to trapise around without minding his environment or acquiescing to my elder status.

It gets better. As the child bounced off of my unyielding frame, he yelled, "You better watch where the fuck you're going, nigga!" Let me point out that neither I nor the child happen to be of the Afro-American persuasion, so the vociferation was a complete non sequitur. Also, and perhaps this is whistling past the graveyard, but I do not frighten easily, least of all by mortal teenagers who do not know their place in society. As my objective of smoking cigarettes and drinking scotch was being unrightfully delayed, I decided that then was not the time to launch into a ten-minute diatribe about civilized behavior, electing instead to ignore him and return home.

But wait, there's more! As I continued down the street, the child yelled after me, "You better run away, nigga!" and then, with his two friends laughing like the idiots they were, proceeded to walk across the street - directly into the path of an oncoming car. I actually didn't see it, but the squeal of brakes followed by the hollow thud of 125 pounds of moron hitting the pavement forced me to turn around. At this point I was about 20 yards away. Professor Wise-Ass was on the floor, dazed, and holding his leg in pain. I detected a faint whiff of crying, as well. His two friends were standing on the curb, equally in shock. The driver of the car (a 1980 model POS) had gotten out, and the look on his face was not one of disbelief, or sympathy, but more like, "Oh shit, I don't have insurance." He was probably 40 or 45 years old, Hispanic, and was either returning from or travelling to some low-paying, labor intensive job. The rest of the street was quiet and dark and completely bereft of any other passersby. Which meant that, ethically, I had to step in and assist this poor soul in his moment of need and despair. I walked halfway back towards the car, looked the driver dead in the eyes, and said, "Yo no vi nada. Vaya ahora." Which he did, posthaste. And I happily lit up a cigrette, waved at the tough guy blubbering prostrate in the street, and continued on my merry way.

The moral of the story, ladies and gentlemen? Perhaps it is that one is never too young to learn a valuable life lesson. That kid in Michigan should have recieved the exact same punishment from the authorities that woud have been doled out to an adult exhibiting the same uncivilized behavior. Or maybe the lesson is that schools and adults have a moral imperative to teach today's youth that acting according to one's own whims (especially when they contradict societal order) is flat out unacceptable. Too much emphasis today is being placed on personal "freedom" and "expression" without a hefty modifier of "moderation" and "rationality." More on that later.

I'd like to think, however, that the moral of my story is "Don't cross swords with the crazy half-elf when there's Scotch waiting for him at home. Especially when he speaks badly-parsed Spanish."

Lex Talionis.
Un Ojo Para Un Ojo.

Spotlight on: Anonymous Abu Ali Al-Muhammad Ibn Al-Rahman

2006-02-19T08:21:00.000-05:00

The intent of starting this series of alcohol-fueled diatribes was to initiate some intellectual discussion, and for the most part, I've received those in the form of one-line comments ("you suck" or "you're a nutjob") or emails suggesting that I perform a reverse bowel movement with my keyboard.

However, the one-man-furor over a recent post (resuting in 15 or so anonymous comments) has prompted me to respond with this article, rather than keep expanding the comment thread. If you'd like to read the entire exchange, point your clicky thingy here.

In any case, here's my response to Mr. Anonymous (if that is in fact his real name) concerning the "achievements" of the Muslim world in both a modern and historical context:

"What I find most interesting, despite your obvious verbosity, and penchant for intelligent discourse, is that you keep refering to these ancient scientists as "Arabic". If we are to use your terms, then yes, I must concede many points, as there were many scientists and thinkers working in the Arab world. "Arab" of course, does not mean "Muslim" per se; Albategnius, for instance, was considered to be a Sabian, a sect devoted to studying astrology. And even if you think I'm reaching on that one, the Muslim religion of the year 800 is not the Muslim religion of the year 2006. It's like the move of the Brooklyn Dodgers to LA - same name, but in no way the same team.

But notwithstanding the fact that you seem to be using the same webpage for all of your references, one that smacks suspiciously of propoganda, (I won't even mention the page that asserts that Muslims from Spain had sailed to the Americas 500 years before Columbus, despite the fact that there is absolutely no physical evidence for such a claim other than geographical names which share a tenuous coincidence), let's assume for a second that you are correct, that whatever 101-level history course you've taken (apparently at Hofstra University) has succeeded in modern liberal academia's universal goal of discrediting Western achievment with the elevation of alternate theories of history on the back of that odious beast, "Multiculturalism." The fact remains that modern Islam (for this argument's sake, we'll say modern is any time after the European Renaissance) has done absolutely nothing to advance either itself, or the rest of the world (which, if you remember correctly, was my original point). Your education, and in some cases rightfully so, and in some cases out of sheer desparation, has made it a point of highlighting ancient Islamic scientists, perhaps at the expense of ancient western scientists. And if you'd like, I can make the same spurious argument that if it wasn't for Greek and Roman mathematicians, there would be nothing for the Muslim scientists to attempt to "correct." You say tomato, I say Konstantin Tsiolkovsky.

You say that Islamic anger is the result of a myriad events - The fall of the Ottomans, OPEC, etc, etc - and yet its anger seems directed towards Europeans who print humorous caricatures in their local paper. The University-educated crowd can sit around all day long with their Starbucks and iPods and attempt to discern the historical reasons behind the backlash, many of which may be credible. However the people burning flags and lobbing Molotov cocktails at embassy buildings don't have the same frame of reference as the "educated folk." To them, a great atrocity has been committed against their most sanctified icon, and now they must destroy his defilers with any means neccessary. Not because they have extensively studied the root causes behind their culture's frustration, but because a handful of psychopaths masquerading as "holy men" are fanning their fires (forgive the pun) with Fatwahs and Jihads and using other such superstitious nonsense from a 1400 year old book to justify their violence. Muslim scholarship is gone, regardless in the capacity in which it may have once existed, and has been replaced in the past 800 hundred years by a mutation of its former self.

You may claim that you are not apologizing for Muslim violence, but your historic rationalizations will make you a liability in this war. When the fires are burning through the streets of your hometown, will you stop and discuss the achievments of Avicenna a millenium ago with the rampaging horde, or will you defend the culture that has given you the voice with which you speak, the technology with which you express it, and the freedoms permitting you to open your mouth in the first place?"

Wow, I can almost see the flag rippling in the background as I read that last bit back to myself...

"Let us not seek to fix the blame for the past. Let us accept our own responsibility for the future."

--John F. Kennedy

(And that's the one and only time you'll ever see a quote from that overrated prettyboy. I blame him for all this "diversity" mumbo-jumbo.)

Department of Redundancy Department

2006-02-13T21:38:00.000-05:00

Forgive me, but this may just be the greatest straight set-up line in the history of the written word:

Chinese Couples Get Plastic Surgery To Look Like Each Other

Ah, now for the punchline...

...ah screw it, if you can't see what's so "wet your pants" funny about this one, you're just as doomed at the rest of the world.

It appears as though your machinations have begun, Mr. Khrushchev. You can put the shoe down now...

The Tenth Crusade

2006-02-10T18:53:00.000-05:00

In case you've been living with your head under the pillows, the past week or so has seen what this humble writer is declaring to be the end of Western Civilization as we know it. Cartoons published five months ago depicting the "prophet" Mohammed wearing a bomb as a turban has incited bloody, destructive riots throughout the civilized world by some very uncivlilzed people. "Islam is peaceful," the protestors claim, "and if you don't believe us, we'll burn down your cities."

I'm already having the T-shirts made...

Anyone with a keyboard and internet access has already commented on the atrocities of the Muslim world, and I see no reason to beat a dead camel with my own pontifications. Suffice it to say that 175 million people practice the "religion" of Islam, and those 175 million are the direct cause of the slow collapse of the last vestiges of the complex European empire. As birth rates in Europe continue to level out and even fall, the population of France, Germany, Scandinavia is quickly being overwhelmed by the vast numbers of Muslim immigrants -- people who have no intent on assimilation into the European culture, but rather hell-bent on conquest.

By 1291, Antioch, Tripoli, Acre and Jerusalem had fallen to the Muslims despite hundreds of years and thousands of European lives given to their defense. Spain had already been conquered in 719 after an eight year campaign by the Moors, and remained under Sharia control for 700 years. Palestine, nothing more than a disputed area with no firm government, gave rise to 60 years of terror and violence after the 1947 UN Partition Plan.

Why this bass-ackward history lesson? Primarily to underscore the fact that since its inception in the 7th century, Islam has done absolutely nothing for the greater good of humanity except to attempt (and succeed) at conquering land for the sole purpose of spreading its misguided dogma through fear and intimidation.

I can hear you now: "Valannin, so did the Gauls, the Romans, the English. They are all guilty of imperialism and slavery, and even genocide." Point conceded. But look what the years of Romans and the European occupation has contributed to the world: Philosophy, Mathematics, Astronomy, Civil Engineering, Viniculture, Music, Sculpture, Democracy, Medicine, Literature, Industrialization, Nuclear Power, the Decoding of the Human Genome, the freakin' IPod.

And what has the Islamic world brought to the table?

Nothing. Except a continued espousal of a violent, intolerant religion.

Go ahead, name five things that the Islamic world has done for either planet Earth at large or even for their own people. You can't. There are no standouts. For every Ibn Sina, El Zahrawi, and Thabit Ibn Qurra, there are dozens of Euclids, Pythagoreans, DaVincis, Michelangelos, and Beethovens. In spite of the fall of glorious Rome under the Christians (thanks a lot, Constantine), Europe flourished as the world's beating heart of culture, scientific advancement, and discovery. London, Paris, Rome, St. Petersburg, Oslo, Amsterdam, New York -- all shining examples of the European ideal of progress.

And the Islamic world? Oceans of sand dotted with houses of indoctrinization. Where are the Universities, the libraries, the research institutes? Has the Arab world cured polio, put a man on the moon, minaturized the capacitor? No, they build mosque after mosque and dedicate their existance to oppressing women and burning the American flag. Millions of Muslims live in abject poverty, ruled by indifferent Sultans who spend their time constructing luxury palaces and funding groups whose sole purpose is to decimate the rest of the civilixed world.

This is not the beginning of the end, Ladies and Gentlemen. That dubious honor goes to the very day in 610 when an illiterate, dusty street merchant crawled out of a cave and claimed he spoke to an angel.

And if you don't believe that Islam is founded on violence, consider this: In the year 624, angry that his new religion was not being respected by the local potentates, Muhammad led 300 Muslim warriors on a bloody raid on a Meccan caravan at Badr, slaughtering 70 non-Muslim Arabs and throwing their bodies in the town's well. Muhammad's Quran speaks of the battle thusly:

"Yea, - if ye remain firm, and act aright, even if the enemy should rush here on you in hot haste, Allah would help you with five thousand angels making a terrific onslaught."

Peace, indeed.

Apathy For Entropy

2006-01-15T19:13:00.000-05:00

It's not that there isn't anything exciting happening in the world; i'm just being lazy. Sure, there are plenty of events taking place that I could and should be commenting on, but I'd much rather while away the time cleaning out my closets or alphabetizing my spices. I guess there comes a time in every deity's life that he must attend to the mundane.

So I'll keep this short, so I can go back to the arduous task of throwing out the Chinese food leftovers that have taken up residence in my refrigerator. Speaking of uninvited guests, it seems that Ariel Sharon's recent stroke was actually a divine punishment from god, according to Pat Robinson, consummate nutcase, er, Christian fundamentalist. In asking around, I discovered that Mr. Sharon's stroke was actually retribution from Poseidon, not Yahweh, for failing to install a low-flow toilet in his college apartment.

Hmm...what else. Oh, right, Howard Stern is finally back on the air on Sirius satellite radio, disseminating his sophomoric brand of humor to the 11 people who actually pay $14 a month for an entertainment medium that even Touareg nomads get for free. Not only that, it seems that Mr. Stern will be getting $100 million dollars a year for five years from Sirius, a company whose stock dipped 6% on the day of Stern's return. I fondly remember those folks who made off-color jokes in public about retarded midget lesbians for mere pocket change-- they were called "crazy homeless people on the 6 train."

And on a more domestic front, Caesar Rodriguez was arrested this week in the beating death of his 7-year old step-daughter, Nixzmary Brown. I for one am shocked; could anyone have predicted any nefarious goings-on in a household consisting of a 27-year old woman named Nixzaliz Santiago who has six kids by three different fathers and an illegal alien husband with a long history of criminal behavior? The Republicans have it all wrong: the government doesn't need to regulate immigration, but merely to track down anyone in America who has a different last name than their children and force them into a lifetime of servitude digging a 50 foot deep ditch around the country. Two birds, one stone.

I'd write more, but I have to celebrate the upcoming Martin Luther King day with the adding of Scotch to ice.

On The First Day Of Kwanzaa, My True Love Gave To Me, A Bitch-Slap Upside The Head

2005-12-27T16:42:00.000-05:00

I apologize in advance for the complete dryness of this update, but some things just need to be said.

Today marks the second day of a holiday called "Kwanzaa", which, ostensibly, is based on some African Harvest ritual and involves lighting candles a la Hanukah (in fact the candle holder looks suspiciously like a Menorah) We have seen in many examples -- BET, Black Miss America, the recent movie version of The Honeymooners -- that Black America is trying its darndest to carve out its own little culture trench by being completely subversive to the rest of the country. And I don't mean blowing up bus stations or any other militant actions, but they certainly aren't making any effort to either assimilate themselves into the society or contribute something more culturally significant than 50 Cent. I’m sorry, but Black music died with Ray Charles.

As far as I can tell, Kwanzaa is one of those holidays that only appeals to blacks who are really down with the whole “back to my roots” thing – which is great, in and of itself. I wouldn’t mind incorporating Kwanzaa into the holiday morass if it was in fact a legitimate holiday with a pedigree dating back to ancient times. But my research has told me differently, especially concerning Kwanzaa’s Communist, Racist, Anti-Semitic founder, Ron Karenga. So sit back, light up a Newport, pour yourself a double shot of Hennessey, and prepare for a very eye-opening history lesson.

The founder of Kwanzaa, Ron Everett, a.k.a. Maulana Ron Karenga, stood at the forefront of the black power movement in the 1960s. In 1965, Karenga distinguished himself as a ‘cultural nationalist’ by founding the United Slaves Organization (US), a group that would rival the Black Panthers on the UCLA campus. The United Slaves was more radical than the Panthers, setting off quarrels between the two. In 1969, the United Slaves Organization and the Black Panthers disagreed over who should head the new Afro-American Studies Center at UCLA. According to a Los Angeles Times article, Karenga and his supporters backed one candidate, the Panthers another. The Black Student Union set up a coalition to try to bring peace between the groups, which ended when United Slaves members shot dead two members of the Black Panthers.

Members of the United Slaves followed the ‘Path of Blackness’ detailed in The Quotable Karenga, authored by Karenga himself. “The sevenfold path of blackness is think black, talk black, act black, create black, buy black, vote black, and live black,” the book states.

The United Slaves Organization disbanded in 1971 after Karenga, Louis Smith, and Luz Maria Tamayo were convicted of felonious assault and false imprisonment for assaulting and torturing two women from the United Slaves, Deborah Jones & Gail Davis. A May 14, 1971 article in the Los Angeles Times described the testimony of one of the women: "Deborah Jones, who once was given the Swahili title of an African queen, said she and Gail Davis were whipped with an electrical cord and beaten with a baton after being ordered to remove their clothes. She testified that a hot soldering iron was placed in Miss Davis' mouth and placed against Miss Davis' face and that one of her own big toes was tightened in a vise. Karenga, head of United Slaves, also put detergent and running hoses in their mouths, she said, and hit them on the heads with toasters.”

At Karenga’s trial, the state’s psychiatrist’s report stated, ‘This man now represents a picture which can be considered both paranoid and schizophrenic with hallucinations and elusions, inappropriate affect, disorganization, and impaired contact with the environment.’ The psychiatrist observed that Karenga talked to his blanket and imaginary persons and believed that dive-bombers had attacked him. He received a four-year prison sentence for his brutal crimes.

After his release from prison, Karenga turned his attention towards Marxism, and re-established the US organization under a new structure. Two years later, in 1977, Karenga called on African-Americans to adopt his secular humanism and reject Western Religions (Christianity, Judiasm and Islam) as “mythical practices which deny and diminish human worth, capacity, potential and achievement.”

Says the official Kwanzaa Information Center of the Kwanzaa flag: “Red, or the blood, stands as the top of all things. We lost our land through blood; and we cannot gain it except through blood. We must redeem our lives through the blood. Without the shedding of blood there can be no redemption of this race.”

The Kwanzaa Information Center also notes that the flag “Has become the symbol of devotion for African people in America to establish an independent African nation on the North American Continent.”

Not disgusted enough? Try this one on for size: On September 17, 2001, six days after the vicious, devastating terrorist attack on New York and Washington, Karenga, the founder of Kwanzaa released this statement through his website:

“We must, even in the midst of our rightful grieving, pause and reflect on the possible causes for this devastating attack and how best to respond to it. Surely, we cannot believe the nightly newscasters and selective guests who assure us that the people who did this are simply jealous of our riches, even though millions of us are not rich, but are actually poor. Nor because they hate freedom, justice and related values. In fact, they think they are fighting for freedom, justice and the right to self-determination. Perhaps, then, it is not the material goods some of us have that they hate the U.S. for, but for attempts to impose the materialism of a consumerist society on them, to turn them into homogenized consumers of a McWorld system. And perhaps it is not that they are against freedom and justice and related values, but against the U.S. imposed interpretation of this. Perhaps, they resent the arrogance of imposition and the inequities imposed by a globalism that grinds them underfoot and denies them a right of self-determination and security that we say are indispensable to us and our allies.”

“Surely, we can and must condemn what they did, but it is also useful to imagine why they did it from their own perspective and to consider whether others feel similarly, even if they refuse to use such means to make their point. If we did, we might discover that from their perspective and those of people who will not commit such acts but are emphatic with their aims that they did it to: Avenge years of state terrorism, mass murder, selective assassination, collective punishment and other forms of oppression by the U.S. and its allies…and to dramatize and underline in a highly visible way the asymmetry of suffering between the U.S. and the oppressed in the world.”

Here’s the kicker: “We must challenge the U.S. to review and reconstruct its international policy, especially in the Middle East, so that it is just and equitable. This will be perhaps the most difficult struggle, not simply because of our uncritical commitment to Israel, the U.S.' major ally in the region, but also because of its shared demonization of their opponent (Palestine) and thus the refusal to address Palestine’s legitimate claims and their undeserved and asymmetrical suffering.”

Perhaps my favorite quote from Karenga: “We are concerned about all human life, but we are especially concerned about Black life. We don't apologize for that. We start with ourselves.” Yup. Sounds just like the principle of “umoja” espoused at the Official Kwanzaa Website.

Happy Kwanzaa, Y’all.

I Bought Jesus Some New Slippers For His Birthday.

2005-12-24T15:04:00.000-05:00

Considering 2.1 billion people in the world identify themselves as Christians -- in America alone there are 151 million Christians, a group comprising 76.5 % of the total U.S. population, -- I'd like to take this time to wish each and every one of you a Merry Christmas.

Forget Hanukkah, Ramadan, Diwali, and that phony-baloney holiday invented by a convicted felon, Kwanzaa.

The population of New York City is larger than the total population of all other religious groups in America combined. When you other guys show up with the sheer numbers then we’ll talk about incorporating you into the culture, but until then, majority rules, at least in the States.

In the meantime, Merry Christmas, and if you don’t like it, go move to Russia.

I Think Hanging Would Be Appropriate

2005-12-12T22:48:00.000-05:00

If this were a Livejournal account, and I was a pockmarked teenager who shopped at Hot Topic, I’d call this piece a rant. But because I can hammer together meaningful sentences without resorting to the use of the word “random,” I’ll simply call this an observation:

Are black Americans off their rocker? And I don’t mean that in any xenophobic, white supremacist way, but, really, what the hell is happening to you people out there in Afro-land? Read this article from MSNBC and do a quick scan for the phrase “Disappointment from the NAACP.”

Ok? You didn’t read the entire article, did you? Dying to know what the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People is “disappointed” about?

That Gov. Schwarzenegger has denied clemency for Stanley “Tookie” Williams. In case you’ve been out of touch with the world around you for the past 30 years or so, here’s a rundown on the life and times of Stanley Williams.

He's a complicated man, but no one understands him but his woman...

Williams was born on December 29, 1953 to a 17-year-old unwed mother in South Central Los Angeles. If that doesn’t bode evil for you, then the fact that “Tookie” is not a nickname but his actual real middle name should.

By 1971, at the age of 18, Williams had formed the “West Side Crips”, a gang named for the fact that they were mentally deficient. Or something like that. The gang’s original intent, according to Williams was to “cleanse the neighborhood of…marauding gangs,” by, one would assume, killing rival sub-humans. Of course, like so many other ill-concieved organizations, the Crips soon spiraled out of control, and instead of standing on street corners around a flaming oil drum, singing doo-wop music, the Crips instead decided to enter the lurative fields of drug dealing, shooting various other people with stupid nicknames and making illegible hand signals to each other.

Williams was convicted of murdering Albert Owens, by shooting him twice in the back of the head, and murdering Tsai-Shai Yang, Yen-I Yang, and Yee Chen Lin by shooting them with a shotgun, during the course of two seperate robberies in 1979. During the conviction phase, Williams mouthed the following words to the jurors: "I'm going to get each and every one of you motherfuckers.” Clearly, there stood an innocent man.

While in prison, Williams committed multiple assaults on inmates and guards earning him 6.5 years in solitary confinement. I’m happy to see that rehabilitation thing working out for the Department of Corrections.

Williams is sentenced to die on December 13 at 12:01 AM PST, and every wackaloon D-List celebrity from Jaime Foxx to Mike Farrell (a man who hasn’t had a job since the MASH finale) is out to prevent this “tragedy” from occurring. Of course, holding everyone’s hand and rhyming his way onto the front page is Rev. Jesse Jackson, a man who would protect a four-time convicted murderer, but not utter a word about the two NYC police officers killed this week.

But I can understand such stunts from two-bit frauds and publicity hounds like Jackson and his ilk. What I’m having problems coming to terms with is why the NAACP is saying anything at all. I was under the impression that the NAACP sought “The mission of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People is to ensure the political, educational, social and economic equality of rights of all persons and to eliminate racial hatred and racial discrimination.” After all, it says so right on their website. How does the execution of a fungus like Stanley Williams merit their inclusion?

Oh, right. Because Williams is black.

I don’t remember the NAACP coming to Timothy McVeigh’s rescue. I don’t seem to recall Bruce Gordon waving picket signs outside of the courthouse for Shawn Humphries, Kenneth Lee Boyd, Richard Johnson, Eric Randall Nance or any of the 578 white criminals executed since 1977. Where was the NAACP or the ACLU with their Amicus Briefs when those men rode the white lightning? Interestingly enough, Williams is to be executed for killing four people; out of the 578 condemned white inmates, only 19 were as prolific as Williams. Funny, I didn’t hear a peep from the NAACP for those cases.

But the NAACP has a link on their site to a website called “Save Tookie”, a grassroots (read: incompetent) organization banded together to prevent the “racist” death of one of America’s greatest living treasures. Or so they would have the public believe. “He wrote children’s books!” they cry. “He’s worked to end gang violence!” they insist. “He was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize!” they shove in your face (despite the fact 1) Anyone can be nominated for the prize, and 2) So was Yasser Arafat).

Come, Tookie! We have much to discuss!

Well, you know what Jaime, Mike and Bruce? He also ruthlessly killed four people and the foundation of his gang indirectly led to the deaths of thousands more. If any “human” on the planet deserved the death penalty, it’s Stanley Williams.

And the NAACP deserves a huge kick in the ass for associating themselves with such an aberrant villain. In fact, I think that in addition to executing Tookie on national television (with a simulcast on BET) the state of California should also put to death any individual wearing a “Save Tookie” T-shirt, placard or bumper sticker. Earth does not need such misguided characters roaming around making trouble for decent, law abiding citizens.

Rest in Peace, Albert Owens, Tsai-Shai Yang, Yen-I Yang, and Yee Chen Lin.

Lex Talionis.

Here's Your Textbook, Now Get In The Box!

2005-12-05T20:35:00.000-05:00

I remember my grammar school days fondly – the rote memorization, the diagramming of sentences, the hours of hours of pointless, mind numbing, spirit crushing mathematics exercises that were forced upon us ever since we were old enough to hold a pencil without jabbing ourselves in the eye – it’s times like that which make a person look back and wonder why more students didn’t strap on an Uzi and go gunning for the assistant principal. In retrospect though the answer was quite simple: we were a generation that respected the authority of the school. If a teacher told us to quit talking, we did, immediately and without question. We didn’t flip her the bird, mutter under our breath, or stand defiantly in her face and tell her to perform a reverse bowel movement with her ruler. One reason for our tacit acceptance of the ruling class in school was the fact that teachers were an extension of our parents – Mom and Dad expected us to succeed academically, and disappointing the teachers was, in effect, disappointing our parents.

Another, some may say more tangible reason, behind our classroom compliance was the fact that teachers during my time in elementary school, were endowed with the license of “corporeal punishment,” a concept which has sadly gone the way of the Flock Of Seagulls haircut. Mouthing off to your third grade teacher was tantamount to spitting on Jesus, and, as such, was received with all the warmth of a Neo-Nazi Pride parade. Law and order was set in stone around second grade where we watched in a mixture of puzzlement and horror as Chris Palmieri had the back of his knuckles smacked with a yardstick after telling the teacher to “shut up.” He didn’t summon a lawyer, call the ACLU on his cell phone, or contact the local paper. He sat there, cried, and later that night was swatted again by his parents for angering the teacher.

We had learned a valuable lesson that day, one that went far beyond “don’t talk back to the teacher or you’ll get hit.” No, we learned that there were consequences to our actions, and if we wanted to succeed, we must always choose the right thing to do, lest we suffer the penalty. And if you slipped and forgot, and decided to take a walk on the wild side by swiping chalk or cheating on your vocabulary test, a sharp rebuke, followed by a swift rap on the knuckles put you back on the road to decency post haste.

Nowadays, the line between right and wrong has been blurred by liberal educators, over-indulgent parents, greedy lawyers and grant-seeking “researchers.” Hitting children, they say, teaches them only violence and disdain for authority, and more diplomatic behavior modification techniques should be sought. By the way, the people who buy into that Holistic mumbo jumbo are the very same people who would refuse to ban “Grand Theft Auto,” on the grounds that it would violate free speech.

Take a look at this article from the Hartford Courant. It doesn’t involve corporeal punishment or psychobabble, but within the article lies a quote which reflects contemporary society’s dangerously misguided attitude towards crime and punishment. If you don’t want to read the whole article, allow me to sum it up for you:

In an effort to cut down on unruly behavior, students in Hartford-area schools are being fined $103 by the police every time they are caught cursing. If the students can’t afford the fine, the parents will have to foot the bill. In one instance, a sophomore was ticketed by police for swearing at an officer as she was being handcuffed for attempting to take a swing at him. It’s a good thing that I’m not a police officer in Hartford, because if some spoiled, subhuman teenager tried to hit me, I’d beat her until she couldn’t grow anymore. That’s right, I said “her,” as the student in question is a girl. I blame rap “music.”

Here’s the best part:

George Sugai, who teaches school discipline at UConn's Neag School of Education, is skeptical of the effort. "Research says that punishing kids doesn't teach them the right way to act," he said.

This quote tells me two things:

One, George Sugai has never been a public high school teacher a day in his life, and,
Two, George Sugai is an idiot.

I would love to see the taxpayer-funded research paper that uncovers the ground-breaking discovery that punishment fails to teach right from wrong. It’s not about your humanistic notion of morality, Mr. Sugai; no one cares if the students understand the moral implications of cursing at authority figures. Apparently, given the predilection towards violence at Hartford public schools, the best we as a civilized society can expect from these savages is forced righteousness in the form of operant conditioning.

I don’t want to bore my readers with lots of jargon or complex explanations; suffice it to say that operant conditioning works like this:

If a student shows up to class on time, takes copious notes, spends ample time studying those notes, and attains a perfect score on his test, then that student should be rewarded with an A+ and a shiny gold star. Positive reinforcement theory tells us that the student is then inspired to continue his performance by repeating the desired behaviors.

If however, a student is late to class, curses at the teacher, and takes a swing at a cop, then he should be struck in the larynx with the butt-end of a riot baton. Negative reinforcement theory tells us that this produces an undesired outcome, prompting the student to seek other, more appropriate behaviors.

Or, you could fine them $103. I suppose you have to start somewhere.