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Now this is ridiculous.

Now this is ridiculous. I wonder if Gore will even see this petition. I do wish there was a better way to effect coalition-building in this country…

Jonathan Saves The Day

I am amazed at the capabilities of certain people to completely revive my faith in the beauty of a given day. In this case I am thinking of an eight-year-old. Jonathan, one of my third graders, is tiny for his age, with a crooked grin and glasses. He always wears a sweater vest over his uniform shirt. His hair, when I rumple it, is sticky to the touch. He has decided my name is “Ms. Android”– he didn’t misunderstand; he’s joking. He pretends to cry when I won’t pay attention to him. He smiles at me winningly when I frown. Sometimes he tells me he thinks my shoes are ugly, and I shouldn’t wear them. Every now and again he renews his investigation into my heritage. Some days he asks me if I am Puerto Rican; other days he wonders if I am Dominican. (My ancestors are mostly English; I have blue eyes and untannable skin.)

Jonathan has a way of grimacing and twisting his fingers that made me think he was developmentally disabled at first, but my last suspicions of this were completely blown away as I watched him do his times tables today, with an alacrity I have never seen among his peers. Not only does he understand that multiples are the same as multiple additions, and have the lowest numbers memorized– perhaps two of the other twenty kids can do this– but he also understood perfectly when I showed him that digits of nine-multiples always add up to nine! Then he picked up the idea that 3×7 is the same as 7×3. I’m not sure kids his age are supposed to be able to do this. If this falls under the concept of reversability, I believe Piaget said it’s not a concept kids get until later.

“I want to get all my work done now so I can rest at home,” Jonathan told me, and stood by the platform in the play yard for fifty minutes with his workbook out. I wish all the kids would say that. I told the program director we wouldn’t be seeing Jonathan anymore. I’m going to get him early admission at MIT.

I wonder where Jonathan will be in ten years. Will he be tracked into a mechanics-skills path at school? Will he join the army? Will he be so frustrated with the slowness of his peers and the ineptitude of teachers that he plays hooky every day? Or will he be like the high school volunteer at the after school program who goes to Bronx Science and hopes to get into Cornell to study computers? Will Jonathan also discover he has passions and skills for poetry or law or architecture, and follow his heart that way instead? I keep forgetting to talk to his mother when I see her… but I want her to know her child is very special, and that I would travel to the Bronx regularly, even if I didn’t work there, just to make sure he gets through school and into college whole.

from a letter to Chase

Subject: I laughed until tears came to my eyes

(which wasn’t too much of a stretch, seeing as it’s one of those
perma-tear days at my house… I screamed myself hoarse at my afterschool
class of third-graders today, and then actually burst into tears in front
of them. you know there’s no going back when that happens. they’re
probably delighted. their new goal will be to make teacher cry everyday. i
know in some circles this is a mark of pride, making a teacher break down.
I want to only teach little nerdlings from now on, people like us who
actually LIKED reading books when we were done with our homework. There’s
nothing I can do for or to these kids. I have no positive reinforcements
to give them, and likewise I don’t have any way to punish them, seeing as
the program is– how shall we say — “ad hoc,” so I don’t know if I can
threaten to take away recess time, and I don’t know what homework they’re
supposed to be doing, and they won’t even sit down when I tell them to, so I can’t make them put their heads down on their desks. I don’t want to tell kids what they can’t do anymore. I don’t want to be a police officer.
This fucking sucks. I want to show kids cool anagrams and science
experiments and weird historical facts about their neighborhoods. however,
there is no room for this in a public school, and if there was, the kids
would run screaming away from it. whoa. ok. enough rant.)

anyway, the band names really tickled me. My mother always favored “The
Pinhead Angels.” Please, please tell me what “Potato Famine: A Journal of
Vegetable Youth”
was going to be about?!

Myself, after reading the “Griffin and Sabine” trilogy, I had planned to
play a nasty trick on a paranoid ex-boyfriend of mine by
sending him letters which were to appear as if they’d been written by the
members of a huge travelling jam band called A Cast Of Thousands. Each
letter would be addressed to him but written as if he was a married
34-year-old man (he was 15 at the time) who the writer knew intimately. I made up cafes and opening acts and was even game to try forging bar
coasters and other restaurant memorabilia…

I’m not really sure how I got this insane creative juice from G&S.
Especially the part about it being intended to freak out my ex. He thought
Nazis were after him and once accosted a doorman under this delusion.
Freaking him out was probably not the best idea. didn’t really matter,
though; I neve sent postcard one. I lost momentum trying to figure out how
to get the letters to be addressed from places all over the country.

ay, such a frustrating day. I spent all evening trying to bring a Mac
Classic and an SE back from the dead. see my spear, here I am: Quixote…

Pika-your-bum!

Pika-your-bum!

Vote Bush. I mean Gore.

I first heard from Emmanuel Goldstein about this story… as he said, this is too good to be true. The Democrats and Republicans must be using the same ad agency…

Update 10/26: It was too good to be true. It was a hoax, as Catherine and Chase pointed out. too bad. At the same time, I’m glad it got play as an honest goof. I bet it wasn’t. I hope rtMark awards whoever lost their job over this one a prize.

From The Sick Sad World Department

I thought the headline of this article alone was revolting.

In the days of JFK Jr.’s airplane crash I stole all the signs from the LA Times newspaper bins I could around town… they read “KENNEDY CRASH” in big white letters on black. I felt bad for the survivors, so I took as many as I could in protest… I thought I might plaster some building around town with them, one where there was a story that was being under-covered in the news because of this whole damn Kennedy thing… In the end, though, I only managed to weave the signs into the bannister in my mother’s apartment. Somewhere there’s a great picture of that endeavor. Out of context and in concentration the words “KENNEDY CRASH” seem nonsensical. Maybe I can get Mom to send that picture to me and I’ll post it…

I Don’t Want To Sleep

so here’s some more classics from the CACFP vaults.

scrambles egg

cornflakes kellow

pulm

cold fish

home nad soup

gronala bars

grean salan

Feach toast

biskets

spag

spam

twigs

yely

chicken soap

carras sticks

totot

mix green sala

orka

fruit desert

bananana

burget bun

spaguettis

lectuce

tomatoe (Dan Quayle’s goin’ DOWN…)

Laabsta.

I just figured out what the “Blog This!” function of Blogger does. So in the future, you’ll be seeing a lot more things like the Unofficial Lobster Camera Image Archive here…

What’s For Lunch

Every once in a while at work I volunteer to help check the menus we get from child care providers in compliance with the federal Child and Adult Care Food Program, or CACFP. The basic idea of the CACFP– at least the part I deal with– is that the government reimburses day care providers in low-income areas for the food they provide their preschool wards. Makes sense: you pay for school lunches, might as well support younger children too.

What doesn’t make so much sense is that to do this, the government has decided that each provider must report on exactly what each child has eaten at every single meal. (Well, I guess it’s really that or average out the cost of food provided, which doesn’t work for our operation because our community’s math skills are so poor that it would ostensibly mean more work for us every month.) The mind-numbing amount of red-tape-riddled paperwork this produces has really made me reconsider the time I spend laughing at my libertarian friends.

Each snack is supposed to consist of fluid milk or fruit/vegetable and starch or meat; each meal needs fluid milk, two fruit/vegetable options, starch, and meat. Regulations on what can and can’t be provided are mostly sensible, though there are a few stipulations that baffle us (for instance, potatoes must be counted as a vegetable, not a starch). There’s not too much room for Reaganesque fakery; ketchup can’t be counted as a vegetable, though spaghetti sauce can. Meat alternates like nuts and beans are mostly allowed, but tofu is unclaimable. The guidebook takes into account an interesting range of food possibilities, from possum to plantains to Spam, marking the latter (along with Pop Tarts and other prepackaged crap) with little frowny faces to guide providers towards more enlightened feeding habits.

I get great amusement out of correcting the menus. The spelling employed is truly outlandish. I’m touched and a little concerned by the painstaking way in which providers record the brand names of certain foods– “Trisquit Crackers” and “Hebrew National 100% Beef Hot Dogs.” (Screw the people who raise their eyebrows at my lack of political correctness. The enjoyment I get out of seeing written English destandardized has no connection whatsoever with stigmatizing people for their lack of education. It worries me that children are being left daily with people who regularly spell “potato” the way Dan Quayle does, but I know it’s better than nothing, and I’d rather see these providers given further access to education than snatch the impressionable bairns from their care.)

So I provide these entertaining outtakes for the entertainment of my mother and Xephreniaq, as usual, adding a sympathetic tip of the hat to Glyph and Bonnie. This is the other side of government bureaucratese. (I regret I lost an earlier list, it was much better than this one.)

strableris

beef strew

CottaCheesse

tomate souce

pork shop

sag (meaning “spaghetti”)

brand muffin

beef meat

canltop

mcain/cheese

noddles soup

bake chickens

spinah

spinanah

fluffy pancakes

pepper stake

akaTomates

collard flour

turkey parts

chicken charms (Nat actually knew what this was, so it must be something I just don’t know about)

smother stake

prum fruit

kingomboo

crockers

pind butter

God fish (“She’s really religious, so I’m not laughing,” says my co-worker of the woman who wrote this in for her meat portion. “She might do a heebie-jeeebie on me. He was probably on her mind at the time.”)

pin salmon fillete

cantolop

milk villia

caurifrower

raisecake

chicken pitties

orage

Frenh Toate

kaboom

crest bread

Best In Show

the presidential debates, 10/03/00

I’d like to ask now

why should the American public entrust

the education of their children

the stewardship of peace in Montenegro

and their golden years

should the economy fail

to you

see my

suit my haircut

years in the Ivy League a

noble tremble standing

as trained, I am

the best poodle money can buy

so you vote for me.

Rebuttal?

Don’t trust

him I am

the best trained poodle

my haircut,

pompoms!

better sire and bitch see–

see–

my bike is worse than my bart.