Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Pointless.
Today's amazing encounter was with a young lady who in a perfectly delightful manner told an utterly pointless story. Allow me to explain.
The young lady in question has an honest diagnosis of ADD/ADHD. She is not a slacker or dirtbag, and in fact I have had trouble with her before, but today I loved her for having an honest disability, rather the the Socialist diagnosis of any fuckhead with some kind of social problem being coddled as 'disabled' and having wasted money spent on them as 'disabled'. Anyway.
The amazing thing about her story was that it reflected her mental disability, and her story was not, surprisingly, random, but utterly pointless. Like I say, it did not miss a point, and was completely not unintelligent, but every time her story would reach a crescendo or culmination or resolution it digressed into something else. It was amazing. And she had, charmingly, no sense of irony about it at all.
I now have seared into my brain an unforgettable mental image of a McDonald's employee chasing a homeless man clad in flapping coat and hat with earflaps, riding a pink stolen girl's bicycle, equipped with training wheels, across a WalMart parking lot in a snowstorm, the employee shouting, "STOP, THIEF!"
It got more absurd from there. It was amazing. You know, Franz Kafka spent years polishing his stories so as to communicate chaos, anarchy, and diabolical nonsense; this girl did it with no effort at all.
When she finished, other students complained, "Mr. LN, that story didn't make no sense!" I responded, "I know. Thank you, Ms. L, thank you. Bravo". And I applauded her with forthright honesty.
The young lady in question has an honest diagnosis of ADD/ADHD. She is not a slacker or dirtbag, and in fact I have had trouble with her before, but today I loved her for having an honest disability, rather the the Socialist diagnosis of any fuckhead with some kind of social problem being coddled as 'disabled' and having wasted money spent on them as 'disabled'. Anyway.
The amazing thing about her story was that it reflected her mental disability, and her story was not, surprisingly, random, but utterly pointless. Like I say, it did not miss a point, and was completely not unintelligent, but every time her story would reach a crescendo or culmination or resolution it digressed into something else. It was amazing. And she had, charmingly, no sense of irony about it at all.
I now have seared into my brain an unforgettable mental image of a McDonald's employee chasing a homeless man clad in flapping coat and hat with earflaps, riding a pink stolen girl's bicycle, equipped with training wheels, across a WalMart parking lot in a snowstorm, the employee shouting, "STOP, THIEF!"
It got more absurd from there. It was amazing. You know, Franz Kafka spent years polishing his stories so as to communicate chaos, anarchy, and diabolical nonsense; this girl did it with no effort at all.
When she finished, other students complained, "Mr. LN, that story didn't make no sense!" I responded, "I know. Thank you, Ms. L, thank you. Bravo". And I applauded her with forthright honesty.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Anger Management and blogging
So for the last several months, my big problem has been walking through my life in a state of almost uncontrollable fury. I don't mean a sort of lame, stamp-your-feet fury, but the kind of homicidal rage that got me into so much trouble earlier in my life.
I've successfully frightened my kid, alienated everyone who knows me at all, and am personally miserable trying to control a basic, murderous aggression.
Honestly, a lot of it was making a totally ill-advised effort to 'clean up' a blog so as to present a decent front, but I've realized that if my writing here can't be honest, I'm fucked. All the invective, nuttiness, violence, and horrible behavior is really just how I am. I'm pretty scary. I spend a lot of my time talking myself out of doing bad things, not all the time with any kind of success. However, I was successful today in the following exchange:
Buck Banger, idly flipping his pencil while slouching Diddy-fashion: "What the fuck you looking at, motherfucker? I don't like motherfuckers lookin at me".
Me, sitting and writing in a journal: "Huh? I'm just waiting for the bell to ring. I'm not looking at anything in particular".
Actual, mental conversation :
Buck Banger, thinking: "God DAMN I be bored wid dis motherfuckin shit! Why I gotta do dis shit? Dis here shit be wrong. These mothafuckas be treatin me! What the fuck dis White boy be fuckin lookin at?"
Me, thinking: "Is there any way at all I can use his handling of that pencil as interpreting it as him using it as a weapon? Because I want to kill this piece of shit. I have my heavy metal pen in my right hand, faking writing down notes, and I want to jam this motherfucker into his eye, then subclavian artery in front of his motherfucking homies. And they won't jump on me, because they think I'm some pussy teacher and won't be ready, and I'll be able to take them one at a time to fuck them all up. I bet I can kill two and cripple the other three".
My decision: Remembering old cops I've met for whom all invective and verbal abuse was water off a duck's back, and simply... this is hard, son of a BITCH! let it go.
Just let this motherfucker's shit go. Let it go, Joel. Let it go. 20 more minutes. Deal with it. Sit tight. Let it go. Don't fuck up your life by killing this worthless punk. Wait. Ah, there we go. Maybe he'll do some stupid shit on the outside, later on, and you can kill him there and no-one will know. Yeah, that's it. Wait. Just wait. Maybe the wait will fade the hate.
Maybe.
I've successfully frightened my kid, alienated everyone who knows me at all, and am personally miserable trying to control a basic, murderous aggression.
Honestly, a lot of it was making a totally ill-advised effort to 'clean up' a blog so as to present a decent front, but I've realized that if my writing here can't be honest, I'm fucked. All the invective, nuttiness, violence, and horrible behavior is really just how I am. I'm pretty scary. I spend a lot of my time talking myself out of doing bad things, not all the time with any kind of success. However, I was successful today in the following exchange:
Buck Banger, idly flipping his pencil while slouching Diddy-fashion: "What the fuck you looking at, motherfucker? I don't like motherfuckers lookin at me".
Me, sitting and writing in a journal: "Huh? I'm just waiting for the bell to ring. I'm not looking at anything in particular".
Actual, mental conversation :
Buck Banger, thinking: "God DAMN I be bored wid dis motherfuckin shit! Why I gotta do dis shit? Dis here shit be wrong. These mothafuckas be treatin me! What the fuck dis White boy be fuckin lookin at?"
Me, thinking: "Is there any way at all I can use his handling of that pencil as interpreting it as him using it as a weapon? Because I want to kill this piece of shit. I have my heavy metal pen in my right hand, faking writing down notes, and I want to jam this motherfucker into his eye, then subclavian artery in front of his motherfucking homies. And they won't jump on me, because they think I'm some pussy teacher and won't be ready, and I'll be able to take them one at a time to fuck them all up. I bet I can kill two and cripple the other three".
My decision: Remembering old cops I've met for whom all invective and verbal abuse was water off a duck's back, and simply... this is hard, son of a BITCH! let it go.
Just let this motherfucker's shit go. Let it go, Joel. Let it go. 20 more minutes. Deal with it. Sit tight. Let it go. Don't fuck up your life by killing this worthless punk. Wait. Ah, there we go. Maybe he'll do some stupid shit on the outside, later on, and you can kill him there and no-one will know. Yeah, that's it. Wait. Just wait. Maybe the wait will fade the hate.
Maybe.
Today's Super Excellent Fun
Classrooms of 'behavioral special ed' (read: criminals). These are the punks just out of juvenile hall, halfway houses, detention facilities, and suspensions over ten days. Their universal characteristic is total worthlessness. In the wisdom of everyone, they are being 'taught' by special education teachers, who are indoctrinated with the belief that all 'children' are salvageable, that there is good in everyone, and that bad behavior is due to negative influences and ignorance, not evil.
I beg to differ.
Anyway, I had a n episode today in which I had to quickly gobble a fistful of happy pills to avoid attacking an inmate oops, I mean 'student'.
However, I decided what I would do in the same circumstances, without simply violating every single one of them back into the criminal revolving door oops, I mean justice system. I would: Allow a grace period of two days for all the dumbasses to figure out the rules. The rules are simple:
No gang colors.
No electronics, of any kind.
No profanity.
No hand gestures.
No negative comments to teachers.
No arguing with teachers' decisions.
Basically, the rules would be posted clearly and permanently, for all to see. Any argument about a rule, arguing, electronics, etc. hey motherfucker, THE RULES ARE POSTED. Hence, the grace period to start or for new arrivals.
Things that are to be done:
Some work must be accomplished, and I will help.
Some work must be turned in.
You must learn something, and I will do everything I can to help that along.
Essentially, my argument in favor of the rules is this:
"All of you are here due to an inability to follow, or a hatred of, rules and of being told what to do. However, as a condition of your release you must attend this short version of school, to stay outside and to work. It is a condition of your parole, probation, or of your school suspension. So, knowing that NONE OF YOU WISH TO BE HERE IN THE SLIGHTEST, and I don't want to fight you every God-damn day, we are going to come to an understanding. We have these simple guidelines to satisfy your conditions of freedom. I will not violate (send back to jail) anyone without a clear infraction of the above rules. But if you fuck with me, play games, or fuck around or lip off, I don't care if you're having a bad day or whatever the fuck, if you fuck with me after knowing the rules and your grace period, motherfucker, you are violated. This classroom is a short period out of your day, and it is temporary. I am making this as pleasant as possible for everyone, and if you get in my way on the road to inner peace, I will destroy you".
On the plus side, the inmates oops, I mean students, started the rumor that I am some kind of horrible jailbird fulfilling his community service by working with kids. I like this rumor, it makes me laugh. And it is uncomfortably close to the truth.
I beg to differ.
Anyway, I had a n episode today in which I had to quickly gobble a fistful of happy pills to avoid attacking an inmate oops, I mean 'student'.
However, I decided what I would do in the same circumstances, without simply violating every single one of them back into the criminal revolving door oops, I mean justice system. I would: Allow a grace period of two days for all the dumbasses to figure out the rules. The rules are simple:
No gang colors.
No electronics, of any kind.
No profanity.
No hand gestures.
No negative comments to teachers.
No arguing with teachers' decisions.
Basically, the rules would be posted clearly and permanently, for all to see. Any argument about a rule, arguing, electronics, etc. hey motherfucker, THE RULES ARE POSTED. Hence, the grace period to start or for new arrivals.
Things that are to be done:
Some work must be accomplished, and I will help.
Some work must be turned in.
You must learn something, and I will do everything I can to help that along.
Essentially, my argument in favor of the rules is this:
"All of you are here due to an inability to follow, or a hatred of, rules and of being told what to do. However, as a condition of your release you must attend this short version of school, to stay outside and to work. It is a condition of your parole, probation, or of your school suspension. So, knowing that NONE OF YOU WISH TO BE HERE IN THE SLIGHTEST, and I don't want to fight you every God-damn day, we are going to come to an understanding. We have these simple guidelines to satisfy your conditions of freedom. I will not violate (send back to jail) anyone without a clear infraction of the above rules. But if you fuck with me, play games, or fuck around or lip off, I don't care if you're having a bad day or whatever the fuck, if you fuck with me after knowing the rules and your grace period, motherfucker, you are violated. This classroom is a short period out of your day, and it is temporary. I am making this as pleasant as possible for everyone, and if you get in my way on the road to inner peace, I will destroy you".
On the plus side, the inmates oops, I mean students, started the rumor that I am some kind of horrible jailbird fulfilling his community service by working with kids. I like this rumor, it makes me laugh. And it is uncomfortably close to the truth.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Socialized Medicine Slogans
Since I'm on state Medicare, and recently received a notice with the new slogan of 'Serious Health Care Close to Home', implying anything not serious is best left to other devices, I vote for the following ad campaigns:
"BADGERCARE: BROKEN BONES AND BULLET HOLES!"
(A billboard with a female crackhead holding a screaming preemie wearing nothing but a diaper) "Your baby won't stop crying? Deal with it yourself, you stupid bitch!"
"DON'T COME IN UNTIL YOU'VE EXHAUSTED YOUR SUPPLY OF PRESCRIPTION DRUGS ALL MIXED TOGETHER IN A BAGGIE LIKE FRUITY PEBBLES".
"BADGERCARE: BROKEN BONES AND BULLET HOLES!"
(A billboard with a female crackhead holding a screaming preemie wearing nothing but a diaper) "Your baby won't stop crying? Deal with it yourself, you stupid bitch!"
"DON'T COME IN UNTIL YOU'VE EXHAUSTED YOUR SUPPLY OF PRESCRIPTION DRUGS ALL MIXED TOGETHER IN A BAGGIE LIKE FRUITY PEBBLES".
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Let's talk about shootouts.
Now that I've given up on the whole 'decent person thing',. let's discuss shootouts.
How do you survive a shootout? Well. Find cover and don't pretend. and most importantly, practice, practice, practice. Practice entering buildings. Practice walking down the god damn street. Practice what you are going to say to the darker gentleman who say, "I buy you a watch!"
(To which my response now will be, "I'm a gradeschool teacher, and you should say, I'm sorry, what's you're name, Kenai, you should say, "I will sell you a watch!" Say it with me."
It's really hard to survive a shootout and have any clue what happened. You won't remember. The place your body will take you is so rarified you will have no real recollection of anything other than your own memories, which believe me, are unreliable.
My memory is trashed. I have fragments of fragments of pieces of happenstances. Why do I think about the Balkans all the time? Well, the 'real' military, you know, that pussy kind that sends everyone back to their home when their hitch is done, is a waste of mother fucking time. I ran into military, briefly, in places I went, and no respect for them at all. They were clock-punchers. You know what? FUCK YOU. Blow me. Suck me. And most of them were Republicans.
But they weren't nearly as bad as the 'thinkers'.
Maybe what you need to survive violence is violence yourself.
I'm not sure.
How do you survive a shootout? Well. Find cover and don't pretend. and most importantly, practice, practice, practice. Practice entering buildings. Practice walking down the god damn street. Practice what you are going to say to the darker gentleman who say, "I buy you a watch!"
(To which my response now will be, "I'm a gradeschool teacher, and you should say, I'm sorry, what's you're name, Kenai, you should say, "I will sell you a watch!" Say it with me."
It's really hard to survive a shootout and have any clue what happened. You won't remember. The place your body will take you is so rarified you will have no real recollection of anything other than your own memories, which believe me, are unreliable.
My memory is trashed. I have fragments of fragments of pieces of happenstances. Why do I think about the Balkans all the time? Well, the 'real' military, you know, that pussy kind that sends everyone back to their home when their hitch is done, is a waste of mother fucking time. I ran into military, briefly, in places I went, and no respect for them at all. They were clock-punchers. You know what? FUCK YOU. Blow me. Suck me. And most of them were Republicans.
But they weren't nearly as bad as the 'thinkers'.
Maybe what you need to survive violence is violence yourself.
I'm not sure.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Not well suited.
Well, interestingly, since I've had experience (under whacked-out circumstances) of FORCING people into doing things they think they don't want to do... enter the US Marine thing... I pride myself in doing things I just don't want to do. I do things I don't want to do all the time. It's called DISCIPLINE.
I figure, especially, that if no-one wants to do it, it's not because they are intelligent (as humans, like all mammals, seek the path of least resistance, i. e. laziness), but they are preserving themselves. And their ilk, or progeny, or whatever. But pure stupidity? NOT WORTH PRESERVING.
Well, what's going on right now is the economy is forcing dumbfucks* into substitute teaching. When they thought they'd have a cushy job with leverage and all that, and have certification, and licensure, which I don't have, and here they are begging me for advice. Guess what: FUCK YOU and the FAT FUCK you FUCKED to get married to get this job. This is now being exacerbated by the fact that any truly qualified teacher is bailing, big-time, for less fucked-up pastures.
So I, Me, has/have the weird circumstance of talking to dumb motherfuckers who thought they'd have a cushy Union job, only to discover they'd have to, oh, TEACH INNER-CITY PEOPLE. And be accountable for same.
So instead of being the warzone pariah I spent my formative years being, suddenly I'm 'in the loop', and I am pissed off, bigtime, at any White lame-O fuckhead thinking they're going to use my skills to finance their stupid, knick-knack-buying lifestyle.
Hey y'all, FUCK Y'all.
*I am offically declaring anything I write online as offlimits to anything or anyone where I work with the word FUCK. Fuck You. If some fuckhead found this through a website, you did not find it through a school portal. Eat my cock, bitch.
I figure, especially, that if no-one wants to do it, it's not because they are intelligent (as humans, like all mammals, seek the path of least resistance, i. e. laziness), but they are preserving themselves. And their ilk, or progeny, or whatever. But pure stupidity? NOT WORTH PRESERVING.
Well, what's going on right now is the economy is forcing dumbfucks* into substitute teaching. When they thought they'd have a cushy job with leverage and all that, and have certification, and licensure, which I don't have, and here they are begging me for advice. Guess what: FUCK YOU and the FAT FUCK you FUCKED to get married to get this job. This is now being exacerbated by the fact that any truly qualified teacher is bailing, big-time, for less fucked-up pastures.
So I, Me, has/have the weird circumstance of talking to dumb motherfuckers who thought they'd have a cushy Union job, only to discover they'd have to, oh, TEACH INNER-CITY PEOPLE. And be accountable for same.
So instead of being the warzone pariah I spent my formative years being, suddenly I'm 'in the loop', and I am pissed off, bigtime, at any White lame-O fuckhead thinking they're going to use my skills to finance their stupid, knick-knack-buying lifestyle.
Hey y'all, FUCK Y'all.
*I am offically declaring anything I write online as offlimits to anything or anyone where I work with the word FUCK. Fuck You. If some fuckhead found this through a website, you did not find it through a school portal. Eat my cock, bitch.
Writer's Group
I wrote a thinly disguised narrative about my experiences in XPlace for writer's group, encouraged by our members, and they took it as a dark, Grimm-Bros. folktale. Right up until I explained the reality of it in blunt, street terms.
I'll be reading this in an upcoming show. I might post it, I don't know.
I'll be reading this in an upcoming show. I might post it, I don't know.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Snitch Culture and People
So I've been reading about the 4 (actually 5) killings in Oakland. Wow. It seems the community there has a major problem with their police department, feeling they're abusive, racist, and dangerous. I'm sure the police feel the same way about the population they're supposed to be 'serving and protecting'.
I've lived in places ill-served by police, and generally the cops weren't necessarily all that bad, mostly just incompetent and uncaring. It used to drive me insane to call the police and have an officer come out, make biased statements about the neighborhood I lived in, and then point-blank refuse to pursue information I'd give them. I had cops tell me things like, "What do you want? You live here", and "I'm not doing anything about your complaint". It led to my simply losing sight of the fact that police existed at all, and for years after moving to more civilized places I had a terrible time getting used to the idea you could call the police and they'd actually do something! Wild! Far out! Imagine!
Anyway, people who live in bad neighborhoods (note I did not say poor neighborhoods, I said bad neighborhoods) tend to have their own culture and morals that don't match very well with general ideas of a more civilized society. Where I live now I meet people who I swear don't know street drugs are illegal. They act like they aren't, or as if they shouldn't be, therefore when they're 'hassled by the cops' they're outraged.
I meet a lot of young people who have been born into criminality and have no idea what a straight life is. They have no concepts of cooperation, no social mores, no idea of any greater societal obligations than a clannish dedication to their immediate circle of relatives and homies. In the case in Oakland, it surprises me not at all that neighbors and relatives knew the shooter was hiding in that apartment and chose to say nothing.
Where I live now the police largely can't get convictions for killings, some of which are now 5 or more years back, because people who have personal knowledge of the killer's role won't say anything. Usually, the police here wait for the people known to have killed others to make other moves, then convict them for those things, calling it 'close enough'. Why? No-one will talk about crime in their community. Why not? Well, mostly it implicates all their friends and relatives, and if people started actually reporting all the crime, there'd be nobody left.
Everyone's culpable, from the elderly grandparents taking money from their grandkids to store 'packages', to the little kids trained to report police presence on the street. It's multi-generational, family-based crime. Everyone is involved. Everyone.
My biggest problem with what I do for a living is unbelievably horrible behavior. Unfathomable rottenness. And honestly, I cannot for the life of me truly understand it. How do these people get this way? And the answer is, multiple generations of badness. The kids are bad because the parents are bad, and the parents are bad because their parents were bad. Generation after generation of rotten choices, bad behavior, and slack ignorance. Generations of teenaged, unattached mothers. Generations of absent, dimwitted 'fathers'. Generations of brain-dead parents who spend all their time swapping partners so the kids never have anything resembling an authority figure, ever, and don't know what family stability is.
I realized how deep the practice was when I listened to a pregnant 15-year-old girl discuss her upcoming birth, and without an iota of shame or irony described her plans. She was going to live with her mother, who would supply free child care, go to school until she could drop out, and then study at home for her GED, because she didn't like the way teachers 'be all up on her'. After this she wanted to, and I'm not making this up, become an RN because 'they make a lot of money'. When another girl asked her about the father, she announced, and again without malice or any discernable sense of emotion, that she didn't care for the guy, and had never liked him, but had had sex with him out of boredom. As far as the biological father's role in any of this, she stated she'd just sue him for child support and use it as her income while staying at her mom's for free, so she could shop and 'party'. When asked what she would do if he didn't pay her, she said, "He better pay me, or the state be puttin' him in jail". This plan was matter-of-factly laid out as if it were a trip to the mall. In none of this display was there any indication of any sense of responsibility, maturity, or dedication. This young woman simply did whatever she felt like, without any concept of consequences, and anything bad happening to her had nothing at all to do with any action of her own. Not only did she not have any idea that what she herself was doing might not be the world's best plan, she seemed to have little or no sense of herself as a person. She was impulsive, aimless, and ultimately passive, treating the world as some sort of smorgasbord of small paths, which she might or might not take depending on how she felt at the time.
And they are all over the place, these people. You can bet this girl's mother had the same kind of life. And we're going to have these folks be responsible citizens.
I've lived in places ill-served by police, and generally the cops weren't necessarily all that bad, mostly just incompetent and uncaring. It used to drive me insane to call the police and have an officer come out, make biased statements about the neighborhood I lived in, and then point-blank refuse to pursue information I'd give them. I had cops tell me things like, "What do you want? You live here", and "I'm not doing anything about your complaint". It led to my simply losing sight of the fact that police existed at all, and for years after moving to more civilized places I had a terrible time getting used to the idea you could call the police and they'd actually do something! Wild! Far out! Imagine!
Anyway, people who live in bad neighborhoods (note I did not say poor neighborhoods, I said bad neighborhoods) tend to have their own culture and morals that don't match very well with general ideas of a more civilized society. Where I live now I meet people who I swear don't know street drugs are illegal. They act like they aren't, or as if they shouldn't be, therefore when they're 'hassled by the cops' they're outraged.
I meet a lot of young people who have been born into criminality and have no idea what a straight life is. They have no concepts of cooperation, no social mores, no idea of any greater societal obligations than a clannish dedication to their immediate circle of relatives and homies. In the case in Oakland, it surprises me not at all that neighbors and relatives knew the shooter was hiding in that apartment and chose to say nothing.
Where I live now the police largely can't get convictions for killings, some of which are now 5 or more years back, because people who have personal knowledge of the killer's role won't say anything. Usually, the police here wait for the people known to have killed others to make other moves, then convict them for those things, calling it 'close enough'. Why? No-one will talk about crime in their community. Why not? Well, mostly it implicates all their friends and relatives, and if people started actually reporting all the crime, there'd be nobody left.
Everyone's culpable, from the elderly grandparents taking money from their grandkids to store 'packages', to the little kids trained to report police presence on the street. It's multi-generational, family-based crime. Everyone is involved. Everyone.
My biggest problem with what I do for a living is unbelievably horrible behavior. Unfathomable rottenness. And honestly, I cannot for the life of me truly understand it. How do these people get this way? And the answer is, multiple generations of badness. The kids are bad because the parents are bad, and the parents are bad because their parents were bad. Generation after generation of rotten choices, bad behavior, and slack ignorance. Generations of teenaged, unattached mothers. Generations of absent, dimwitted 'fathers'. Generations of brain-dead parents who spend all their time swapping partners so the kids never have anything resembling an authority figure, ever, and don't know what family stability is.
I realized how deep the practice was when I listened to a pregnant 15-year-old girl discuss her upcoming birth, and without an iota of shame or irony described her plans. She was going to live with her mother, who would supply free child care, go to school until she could drop out, and then study at home for her GED, because she didn't like the way teachers 'be all up on her'. After this she wanted to, and I'm not making this up, become an RN because 'they make a lot of money'. When another girl asked her about the father, she announced, and again without malice or any discernable sense of emotion, that she didn't care for the guy, and had never liked him, but had had sex with him out of boredom. As far as the biological father's role in any of this, she stated she'd just sue him for child support and use it as her income while staying at her mom's for free, so she could shop and 'party'. When asked what she would do if he didn't pay her, she said, "He better pay me, or the state be puttin' him in jail". This plan was matter-of-factly laid out as if it were a trip to the mall. In none of this display was there any indication of any sense of responsibility, maturity, or dedication. This young woman simply did whatever she felt like, without any concept of consequences, and anything bad happening to her had nothing at all to do with any action of her own. Not only did she not have any idea that what she herself was doing might not be the world's best plan, she seemed to have little or no sense of herself as a person. She was impulsive, aimless, and ultimately passive, treating the world as some sort of smorgasbord of small paths, which she might or might not take depending on how she felt at the time.
And they are all over the place, these people. You can bet this girl's mother had the same kind of life. And we're going to have these folks be responsible citizens.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Frightening.
I wrote a piece for Writer's Group this morning about spiritual connections. and all day it's been coming back on me.
I watched my NetFlix choice, Melville's 'Second Breath, a 'heist film' that transcends heist films films and had me grabbing for my gun. Melville knows how people kill each other with firearms, and it is the scariest movie I've seen since TO HELL AND BACK.
The really weird part is this: I went writing at the coffee shop this morning about living in the spiritually different world of the Central American immigrants I got exposed to while I met Ray Bradbury, and came home to read the news discovering the Oakland cop killings with two (TWO!) motorcycle cops shot through their helmets, echoing the police killings in Melville's movie in which two French motorcycle cops are shot in their helmets. In one brief shot (film) blood is seen coming out of one cop's helmet. Reading the report of a barbershop employee he ran up to one cop and stated, "I saw blood coming out of his helmet".
I NEVER watch movies like this, for good reason, and I'm baffled as to how I was watching a movie about two motorcycle cops getting shot in their helmets at the same time two Oakland cops were getting smoked on the street.
I'm kind of freaked out. I'm having a convergence, and this is not the only convergence. It's been going on all day. I think I need to either go back to the Balkans or just... I don't know what. I ned to get back there right now, for some reason. I have to. There is something really wrong.
It's too much.
I watched my NetFlix choice, Melville's 'Second Breath, a 'heist film' that transcends heist films films and had me grabbing for my gun. Melville knows how people kill each other with firearms, and it is the scariest movie I've seen since TO HELL AND BACK.
The really weird part is this: I went writing at the coffee shop this morning about living in the spiritually different world of the Central American immigrants I got exposed to while I met Ray Bradbury, and came home to read the news discovering the Oakland cop killings with two (TWO!) motorcycle cops shot through their helmets, echoing the police killings in Melville's movie in which two French motorcycle cops are shot in their helmets. In one brief shot (film) blood is seen coming out of one cop's helmet. Reading the report of a barbershop employee he ran up to one cop and stated, "I saw blood coming out of his helmet".
I NEVER watch movies like this, for good reason, and I'm baffled as to how I was watching a movie about two motorcycle cops getting shot in their helmets at the same time two Oakland cops were getting smoked on the street.
I'm kind of freaked out. I'm having a convergence, and this is not the only convergence. It's been going on all day. I think I need to either go back to the Balkans or just... I don't know what. I ned to get back there right now, for some reason. I have to. There is something really wrong.
It's too much.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Poltical Ghosts
I'm ticked about an incident this week, in which I returned to teach at a school I hadn't been to since last November. The principal entered the room twice to sit and observe, which was confusing, but not unprecedented. At break she came in and broached the subject with me that on my previous appearance I had made statements and/or done something that made them 'uncomfortable' with having me teach at the school. Yeah, thanks for being adult about it and letting me know at the time.
Apaprently, they perceived me as having said something about the election. Now, I know exactly what I said.
I took the 4th grade class to the library to 'vote'. This was a program the entire district did, in which classes went to monitors set up in the IMCs to 'vote' by simply choosing a picture of either McCain or Obama with a mouse click. I had a number of problems with this, firstly being that there are more than two political parties in the US, but my big issue was that the 'voting' was done in clear view of all the other students. It wasn't private or secret. As a result, due to the racial politics of the district, and the unbelievably blatant political proslytizing of the teachers (sample: "Kids, go home and tell your parents to vote for Barack Obama! We have to have CHANGE!"), anyone witnessed voting for McCain was subjected to harrassment and bullying, which I personally witnessed in more than one school.
After the 'voting', during which, as each student took their turn at the monitors, the entire class shouted at them to 'Vote for Obama! Vote for Obama!' under the beaming countenances of their teachers, who were also watching them 'vote', I gave them a little talk.
I told them voting was a vital, important part of citizenship; that it was a critical exercise of a precious right. I also expressed my disagreement with how the 'voting' was handled, with everyone screaming at classmates to vote for a particular person, as voting had to be secret. I told them secret ballots were a critical part of the voting process, and that voting was to be done with their conscience, not as the result of mob pressure. During this statement, a teacher was in the doorway, and as I spoke her face went from beaming happily to very angry.
After that, I discussed voting fraud, and how people could not buy or sell their votes; and discussed the Starbucks, Ben and Jerry's, and Krispy Kreme promotions giving away product to voters on Election Day, and whether that was legal or not.
Okay, back to the present. This administrator tells me I had been reported as telling the kids that people who vote are given free stuff, which had resulted in them not wanting me teaching at their school again. Shocked, I informed the administrator that I had merely discussed the promotions with Starbucks and Krispy Kreme, and asked the kids if that could be construed as bribery or not. It was in the news, for crying out loud! It was a big deal! It was on TV! The administrator tells me, with a straight face, that she had known nothing about any such promotions, and if a business engaged in such a thing, it would be illegal. I responded, "Well, they did it, and you can go look it up".
She did not return to the classroom.
You know what I think happened? I think that 'teacher' at the doorway with the sour puss got mad that I had said anything negative about their piss-ant-poor 'voting process' which was biased criminally in favor of Barack Obama.
So screw those people.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
I'm really sick of hearing about money.
I've been subjected to conversations about investments, 401Ks, retirement programs, health benefits, stock purchases, and mortgages for long enough to where I'm utterly, completely sick of it.
Who really believes, truly, that a 'retirement package' consists of money placed in an investment account, that will for-sure and no-joke and absolutely without fail result in an increase in value? Well, a lot of people. Who are morons.
It's a capitalist system, and therefore someone must lose. I'm now hearing a resurgence of idiocy, with people discussing stocks at work, shuffling their 401Ks, trying to recapture something that cannot exist. I'm sick of the greed, stupidity, and profligate money-grubbing. It is physically impossible for an entire culture, system, and nation to invest every dime they make in loans to corporations and have every single one of them return a profit; and yet that's what people seemed to fool themselves into believing.
Sick of it. God forbid you spend any of your time improving your immediate environment, or making an effort to create a neighborhood of mutually supportive persons. No way should you waste any of your time living around losers who make less money than you. Buy your way to security.
Yeah, that's it: buy your way to happiness and physical security.
Who really believes, truly, that a 'retirement package' consists of money placed in an investment account, that will for-sure and no-joke and absolutely without fail result in an increase in value? Well, a lot of people. Who are morons.
It's a capitalist system, and therefore someone must lose. I'm now hearing a resurgence of idiocy, with people discussing stocks at work, shuffling their 401Ks, trying to recapture something that cannot exist. I'm sick of the greed, stupidity, and profligate money-grubbing. It is physically impossible for an entire culture, system, and nation to invest every dime they make in loans to corporations and have every single one of them return a profit; and yet that's what people seemed to fool themselves into believing.
Sick of it. God forbid you spend any of your time improving your immediate environment, or making an effort to create a neighborhood of mutually supportive persons. No way should you waste any of your time living around losers who make less money than you. Buy your way to security.
Yeah, that's it: buy your way to happiness and physical security.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Kids Like Arithmetic.
I was reading HOW MATHEMATICS HAPPENED over the weekend, and the author makes the utterly clueless statement that "children like learning to read and write, as it's based on speech" while disliking math because it's confusing.
This guy doesn't know what he's talking about. My biggest, most hellish, 'this-is-death' subject is reading and writing. Everyone here hates it with an almighty passion. Mostly because it does not in any way reflect how they talk. When I have kids coming to school arguing with me that words like 'ain't' and phrases like 'don't got' are perfectly proper English, there is a problem. The material being presented to them is literally a foreign language. They can't make sense of it. They love, love, love to talk, but they absolutely hate reading with a fury that has to be witnessed to be believed.
But this same group likes math and science... significantly...
...up to 5th grade. And then they simply hate school altogether.
So what does this mean? I think it means a loss of understanding, which is in itself a loss of control. These kids love counting, addition, subtraction, the basic stuff; the Neolithic pebble count, the half-moons scored on a reindeer bone. They love all that stuff, and for the same reason early humans did: it gives them a qualifiable sense of control over their environment, and therefore over their lives.
But when you introduce abstract concepts, algebra, fractions, etc. it all falls apart. The love of numbers is lost. And I strongly suspect it has to do with that loss of control: to try to imagine an unknown ruins it.
I'm thinking about that today. I'm glad I read that book.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Spelling
The 8- and 9-year-old kids yesterday were a fairly fun lot. Noisy and goofy but generally fun. The one bad actor left in the middle of the day after throwing a tantrum over what the cafeteria was serving for subsidized lunch. Her mother came and took her out, sharing with the staff that her kid was justified in being angry, as according to her, the school serves 'nasty food'. Bye-bye, now.
I then gave them a spelling test, with words like:
carried
hurried
daily
wrapped
etc.
I added three 'challenge' words of my own, purely for my own amusement:
"Truthfulness. Truthfulness. The politician's speech lacked truthfulness. Truthfulness".
"Institution. Institution. My uncle went nuts and we put him in an institution. Institution".
"Salami. Salami. My mother made us salami sandwiches. Salami".
Out of a class of twenty-two, four spelled truthfulness correctly, one girl nailed institution, and surprisingly, nobody got salami. The closest was 'salame'. The others were things like 'slammy', 'salmy', 'solomny' etc. I guess it's better than the misspellings of 'wrapped', with three unrelated examples of 'raped'.
I then gave them a spelling test, with words like:
carried
hurried
daily
wrapped
etc.
I added three 'challenge' words of my own, purely for my own amusement:
"Truthfulness. Truthfulness. The politician's speech lacked truthfulness. Truthfulness".
"Institution. Institution. My uncle went nuts and we put him in an institution. Institution".
"Salami. Salami. My mother made us salami sandwiches. Salami".
Out of a class of twenty-two, four spelled truthfulness correctly, one girl nailed institution, and surprisingly, nobody got salami. The closest was 'salame'. The others were things like 'slammy', 'salmy', 'solomny' etc. I guess it's better than the misspellings of 'wrapped', with three unrelated examples of 'raped'.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Sharing a computer: Sharala, I hear you.
Currently this is the first time I've been on my machine for real since yesterday morning, as L has taken to chat rooms and sharing her interests, under... uhhh... 'adult' supervision. Webkinz started this, and now she's moved to Nick-o-Life or some such thing. She got all upset last night over some cyber kid asking her to leave a cyber room, and I was at a loss.
Right now I'm looking out the window, watching my semi-retired Latin King neighbors bringing new dogs (guess the breed! Go on, guess!) into the house, and thinking, 'a feud with a neighbor is a big deal; a feud with somebody online, with no physical presence, means nothing'.
I'm back in Elementaries, and back into Special Ed, for real. I'm okay with that. I like people with real disabilities. I could not possibly care less about the 'BD' people, behavioral disordered. No offense, but really, screw them. I am not well behaved, at all, and I don't see anyone in the real world bending over backwards to facilitate me. You got a problem with your behavior? Yeah, that's right, it's your problem. The only reason I got away with my hideous past behavior was from living in ghettoes, where my hideous behavior was not performed for profit. Which made a difference with the police, and why I understand why Richie Daley will never, ever be prosecuted for corruption.
On the other hand, I like real Special Ed. I had a girl today with actual (!) dyslexia, in which she alternated letters on either side of a capital letter for her name! I could have kissed her for being Learning Disabled. I felt great helping her out and was totally fine all day. The kids were a pain the butt but fascinating, rewarding, grateful, and wonderful. I love genuine Special Ed.
I have no problem shoving a rock up a hill if it's not the rock's fault.
However, we're in for major, major budget cuts. Big-time. I would like to think this means more work for me, but it doesn't, and it resulted in my doing an application this evening at a temp agency while sitting at a folding table with three of my high school students, competing with them for part-time work. At least this time, while filling out a W4, when I told the dumbass presenting ghetto-trash to stop kicking the table while I wrote down my SSI#, he did it without getting f---ing lippy. Punk.
While buying a 6-pack at the grocery store, which is filled with both dummy College kids from the East Side and also Mexicans, since the other full-line grocery store went out of business, I ran into a student of mine. I said nothing, but he said, "Hey, Mr. LN! You were my Media Sub!" I responded, "Hola!" And then told his elderly grandmother in a courtesy cart, "Buenos Tardes!" To which she giggled and responded in kind.
Right now I'm looking out the window, watching my semi-retired Latin King neighbors bringing new dogs (guess the breed! Go on, guess!) into the house, and thinking, 'a feud with a neighbor is a big deal; a feud with somebody online, with no physical presence, means nothing'.
I'm back in Elementaries, and back into Special Ed, for real. I'm okay with that. I like people with real disabilities. I could not possibly care less about the 'BD' people, behavioral disordered. No offense, but really, screw them. I am not well behaved, at all, and I don't see anyone in the real world bending over backwards to facilitate me. You got a problem with your behavior? Yeah, that's right, it's your problem. The only reason I got away with my hideous past behavior was from living in ghettoes, where my hideous behavior was not performed for profit. Which made a difference with the police, and why I understand why Richie Daley will never, ever be prosecuted for corruption.
On the other hand, I like real Special Ed. I had a girl today with actual (!) dyslexia, in which she alternated letters on either side of a capital letter for her name! I could have kissed her for being Learning Disabled. I felt great helping her out and was totally fine all day. The kids were a pain the butt but fascinating, rewarding, grateful, and wonderful. I love genuine Special Ed.
I have no problem shoving a rock up a hill if it's not the rock's fault.
However, we're in for major, major budget cuts. Big-time. I would like to think this means more work for me, but it doesn't, and it resulted in my doing an application this evening at a temp agency while sitting at a folding table with three of my high school students, competing with them for part-time work. At least this time, while filling out a W4, when I told the dumbass presenting ghetto-trash to stop kicking the table while I wrote down my SSI#, he did it without getting f---ing lippy. Punk.
While buying a 6-pack at the grocery store, which is filled with both dummy College kids from the East Side and also Mexicans, since the other full-line grocery store went out of business, I ran into a student of mine. I said nothing, but he said, "Hey, Mr. LN! You were my Media Sub!" I responded, "Hola!" And then told his elderly grandmother in a courtesy cart, "Buenos Tardes!" To which she giggled and responded in kind.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
At a Loss.
I'm doing a thing I used to do all the time, every year or so, and disengaging from things. I have no idea why I do this. Usually it has to do with stress. Typically, as well, it has to do with dealing with a lot of people in unfamiliar situations, when I'm not sure what I'm doing or what to do.
I'm not checking emails, I'm avoiding people I know. I'm not answering phone calls. All I'm doing is getting up in the morning, going to work, coming home, and that's it. The Partner has made suggestions about 'doing projects', but, tellingly, all the projects look like to me is more work. Why would I go to work, then come home and feel like doing yet more work?
I'm thinking about work, and when I come home I don't really want to think at all, and all any of my projects involve is thought and effort and I'm tired.
I'm not washing dishes, I'm not cleaning cat boxes, and I just washed every stitch I own after not washing any of my small collection of presentable clothing for three weeks. I have to take out trash today and I don't even want to do that.
Last week was the 'project' was fixing the refrigerator. This was an involuntary 'project' that went on for three days of diagnosis and parts location, and resulted in learning all about the electrical wiring of the refrigerator and the interactions of automatic defrost components. Now, of course, I know precisely how the refrigerator works and if anything else goes wrong with it, I'll be able to figure it out in less than half an hour. This latest 'project' occurred due to an inability to afford a service call from an appliance repairman. As it was, $70 got spent in components (defrost thermostat, $12; defrost timer, $21; circulation fan, $23; shipping, $14) but it was a hell of a lot cheaper than what I know the parts would have cost from a repairman, plus labor.
For the record, the defrost thermostat burned out (a common component failure), which resulted in the timer not turning on the heating element in the freezer compartment, which resulted in ice build-up, which blocked the circulation fan, which burned out. The ice blocked the circulation ducts to the main compartment, which got no cold air, which spoiled all the food in the refrigerator. Several continuity tests later, and a really stupid and severe burn on my right hand from contacting the energized heating element, the problems were accounted for and the thing is now fixed. Until some other damn thing breaks.
The 'project' before that was doing the front brake pads on the Wango (1986Honda Wagovan), which I had to do myself because I can't afford $300 for a brake job. Why $300? Well, the front rotors are shot. They are badly scored and warped, and on Hondas the front discs are held on with invariably rusted-in Phillips-head screws. Removing and replacing the front rotors is a job and a half, the screws would have to be drilled out and retapped, and for good measure I'm sure it would result in a necessity for wheel bearing replacement. So I got the last set of pre-1993 brake pads in the county and simply installed them on the toasted and scored front rotors.
$22 out the door.
I'm looking forward to the weather imporving so I can start riding my bicycle again. I'm sick of the burden of a car. I'm sick of the burdens of 'modern life' that require so many support mechanisms to function. I'm tired of going to work. And I'm just plain tired.
I'm not checking emails, I'm avoiding people I know. I'm not answering phone calls. All I'm doing is getting up in the morning, going to work, coming home, and that's it. The Partner has made suggestions about 'doing projects', but, tellingly, all the projects look like to me is more work. Why would I go to work, then come home and feel like doing yet more work?
I'm thinking about work, and when I come home I don't really want to think at all, and all any of my projects involve is thought and effort and I'm tired.
I'm not washing dishes, I'm not cleaning cat boxes, and I just washed every stitch I own after not washing any of my small collection of presentable clothing for three weeks. I have to take out trash today and I don't even want to do that.
Last week was the 'project' was fixing the refrigerator. This was an involuntary 'project' that went on for three days of diagnosis and parts location, and resulted in learning all about the electrical wiring of the refrigerator and the interactions of automatic defrost components. Now, of course, I know precisely how the refrigerator works and if anything else goes wrong with it, I'll be able to figure it out in less than half an hour. This latest 'project' occurred due to an inability to afford a service call from an appliance repairman. As it was, $70 got spent in components (defrost thermostat, $12; defrost timer, $21; circulation fan, $23; shipping, $14) but it was a hell of a lot cheaper than what I know the parts would have cost from a repairman, plus labor.
For the record, the defrost thermostat burned out (a common component failure), which resulted in the timer not turning on the heating element in the freezer compartment, which resulted in ice build-up, which blocked the circulation fan, which burned out. The ice blocked the circulation ducts to the main compartment, which got no cold air, which spoiled all the food in the refrigerator. Several continuity tests later, and a really stupid and severe burn on my right hand from contacting the energized heating element, the problems were accounted for and the thing is now fixed. Until some other damn thing breaks.
The 'project' before that was doing the front brake pads on the Wango (1986Honda Wagovan), which I had to do myself because I can't afford $300 for a brake job. Why $300? Well, the front rotors are shot. They are badly scored and warped, and on Hondas the front discs are held on with invariably rusted-in Phillips-head screws. Removing and replacing the front rotors is a job and a half, the screws would have to be drilled out and retapped, and for good measure I'm sure it would result in a necessity for wheel bearing replacement. So I got the last set of pre-1993 brake pads in the county and simply installed them on the toasted and scored front rotors.
$22 out the door.
I'm looking forward to the weather imporving so I can start riding my bicycle again. I'm sick of the burden of a car. I'm sick of the burdens of 'modern life' that require so many support mechanisms to function. I'm tired of going to work. And I'm just plain tired.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Gift From a Kid.
On a more positive note, a kid who was all impressed with my drawing ability (lately I've been drawing Dr. Suess characters on the whiteboards with word balloons saying things like THANK YOU, MATH TIME, etc.) decided to give me this lovely drawing of a dragon with 'his son'. He was very earnest, and obviously valued the picture a great deal, and was concerned that I thought it was 'good'.
I think it is. It's very Bayeaux Tapestry, and I like it.
I'm fried.
I'm not feeling too articulate these days. I'm watching the economy around me melt down, we're having increased levels of stupid crime, and I'm having anxiety about an application to a university to increase my marketability in the area.
I'm having decent enough workdays for a change, and most of the classes I've been in have been really pretty good, without the balance tipping in favor of the truly screwed up. That is to say, the class ratio of Hopeless Cases versus Workable Kids has lately been about 5 to 1 in favor of Workable Kids. The students I've been getting lately act like kids, with the usual expected kid behavior, and haven't been crossing that line into sociopathy, criminality, and insanity. So that's been cool.
Incidentally, anyone who works in a lower-income place and wants to tell me to my face that 'all kids are salvageable' is full of it. Some are too far gone by 1st Grade, and the best you can hope for is to keep them under control, and instill some level of respect for authority, and that's about it. Their personalities are so wrecked by beatings, neglect, mayhem, and negative stimuli their brains have developed in those directions.
They come to school covered in scars and injuries, in filthy coats, with snot draining over their faces and ears so full of dirty wax it oozes down their necks. Their breath stinks because they never brush their teeth. Their potty-training is incomplete, and they will pee in a corner in 2nd Grade. They smell like stale cigarette smoke and dollar-store detergent. Their heads crawl with lice.
They steal food from subsidized lunch baskets (more on THAT below, *) and assault fellow students for candy. They fight over literally everything, and attack other students for getting anything they don't get themselves. If they can't find a belonging they accuse the nearest classmate of having stolen it and attack them. They cannot stand to lose, at anything, and playing any kind of competitive game in any classroom at any time is an invitation to a riot. They become furious and fly into rages if they lose, and they viciously mock anyone else who loses.
When other students talk, they scream at them to 'shut up' at room-clearing volume, and will not stop until a fight has been provoked.
I am very hard on such students, and this is not a popular 'technique' with some other employees where I work. Many employees feel such students need love and understanding, and for the staff that can effortlessly supply bottomless emotional support for these screwed-up people, I reserve my endless and sincere respect.
However, for better or worse, I am not full of love and acceptance. I view the world as a harsh and largely unforgiving place. Very few people are going to truly care about you, and if someone says they do, be wary of dishonesty.
I am very much like the most screwed-up of students, and actually, I care about them most of all. You don't call the fire department if your house isn't on fire; most 'good kids' don't really need any more support than what they already have. After all, where is the generosity of spirit that gives to someone who already deserves it? That's not a gift, it's a transaction. A gift only becomes such when it's given unexpectedly or to someone who has done nothing to deserve it. It's the nature of a gift.
Knowing my limitations, and specifically my own emotional limitations, I work on the basis that my best bet to do some good in the world is to try to communicate to messed-up people that they need to learn some measure of discipline. Simply brawling your way through life, and fighting openly with every authority figure in your way, will put you in one of two places: jail or a grave. Why do that to yourself?
If you learn discipline, you will learn pride in yourself; if you learn pride in yourself, you will find self-respect, and that discovery of self-respect will enable you to respect others. With that self-respect will come the recognition that you can be stronger than the circumstances around you.
To this end, I will not reward poor behavior with support and 'love'. That is a sucker's bet. I will not have some kid throw a chair across the room and say, "That's okay Johnny, it's alright". Not happening. What this kid needs to learn, and this an opinion born of long and bloody experience, is to learn to control himself; in that self-control he will find pride and strength. Same goes for girls. Learn some self-control, ladies. There are women's prisons too.
That said, I've been seriously questioning my ability to function in the venue I'm in at the moment, as I believe my behavior is misinterpreted by fellow staff. My forcefulness is perceived as out-of-control aggression; my insistence on classroom discipline is viewed as self-satisfying tyranny. Perhaps, like Colonel Kurtz, my methods are... 'unsound'. I'm really, really working on this and trying to figure out whether to pursue this further, and it's not being helped by the current massive financial stress.
*There is no conceivable excuse for a 2nd grader to steal food from the school lunchroom, when they are already on the Federal free breakfast and lunch program. In this case, there are four children in the home and the mother doesn't work. In Wisconsin, these kids get free medical care, the mother gets free birth control, and they can collect, at minimum, $400 per month in free food through Qwest. There is no excuse for those kids to be hungry, ever, at any time, period, unless the parent bought food and then traded it for another... item. Which is illegal, by the way, and very much so, and rampant. Naturally, food stamp money goes for about what it always has, which is about 2/3 face value, and the food that gets traded is always expensive meat, like steak and seafood, which will burn through $400 in no time. Excuse me, I'm depressed now.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Edjamakashun
Elkhart, Indiana, and a vague clue as to why the unemployment rate there is so high...
Generations of people who could simply walk out of school and get a job at 'The Plant'. $19.00 an hour with likely full benefits for installing decals on RVs? $19.00 an hour for a high-school dropout? I do not believe that 'formal schooling' necessarily makes anyone smart or educated, but I'd hate to try to have anything resembling a decent conversation in Elkhart. A lot of people where I live respect knowledge and education, and make efforts to educate themselves and learn new things; but far, far too many have no interest whatsoever in knowing anything outside of what they already know. "Why I gotta learn that? I ain't never gonna need to know nothin bout that!" is a common refrain.
People walk around with blinders on.
I had a nine-year-old girl say this yesterday:
Staff: That's a pretty necklace! Is it new?
Girl; I be have it.
Staff: I'm sorry?
Girl (louder): I be havin it!
Staff: I don't understand, sweetie, you're being... what?
Me: She's had the necklace for a while. Hey, let's keep playing Alphabet Bingo!
The next letter is... A!
Boy: Me gots it!
Generations of people who could simply walk out of school and get a job at 'The Plant'. $19.00 an hour with likely full benefits for installing decals on RVs? $19.00 an hour for a high-school dropout? I do not believe that 'formal schooling' necessarily makes anyone smart or educated, but I'd hate to try to have anything resembling a decent conversation in Elkhart. A lot of people where I live respect knowledge and education, and make efforts to educate themselves and learn new things; but far, far too many have no interest whatsoever in knowing anything outside of what they already know. "Why I gotta learn that? I ain't never gonna need to know nothin bout that!" is a common refrain.
People walk around with blinders on.
I had a nine-year-old girl say this yesterday:
Staff: That's a pretty necklace! Is it new?
Girl; I be have it.
Staff: I'm sorry?
Girl (louder): I be havin it!
Staff: I don't understand, sweetie, you're being... what?
Me: She's had the necklace for a while. Hey, let's keep playing Alphabet Bingo!
The next letter is... A!
Boy: Me gots it!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Domestic Violence
I've come to the conclusion, recently, that 90% of problems in classroom management are violence-related. By that I mean people so conditioned to 'being smacked' and physically fighting with siblings, family members, etc. that concepts of self-discipline don't really apply.
I've taken polls. I've asked kids what their home lives are like, and the biggest problem kids are the ones with violent home lives. They 'act out' and they get beat; they do something 'wrong', they get beat; they lose a library book and cost their parents $14.00 they get beat.
After a while nothing affects them.
So, you go in and try to communicate to them about concepts of self-control and self-awareness, and they are functioning on an almost entirely physical level, with a range of 'emotions' and 'feelings' that range from a simplistic, animalistic scale from physical pleasure to physical pain. And that's it.
It's all reactive, and they are not accustomed to proactivity. They don't know what it is. They do a worksheet 'right', they get rewarded, if they do it 'wrong' they get punished, which to them means physical violence; and they are so conditioned to such off-the-wall levels of physical pain they are unable to respect anyone who doesn't dish it out.
Crazy.
I gt really sick of hearing about 'whuppins' and 'beatins' and 'buttkickins'. All it does is make my job immeasureably more difficult.
It wa also pointed out to me by my supervisor that I am required to 'report to the appropriate authorites' any knowledge of 'child abuse', in an environment where virtually everyone uses physical chastisement to some degree. It becomes a judgement call as to what is appropriate or within reasonable limits! How am I supposed to make that distinction?
Some kid tells me he got whalled on with a belt for breaking his mother's favorite Hummel figurine, is that abuse? Some kid tells me his mom 'whupped' him with an electrical cord for breaking her car windshield with a basevball, is that too extreme?
Kids come to school all the time looking like they've been thrown in a pile of barbed wire, with old scars under new ones and injuries, bruises, cuts, bumps, scrapes, and burns. Many of these kids simply lead chaotic, extroverted lives, and damage themselves constantly. The most effective sports here are parking lot B-ball and wrestling. Everyone fights with their siblings, most of the time physically. So what to do about any of that?
I'm open to suggestions.
I've taken polls. I've asked kids what their home lives are like, and the biggest problem kids are the ones with violent home lives. They 'act out' and they get beat; they do something 'wrong', they get beat; they lose a library book and cost their parents $14.00 they get beat.
After a while nothing affects them.
So, you go in and try to communicate to them about concepts of self-control and self-awareness, and they are functioning on an almost entirely physical level, with a range of 'emotions' and 'feelings' that range from a simplistic, animalistic scale from physical pleasure to physical pain. And that's it.
It's all reactive, and they are not accustomed to proactivity. They don't know what it is. They do a worksheet 'right', they get rewarded, if they do it 'wrong' they get punished, which to them means physical violence; and they are so conditioned to such off-the-wall levels of physical pain they are unable to respect anyone who doesn't dish it out.
Crazy.
I gt really sick of hearing about 'whuppins' and 'beatins' and 'buttkickins'. All it does is make my job immeasureably more difficult.
It wa also pointed out to me by my supervisor that I am required to 'report to the appropriate authorites' any knowledge of 'child abuse', in an environment where virtually everyone uses physical chastisement to some degree. It becomes a judgement call as to what is appropriate or within reasonable limits! How am I supposed to make that distinction?
Some kid tells me he got whalled on with a belt for breaking his mother's favorite Hummel figurine, is that abuse? Some kid tells me his mom 'whupped' him with an electrical cord for breaking her car windshield with a basevball, is that too extreme?
Kids come to school all the time looking like they've been thrown in a pile of barbed wire, with old scars under new ones and injuries, bruises, cuts, bumps, scrapes, and burns. Many of these kids simply lead chaotic, extroverted lives, and damage themselves constantly. The most effective sports here are parking lot B-ball and wrestling. Everyone fights with their siblings, most of the time physically. So what to do about any of that?
I'm open to suggestions.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
I'm getting better at writing incident reports.
7th grade math class.
And it was a lot harder than a '4', but I'm not going to admit to getting beaten up by a 13-year-old girl, when I could not hit back.
In other news, a boy (again, in 7th grade math class) asked me what my tattoos say and/or mean; this is not uncommon. They are in Serbian, and I typically make everyone guess what alphabet they are in after writing the words on the chalkboard. the exchange went something like this:
Kid: What your tattoos say?
Me: (Explanation)
Kid: I gots a tattoo too!
Me: That's cool, where, and of what?
Kid: On my chest, and it's my son's name.
Freeze!
Ow.
Due to a variety of circumstances I won't describe just now, I ended up having to exercise my best available option for time-constrained transport yesterday evening, which resulted in my biking (yes, the pedal bike) eight miles in Wisconsin winter, on icy trails and streets.
The first section was okay, as the sun was out and it was about F25, but about 6:00 PM the temperature dropped to about F6, which made for some pretty frigid riding. And my butt hurts.
Due to a variety of circumstances I won't describe just now, I ended up having to exercise my best available option for time-constrained transport yesterday evening, which resulted in my biking (yes, the pedal bike) eight miles in Wisconsin winter, on icy trails and streets.
The first section was okay, as the sun was out and it was about F25, but about 6:00 PM the temperature dropped to about F6, which made for some pretty frigid riding. And my butt hurts.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Good Things In Beloit
On the plus side, we do have THIS going on:
THE BELOIT INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL
We went down to Bagels & More on Friday night to see GOD IS AMERICAN, a film about the John Frum religion on Tana. The treatment of the movement in the film was very superficial and manipulative, but the footage was great, including sequences of Mount Yasur and the cinder plain, and the annual ceremonial parade and flag-raising. Very cool stuff.
The other short feature, THE WAITLIST, frankly sucked. It's a tepid, stupid movie featuring dozens of selfish dimwits with more money than brains talking about their precious films. For instance, the 'filmmakers' ask people what their favorite 'film' is, leading to cringe-inducing monologues from 'hip film majors'. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
But over the weekend Central Christian Church is opening their state-of-the-art auditorium for movie presentations, and is presenting kids' movies for free, so L and I are goin' to the movies!
Friday, February 20, 2009
Temporary Update
I'm not posting as I'm trying to keep this blog positive, and there is not a lot of 'positive' going on in South Central Wisconsin.
I can't make comments about a place I've only lived in for less than 5 years, unlike the Chicago area, which I lived in my whole life... although I can't resist: You people who voted for Obama, expecting the filthy politics of Chicago to somehow vanish?
Welcome to it. It's why I got mad at that stupid Swedish woman last year. I knew, and here you are. Burris, 'nuff said.
Today's quote, from a grade-school principal:
"So this kid walks into the building with a paper bag with four one-pound propane canisters duct-taped together, with feeder wires into all four, with a thermostat attached to it and a motorcycle battery, and part of the wrapping is from model rocket engines.
"This six-year-old walks into the office with it, and says, "What's this?" and the staff member says, "Oh, I don't know", and walks it to the maintenance man!
"He says, Call Dr. M! And call the Bomb Squad!"
Me: "Holy Smokies!"
What happened is, local pyros are renting out their questionable 'skills' to burn houses for insurance money, as the mortgages are worth nothing.
I can't make comments about a place I've only lived in for less than 5 years, unlike the Chicago area, which I lived in my whole life... although I can't resist: You people who voted for Obama, expecting the filthy politics of Chicago to somehow vanish?
Welcome to it. It's why I got mad at that stupid Swedish woman last year. I knew, and here you are. Burris, 'nuff said.
Today's quote, from a grade-school principal:
"So this kid walks into the building with a paper bag with four one-pound propane canisters duct-taped together, with feeder wires into all four, with a thermostat attached to it and a motorcycle battery, and part of the wrapping is from model rocket engines.
"This six-year-old walks into the office with it, and says, "What's this?" and the staff member says, "Oh, I don't know", and walks it to the maintenance man!
"He says, Call Dr. M! And call the Bomb Squad!"
Me: "Holy Smokies!"
What happened is, local pyros are renting out their questionable 'skills' to burn houses for insurance money, as the mortgages are worth nothing.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Why the US should be keeping an eye on Europe...
...and why I love international rap and have given up on the pathetic ghetto crap that pervades US rap.
You don't need to speak French.
French Rap.
You don't need to speak French.
French Rap.
The eyes have it
When I went for this job last year, I was getting really bad eyestrain and headaches. It seemed weird, so I went to the eye doctor for a look, and discovered that my focal depth is somewhere out in the boonies. She was surprised, and said so. Well, what she told me was, "You have perfect vision, 20/20 or better, but your focal ability stinks".
What I actually have is an extremely deep depth of field, and I focus my eyes typically about a quarter-mile ahead around me, flicking back closer when I see motion. Something the eye doctor probably didn't notice was also the fact that not only is my focal depth wildly deep, it's short-term: I 'see' with peripheral vision, rarely focusing on anything or anyone for longer than, say, a few seconds.
I don't see things, or people, or objects or colors; I see motion and movement. I think it freaks people out at the job when I'm sitting behind a desk reading a book and also watching the room at the same time, with my peripheral vision. See, I'm not watching a particular person, I'm tracking motion, and you don't have to look directly at something to track it's motion. In fact, it's better that you don't.
A good part of the issue with the kid last week, and something I feel kind of bad about, is that despite his actions, he really didn't think he was being monitored. In fact, I was sitting with my antiquated laptop, happily typing up reports, while watching him and his buddy pass notes with my peripheral vision. He didn't think he'd been seen, whereas in fact I knew what he was doing the entire time. I do this all the time. It's not that I don't see things, it's a matter of deciding what to do about them...
I'm also notorious for driving along with people, and suddenly pointing to a treeline half a mile away and commenting, "Flock of wild turkeys at the treeline", when they can't even see them at all. Or pointing out deer, people, things at ridiculous distances. Why? Well, really, my vision isn't so spectacular, and I can't pick out stars in the daytime like WWII Japanese pilots could, but since I look for movement, most of the time it doesn't matter.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Standards
In a discussion yesterday with people I work with, there was an interesting insight into attitudes about students and behavior. It was obvious to everyone the behavior of the kid who grabbed me the other day, had it occurred 'on the outside', in public, he would have been liable for criminal prosecution.
If someone had dropped a grocery list on the floor of the WalMart, and saw me pick it up and put it in my pocket, and then walked over and fought with me over possession of the note, they would have been arrested for battery, or something similar. Because it happened in a school setting, there will be no charges of any kind, and while I know the kid will have some sort of administrative review, and face possible expulsion, or at least a lengthy suspension, nothing more than that will happen.
So why is that? That was part of our discussion yesterday: why, exactly, are the rules different inside than on the outside? Teachers are constantly threatened, verbally abused, and physically assaulted (I had another kid last week swagger into class late, and on his way up the aisle to reach his seat, rather than politely asking me to step aside, he simply pushed me out of his way with his hand. I chose to not make a case out of that one).
The general agreement was that it's ridiculous that students can get away with criminal behavior with no real fear of consequence. Because it's school, and the rules are different there. We have to show caring, and love, and restraint, and apparently Christ-like patience and virtues. Anyway, I'm not sure what I'm saying here, but I'm kind of annoyed with that kid and his stupid note, and particularly annoyed at having to put up with this kid's messed-up behavior.
In discussing the incident with a co-worker, they carefully broached the subject that the kid 'had problems', and that he was 'troubled'. This co-worker told me this in a sympathetic voice, explaining his behavior in the context of a greater range of problems that weren't really his fault, and indicated to me that I needed to 'show some understanding' of his behavior and, I guess, feel sorry for him rather than callously making sure he's prosecuted for his actions.
Unfortunately, I don't feel sorry for him. I tried to, but... nope. He can go to hell.
If someone had dropped a grocery list on the floor of the WalMart, and saw me pick it up and put it in my pocket, and then walked over and fought with me over possession of the note, they would have been arrested for battery, or something similar. Because it happened in a school setting, there will be no charges of any kind, and while I know the kid will have some sort of administrative review, and face possible expulsion, or at least a lengthy suspension, nothing more than that will happen.
So why is that? That was part of our discussion yesterday: why, exactly, are the rules different inside than on the outside? Teachers are constantly threatened, verbally abused, and physically assaulted (I had another kid last week swagger into class late, and on his way up the aisle to reach his seat, rather than politely asking me to step aside, he simply pushed me out of his way with his hand. I chose to not make a case out of that one).
The general agreement was that it's ridiculous that students can get away with criminal behavior with no real fear of consequence. Because it's school, and the rules are different there. We have to show caring, and love, and restraint, and apparently Christ-like patience and virtues. Anyway, I'm not sure what I'm saying here, but I'm kind of annoyed with that kid and his stupid note, and particularly annoyed at having to put up with this kid's messed-up behavior.
In discussing the incident with a co-worker, they carefully broached the subject that the kid 'had problems', and that he was 'troubled'. This co-worker told me this in a sympathetic voice, explaining his behavior in the context of a greater range of problems that weren't really his fault, and indicated to me that I needed to 'show some understanding' of his behavior and, I guess, feel sorry for him rather than callously making sure he's prosecuted for his actions.
Unfortunately, I don't feel sorry for him. I tried to, but... nope. He can go to hell.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Change of Subject.
This is easily my favorite piece of work I've ever done. I love it.
Very few people have ever seen it. It's Larionov, Stepkova, Popova, Malevich, etc.
I've tried to turn this piece into a color painting and have fallen down each time.
Anyway, something nice after an unpleasant day.
Unfortunate Incident.
So I had a class today that consisted of a collection of Language Students who were really, really good. Except for the last class.
I caught a couple of 9th Grade boys passing a note, and when I reached out a hand and indicated a demand, one of them crumpled it and threw it in the trash can, apparently thinking I wouldn't fish it out. I did. I sense a challenge when I see one, and I thought nothing of it. However, this particular note was a back-and-forth exchange of explicitly sexual, degrading, and pornographic descriptions of what these two boys would do to their usual (female) teacher.
So I kept it and tucked it in my open shirt breast pocket. They immediately got very quiet.
My plan was to clip it to the substitute report at the end of the day and secure it. I thought, during the 1-1/2 hour block, that having the piece of paper was a lure to a fish, but dismissed this idea, as who would be so dumb as to try for my clothing and person in a public school classroom?
WELL.
The final bell rang, the last recipient of the note was walking out, and made a grab for the note in my shirt. I swear, I swear, I did not plan this. He was waiting for his chance. I did not tempt him or anything, I really didn't think he'd go for it. His hand flashed out to my shirt and grabbed the note and my hand came up just as fast to grab his sleeve. This dummy thought he could be quick, not knowing my background and reflexes.
We ended up in a tugging match in the classroom, in front of the entire class, who exited as fast as they could. This kid has me by the shirt, and is trying to yank me around. I instructed him, in my best 'STREET SURVIVAL' voice, "Let go". He tells me, "You let go!" I tell him, "Not happening". He pulled his left hand back (we were both right handed) as if to throw a punch, and I opened my palm to go for his face, in anticipation of lifting him off his feet and slamming the back of his skull into the floor and knocking him out.
He started getting scared, I could see it, because unlike all the civilians he usually deals with, I'm something different. He said, "Let go of my arm!" I looked down and discovered I was holding his shirt sleeve along with half the note. I opened the two bottom fingers and let his sleeve go, and he wrenched free and grabbed the note again. In that split second I considered grabbing his wrist, but did not do it. If I'd grabbed him, I don't think that would have ended without an injury. This time I let him do it: he had already cooked his own goose by committing battery on a teacher in front of witnesses.
He got his note and tried to stuff it in his pocket. I walked around him and blocked the door, and told him, "You're arrested. You're going down, son".
He took the note, stuffed it in his mouth, chewed it up and swallowed it. He said, "Now you got no way to prove I did it!"
I stepped back from the door and let him go.
This is a generally good class, and when asked, they will describe exactly what happened. I know that. Also, I talked to security, the rep, and a couple other people about this fool, and he will not be attending school in the future. And he has set himself on his own path.
I caught a couple of 9th Grade boys passing a note, and when I reached out a hand and indicated a demand, one of them crumpled it and threw it in the trash can, apparently thinking I wouldn't fish it out. I did. I sense a challenge when I see one, and I thought nothing of it. However, this particular note was a back-and-forth exchange of explicitly sexual, degrading, and pornographic descriptions of what these two boys would do to their usual (female) teacher.
So I kept it and tucked it in my open shirt breast pocket. They immediately got very quiet.
My plan was to clip it to the substitute report at the end of the day and secure it. I thought, during the 1-1/2 hour block, that having the piece of paper was a lure to a fish, but dismissed this idea, as who would be so dumb as to try for my clothing and person in a public school classroom?
WELL.
The final bell rang, the last recipient of the note was walking out, and made a grab for the note in my shirt. I swear, I swear, I did not plan this. He was waiting for his chance. I did not tempt him or anything, I really didn't think he'd go for it. His hand flashed out to my shirt and grabbed the note and my hand came up just as fast to grab his sleeve. This dummy thought he could be quick, not knowing my background and reflexes.
We ended up in a tugging match in the classroom, in front of the entire class, who exited as fast as they could. This kid has me by the shirt, and is trying to yank me around. I instructed him, in my best 'STREET SURVIVAL' voice, "Let go". He tells me, "You let go!" I tell him, "Not happening". He pulled his left hand back (we were both right handed) as if to throw a punch, and I opened my palm to go for his face, in anticipation of lifting him off his feet and slamming the back of his skull into the floor and knocking him out.
He started getting scared, I could see it, because unlike all the civilians he usually deals with, I'm something different. He said, "Let go of my arm!" I looked down and discovered I was holding his shirt sleeve along with half the note. I opened the two bottom fingers and let his sleeve go, and he wrenched free and grabbed the note again. In that split second I considered grabbing his wrist, but did not do it. If I'd grabbed him, I don't think that would have ended without an injury. This time I let him do it: he had already cooked his own goose by committing battery on a teacher in front of witnesses.
He got his note and tried to stuff it in his pocket. I walked around him and blocked the door, and told him, "You're arrested. You're going down, son".
He took the note, stuffed it in his mouth, chewed it up and swallowed it. He said, "Now you got no way to prove I did it!"
I stepped back from the door and let him go.
This is a generally good class, and when asked, they will describe exactly what happened. I know that. Also, I talked to security, the rep, and a couple other people about this fool, and he will not be attending school in the future. And he has set himself on his own path.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Window treatments for the Lower Classes
A notable thing around here, which I first noticed while working for the telecommunications company here, was the preponderance of improvised window coverings. Far and away the most common are old bedsheets, followed closely by cheap plastic miniblinds from WalMart. Actual curtains and shades are really quite rare.
Far more typical are, say, a combination of threadbare purple fitted sheets from Goodwill nailed to the frames, with perhaps a small mini-blind in a kitchen window. The effect at night is kind of colorful, going well with the Xmas lights that typically are never removed, but turned on for miscellaneous holidays and family birthdays.
At least in this part of town. In other parts the preferred window treatments are garbage bags and spray paint.
Quiet in the Halls
Doing 3rd Grade yesterday there is this big deal about the kids running wild in the halls and getting loud, etc. So in the journey from one end of the school to the other, I had the kids lined up, and then asked them:
Can you walk to the room while... holding your hands over your heads? (They did it)
Can you walk to the room while... hopping like a kangaroo? (They did that)
Can you walk to the room while... nodding your head up and down? (That as well)
And then came the accidental stroke of genius:
Can you walk to the room while... holding your arms over your heads and holding your breath at the same time? (They did it)
Let's Go!
We walked to the room, and the kids had a hold-your-breath contest. They didn't make a sound. As soon as they got into the room there was a big festival of gasping for air and staggering around. I swear one of the girls turned blue in the face. They really got into it.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Blue Dogs, and Waking Up
This picture was taken in, probably, 1996. I got it out of the small photo album titled, Blue Dog, born maybe (he was a shelter dog) May, 1994; went home, 01/20/2007. It wasn't last year he took his leave, it was two years ago. When TSO told me, I realized I'd missed an entire year.
What does that tell you.
He was not quite two years old in this picture, and I know it was taken in Chicago, during a terrible time. He spent a lot of time watching over me. For me, having a cattledog/blue heeler herding dog was perfect, I guess: he told me what to do. He listened to me when it was sensible, ignored me when I wasn't , and generally ran the house. I was cool with that.
I talked to L about Blue today, and described how he would wake me up every morning for... what, 11 years? He had no interest in petting or attention. If you had time to pat his head, you had time to THRASH. If you petted him, he'd go berserk. "Come on, you dummy, let's do stuff!!!"
So for nearly every morning (unless HE slept in; the sleeping in did not apply to me. 'Sick? Get up, you lame-O! I'm not sick!' 'Hung over? That's YOUR fault, not mine!' etc.) for almost 13 or so years he woke me as such:
(I'm trying to go back to sleep, and can only hear)
click click click click click click click click click
(Excrutiating pause)
(Dog... nasal exhalation?) Hphhhhhh.
click click click click click click click click
(Ah, good, I can go back to sleep, it's gone;)
click click click click click click
Hppphhhhhhh.
(Dammit! He's back! If I open an eye he'll freak out. Now it's like a hold-your-breath contest. Crap. He knows I'm awake. He can sense the tension. S#$% F&*%$##@ I have to look-)
(I crack open a crusty eyelid, and-)
HOW WOW WOW WOW BARK BARK BARK BARK
Some Thoughts on Basic Education
I'll openly tell anyone who cares to listen that factory towns are at a severe disadvantage in education. Why? Well, a bunch of reasons, but the biggest problem I see around here is a disregard for any education of any kind that doesn't immediately result in some tangible benefit.
The mentality for this is apparent if you've ever lived in factory towns: generations of people could simply say, "I don't like school!" walk out the front door at 16 years old, and get a job on The Line at The Plant. If not on The Line, at least sweeping floors, or working in a subsidiary support business, built on the spending habits of decently-paid factory workers. If a person wasn't inclined to 'bookishness', they could always find something to do for a halfway decent living.
Economics have now changed, but the basic attitude has not. I can't tell you how many adult people with good jobs I meet who are barely literate, with poor reading skills (low enough to have some difficulty reading a major newspaper), poor spelling skills (I see blatant, first-grade level misspellings on public signs here all the time), and grammar skills that involve mostly 'ain'ts' and 'got nones'.
Few of these people are mentally deficient, and if they are, it's usually due to drug and alcohol abuse, but they are not interested in school. Currently, with yet more factories going under in the state, the Technical Colleges are inundated with people redirecting their lives, and I know for a fact that a goodly proportion of these people flooding out of well-paid factory jobs can't work with even high school level material.
There is another, far more destructive level of attitude, and that has to do with ingrained animosity towards management and 'The Suits', who are inevitably something I've been called whenever I tell people I have a bachelor's degree, which is "College Boy', a description without exception phrased in a hostile manner. The 'College Boy' is the white-shirted grad who shows up as your overpaid supervisor, with a know-it-all demeanor and an ivory tower background, and blue-collar people hate these people like poison. A lot of blue-collar people view college graduation as a badge of treason, of sleeping with the enemy. Their view is anyone going to college is a spoiled brat with no common sense and no heart or soul, who will never know 'the working stiff'.
So there is generations-old hatred of 'higher education', which is viewed as irrelevant, turns out abusive ignoramii, and is for the foul minions of The Corporation, which as everyone knows spends every waking moment (and its dreams as well) coming up with diabolical ways to torment and oppress its workers. This stunningly self-destructive belief system is just now starting to change, with a few people, but by no means all, deciding that some literacy and higher education might not be an altogether evil thing.
Anyway. Some thoughts on why, oh why, so many people I meet in factory towns are so pathologically disinterested in knowledge, or learning about anything other than what's directly in front of their faces.
The mentality for this is apparent if you've ever lived in factory towns: generations of people could simply say, "I don't like school!" walk out the front door at 16 years old, and get a job on The Line at The Plant. If not on The Line, at least sweeping floors, or working in a subsidiary support business, built on the spending habits of decently-paid factory workers. If a person wasn't inclined to 'bookishness', they could always find something to do for a halfway decent living.
Economics have now changed, but the basic attitude has not. I can't tell you how many adult people with good jobs I meet who are barely literate, with poor reading skills (low enough to have some difficulty reading a major newspaper), poor spelling skills (I see blatant, first-grade level misspellings on public signs here all the time), and grammar skills that involve mostly 'ain'ts' and 'got nones'.
Few of these people are mentally deficient, and if they are, it's usually due to drug and alcohol abuse, but they are not interested in school. Currently, with yet more factories going under in the state, the Technical Colleges are inundated with people redirecting their lives, and I know for a fact that a goodly proportion of these people flooding out of well-paid factory jobs can't work with even high school level material.
There is another, far more destructive level of attitude, and that has to do with ingrained animosity towards management and 'The Suits', who are inevitably something I've been called whenever I tell people I have a bachelor's degree, which is "College Boy', a description without exception phrased in a hostile manner. The 'College Boy' is the white-shirted grad who shows up as your overpaid supervisor, with a know-it-all demeanor and an ivory tower background, and blue-collar people hate these people like poison. A lot of blue-collar people view college graduation as a badge of treason, of sleeping with the enemy. Their view is anyone going to college is a spoiled brat with no common sense and no heart or soul, who will never know 'the working stiff'.
So there is generations-old hatred of 'higher education', which is viewed as irrelevant, turns out abusive ignoramii, and is for the foul minions of The Corporation, which as everyone knows spends every waking moment (and its dreams as well) coming up with diabolical ways to torment and oppress its workers. This stunningly self-destructive belief system is just now starting to change, with a few people, but by no means all, deciding that some literacy and higher education might not be an altogether evil thing.
Anyway. Some thoughts on why, oh why, so many people I meet in factory towns are so pathologically disinterested in knowledge, or learning about anything other than what's directly in front of their faces.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Albania, the US, and Human Greed
I watched this happen from across an ocean, but unlike everyone else who commented on the 'naivete' of the 'desperate Albanian impoverished masses', I knew better then and I know better now.
Various crooks in Albania put together a huge, nationwide Ponzi scheme, which resulted in the usual conclusion: a few mobsters and politicians/strongmen walked away with most of the nation's currency and wealth, and left the rest of the citizens in victimized poverty. The official line from the 'world economists' was that it had happened because, as everyone knew, those naive and ignorant Albanians had just been released from the oppressive yoke of Communism under Enver Hoxha and successors, and thought that this giant Ponzi scheme was Capitalism! Can you imagine the ignorance? How could anyone be so dumb unless they simply didn't know how real Capitalism works? Oh, those poor, deluded Albanians, suckered by schemers as a result of their own ignorance.
Or so the story goes.
However, this is not what actually happened. Anyone who delved a little deeper and talked to anyone on the ground, for real, and asked a few more involved questions would have come up with the following interview:
Q: Why did you invest your life savings in this pyramid scheme?
A: I thought I would get rich, like my cousin, and everyone was doing it! Oh, woe is me!
Q: Where did you think this money was being invested?
A: In our new, great nation of Albania! I believed in my country, and trusted men who were wolves in sheep's clothing! Oh, woe is me!
Q: Don't lie to me. Where did you really think the money was being invested?
A: (Long, suspicious pause) I knew there was no way on Planet Earth you can get returns like that, so we all assumed the money was being invested in hard drugs to sell in Europe, or maybe in some arms deals, or something similar. After all, everyone knew the men running the investment plan were crooks and mafioso. Personally, I thought I could cash out before it collapsed. I misjudged my timing. Oh well, better luck next time.
I happily compare this collapse of Albania to the current collapse in the USA, with similar, if not identical, mindset. Although here, it's unlikely to result in nationwide rioting on a tribal level, with mobs of underground cells looting military bases of every weapon in the country, with the end result of the creation of a viable KLA. Which now runs Kosovo, the most corrupt 'government' in Europe, with full blessing and support of the USA.
Weekend Dad
So L's mom is out of town this weekend, working and socializing HERE.
So, I set all kinds of ground rules with L for what we were going to do this weekend, and how she was going to go to bed early, brush her teeth, clean the living room, etc.
So we ate junk food and stayed up until 2 AM watching BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN. If for some reason you've never seen this movie, make the effort; it's not only one of the weirdest monster/horror movies ever made, I think it's one of the weirdest movies ever made, period.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
World War II Re-Enacting...
Erika Shoots a Bren gun.
This is, in my opinion, one of the sexiest videos I've ever seen on Youtube. There is a reason for that, but that's for another post.
Some other thoughts...
I've been to a few of these re-enacting things, always with TSO, and it's pretty common to see some fairly scary firearms handling. It's obvious to me a lot of these people have likely never fired their weapons with anything except blanks. This is particularly apparent in the older time periods, where I strongly suspect a lot of the 'military units' contain people that have never launched a round ball from their muskets.
The positions of the observers with 'Erika' would indicate they're not used to being on a firing line. The camera operator is very obviously past the muzzle of the gun, a dangerous place to be even (possible especially) with blank rounds.
The BREN is probably one of the semi-automatic build guns, and when 'Erika' triggers off a quick sort-of-burst at the beginning of the video clip, it looks suspiciously like bump-fire, or the result of her not holding the weapon tightly enough while working the trigger. The remainder of the rounds are semi-automatic.
I think I would (well, okay, I know I would) have been much more attentive to posture, sighting, trigger press, operation of the weapon, etc. with an inexperienced operator, blanks or not. But I have an unerring knack for taking every last bit of fun out of shooting...
This is, in my opinion, one of the sexiest videos I've ever seen on Youtube. There is a reason for that, but that's for another post.
Some other thoughts...
I've been to a few of these re-enacting things, always with TSO, and it's pretty common to see some fairly scary firearms handling. It's obvious to me a lot of these people have likely never fired their weapons with anything except blanks. This is particularly apparent in the older time periods, where I strongly suspect a lot of the 'military units' contain people that have never launched a round ball from their muskets.
The positions of the observers with 'Erika' would indicate they're not used to being on a firing line. The camera operator is very obviously past the muzzle of the gun, a dangerous place to be even (possible especially) with blank rounds.
The BREN is probably one of the semi-automatic build guns, and when 'Erika' triggers off a quick sort-of-burst at the beginning of the video clip, it looks suspiciously like bump-fire, or the result of her not holding the weapon tightly enough while working the trigger. The remainder of the rounds are semi-automatic.
I think I would (well, okay, I know I would) have been much more attentive to posture, sighting, trigger press, operation of the weapon, etc. with an inexperienced operator, blanks or not. But I have an unerring knack for taking every last bit of fun out of shooting...
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Tenth Hell
I got to talk about the story I've been working on last night at Writer's Group.
(Note: the organizer of the informal group has secured a website, and yesterday afternoon we worked on designing a format for downloading poetry, graphic work, short stories, and works-in-progress to the upcoming site. I'm excited.)
I was looking something up yesterday, and pulled the LONDON A-Z off the shelves, and flipping through the pages for the first time in years I found this piece of notebook paper. I know exactly where I was when I wrote this: sitting in the cafe at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.
Tenth Hell started as a short story, morphed into a graphic novel, and now has come back and is taking shape as a sort of novelette. It's worthwhile noting this piece of paper is from, at this point, 16 years ago.
I was sitting with a cup of white coffee, trying to collect my thoughts and figure out what I was going to do when I returned to 'reality', otherwise known as the USA. I had just written the title 'Tenth Hell' when an elderly man interrupted me, and the story he told me is one I shared with The Lovely Canadian a while ago.
South China Sea, June 1946; Pirates
In a bound volume of National Geographic from 1946 I picked up from the library for free a while back, there is a fascinating photo essay on seagoing mercenaries in China, career escorts for sailing convoys. Their heritage and family purpose was pirate-fighting. Their junks were armed with ranks of muzzleloading cannons taken or bought from sometimes ancient ships-of-the-line. The author/photographer noted casting dates from the 1700s on some of these cannon. This is my favorite picture: British Royal Navy bronze cannon with Broomhandle Mausers.
According to the article, piracy in the seas off China exploded during World War II; the Japanese didn't have the resources to patrol the coasts, and the various navies of the Allies had no interest in the small junks in the coastal waters. Particularly near the end of the war, Chinese pirates armed themselves with looted or stolen weaponry from the combatants, outfitting their craft with Type 99 machine guns, Vickers Guns, and some truly heavy stuff on top of that, like Japanese copies of .50 caliber Brownings and Oerlikon 20mm anti-aircraft cannon.
Evidently, it took quite a bit of doing to even come close to suppressing this activity at the end of World War II.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Kid With Issues.
In a spiral binder pulled out of a recycling bin this morning, while I looked for a piece of paper:
"I saw my birth certificate and U no (sic) where the fathers name is suppose (sic) to be there is no name. But XXXX and XXXX dad signed it but I just don't know if XXXX's my father or not. My mom said that she's not going to tell me until I'm 18".
"I saw my birth certificate and U no (sic) where the fathers name is suppose (sic) to be there is no name. But XXXX and XXXX dad signed it but I just don't know if XXXX's my father or not. My mom said that she's not going to tell me until I'm 18".
Cold.
I'm really tired of being cold all the time.
Maybe because I'm getting old, or because my job currently involves a lot of sedentary 'activity', but it just seems like I'm constantly cold. Or it could be because it's winter in Wisconsin, and it's just plain cold!
Maybe because I'm getting old, or because my job currently involves a lot of sedentary 'activity', but it just seems like I'm constantly cold. Or it could be because it's winter in Wisconsin, and it's just plain cold!
Monday, February 2, 2009
Other Things I'm Watching.
I like tactical machine guns.
By 'tactical', I don't mean some stupid Maglite or a knife. I mean something you can really use, and that will make a difference. I am reminded of a paraphrased Peter Kokalis quote, "Rifles that shoot full auto waste ammo; real machine guns, properly placed, win battles".
The ZB 26, as seen here (please tune out the bombastic music) was what is called a 'squad automatic'. It is an offensive weapon, designed for covering fire. The British version, the BREN, was to be a squad automatic; by the end of WWII the ambition by the British Army was to have ONE BREN gun for every 8 men.
That's a lot of fire. Believe me.
The Soviet model, based on ideas dating back to WWI, had a suppressive fire idea: not unlike the 'walking fire' idea the French had settled on with the Chauchat. The BAR, by the way, originally was nothing more than a product-improved version of the Chauchat. These squad guns got implemented very differently than their original intents, as always happens; and they developed to be the base of suppressive fire for crawling squads of infantry.
I like heavy machine guns, and I like the planning, thinking, and land tactics that go into placing them. I have no interest at all in the so-called 'glory' of war, and I think in mechanical terms. I'm not a coward, or at least I like to think I'm not, although I always feel like one; I hate being afraid, and in the past I've been so afraid I don't have the vocabulary to describe it.
However, I like heavy machine guns, or at least General Purpose Machine Guns (GPMG's) applied as such, and I appreciate fine machinery; and I like this gun.
By 'tactical', I don't mean some stupid Maglite or a knife. I mean something you can really use, and that will make a difference. I am reminded of a paraphrased Peter Kokalis quote, "Rifles that shoot full auto waste ammo; real machine guns, properly placed, win battles".
The ZB 26, as seen here (please tune out the bombastic music) was what is called a 'squad automatic'. It is an offensive weapon, designed for covering fire. The British version, the BREN, was to be a squad automatic; by the end of WWII the ambition by the British Army was to have ONE BREN gun for every 8 men.
That's a lot of fire. Believe me.
The Soviet model, based on ideas dating back to WWI, had a suppressive fire idea: not unlike the 'walking fire' idea the French had settled on with the Chauchat. The BAR, by the way, originally was nothing more than a product-improved version of the Chauchat. These squad guns got implemented very differently than their original intents, as always happens; and they developed to be the base of suppressive fire for crawling squads of infantry.
I like heavy machine guns, and I like the planning, thinking, and land tactics that go into placing them. I have no interest at all in the so-called 'glory' of war, and I think in mechanical terms. I'm not a coward, or at least I like to think I'm not, although I always feel like one; I hate being afraid, and in the past I've been so afraid I don't have the vocabulary to describe it.
However, I like heavy machine guns, or at least General Purpose Machine Guns (GPMG's) applied as such, and I appreciate fine machinery; and I like this gun.
I have a headache.
It was music again, and for last block we used a computer program that is basically a mixing board. It's pretty cool, and very useful in getting the students to recognize and compose with various kinds of instruments.
However, everyone's a rock star, and just dying to share their work with the world at large, and me in particular.
However, everyone's a rock star, and just dying to share their work with the world at large, and me in particular.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Speaking of art...
I had a 6th grade kid tell me this last week, while doing Art, that he couldn't do the project because he was a boy, and art is for girls, and only girls are good at art. Needless to say, this annoyed me immensely. Not due to his apparent belief, or possible 6th-grade unwillingness to complete the project, but because of his obviously ingrained idea that creative things or art or anything with some culture to it is 'for girls', (as opposed to things that are 'for men').
Don't even get me started about the years I spent not bothering telling anyone around me I drew or painted, as such things were for 'girls' or 'poindexters'. I know this kid spends all his time in an environment in which any creative, artistic impulse is derided, mocked, and suppressed.
So, I told him, "You're perfectly capable of completing this project, and if you are going to tell me you can't be artistic because only girls do that, I'm going to make absolutely sure you finish this work." He didn't get a whole lot done, but he didn't complain again, so that's okay with me.
That kind of thing really is a pet peeve of mine: people who believe, and teach their kids, that school, art, intellectual pursuits, reading, etc. are somehow 'not manly'. How destructive can you get?
UPDATE, 4:47 pm. I just got back from the grocery store and discovered I'd not known it's Superbowl Sunday.
Don't even get me started about the years I spent not bothering telling anyone around me I drew or painted, as such things were for 'girls' or 'poindexters'. I know this kid spends all his time in an environment in which any creative, artistic impulse is derided, mocked, and suppressed.
So, I told him, "You're perfectly capable of completing this project, and if you are going to tell me you can't be artistic because only girls do that, I'm going to make absolutely sure you finish this work." He didn't get a whole lot done, but he didn't complain again, so that's okay with me.
That kind of thing really is a pet peeve of mine: people who believe, and teach their kids, that school, art, intellectual pursuits, reading, etc. are somehow 'not manly'. How destructive can you get?
UPDATE, 4:47 pm. I just got back from the grocery store and discovered I'd not known it's Superbowl Sunday.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Sex and students.
I've told this story before, but I know a guy in another district who received, on his desk, an envelope containing a sexually explicit letter from one of his 7th grade students, a girl. I asked him, "What did you do?"
He replied, "Oh, man, I did not pass GO, I did not collect $200, I ran that thing straight to administration and reported it. Scared me to death".
The girl got called in, and the sort-of-odd part was, she wasn't some lost soul or anything. She was a straight-A student and a popular girl, from a solid and stable household, with no sign of anything being amiss. The letter was a kind of stepping-out cry for help, I guess. Wacky. I would have freaked out too. You just never know.
Another aspect of the sex/student thing happened in another place around here, where a guy went into Police Academy straight out of high school, got a job at the age of 20 with his hometown police department, and, incredibly, got assigned to patrol the very high school he'd graduated from!
He promptly got busted for getting himself a 17-year-old student for a girlfriend and having sex with her. He wasn't prosecuted, as 17 is legal age in that state, but he got canned for something like 'abusing a position of authority' or some such ethical charge. I really think that showed a frightening lack of judgement not only by the officer, but by the department who hired him. Personally, I think 19-20 is too young for anybody to be a cop. I mean, if they've done a hitch in the military first, sure, but straight out of high school? I just don't think sending a guy to ride herd on kids more or less his own age is a good idea. And have you sat outside a high school on a reasonably warm day, and seen the way these girls dress and act?
Holy Moses.
He replied, "Oh, man, I did not pass GO, I did not collect $200, I ran that thing straight to administration and reported it. Scared me to death".
The girl got called in, and the sort-of-odd part was, she wasn't some lost soul or anything. She was a straight-A student and a popular girl, from a solid and stable household, with no sign of anything being amiss. The letter was a kind of stepping-out cry for help, I guess. Wacky. I would have freaked out too. You just never know.
Another aspect of the sex/student thing happened in another place around here, where a guy went into Police Academy straight out of high school, got a job at the age of 20 with his hometown police department, and, incredibly, got assigned to patrol the very high school he'd graduated from!
He promptly got busted for getting himself a 17-year-old student for a girlfriend and having sex with her. He wasn't prosecuted, as 17 is legal age in that state, but he got canned for something like 'abusing a position of authority' or some such ethical charge. I really think that showed a frightening lack of judgement not only by the officer, but by the department who hired him. Personally, I think 19-20 is too young for anybody to be a cop. I mean, if they've done a hitch in the military first, sure, but straight out of high school? I just don't think sending a guy to ride herd on kids more or less his own age is a good idea. And have you sat outside a high school on a reasonably warm day, and seen the way these girls dress and act?
Holy Moses.
Blue, in his favorite place...
...out in a field, watching. It's been almost a year since we had to put him to sleep, and I'm really not happy about it. I'm not good with various anniversaries.
Child pornography, and thoughts on behavior
I read the other day about an interesting (?) legal 'trend', if you will...
Kids taking sexually explicit photos of themselves.
This is not an unusual practice, believe me. The current social lives of teenagers in the US are permeated in sexual discussion, imagery, and acts. It really has to be witnessed to be believed. Seriously. I hear open and explicit discussions of sex, mostly by the girls, constantly. By 'explicit', I mean explicit. It's, like, uh... remember Penthouse Forum? Like that. But with underage people. It's very disturbing.
I mention this to adults from time to time, and preface the subject with the observation, "Remember when porn was hard to get? When you had to really work at finding it, and hide it from your parents and adults, whatever? When porn was, like, secret?" Well, not no more, folks. It's all over the place. Kids have this stuff on cel phones, cameras, ipods, etc. It's everywhere.
Anyway, in the vein of that kind of thing, which is something I try to ignore as best I can, as I find it really, really, really scary, there are currently legal precedents for kids being prosecuted for disseminating 'pornography' featuring themselves. Some 13-year-old takes a crotch shot and sends it to her 'hook-up', and suddenly she's being busted for 'producing child pornography', and spends the rest of their life registering as a convicted sex offender. It's happened.
Yeouch.
I have to say, as well, that I doubt this is really the right message to be sending. So to speak. You know, there have already been several episodes in schools in the region of super-on-track A-student cheer-squad types finding nude photos of themselves broadcast all over their schools and community. Some guy they're dating asks for a nudie shot, they do it, and suddenly they're porn stars. Perhaps we need some public service spots aimed at kids telling them:
DON'T TAKE NAKED PICTURES OF YOURSELF UNLESS YOU WANT THEM SPREAD ALL OVER THE INTERNET.
Like all 'teen sex' scares, I find it interesting to see not only the aspects of frightening sexual behavior on the part of underage kids, but the flip side of that: the crushing embarrassment of many kids at their exposure to things that they wish they didn't have to experience. This is the positive part, and makes me think that, like all discussions of 'teen sex', that a lot of kids don't go in for the sex-saturated society they live in, and are honestly embarrassed by it. For every Bad Girl's Club wannabe I see a quiet, together teen in the other corner of the room, thinking to themselves, "I'm not like that, and I find this kind of thing humiliating and embarrassing, and these people and the culture of pornography freaks me out".
Anyway, I was thinking about that this morning after hearing a creepy-crawly conversation involving 6th graders yesterday, and in hearing it, recognizing the genuine desire for some direction and information and guidance those particular kids really wanted. I hear that all the time: "Stop us! Give us limits! Don't just let us run riot like this!" And, believe it or not, in exactly those words. I have kids tell me to my face, "Why don't you stop me from acting like this?"
Sometimes I work at it, sometimes it's not worth the brawl, but I can at least recognize the desire for order and control and discipline a lot of these kids have... but I sure wish they'd stop snapping naked pictures of themselves. It's just not a good idea.
Anyway. Time for breakfast.
Kids taking sexually explicit photos of themselves.
This is not an unusual practice, believe me. The current social lives of teenagers in the US are permeated in sexual discussion, imagery, and acts. It really has to be witnessed to be believed. Seriously. I hear open and explicit discussions of sex, mostly by the girls, constantly. By 'explicit', I mean explicit. It's, like, uh... remember Penthouse Forum? Like that. But with underage people. It's very disturbing.
I mention this to adults from time to time, and preface the subject with the observation, "Remember when porn was hard to get? When you had to really work at finding it, and hide it from your parents and adults, whatever? When porn was, like, secret?" Well, not no more, folks. It's all over the place. Kids have this stuff on cel phones, cameras, ipods, etc. It's everywhere.
Anyway, in the vein of that kind of thing, which is something I try to ignore as best I can, as I find it really, really, really scary, there are currently legal precedents for kids being prosecuted for disseminating 'pornography' featuring themselves. Some 13-year-old takes a crotch shot and sends it to her 'hook-up', and suddenly she's being busted for 'producing child pornography', and spends the rest of their life registering as a convicted sex offender. It's happened.
Yeouch.
I have to say, as well, that I doubt this is really the right message to be sending. So to speak. You know, there have already been several episodes in schools in the region of super-on-track A-student cheer-squad types finding nude photos of themselves broadcast all over their schools and community. Some guy they're dating asks for a nudie shot, they do it, and suddenly they're porn stars. Perhaps we need some public service spots aimed at kids telling them:
DON'T TAKE NAKED PICTURES OF YOURSELF UNLESS YOU WANT THEM SPREAD ALL OVER THE INTERNET.
Like all 'teen sex' scares, I find it interesting to see not only the aspects of frightening sexual behavior on the part of underage kids, but the flip side of that: the crushing embarrassment of many kids at their exposure to things that they wish they didn't have to experience. This is the positive part, and makes me think that, like all discussions of 'teen sex', that a lot of kids don't go in for the sex-saturated society they live in, and are honestly embarrassed by it. For every Bad Girl's Club wannabe I see a quiet, together teen in the other corner of the room, thinking to themselves, "I'm not like that, and I find this kind of thing humiliating and embarrassing, and these people and the culture of pornography freaks me out".
Anyway, I was thinking about that this morning after hearing a creepy-crawly conversation involving 6th graders yesterday, and in hearing it, recognizing the genuine desire for some direction and information and guidance those particular kids really wanted. I hear that all the time: "Stop us! Give us limits! Don't just let us run riot like this!" And, believe it or not, in exactly those words. I have kids tell me to my face, "Why don't you stop me from acting like this?"
Sometimes I work at it, sometimes it's not worth the brawl, but I can at least recognize the desire for order and control and discipline a lot of these kids have... but I sure wish they'd stop snapping naked pictures of themselves. It's just not a good idea.
Anyway. Time for breakfast.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Special Ed Art.
Well, today, we worked on Egyptian art, and a lot of the work had to do with simply getting the kids to follow through on tasks.
This is cool. A lot of the kids are just not going to be capable of physical or mental tasks past about, oh, about the age of 7.
This is realism. anyway, art is big part of that. Some of the kids' stuff was awesome, I think, but I can't post it here.
Here's my work, as I had to contribute as well. It's in colored pencil.
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