Just for the record

This economic crisis was created by businessmen like Bloomberg and not civil servants.

Even as a hunter, he is a philosopher

Dar Williams - When I Was A Boy FRFF 2008

This song reminds me of Karen

The all around talented...

Happy Holidays

Things are okay. My principal and AP have been very supportive and my two babies have been cuddling me round the clock.

So, here are some warm and fuzzy pictures of my warm and furry guys.

When there is no redemption

Last Thursday, I was asked to stay late to keep the boundary between two of the schools in our building secure. It wasn't very difficult and I found most of the students understanding -- one even told me that he knew that our students created too much noise when they got out of gym and that was why we were trying to re-route them out of the other school's territory. One student slightly pushed me out of the way, but then he apologized. He didn't quite understand the rule itself, but he knew he handled himself incorrectly.

Then I got on the bus going home.


There's a wonderful little middle school a block away from my high school and I wait for my bus at its entrance. The girls were yelling at a boy who had broken up nastily with a girl. I joked with a stranger about how seriously these little kids took their relationships. Thinking back now, I actually DIVORCED my first boyfriend in the fourth grade. I got on the school bus and said that everyone who was my friend had to sit on one side of the bus, and his friends had to sit on the other. Most of the bus crammed into my side and my former boyfriend was nearly alone on his side. I remember him, all swallowed up by the green vinyl seats, crying.

The boy, in the middle school drama I witnessed also fled the scene and the B8 bus arrived, crammed with passengers, to my dismay. For the first two minutes of the bus ride things were fine. Then we stopped in front of my high school. I avoid getting the bus there because most of the seats get taken at the middle school. As it turned out, on this night I was standing anyway. A group of MY students got on the bus and I smiled at them and even joked that I had the "enemy" cap on (I was wearing a baseball cap with the initials of one of the other schools in the building.)

One very tall girl with a space between her front teeth began the chanting of "BAT, BAT, BAT, BAT." Then I was called a "snitch" and my every move was commented on. "You get people suspended," said the tall girl. I tried to explain that I don't -- but I stopped. It seemed, perhaps, not a good idea to dispel the belief that I had the power to do something I can't actually do. Truthfully, I only document student behavior and reach out to parents. Once or twice I have recommended someone be suspended, but my suggestions weren't taken. The chanting of "Bat, Bat, Bat, Bat" and the comments continued. I stood still, reading my book and at the next stop, I got a seat and continued to read. A student asked if I was reading the Bible. Several students said that I was "tight" (which means tense). This continued until the students got off of the bus. This was about twenty minutes.

At one point, I did say that I could call the police but that the students were "just not that important." I wanted them to understand that my life would go on despite their escapades and, sadly, that I didn't care about them as much as they thought. They didn't get it.

The next day my class went miserably. (I only have one on Fridays. The rest of the day I am a dean.) The subtitles on West Side Story didn't work and my students couldn't follow the language without them. I tried fast forwarding between active scenes -- the big fight, etc. Nothing. Students were talking and talking. Then a security guard knocked and asked me if I would take in a student kicked out of another class. This was a student who had harassed me weeks ago, but with whom I no longer had problems. So, I said, "okay." She joined in the talking with her group of friends and they became more vociferous and aggressive. One of them accused me of being "in love" with a female student because I had laughingly commented on her goofy outfit. (Friday was also "wacky tacky" day.) When they left, the girl I admitted called me "Ms. Dyke" and when I went after her in the hallway to tell her that she had just committed a hate crime, she said she didn't care about my "gay ass."

The girl was suspended. I wanted her arrested but was discouraged from doing so.
I've never been gaybashed verbally before. Sure, the same girl used to call me "Mr. Kay" but I never took that in the same way.

When friends of the same girl came into the Dean's Office for something and I asked them what they wanted, I heard one girl outside yell, "Oh no, no!" and the girls left. They weren't embarassed; they were indicating that they would take no help from me.

My first instinct was to asked to be transferred -- which won't happen. I have never felt unsafe before in my career -- not this way. I might have felt that one student was aggressive toward me, but for academic reasons. No one ever really showed me complete and utter hatred.

not another website...

Recently, I've heard that the UFT is trying to put together a kind of website for teacher resumes. First, I think that this action misses the point:
TEACHER RESUMES ARE OUT THERE. PEOPLE SEND THEM OUT. PEOPLE AREN'T READING THEM. PUTTING MORE OUT WON'T HELP.

Second, I think this wastes resources which need to go elsewhere:
TEACHERS NEED TO LEARN HOW TO HANDLE THE LEADERSHIP ACADEMY PRINCIPALS AND THEIR INTERVIEW STYLE.

TEACHERS NEED TO PUT MORE PRESSURE ON THE UFT TO PRESSURE KLEIN INTO HIRING US.

OR, we had all better brace ourselves for careers as ATR's -- at best.....

College Preparatory

Today I interviewed for a position at a Charter School which aims to be College Preparatory. When I stated that all high schools are college preparatory -- or aim to be -- I was told that it is a "communications issue" -- that the school will have to find a way to say it is academically rigorous/competitive without being selective. Perhaps, the school would like people to self-select out who aren't interested in going Ivy League and would like to find a way to present this while still being politically correct. I mean, they could just call themselves "the middle class alternative to Horace Mann." That might backfire however.

I've never met a kid in my life who wasn't interested in the opportunity to train to become Ivy League Material. Nor have I ever met a parent who didn't believe his/her kid deserved the chance.

What I wanted to say, but of course didn't right then (they can certainly read this blog posting) is: whom do you expect to be teaching? It's not as though I don't believe the average kid off the street couldn't be prepared for Princeton. To the contrary, I think you can build a student if you have the time, resources and commitment from the student and parents. However, the organizers of this school don't seem to be aware that the students whom they reach will not have much of a foundation when they arrive at their doorstep. Their reading and math skills are going to be poor, or mostly so. Their behavior will be challenging, and as their frustrations grow, it will get worse. A strong system has to be in place to reinforce the culture and methods of the school. There will also need to be strong incentives for the students and parents to buy into the school philosophy.

They won't just be able to hold up the flags of Harvard, Yale and Columbia and expect students to go hopping. Students need tangible reasons to believe these names still matter, and who could blame them. Eight years of Yale and Harvard educated "Nucular" Bush, and our students have had a very concrete lesson in what happens when you know the right people and you don't know anything else. I hardly think that people who apply to Yale do so with the Shrub in mind -- and those who are applying generally have a sense of tradition which goes with the school and reaches beyond the past eight years. That, however, is a small section of the population and not necessarily a part of the public school population. Even of the elitist public school population.

Many of my friends have students in the public schools because they can't afford private schools. They don't anticipate being able to send their kids to private colleges either. For them, SUNY Binghamton, Buffalo, Albany, Queens, Hunter and Brooklyn are going to have to suffice -- as the latter three once did in the 50's and 60's when people usually only attended private schools when they couldn't get into the best CUNY's. When someone who went to school in that era mentioned going to NYU, they didn't usually do so with pride -- it was testimony to their failure to get into Queens, Brooklyn or Hunter. Without the major financial aid which exists now, few people could afford Columbia, Barnard and Cornell. This held true even for graduate school. My uncle won the Regents Scholarship in Dentistry and wanted to go to Harvard's Dental School but they couldn't match the financial aid, so he went to NYU.

I remember, back in 1985, how many of my fellow graduates from Stuyvesant went to Binghamton. Most of them got into Ivy League schools but couldn't afford to go. Believe me, if there is any student who wants to go to an Ivy League school, it is a graduate of Stuyvesant. People were already practical by then and realized what was affordable and what was not. I was lucky that I grew up so poor that I knew I would get an enormous financial aid package from Barnard.

The guidelines for that kind of financial aid are very strict and many struggling middle class families live well above them.

So, I guess I hope that the planners of the school I spoke with today are ready to meet the needs of their students and to help them to compete for the best education available --- knowing they will start with disadvantages and that they may have to make compromises along the way.

Most importantly, though, they will need to find a reason for students to want this education. Some of my brightest students have chosen technical educations or to go into the military because they don't see a connection between an Ivy League quality education and a steady job. They've met too many teachers from such schools who are constantly worried about their positions, even after years of service. They have brothers and sisters who went to respectable schools and are out of work. Meanwhile, their mechanic friends, their friends in the armed forces and their cab driver friends are still managing.

I'll be curious to see how it works out.

Now you see it, now you don't

I've been a dean for a total of three months. In that time, I have had my, "let me help you change" days and my "get off my planet" days. I've found that being somewhat unpredictable can be useful because students are less inclined to test you if they are concerned you might do something insane. I guess the same rationale motivates a lot of people.

For the past few days, I've submitted paperwork on students only to find that the students weren't punished. I mean, they were ALMOST punished -- parents were called and some came up. Those who didn't come up didn't miss anything as their children were let back in the building with a slap on the wrist. In one case, a student was actually suspended....and then the suspension was taken back. What'd'ya know?

In all cases, I had been in my "heavier" moods on the theory that these were repeat offenders who needed to be taught a lesson. I guess the lesson was really being taught to me.

Perhaps what has to happen in a school is for everyone to feel as if they cannot tell what will happen no matter what they do. In the case of those of us writing up students, we might consider how we might best meet the needs of the student in the IMMEDIATE action. Will the act of writing the student up, calling a parent, etc. be enough -- will it make a difference in the student's life. We can't expect anything else will happen because that's not in our control. So, we have to best utilize what is in our control.

As a teacher, I rarely called for help from others and I mostly relied on the interaction between the students and me in the moment to maintain order. Even when I called parents, I placed little expectation on the result. There were some terrific parents. No parent, no matter how great, can be there at the moment the student decides to throw an orange across a room or pull a knife on someone. At that moment, the student is his/her own judge and jury.

What I've learned in my three months as a dean, therefore, is that my most important decisions will also come in the moment. What is done after will have limited effect and I have no control over what it will be. It could be that the student will be reprimanded by a parent or suspended for 90 days. There's no way of knowing. The only one I can depend upon is me.

And that's a lesson I learned as a teacher long, long ago.

Razzle Dazzle

We sat in our balcony seats for ten minutes after the show ended, just talking to the people next to us. For some reason, I remember there being sparkle dust all over the stage. I guess they were cleaning up.

Nobody lets you stay that late at the theater anymore. You're ushered out immediately and you don't get to see the stagehands do their work.

I was seven years old and it was my second musical - Chicago - with the original cast Gwen Verdon and Chita Rivera. My mother kept telling me to watch the dancers' feet -- how swiftly and quickly they moved. But, I was enraptured in the satire of the show and, though I appreciated how good the women were, I was glued to Jerry Orbach. I remember what he looked like when he came onstage and I never took my eyes off of him. He was all stage presence and sharp moves. He couldn't really sing in the conventional sense, but the man could move in a commanding and lightning-like fashion and he radiated an understanding of the show itself. The Razzle Dazzle that was a comment on the Razzle Dazzle of the 1920's that often obscured reality and justice. Unlike now, when things are clear and justice is swift and squeaky clean as the window on a washed car.

I had some trouble, as I still do, getting the story itself. But, I got the characters and the games they were playing.

Here's a troubling fact: I've been showing the film version to my students these past days and they don't get it, at all. I mean, they follow the story and they remember the songs. But, they don't understand the comments the show makes and they can't keep up with the pace of Fosse's dancing. It's a blur of nakedness and heels to them. Even the second time we watched "Cell Block Tango" it took a while for the meaning of the choreography to become clear. I made the simple point that the women dominate the men and one of my students asked me what "dominate" means.

For the first time in my life, and I can honestly say it is the first time, I am on a completely different planet from my students. A different planet. I'm bouncing eagerly to what I think is the simplest and probably the most obvious music in the American Musical Theater -- this has to be sharper hitting than "Some Enchanted Evening" -- and my students don't have a clue what's going on. They know some chick murdered a guy and it looks like she might get off, but they don't know why this could be interesting and they don't instinctively lift off to Bob Fosse's footstrokes. They have no instincts for this. One of my students didn't realize this was a musical -- granted, she came in for the last twenty minutes only and what could she tell?

Two women get away with murder by manipulating the press and public. What could be more contemporary?

Of course, my students also don't know who Rush Limbaugh is or what the difference is between Fox and CNN. Not that they watch the news. They watch BET even though I've tried to explain to them that the network is owned by ClearChannel, a company not particularly interested in the real needs of urban youth. They don't care. They have the right to consume.

And that right has taken away their ability to distinguish between what is worth consuming and what is garbage.

I'm not for a minute saying that anything by Ebb and Kandor is better than South Pacific or, for that matter, anything by Rogers and Hammerstein (except maybe Oklahoma!). I see Ebb and Kandor as the "ABC" of Musical Theater -- ordinary voices do extraordinary dancing (sometimes) about urbane topics. The stuff of Saturday Nigh Live. Pop. Accessible, I thought.

Probably, my students would be better off with the fairy tale narrative of South Pacific or The Sound of Music neither of which they have seen.

Before coming to Tilden, I had no idea there was a world in which people had not seen The Sound of Music. My Brooklyn Comprehensive students had seen it. Maybe they stay up late or are more adventurous in checking out cable. Or, more likely, they rented these films for their kid or kid sister whom they babysit.

Meanwhile, we finish Chicago tomorrow and then move on to...I don't know yet, though I have many choices.

Where do you go when Razzle Dazzle needs translation?

Bernie is two! Happy Birthday Bernie!

Here's a picture of the Birthday boy after finishing some broccoli -- his favorite vegetable and with Larry, snuggling, this weekend.

Ya think?

The best graduation rate of a transfer high school in 2007 was 69 percent. This comes from a 2007 report by the Office of Multiple Pathways to Education.

1) How was this graduation rate measured -- did the students have to come in the same year they graduated?

2) Brooklyn Comprehensive's graduation rate was always above 60%.

3) The graduation rate at YABC's with Learning-to-Work programs is 44% according to Mayor Bloomberg's own website. This percentage is presented as a GOOD THING.

Something is rotten in the State of DOE...

I believe we were closed because

1) All transfer high schools now STOP ADMITTING STUDENTS AFTER 18.
2) Students over 18 are shipped to GED programs because typically, according to the Office of Multiple Pathways' report, it only takes them a year to graduate.

We kept students till 21. We let them take three years if they needed them to get a REAL high school diploma.

for ATR's who want one...

It's been interesting that all of the recent writings about ATR agreements have referred to finding placements for those "ATR's who want one". Up until reading these, it had never occurred to me that there would be an ATR who wouldn't want a permanent position. Is the DOE implying that there is a place in the school-world for ATR's to just remain ATR's until retirement? Surely, the UFT is implying this in accepting this language in any compromise it enters into with the DOE -- provided that the UFT still means to provide job security to ALL of the ATR's, those who want positions and those who do not.

I am certainly an ATR who wants a position. In the ideal world, I would teach five English classes a day and be an active member of a school community. The longer I remain in a school, however, as a kind of itinerant figure, the more I become accustomed to the idea that I do not and will not be a permanent member of a community. Though I do not yet have the thick skin you need to manage this way, I expect to need to develop it. I do not treat the Teacher's lounge in my school as mine. When I do enter, it is to get a soda and I try to leave as quickly as I can. Unfailingly, when I have those confident days and engage in conversation and even follow up on issues related to my job, I regret it. At best, it's like being one of the many guest hosts on The Tonight Show during the Carson era and inquiring about whether the suggestion you made about where Ed McMahon should sit was ever tried; you're taking yourself way too seriously and not acknowledging the fact that NO ONE but Ed McMahon and Johnny Carson had any say in such matters. You're job is to be a guest host -- to fit into the program as best you can and leave it in the condition you found it. As an ATR, you're not even really even as good as a regular guest host who might be considered for the job once the host leaves. You won't be. You're not Jay Leno or David Letterman or Joan Rivers. You're David Brenner. That's right, David who? (Pictured above)

Disclaimer: I thought David Brenner was very funny and still remember that he was from Philadelphia and had a long nose. Nevertheless, unlike the indomitable Joan Rivers, he know lives in the same world as LP's, cassettes and Robert Klein.

Knowing that you are designated for oblivion brings an interesting tinge to daily activities. You walk the same halls as everyone else and you are expected to fulfill all of the duties you are assigned and to be immediately fluent in the lingo of the country. However, you won't get tapes to watch to prep you. You go on and figure it out as you go. The other day, I used the wrong terminology for what are called "Referral Forms" or "Pink Slips" in our school. I called it a report -- I pulled the appropriate word out of my brain quickly enough to be understood, but not before I was greeted with the kind of looks that are given to Americans speaking French in Paris. And I can't and don't blame the native residents -- they now have to contend with this person who doesn't even make sense handling some of their problems with students. About as much fun as watching The Tonight Show with a guest host and boring guests. They can't change the channel, though, and they have to put up with the students while they do it.

Worse, I've come off as a real idiot in conversations left and right. I've tried to be intelligent and literary when I'm sleepy and confused and, worst of all, desperate to be liked. There's no precedent or convention which has given me the ability to apologize, either, because I'm not a regular feature anywhere except during the periods in which I teach. Time passes and it's harder and harder to go up to someone and say, "remember that time I came up to you and tried to make sense about ..." They think you're weird, but they've forgotten why and they aren't going to remember. You're just going to seem weirder. There are all sorts of misunderstandings and signals you can't address like this. There are, at least, three people with whom I wish I could just apologize and start over. But, I'm not that important. Unfortunately, I haven't gotten it quite out of my head yet that all of this is temporary, that I'm just visiting at a place which is soon to be gone anyway. I want to make amends.

I know, I was supposed to be talking about GETTING USED to this condition.

P.S. A few hours after writing this, I did a Google search on David Brenner. Eerily, he and I have the same birthday, though he's 23 years older. Robert Klein's birthday is 4 days after that, and he's 25 years older.
I STAND CORRECTED. DAVID BRENNER WAS BORN IN 36 and so he is 32 years older and Klein was born in 42 is 26 years older. Mea Culpa. I always want these guys to be younger so I am more likely to meet them.

Thanksgiving

From "Perdidos"

Karen and I used to listen to Monchy and Alexander -- she loved the song, "Perdidos." Much, much too late, I know what most of the song means. We knew it was a love song, of course. Here's one of the lyrics, which of course, I would have love to have quoted to her and I do now....much, much too late:

Llevame a donde tu quieras amor
que junto a ti yo soy feliz, contigo
soy feliz (contigo soy feliz

Take me wherever you want to, my love, because with you I am happy.
With you, I am happy.

Encounters with Shrub Mid-Air: A Karen Story

Karen loved to tell this story to everyone she met. I post it in honor of her upcoming birthday, November 23. She would have been 57. (See my post below this one for my thoughts). She told the story better than I do here and, she understood better what all the technical things were, of course. All I can do is my best, which is necessary, but not sufficient.

It was the summer of 2004, the night of the Republican convention in which W was to speak. Karen and I were returning from Provincetown and had designed things so that we would NOT be on the ground in NYC for the event. So, there we were in the night sky, Karen attending to the pilot things and me, thinking, "I'm in the night sky. This is so cool. This is beautiful. I'm like a star..." and other non-profound thoughts. Suddenly, I got a punch in the leg.

In order for Karen and I to hear each other, we both had to wear headphones. That technically meant that, were I not contemplating singing "Twinkle, twinkle" to myself, I should have heard the transmission from the tower in NY. So, when a flustered Karen followed the punch with "Did you hear that?" I was forced to tell the truth and say, "No, I was night-dreaming." She didn't find it cute.

"Ma'am, get out of BRAVO space now." BRAVO space refers to the central, most important air space -- in this case we were in NY's BRAVO space which we needed to be in order to get home. And suddenly we were being told to scram somewhere in the night sky. Karen was about to ask where in this vast expanse we were expected/allowed to go in order to get to our destination of Caldwell airport when a nicer voice came on the radio and said, "Just point toward ----" I forget where it was he said, but it made instant sense to Karen and she proceeded to re-program whatever the device is called that you do that to in order to change course. About a minute later, we both heard another transmission. "Air Force One Requesting Clearance for take off." Karen says my eyes went raccoon wide. About a half minute later, we heard, "Air Force One you have clearance to take off."

So, apparently, we'd been bopped out of BRAVO space because the Shrub didn't want to spend any more time on the ground than he had to, either. His ship and ours literally passed in the night, both avoiding each other.

Shortly after, I believe, we were able to ask if we could return to our original course, which we did, feeling just a little bit cooler than we already thought we were.

Karen Beth Hunter, November 23, 1951 - Sept 2, 2005.

Proof of Heaven, while you're living. For Karen, always.

The line comes from Steven Sondheim's song, "Pretty Women" from the musical, "Sweeney Todd". "Proof of Heaven, while you're living. Pretty women." Appropriately, Sweeney coins it, singing, as we in the audience know, about the love of his life who is lost to him forever.

Karen Beth Hunter was far more than a pretty woman -- she was beautiful and brilliant, exciting and honest, and boldly loving, even if this meant being vulnerable to people who might, and often did, hurt her. She WAS very much "proof of heaven." In fact, she believed in god and the eternity of the soul so I am sure she would be/is glad to know that she affirmed their possibility in her very existence. Shortly after she passed away, a friend of mine, who is not given to paltry sentiment, wondered if she were my guardian angel and said, "She looked like one." My friend meant it.

This isn't to say she was conventionally "angelic". Like my cat Larry, whom she loved, she got as close to you as possible by asserting the truth. The truth wasn't always gentle or bucolic. It was beautiful because it was as essential as breathing. When something is wrong or he is very angry, Larry will kick things up and howl. Karen would get all red and do much the same. She couldn't stomach unfairness and I was to put things right or cause her tremendous pain and sadness. I'm afraid I did that a lot. Like Larry, she held that sadness in and it turned into anxiety. She told me once that she felt like Gumby because she had to twist into so many shapes to fit so many people's viewpoints/needs -- especially, I think, in her office. I used to joke that she was becoming, "America's Favorite Lesbian" because she counseled so many people who viewed her as a mother-figure, but were extremely homophobic (and had no idea about her sexuality).

I have never seen anyone be made so happy, however, by honest feeling and pure warmth. A good meal. Odetta. Irish music. Bachata music. Bicycling on a beautiful day. Clear, pure water. Feelings full, rich and pulsating. Love at its most elemental and finest. Brushing the hair from my face and caressing the stray silver in the strands of brown. Seeing beauty in details of me when it is not yet in the whole of me.

The paradox for me these past three years has been that nothing destroyed my faith in everything more than Karen's death and nothing affirmed my willingness to believe more than her life. She wasn't just "proof of heaven," but proof of earth -- and selfishly my ability to be a whole functioning person on it. She remains my "proof of heaven" and it's wondrous complexity. Like Sondheim's Sweeney, I feel cheated and the bitterness has transformed me, but I try, for her sake, not to let it do so as much as it could.

November 23rd is Karen's birthday and she would have been 57. In my mind, she was eternally 7 years old and I told her so. She was that child on the swing, going too high and too fast in pure exhiliration. In flight. She is still flying. And I am eternally 10 years old. My bicycle and my favorite coat no longer quite fit. My mother's loneliness has overpowered me and I no longer play outside. I guarded my 7 year old friend in the hopes that I can save her from this fate, but alas I could not save her at all. She reminded me of every pure joy I'd ever had and she was all of them at once. "Proof of Heaven" in a world where laughter without irony, without fear, that rises like unbridled passion from the belly upward is so, so rare. In a world in which the concept of goodness is often used to propulgate the very opposite, she was proof that true "heaven" is maddeningly, enchantingly and honestly beautiful.

I'm sick of buying retail for names.

On my toolbar, always, are updates from the NY Yankees. As the season is LONG over, the updates are mostly the same with the occasional mentions of whom the Yankees are shopping for in the pool of free agents. This year, it feels like we are going to Bloomingdales and Macy's when the world has already learned to buy at Greenmarkets and Costco. What does it take for an institution to learn that it's habits are unhealthy? I guess, like a person, organizations have a hard time letting go of their addictions, in this case, to buying other club's stars when their best years are either behind them, or still in front of them -- but few and far between.

Take C.C. Sabathia. A great pitcher, but he's been such for a while. The time to have pitched for him was two years ago or even last year. Sure, he'll be a terrific addition to the club for five years or so. Maybe. Or Maybe three years. Still good, of course. But what was it that prevented us from getting him when he was a clearly gifted younger pitcher? Why do we wait for people to become veritable stars somewhere else? I hate to say it, but I feel as though I am taking away someone from a ball club which built him and had faith in him to squeeze out what's left of him. It's like buying stock in Goldman Sachs (which someone advised me, very wrongly to do). You assume because of the name that it would always be a good product even though you can see that the world is changing and the product is headed for trouble. That kind of denial was lethal for the economy.

Now, Jake Peavy would be an exception. He's still young and not an established ace. I would like to go after him as hard or harder than we are going after Sabathia.

Of course, we NEED an established ace because we have yet to build one of our own in a while and we need an aspiring ace so we have someone to follow in his footsteps. So, we are, to some extent, locked into this pattern -- unless we could buy two pitchers on the verge of becoming aces and let them grow together. The latter would be healthier and more exciting to watch as a fan. Perhaps the reports that Phil Hughes is become a strong pitcher in the AFL portend of such an event. But, why do we expect a VERY young pitcher to be more than just that? Why are we creatures of such extremes -- chasing hard after Sabathia and expecting gold of Phil Hughes or Chamberlain for that matter? What would have been wrong with purchasing Gil Meche last year, an indisputably solid pitcher who has years of good work ahead of him? Or is there something in us that loves the gamble of watching the ever-absent Carl Pavano on his rare stints on the mound, hoping to win a 100 - 1 bet that he will have a good night?

And even Jake Peavy has been a good bet for a while. What stops us from seeing what the rest of the world sees and waiting until someone is almost legend somewhere else? Are we also addicted to taking away other club's pride and joy?

Finally, why would a team which has been losing with the same General Manager for years give him a contract to 2011? Renewing Brian Cashman's contract feels to me like buying Jordache jeans in 2008. Sure, some people find wearing designer jeans cunningly retro, and they look good in a certain way, but the world has moved on, mostly.

Wailing children and the mist of 10pm

It's like a trumpet which can't quite get the sound out. The sound of the father's plea. He must be saying, "Now what?" "What" is definitely the second word. Like the slow grind of a drill through bone, his child's cries have been persistently scratching at the air.

Were I to keep my head just on the windowsill, it would feel like being on a boat. Gentle, cool mist and the waves of occasional cars against the road. Like low tide shifting in on sand, they flood in and pull back in slow, easy breaths.

The cry chews through every bit of wall, however, and even the outermost edges are not unscathed. It is like this every night. Between the cotton-muffed hum of the television which, ironically, is at a tasteful volume, are the jabs of tears and howl that shake the skeleton awake from within your muscles.

She is mute, but for the screams. Or is it he? Who can tell? It is wordless, just a long, attempt to lull the weakness and rancid pain inside. It bubbles up against the ribs and billows into a cloud of one-voweled ache. Terror spills, and I can feel her jaw, her mouth, her lips, her teeth, falling, shaking, wishing they could bang against the ground.

He has stopped speaking to her, but now lets her wail into the room beneath me, filling the carpet with the heat of her breath. She becomes a pulse.

My ears pull inward toward the edges of the pond that is my room. I hear the slow drip of water from a faucet and the television adjacent to me, playing the news. My soul is riding the wave, away from her pain because it cannot know it.

Stop Obama from nominating Joel Klein for Sec. of Education

Apparently, the rumor about Chancellor Klein being a serious contender of Sec. of Education comes from The Huffington Post. The Nation is putting together a list of reasons, garnered from readers, why Klein shouldn't be chosen. Write to Habiba@thenation.com and info@nycore.org immediately.

Looking through a web of fingers

One of my assignments at my job is to scan student identification cards when they come into our school. This is not as easy a job as you might think -- you have to be mindful of students who are suspended, you have to confirm the identification of students without identification and then manually enter them into the computer system. While you're doing this, you also have to make sure students are behaving, removing hats and any gang related flags or beads from their persons. All this has to happen while hundreds of students are coming into the building and trying to go to class. Plus, you want to be polite about it all as tempers flare easily. Our students go through metal detectors and have to virtually strip to do so (there's metal in everything these days, especially sneakers and shoes). Kids pile up in clumps while someone is checked and checked again for mysterious sources of concern which often turn out to be forgotten bobby pins.

We have a good team of people doing this work. Everyone has a serious, but kind demeanor so there isn't usually any difficulty. Except for the occasional student who refuses to remove a highly expensive hat or one who irrationally responds to a request to be re-scanned (and it is irrational -- it's never someone who really is hiding something) the mornings go quietly and smoothly.

My students, unlike me, have gotten used to coming through webs and webs of fingers. The fingers who hand them late passes, temporary ID's, hand them back their belongings after scanning, point them to the auditorium when it is too late to be admitted to class, point out which stairwells they should be using (our school building houses four schools, all of whom are supposed to use separate stairwells to decrease traffic). They shake and pound fists with friendly hands of guards, other deans, counselors and their friends. It surprises me when students will later in the day say, "Don't touch me!" to me or other deans and teachers as they are so welcoming to the veritable groping of the morning. Maybe they've had enough after that. More often, though, those are students who want to unnerve you and to deny your power to affect their future with our without a tap on the shoulder.

For me, however, the cathedral of hands that defines the morning ritual is far too much. The hands that grip me on the shoulder, stop me from typing in a name of someone before I look to see if they have a new ID, point out reinventions of the procedures I had just become accustomed to, demonstrate the proper way to remove paper from the printer, point out keys on the keyboard to names I cannot hear because of the noise and even those who rub my back after having slapped my hands to stop them from typing -- this collection of what feel like diabolical digits is sometimes enough to trigger agony in me. It's not that I don't want to be stopped from making mistakes or that I don't like to be touched. I ache to be touched most of the time as there are few people in the world whom I trust enough to hug me. However, therein lies the paradox; I don't trust most people enough to stand within less than a foot of them so being consumed by the over-reachings of all manner of staff frightens me. I am used to the distance and temperament which people give moderators of debates -- my classroom and even my manner are rooted in the Socratic method. So, I sat with my head in a basket of my own fingers on Friday in the pauses between rushes of students. There was the comfort of my own hands and the chance to warm my face with my own breath. And to hide the onslaught of tears which overwhelmed me later in the day. On top of the changes in routine, I was asked to be stricter with students who don't have identification cards. When I was so and I asked for assistance from a colleague, I got a flat out "ask somebody else." No matter what the reason, and I am sure it was quite legitimate, that broke me. I felt mauled and alone.

Everything that my colleagues are doing is correct and right and good and they mean absolutely no harm to me. If anything, they are coddling me. Even when they refuse me it is because they are too busy and they know that someone else WILL do what I ask.

How do I explain that it is frightening, all this hand-work, gentle slapping of the wrist to push my hands to stop moving on the keyboard, pointing here and there to faster ways to enter information which contradict what I was told yesterday? It is all meant to be helpful, but it is the opposite to me. It makes me trust myself and them even less.


Fundamentally, I understand that there isn't time to do more than grunt, point, and nod. When hundreds of kids are at the door, sentence structure goes out the window.

It just makes me feel raw and vulnerable to be so much a creature pawing through the winds when I have spent a lifetime in the igloo of the classroom. The spoken word has been what has given me the illusion of safety my whole life. Spending my mornings without those shields only reminds me further of how insecure my job and my life really are.

President-Elect Barack Obama Victory Speech (Full Video)

Glynis Johns Send in the Clowns

Escapist Post

Not being a fan of Halloween, I have my own kind of "ghost holiday". Rather than indulge in a holiday in which children are told to put on masks, knock on doors and threaten people in exchange for the cheapest wrapped candy imaginable, I've decided that the only spooky fantasy I'll engage in is...adolescent confession.

Recently, I've been adding to my music collection singers and songs which I have had in my head for as long as I can remember. Everything from "It's Not Easy Being Green" to "Pretty Women" from Sondheim's Sweeney Todd. The latter is connected to my escapist admission here. I have been forever in love with Len Cariou. Fine actor, singer and solid hunk even now, he is one of few men whose talent, crisp looks and presence overtake even lesbian me. So, here's my adolescent admission, my escape for the night back into the world in which I still believe in and am overwhelmed by charm, gender aside.

There are really just a few famous men for whom I fall in that hand-on-the-back-of the-head way. I've been lucky to know men and women in my life who have that power over me, too, like Karen Hunter, but I won't embarass others by naming them. It's an odd feeling, watching Len Cariou or Sir Anthony Hopkins or video of the late Jerry Orbach. They have this enormous credibility to me and they are so overwhelmingly large to me, as if they could spread their arms and catch me. I know it's a father fixation as much as anything, but it hardly matters when I see them perform. They're magical because they are so completely and greaselessly confident. Maybe it's their talent and energy-- they're features, voices and frames look as broad as the bottom of a tidal wave and as full of vitality.

So, there. That's my Halloween escape. No pressuring anyone for colored confectioners sugar aged to hardness and wrapped in what my students' call, "Pimp colored" paper. Just memory of lovely presences.

Couldn't we have a holiday in which we taught kids to treasure the people who fill them with awe? They could draw pictures of Spiderman or mom or their coach or their favorite movie star. And just share the shimmer. That's far sweeter.

Bernie, my opera loving cat

I was listening to a PremiereOpera Podcast (premiereopera.org) and in the middle of Richard Tucker's last "Cielo e Mar," Bernie just stopped chasing his toy and walked toward me and stood still with eyes full of softness.

He's sitting on the window listening to "Thine Alone" now. He keeps giving me these intense looks -- he can't focus on what's outside. He just keeps being moved to radio his feelings out. Last time he heard this, he just stood on the window and blinked at me.

Henry used to purr during opera broadcasts. I wasn't permitted to talk for the first hour -- he'd bat me lightly. Then, he'd fall asleep.

Larry likes the music, but prefers sports broadcasts -- those rivet him. The super bowl was a real highlight, and baseball games on the radio hold him for innings. He does like the music, and he likes it better than Hip Hop, which he has trouble with, but he LOVES sports.

Bernie just went to sit down, ignoring the opportunity to knock over his now empty food dish, as he usually does to indicate breakfast time is near.
THAT'S SOMETHING.

Larry attempted to engage Bernie in a run to the window and Bernie bat him lightly the way Henry would me. I've always thought there was a little Henry in Bernie.


Clearly, Bernie wants to focus on THE MUSIC.

My cat has better priorities than the agency for which I work.

P.S. Later, I noticed BOTH cats sitting still for Franco Corelli.

I didn't come to school because I COULDN'T

Recently, there's been talk in the NYC papers about absenteeism. As always, the first people to be placed at fault are the teachers. It's easy to assume that children don't come to school because their classes are uninteresting. The keyword here is "easy". Think about the subject more closely for a minute: we're talking about children. Five, Seven, Ten even Thirteen year olds. These are not individuals old enough to make the decision about whether they go to school. That decision is in the hands of their parents. I should know.

All through elementary school, I missed 60 days of school a year -- on average. There was no kid in the building who wanted to be there more than I did -- a classic child with Asperger's Syndrome, I felt infinitely more comfortable talking with adults, enjoyed studying subjects in obsessive depth and was not terribly interested in the social world of children. School was my haven -- there I could talk with adults about a range of subjects, whether through the venue of class discussion or during recess or my lunch period. It was also one of the only places I received true praise in my entire life: I wrote with authority and with a precocious vocabulary and was rewarded with esteem from my entire Hebrew School. Though I was awkward, heavy and a physical mess, my intelligence was widely acknowledged and my reputation preceeded me at every juncture and in every grade. Even the principals --secular and Hebrew, gave me special attention. When I got into trouble, as I did often, they had long talks with me about what I had done. Sometimes they saw my point of view. When one teacher persecuted me for my untidyness and we therefore developed a combative relationship, the Hebrew principal stopped admonishing me, but simply instructed me to sit in his office for what seemed like a reasonable period of time and then return to class. He knew the woman didn't like me and was cruel to me and he wasn't going to add to that punishment.

My school was the only place in the world where I was thoroughly understood.

Yet, I could not go there much of the year because my mother kept me home. I wasn't ill. Sometimes she was ill. Sometimes she wanted to take off and go to the theater. Sometimes she thought I had stayed up too late studying and needed to sleep. Did she understand that I couldn't start studying until she went to sleep because she wouldn't stop talking to me about her day and her problems. OR, she couldn't stop fighting with me and my grandmother about
1) Why she had been born in the first place
2) Where the people whom she believed came into our apartment when we were asleep or unaware had put her keys, cigarettes, money, favorite pin, etc.
3) Why I didn't have a right to be on the phone for long conversations
4) Just general sexual/physical frustration
5) What she perceived to be, sometimes rightly, my grandmother's judgement of her tastes

There were other reasons, too, but you get the idea. My mother is mentally ill and she involved the entire household in her disease.

Nonetheless, I called people and got the homework assignments and did them. Paradoxically, she even took me to the library to help me complete my school reports. She wanted me to do well in school. That you have to go to school to do so never occurred to her.

And, I did well, even though I didn't go. Whenever I took a test, be it on the given day or the day I returned to school, I did exceptionally well. My reading comprehension was at college level by the sixth grade. I wrote powerfully, however disorganizedly. Moreover, I wrote with passion and always with evidence for my opinions. More than one teacher suggested I go to law school.

Fortunately for me, I did not attend a public school. At a public school, no one would have paid any attention to my reading levels or my academic success. Just being absent would have caused me to be held back. My elementary school wanted to once because of fear of scrutiny by the school system, but gave me provisional rights to go on to the next grade after my mother called and asked how they could keep a child with an 87 average back a grade. Surely there were kids with lower averages being advanced? They saw her point -- they would have seen it anyway. No one at my school thought for a moment that the solution to my problems rested in being retained in a grade.

They knew the solution to my problems was far more complicated. Having watched my mother's mental illness progress over the years, they knew too well that she was out of control. Although as part of my scholarship she was supposed to help out at the school's fundraising bingo nights, they did not press her into service. People preferred when she didn't show up, I suspect. I came to school unwashed and redolent, though wrapped in nice clothes. My bookbag carried roaches as did my coat. My scalp was covered with sebhorreic dermatitis so bad it took me until about a year ago to get it under control. As I got older, I became difficult and angry and acted out irrationally and desperately. My classmates knew I wanted attention and they forgave me all sorts of imbecilic actions. The few who knew my mother or had seen the apartment in which I lived had told the others how bad things were. I retained my academic credibility and had a few close friends. And despite it all, I got into Stuyvesant High School where I maintained my usual B+ average -- the best I could do under the circumstances.

At Stuyvesant, I had a lot of support from my teachers, counselors, the SPARK program -- the family that was my school. Once again, I was exceedingly lucky to be understood.

It wasn't until I got to Barnard College that I enjoyed the pleasure of not being absent from school unless I was furiously ill.

Most students in NYC are not as lucky as I was. But, I'll tell you one thing we have in common: we are not absent because our classrooms are not welcoming. We are absent because the world outside our schools is chaotic. The overage and under-credited students whom I taught at Brooklyn Comprehensive Night High School all pointed to difficulties in their lives which precipitated and aggravated their failure at school. Yes, many of them also pointed to the school's lack of concern for their well-being. No one said that they left school because it was boring. They didn't make it to school because of obstacles out of their control. They may have fought less and less to stay in school because they felt no one cared. No one took the time to find out the whole of their situations.

Most public schools don't have the number of counselors that I had at Stuyvesant and none are as small as the Hebrew school I attended in grades K-8.

When a kid is absent, it's a signal that something is wrong at home. Perhaps the child is legitimately ill. But, persistent absence doesn't happen without neglect and abuse. That's a hard reality to face because it means that those kids who are chronically absent need much more than just an entertaining lesson. They need social workers, counselors and dramatic intervention.

I'd bet that, given the proper care and a safe and secure home environment, most of those absent students could manage through an occasionally boring day. I'd've given my front teeth for a day in which my biggest problem was that I was bored.

No Democracy in NYC

From The Village Voice


Michael Bloomberg's Velvet Coup
Is Mayor Mugabe an outrageous comparison?
By Tom Robbins
published: October 22, 2008
Mugabe? OK, it's an outrageous comparison. Forgive me. Mike Bloomberg would never shut down newspapers or use brutal thugs against dissenters in order to hold onto power. He doesn't have to. He buys them.

Mugabe is for the likes of Charles Barron, the radical councilman who embarrassed the city a few years ago by hosting the Zimbabwean tyrant at City Hall. Funny thing, there was Barron at last week's council hearings demanding to be heard on the mayor's bill to gut term limits—a reform confirmed in two separate voter referendums—in order to give himself four more years in office. There was Barron offering the simplest route to continued democracy: Do nothing.

"Why do we have to change anything?" he asked after Mario Cuomo's lead-off testimony supporting Bloomberg's bid. "The people have spoken twice already. Why not just leave things as they are?"

Barron's simple questions were matched only by The New York Times's fearless editorial page. Alone of the city's dailies, the Times refused to bend its principles. By changing the rules at this late date, the Times warned, the mayor "will tarnish his legacy and further weaken the systems of checks and balances that are essential to . . . democracy."

Uh, wait. Sorry, wrong day. That was the Times in August lecturing President Álvaro Uribe of Columbia "lest he become just another strongman" by grabbing a third term in violation of his country's constitution.

Let's see. Here it is. How could I miss it? It's got that tough, right-to-the-point headline: "The Mayor's Dangerous Idea." The mayor "wants to extend his current term of office," the editorial forthrightly states. "This is a terrible idea. . . . The very concept goes against the most basic of American convictions, that we live in a nation governed by rule of law." Bless the good old Times. Others may cut and run in the face of tyranny. It forever stands tall.

Wait! How did that sneak in here? That was the Old Gray Lady taking Rudy Giuliani to the ethical cleaners back in September 2001—that month of true fear and fiscal panic—when he sought a mere three more months to remain in office.

I know it's here somewhere. Oh, right, that one: "It makes a lot of people uncomfortable to legislatively rewrite a law that voters have twice approved at the ballot box. . . . It makes us uncomfortable too. . . . But we have concluded now that changing the law legislatively does not make us nearly as uncomfortable as keeping it." Hmmm. Well, never mind.

Welcome to Bloomville, where up is down and down up, where it's Charles Barron hoisting democracy's flag, while the Times connives with the Post and the News to provide cover for the coup. Where tycoons of business and real estate call the shots while the once-mighty unions fall meekly into line or merely whisper their opposition for fear of offending the once and future mayatollah. Where a cabal of thieves calling themselves council members leap aboard Bloomberg's ship as eagerly as Somalian pirates lurking for booty in the Indian Ocean.

Yes, Bloomville. We may as well give him naming rights, too. He's bought and paid for everything else. We are inside Jimmy Stewart's unwonderful world where muddled old Bedford Falls has come under one-man rule and morphed into an antiseptic version of anything-goes Pottersville.

Could Columbia's Uribe—or any dreaded Latin American strongman—have done any better at mustering proxies to defend his putsch? Consider the elder Cuomo: The ex-governor was as charming as ever, offering a rambling denunciation of term limits and a sterling endorsement of a continued Bloomberg mayoralty. "He is spectacularly well-suited to the task," said Cuomo.

Once the champion of the poor and the forgotten, Cuomo now carries the business card of the city's elite, a group passionately committed to keeping one of its very own in City Hall. Cuomo is of counsel to Willkie Farr & Gallagher, the law firm that serves as the Washington lobbyist for Bloomberg L.P., the mayor's $22 billion corporation. The firm is also defending the company in a discrimination lawsuit brought by 58 female Bloomberg employees. Last summer, it handled the $4.4 billion buyout of Bloomberg's longtime partner, Merrill Lynch.

The ties stem from close friendship: Top Willkie partner Richard DeScherer handles the Bloomberg family foundation and is an executor of the mayor's estate. He serves on Bloomberg L.P.'s executive committee and, oh yes, on the city's sports foundation. How better to help a friend than to send forth the firm's most famous envoy to do battle for one more mayoral term?

The taint of Bloomberg's multibillion-dollar reach—as mayor, businessman, and philanthropist—fell on many of the true believers who testified in favor of the mayor's end run around the 15-year-old term-limits law.

Here was Geoffrey Canada, celebrated Harlem anti-poverty fighter, whose reasoning for giving the council and Bloomberg an added term conveniently mirrored the mayor's own: "The city is facing its worst crisis in memory," he said. Was that the great Geoff Canada talking? Or was it the director of an organization that depends on $18 million in city contracts and the mayor's "anonymous" private donations?

Echoing Canada was George McDonald, president of the Doe Fund. The homeless-assistance group also benefits from the mayor's private giving and holds $25 million in city contracts. McDonald didn't wait for the hearings. On Columbus Day, he dispatched a crew of Doe Funders to the parade to cheer the mayor with signs proclaiming "Now More Than Ever." Newsday's Dan Janison watched these antics. "Must have been an impromptu decision to volunteer for this on a holiday," he noted.

Outside the council chambers, McDonald began sputtering when Henry Stern, former parks commissioner and foe of the mayor's bill, asked him if his city contracts had influenced his thinking. "You're saying I'm corrupt!" McDonald shouted. "We get $10 million from the city, and we do good work!"

Actually, fear was the most corrupting factor in City Hall last week: fear of angering a mayor who may well rule until 2013. Fear paralyzed the city's most powerful unions—the only possible political counterweight. The teachers' union quietly passed a resolution calling for term limits to be submitted for a new referendum—the thrust of a bill proposed by leading council dissenters Bill de Blasio and Tish James. The union never even issued a press release on it. The battlefield was left to the Working Families Party, of which the teachers are influential members. The WFP mounted a valiant campaign with a tiny budget. It had $50,000 for a TV ad buy opposing the mayor. Last year, the teachers' union spent $2.1 million on its Albany lobbying alone.

Labor's loudest voices at the hearings were in mayoral lockstep. Leaders of the building trades talked about how good Bloomberg has been for construction jobs. The uniformed municipal union leaders repeated in tandem the mayor's mantra that regular elections are the real term limits. Unmentioned were recent generous contracts or the ones now pending. AWOL from the scene was the biggest municipal workers' group, District Council 37. The union's city contract is currently being negotiated.

Only plucky Arthur Cheliotes, leader of Local 1180's city administrative workers, stepped forward to defend labor's honor. Cheliotes looked lonely as he waited hours to speak. "The mayor has cleverly gamed the system by not letting term limits get on the ballot this November," he said when he finally testified.

By the way, did you know that dissident labor leaders keep getting killed in Uribe's Columbia?

MASTER P: Hip Hop Stereotypes Testimony Before Congress

An interesting proposal. Too bad no one was listening.

Bernie in his favorite box, Larry smiling sweetly

Bridge over the Gowanus

MAYOR BLOOMBERG HAS SQUANDERED OUR MONEY

OPINION OCTOBER 16, 2008 New York Will Survive Without Bloomberg
The mayor never bothered to prepare the city for any lean years.By JASON L. RILEY
"Next to the assumption of power is the responsibility of relinquishing it."
-- Benjamin Disraeli
Citing the financial crisis, twice-elected New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg wants to scrap the city's term-limit law. He's asking the city council to pass a bill that would allow him to seek four more years in office.
Obviously the mayor believes that he's indispensable to Gotham's well-being, which will come as no surprise to any journalist who's met with him. What's passing strange is that so much of the local press seems to share the mayor's inflated view of himself.
The city's two major tabloids, the New York Post and the Daily News, both ran editorials under the headline "Run, Mike, Run" that called for changing the rules so that Mr. Bloomberg could stand for re-election next year. And the New York Times complained that the term-limits law "is particularly unappealing now because . . . it would deny New Yorkers -- at a time when the city's economy is under great stress -- the right to decide for themselves whether an effective and popular mayor should stay in office."
The paper took the opposite view seven years ago, when there was talk of extending the second term of Mr. Bloomberg's predecessor, Rudy Giuliani, in the wake of 9/11. "To suggest that the city would be incapable of getting along without Mr. Giuliani . . . undermines New York's sense of self-sufficiency," said the Gray Lady. "While Mr. Giuliani has been a great leader during this crisis, the truth is that no one is indispensable."
How Times change.
With a job-approval rating around 70%, Mr. Bloomberg is almost certain to win a third term if allowed to run again. He's continued Mr. Giuliani's policing policies and kept crime down. The mayor also deserves praise for his aggressive pro-development policies, such as rezoning large swaths of the city where industry is not coming back. Mr. Bloomberg, a nominal Republican who switched parties to run for office, made education the centerpiece of his first campaign, and he's made good on a promise to implement reform. Merit-pay pilot programs have been introduced, the number of charter schools has expanded, and student test scores have improved modestly.
But the argument for extending the two-term limit for Mr. Bloomberg -- a self-made billionaire who got his start on Wall Street -- is that the city needs someone with his financial acumen to help weather the fallout from the banking crisis. The biggest problem with that argument is that Mr. Bloomberg hasn't been very adept at managing the city's finances, even though he's had record revenues to work with.
Between 2000 and 2007, New York's tax receipts grew by 41% after inflation. "That's something that's never happened or come close to happening in the city's modern history," says Nicole Gelinas, who follows municipal finance at the Manhattan Institute. This windfall had everything to do with the Wall Street bull market, and everyone knew that the rate of growth was unsustainable. Instead of using the flush-year surpluses to put New York's fiscal house in order, however, Mr. Bloomberg mostly squandered them.
The four big costs to New York's budget are Medicaid, pensions, debt and health care for public employees. Since the mayor took office seven years ago, those costs are up 57% after inflation. His handling of the city's debt is particularly disappointing, if not irresponsible, since debt-service payments are legal obligations that can't be suspended during economic slowdowns.
Since 1990, debt per person in New York is up by 185%, exceeding inflation by 118 percentage points and exceeding tax revenue growth by 27 percentage points. By most measures, New York has higher per-capita debt (about $7,000) than any other city in the nation. And while the problem obviously predates the current mayor, the future burden has worsened substantially on his watch.
Instead of cutting other parts of the budget and using the city's swollen coffers to service debt and pay for capital projects out of operating spending, Mr. Bloomberg chose to increase borrowing. Between 2000 and 2007, debt grew by 5.7% annually and will continue to grow by 5.9% annually over the next four years. By increasing the city's debt obligations while doing nothing to decrease the city's overdependence on income tax revenue from Wall Street wages and bonuses, Mr. Bloomberg has exacerbated a bad situation.
The mayor's spending record isn't much better. Between 1975, when New York faced its last fiscal crisis, and the Giuliani era, city spending rose by just 9% after adjusting for inflation and population growth. Mr. Bloomberg's 2008 budget is nearly 50% larger than the one he inherited from Mr. Giuliani in 2001. That far outpaces inflation, which rose 21% over the same period. Nor has the mayor shown any sustained interest in working with the state to reform a Medicaid system that costs the city $6 billion per year and is rife with waste and abuse. New York state's per-capita Medicaid spending is easily the highest in the U.S.
Another popular argument for keeping Mr. Bloomberg in City Hall is that his potential successors -- New York Rep. Anthony Weiner, City Controller William Thompson and City Council Speaker Christine Quinn -- are the political equivalent of the Three Stooges. It's true that the city could do worse than Michael Bloomberg. But it's also true that mayoral term limits were approved by New Yorkers twice in referendums in the 1990s, and not by small margins.
There is something deeply undemocratic about legislatively overturning the will of the people without giving voters a say in the matter. And there's something deeply disturbing about a local press corps that lets the political class get away with it.
Mr. Riley is a member of The Wall Street Journal's editorial board.

Barack Obama:

Facts: Sarah Palin is Stupid

Bill Maher about Sarah Palin

No End In Sight

A Must See Especially FOR ANYONE STILL CONSIDERING McCain. Please, please watch this.

YOU MUST READ THIS

There's a wonderful article about Joe Biden on The Huffington Post. The address is below. You MUST read it.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/steven-petrow/joe-bidens-tears-remember_b_133902.html

Jack Cafferty Tells Us How He Really Feels About Sarah Palin

God love an honest conservative.

THE WAY TO GO!

Paul Krugman warning from 2005

These days Mr. Greenspan expresses concern about the financial risks created by "the prevalence of interest-only loans and the introduction of more-exotic forms of adjustable-rate mortgages." But last year he encouraged families to take on those very risks, touting the advantages of adjustable-rate mortgages and declaring that "American consumers might benefit if lenders provided greater mortgage product alternatives to the traditional fixed-rate mortgage.

If Mr. Greenspan had said two years ago what he's saying now, people might have borrowed less and bought more wisely. But he didn't, and now it's too late. There are signs that the housing market either has peaked already or soon will. And it will be up to Mr. Greenspan's successor to manage the bubble's aftermath.

How bad will that aftermath be? The U.S. economy is currently suffering from twin imbalances. On one side, domestic spending is swollen by the housing bubble, which has led both to a huge surge in construction and to high consumer spending, as people extract equity from their homes. On the other side, we have a huge trade deficit, which we cover by selling bonds to foreigners. As I like to say, these days Americans make a living by selling each other houses, paid for with money borrowed from China.

One way or another, the economy will eventually eliminate both imbalances.

Aug 29, 2005, NY Times. Quote is now posted on The Huffington Post.com

Phil Schaap

Probably the best historian ever. THE BEST JAZZ HISTORIAN.

The 20,000 Teacher: New York's Greatest Bargain

Where in NY can you hire someone with 16 years of experience and solid performance in their field for 20,000? The New York City Department of Education, that's where.

Principals all over NY are now looking for ATR's to hire -- as ATR's. They want to hire a full-time substitute to be a full-time subsitute, not as a member of their faculty. Then, they take the substitute and give the teacher a full program of classes and assignments, AS IF THEY WERE ON FACULTY. The kids don't know the difference and the parents think that the school has a seasoned teacher on its staff!

You see, to actually hire an ATR as a FACULTY MEMBER you have to pay his/her full salary using your budget. But, YOU CAN GET THE SAME PERSON FOR 75 percent off if you don't hire him/her and then request him/her as an ATR! In this case, RENTING IS CHEAPER THAN BUYING. The rest of the money is paid by the Department of Education. The school only pays that 20,000. And they don't have to take responsibility for this person, either. They don't have to hire him/her back as an ATR for even the next term. So, while the parents think there's seasoned faculty who are PART OF THE SCHOOL, this person is just a rental. And the person knows it. So, he or she can try to be part of the team and some principals and schools will treat the ATR's as such but the odds are good, he or she won't be taken all that seriously as...well...you know, they're just here for a few months or so. There's no reason for a principal to take you seriously. Mine does, but I'm lucky. Most of my colleagues are not so lucky at all, and one retired because of inhumane treatement... Respect and humane treatment shouldn't depend on luck, though. When you're an ATR the school can always trade you in for another. People actually INTERVIEW for ATR positions, that's how much they want to work.

Who ARE the principals responsible for? Those younger teachers who may be full of energy and ideas or who may not know how to handle a class at all. They have no track records. They were hired BECAUSE THEY WERE CHEAP AND MALLEABLE. Sure, they have good grades and great training. I'm sure you'd feel comfortable knowing your insurance plan decided not to retain experienced, proven doctors but hired young kids just out of their residency. As you go under, just think: he got really good grades and wrote killer papers. "Killer" metaphorically speaking. So, of course, you feel really good knowing that the principal of your school goes around hiring "A" students to teach your kids and only rents experienced teachers. After all, with those grades he/she is bound to be a quick study -- unless, of course, you realize that the teacher will be teaching and not writing papers and sitting in class and being graded her/himself. I was a terrific student in graduate school, but I don't walk into my classes with little note cards and fifteen books with me to give my presentations like I did in my seminars.

Plus, these young kids are in the most VULNERABLE positions a teacher can be in. They have no tenure -- no job security. So, they are at the principal's veritable mercy. In case you were hoping of asking one of them to get behind the PTA's drive to cut class size or change any kind of policy, think again. What you have in front of you is someone who has NO POWER to speak up if he/she sees something wrong. And he/she knows that, too.

So, your schools are now staffed by inexpensive young people and veterans rented periodically. All of these people have no real say in how the school is run. That's up to the principal. And this is how the Chancellor and the Mayor want it and they have the ultimate control. They have the ultimate say over what your kids get or don't get. Your teachers will find ways to explain why there are no computers or sports or arts at the school because they have to. They literally don't have a choice. So, you want something changed, you are going to have to fight City Hall. Literally.


Still think the 20,000 teacher is a great bargain?

Comments, comments

First, an explanation. I got a nasty, nasty comment on my blog after I made a comment about Randi Weingarten's being "grateful the Mayor stepped up" to run again.
I don't like conflict, I don't need conflict. Maybe there's no connection and it was a coincidence. But there are people who go around attacking teachers regularly on behalf of party lines. We've all read their anonymous emails or their emails under the names of various dead philosophers. Still, no matter why the person wrote it, I want to be clear about two things: I still find Randi Weingarten's personal opinion about the Mayor running again disatisfying. And I will not waste my time on people who write anonymous nasty comments on my blog. No more opportunities for such cowardice will be given. I have a life to lead, a job to protect. I am entirely self-supporting -- I don't want to be begging relatives for help at 40 years old. Ask me why I don't have more savings and I'll show you the receipts for all the things I've bought for school over the years. Just the copying alone has eaten my money away.

1) Personal opinion or not: How Randi Weingarten as someone who leads the UFT CAN WANT BLOOMBERG TO RUN FOR MAYOR AGAIN IS BEYOND ME and IT SHOWS A DISCONNECT BETWEEN HER AND HER UFT MEMBERS. If she PERSONALLY had any feelings for us as UFT Members, SHE COULD NOT HAVE WELCOMED THE MAYOR'S DECISION. But, since her statement is qualified with the word, "personal" I can't technically fault her for speaking on my behalf. So, NOW I AM MAKING CLEAR. WHAT SHE SAID ON HER OWN BEHALF WAS OFFENSIVE TO ME. UNFORTUNATELY, A LOT OF COMFORTABLE WHITE PEOPLE THINK LIKE HER AND I'M RELATED TO SOME OF THEM. SO, I've grown accustomed to people who say they care about my position then voting to put a gun to my head, metaphorically speaking. And yes, Bloomberg in a third term is like a metaphorical gun to my head and you would think that my UFT President would know how much agony and pain this man caused me and other teachers like me. You would think that PERSONALLY and PROFESSIONALLY she would be horrified by his running for a third term. But, she's not. And that no longer surprises me, since she basically fed my school and my job to the Mayor and forced a contract down people's throats which I didn't vote for. Maybe, as a friend said, she is just a bad chess player and didn't see it coming. However, all the qualifiers aside, my students are out of a school and a very good educational team because of Bloomberg. So, no, I don't want him "stepping up". I wish she didn't.

Second, some evil, evil human put a comment on my blog tonight which showed a very close awareness of my family history. This person put that comment there anonymously, but wanted me to know that he or she knows me. This happened coincidentally after I put my comment up about Randi. So, I pulled back out of fear. I can't afford to and can't handle being tortured any more than the circumstances which I am in cause me to be. To be perfectly honest, my personal opinion is that no one WILL HEAR the word, "personally" in the sound bite or read it in the email. Her opinion is seen as UFT opinion. But, she did say the word, so I have to give her credit for it.

I have been working on this post for hours. Here are the facts:

I am entitled to my opinion about my UFT President's opinion.
She is entitled to her personal opinion, though I think giving it to the press is a grey area -- if it's only personal, why say it? Still, she has a right to see things what I think is the wrong way. She does not have the right to misrepresent me or my interests.
I can't help feeling that, however it was said, welcoming Mike back for term three didn't represent my interests.
At the same time, I am afraid that now that I've gone so far as to say something public, I will face difficulties with my union which is just great because I am a stone's throw from losing my job, as are all ATR's.

Mike Bloomberg holds that stone. It's Randi's job to catch it, no matter what her personal opinion is. I would think she'd be sick of the game by now, but that's not my personal business.

My personal business is I want peace of mind.

BOTTOM LINE: I hope a good PRO-SCHOOL candidate "Steps up" and our union does everything we can to get him/her elected.

As an old enemy used to say, quoting The Godfather, "This isn't personal. It's business." It's her business to take care that I don't lose my job, whatever her personal feelings are about the Mayor.

I hope Randi gets that.

Larry and Bernie cuddling

They know what's important.

WHITE PEOPLE DON'T GET IT.

I hate to be blunt, but listen.

The schools in my neighborhood are much the same as the were before Bloomberg, before Giuliani, before Koch. It's a neighborhood which attracts hungry European and now Asian immigrants. They come, they pool their funds, they kick their kids into school and make them fear getting "B's" let alone failing, and they do well. My cat Larry could be teaching English. Those kids are going to find a way to understand the work and their parents will pay tutors with their last dime to do it. I know. I was one of those kids in a neighborhood which is its twin on the other side of Brooklyn.

My students, who are predominantly African-American and Hispanic do not reside in this sheltered world. And sheltered it is. My mother didn't tell me anything about the relationship of college to getting a job. That wasn't the point. You went to college because that's what snobby intellectuals did. Being a snobby intellectual was the apex of existence. Distinguishing between good music, literature, politics and food was what I was told a person lived to do. Mine, like many of the families in my neighborhood, was a family which LIED to itself every day about the hardships of life so that they could find joy within them. Going to the opera by subway and eating cold spaghetti when we got home was a glory -- the music was worth the trouble and the growling stomach.

It's easy for me to imagine how my students feel because I feel the same way. Despite those trips to hear Verdi at The Metropolitan Opera House, I no longer feel the need to even leave my house outside of going to work. The duckets matter: 40 or so dollars to sit in the Family Circle where I will see nothing although I will hear well, and then take the long subway ride home is just not a bargain to me. I can listen at home, read the review, imagine. The bottom line for me and money is always about staples and what I do with my money is about how I will survive. Every time I listen to music, I long to go back to school and get a Ph.D., but I will never do it. No jobs in it.

As Joe Biden hinted in the Vice Presidential debate, fewer people in the US can cloister themselves in the feeling that they will achieve the American Dream. My immigrant neighbors band together in groups larger than ten to buy houses or shares of businesses hoping someday to each have space of their own. They are aging more and more on my street and few people move out. I've noticed beer cans in EVERYONE's garbage these days. They're hard to overlook as the elderly Chinese immigrants in my neighborhood often go from pail to pail, looking for a misplaced can that they can add to their enormous plastic bags. For them, the rewards will not be on earth, but they imagine they will be so for their children who imagine it will be so for their children. At some point, they will tire, too. It's inevitable.

Meanwhile White People don't see what is going on. They continue to stretch their credit and push for that lucky break. It has to be there. Things look the same except that there are fewer and fewer jobs and the economy is shot. They know that, but they don't know what it means in terms of schools and education.

My students see the everyone stretched to their limit and they don't lie to themselves. Sure, they listen to pop and spend away on ridiculous trends in clothing. That's partially what's left of a dream of someday being successful and partially the result of a sense of "might as well, NOW." They know they won't be able to afford the 45 dollar hat when they get older. And a 45 dollar hat lasts forever as far as they can tell. It provides status, pleasure and it looks like what successful people wear. It's the same theory that pushed my JAPPY friends and I to buy Ralph Lauren and Lacoste in the 80's. We wanted to look like the proud and successful second and third generation Jewish immigrants we hoped to be. Now all of those clothes are in a suitcase somewhere. I can't fit into them as I have gained weight and they are very old, anyway. But, it was a way then to keep me in my dreamworld and that illusion kept me in school. It doesn't for my students because many of their heroes didn't finish school and many of their family members did and are suffering economically.

How many times did you hear of a millionaire with a "C" average or who quit school early? You blocked it out because you thought it was a fluke, or like me, you knew you had no business sense so school was your only hope. Imagine that more of the successes you know of fit that category than people in school.

I have always said that had I gone to the general public schools as they are, I would've dropped out of school and become a car thief. I have fast hands and am good at navigating through the dark. There is no comfort in the current public high school. No one even tries to sell the idea of study for its own sake, or of success based on anything but SKILLS. When I was growing up, I never heard that word. I searched for knowledge. Skills, I expected, I would gain in life, afterwards and I would apply what I knew to my work which would somehow make me better. It has been a career of problem solving, much of which I learned in school. A skill.

I no longer write on cover letters that my experience or education will be of use. I talk about my "varied skill sets".

Generally, I don't leave the house or buy anything which does not have to do with the aforementioned "sets".

If I were a student now, I'd be planning to be a nurse. I'd get an A.S. I'd try to get the B.S.N. later, but the priority would be on learning what I could do in all kinds of situations.


My students, I guess, see themselves as constantly facing challenges ahead -- handling things. When I was their age, I wanted to discover ideas, to write precisely and with authority. Sometimes I accomplish those things, but the email would be just as useful if I wrote it without punctuation and shipped it off ASAP.

All self-deprecation aside, though, I have enjoyed my education and all of my work. And the jury is still out on what will be remembered and what I will focus the bulk of my life on. I wouldn't give up a minute of the time I've spent in the theater and I haven't worked on a project yet which wasn't well respected. And, yes, it made a difference that I got that FANTASTIC education -- the quality of my life and work has been enriched by it. I've done some amazing artistic work and I have taught some terrific classes. I've ALWAYS given my students a good education and a few laughs. My students defied the odds. I get calls all the time from kids who are in college who weren't expected to graduate high school. WHO COULD REGRET THAT?

It's NOT FAIR that I got to have this kind of enriching experience very much because I am WHITE. Being WHITE made it easier to balance theater and education because I was given much more leeway than a person of color. I'm white and well-spoken and I am accorded INSTANT RESPECT because of it and THAT'S NOT FAIR. Furthermore, I got that fabulous education largely because I was fortunate enough to have a parent who could afford to send me (on scholarship, but still) to Hebrew School, which got me into Stuyvesant, which got me into Barnard and then to Stony Brook -- both of which came with scholarships. Children don't choose their parents, and those first years of education mean everything. And my Hebrew School existed for MY COMMUNITY -- white, lower-middle class Jews struggling to get ahead. Again, I got shelter and chances to enjoy things my students don't necessarily have time for because of my SKIN COLOR. And that's not fair. I COULDN'T BELIEVE how badly the public schools treat my students when I started my career and I still can't-- it is NOTHING like the way I was treated in Hebrew School or at Stuyvesant. Frankly, I was given MORE CHANCES TO FAIL. It was assumed that eventually I would get it right...because I'm a bright, nice Jewish girl. And I know that.


I don't know how to make WHITE PEOPLE get it until they have lived it. I'm one white lady who knows that our economy has drained our schools not just of their resources, but of their relevance. The crudeness of our greed has made listening to a beautiful voice not a pleasure, but an obstacle. We must now fight the distraction of art and all sentiment to see the bottom line. Keats said famously that "Truth is beauty." Then we no longer seek truth, but the answer of the moment, which is often, ugly indeed

A question for Palin

She's so passionate about our school building efforts in Iraq. I'm wondering if she can NAME FIVE SCHOOLS WE'VE BUILT THERE.

Sekou Sundiata - Def Poetry

This too. A lot of us need reparations.