The situation is dire, the film warns us. We must act. But what must we do? The message of the film is clear. Public schools are bad, privately managed charter schools are good. Parents clamor to get their children out of the public schools in New York City (despite the claims by Mayor Michael Bloomberg that the city’s schools are better than ever) and into the charters (the mayor also plans to double the number of charters, to help more families escape from the public schools that he controls). If we could fire the bottom 5 to 10 percent of the lowest-performing teachers every year, says Hoover Institution economist Eric Hanushek in the film, our national test scores would soon approach the top of international rankings in mathematics and science.
Ravitch's complaint about the "propagandistic nature" of Waiting for "Superman" is a perfect example of what's wrong with the education debate. So fixated on her zero-sum charter vs. public school proposition, she's guilty of the same kind of tunnel vision she criticizes Davis Guggenheim for, except in her case, kids aren't as nearly as important to her agenda as they are to his.
The entire article is an interesting read, but it completely derails just past the halfway point with this telling comment:
The highest level of performance, “advanced,” is equivalent to an A+, representing the highest possible academic performance. The next level, “proficient,” is equivalent to an A or a very strong B. The next level is “basic,” which probably translates into a C grade. The film assumes that any student below proficient is “below grade level.” But it would be far more fitting to worry about students who are “below basic,” who are 25 percent of the national sample, not 70 percent.
One of the points the film makes very strongly is that our educational system hasn't evolved with the times, still structured to crank out worker bees despite the fact that those bees no longer have jobs waiting for them in our high-tech world. Guggenheim (or perhaps Geoffrey Canada said it?) posits that our education system accepts, and in many cases, expects the majority to fail, a point Ravitch implicitly agrees with based on her parsing of the NAEP numbers.
When we last lived in the Bronx, my son attended the same school as Francisco (pictured), and it was one of the many borderline schools that allow far too many kids to fall through the cracks because it's "good enough" compared to the horror story schools you usually hear about. His, and all of the other kids' stories, struck an emotional chord because they put faces on the statistics.
If these are the kids in the middle, with engaged parents but stuck in mediocre schools where lotteries have become the answer, how much worse are the stories Guggenheim didn't tell?
Instead of worrying about the Vast Charter School Agenda gaining traction, perhaps Ravitch, et al, should be asking how have things gotten so bad that more and more people are thinking they're a legititmate, and perhaps the only, alternative?
NOTE: You may not know that my wife is a special ed teacher, and you may not know that special ed teachers in many school districts get even less support than general ed teachers, but both are true. The following is from her annual "Beg-A-Thon" appeal, and any help you can offer would be greatly appreciated by both of us, as well as her students.
It's time for me to beg again!
As many of you know, mine is a classroom of 12 boys ranging from 4th to 6th grades. Our students are classified as having severe emotional disabilities and are in a self-contained classroom with no possibility of mainstreaming due to their behavior issues. Because our students spend the entirety of their day in our classroom (they do not attend Gym, eat in the lunch room or go out to recess with the rest of the student body), we must work hard to create a positive, enjoyable atmosphere within our classroom.
Additional funding would help me purchase various materials with which I can create what is called a Positive Behavior Incentive System (PBIS) to keep my students engaged, happy and working hard towards their behavioral and academic goals. PBIS incentives include small daily rewards (pencils, small toys, cookies, etc) and large once-a-month rewards such as lunch at a favorite local restaurant. In addition to my PBIS goals, I'm also hoping to raise funds that will be used for the purchase of the materials I need to create rich, project-based instruction. Many of my students also suffer from disabilities such as ADHD and project-based instruction helps keep them actively engaged and learning. Project-based instruction is effective and lots of fun but it is VERY expensive.Our Board of Education funds our classrooms by number of students rather than level of need. I only have 12 students but they have a very high level of need. Please help!
In ZEITOUN, Dave Eggers does an excellent job of weaving Abdulrahman and Kathy Zeitoun's compelling backstories and Katrina experiences together, shaded by post-9/11 xenophobia, and delivers a powerful documentary of what will most likely be looked back upon by history as one of this country's most tragic eras/errors. In its final pages, I was most struck by the proverbial banality of evil and the limited resiliency of the human spirit. When I first heard about this book, I fully expected to be infuriated after reading it, but it simply left me feeling something more like a deep, hollow sadness.
I've always felt a personal connection to New Orleans. My mother's family lived in Baton Rouge for a long time, and I spent a few summers down there as a kid. I remember one summer coming back home with a slight accent that never fully disappeared and slips through whenever I've had a couple of drinks too many.
The Big Easy is still one of my favorite movies, long after I got over my Ellen Barkin crush, and it was also the name of the first restaurant I worked at when I lived in Miami Beach, which closed a month-and-a-half after I started there.
I went through an Anne Rice phase largely because her books were set in New Orleans, and I love True Blood (the books and the TV show) because I've forced the association in my own mind.
In the summer of 2005, one month before Hurricane Katrina, my wife and I visited New Orleans for our 7th anniversary and had a great time, oblivious to the horrors to come.
Before the supplies were pitched off the bridge today, people had to break into buildings in the area to try to find food and water for their families. There was not enough. This spurred many families to break into cars to try to escape the city. There was no police response to the auto thefts until the mob reached the rich area — Saulet Condos — once they tried to get cars from there… well then the whole swat teams began showing up with rifles pointed. Snipers got on the roof and told people to get back.
He reports that the conditions are horrendous. Heat, mosquitoes and utter misery. The smell, he says, is “horrific.”New Orleans? Or Baghdad?
I hate that Katrina now overshadows all of my memories of the city I've always fantasized about living in one day. When we visited that last time, we played our usual game of "what if..." and I even had my fantasy business figured out:
We spent a lot of time walking up and down Royal Street, the Quarter’s 5th Avenue to Bourbon’s [pre-Giuliani] 42nd Street, since it runs parallel to Bourbon and doesn’t stink, and I found the perfect location for a comic book store in the 700 block where an Importico was going out of business! There are a lot of galleries on that end of Royal and I could imagine a high-end, indie-centric shop with a gallery and an emphasis on trade paperbacks called Graphiqué. If only…
This probably isn't quite what Moriah Jovan was looking for from this experiment, but Dr. John will always represent New Orleans for me -- the Big Easy (restaurant) had his album, In a Sentimental Mood, on heavy rotation -- and it will be a long while before I can think about New Orleans without it being a bittersweet feeling.
I'm still holding on to the idea of Graphiqué, though, if only to savor that particular memory so filled with hope and passion in a city that has somehow managed to keep a grip on both, despite having a million reasons to give up.
C-130 rollin’ down the strip Airborne Daddy gonna take a little trip Mission Top Secret Destination Unknown He don’t know if he’s ever coming home…
An old Army buddy emailed me out of the blue a while back.
Found me on the Internet amongst too many "friends" I barely knew and wouldn't take a bullet for.
Fills me in on the guys we used to run with, some in, some out, some completely off the grid.
He puts me in touch with one whose name rings a bell --out now, married with kids-- and I'm surprised to hear him say that we’re all alive and more or less well.
I have this whitewashed flashback and a part of me misses it all.
We were old enough to have enlisted with clear eyes; young enough to believe we were invincible.
Wars were no longer fought by soldiers, but by technology striking from the sky, opportunists spilling blood without raising too much of a fuss.
Complaining Democrats counting even less now than they did in the Clinton Years of “don’t ask, don’t tell”.
More practical than patriotic we terrorized the bars and women of Clarksville and Nashville, TN --an occupying force training in their backyard to fight in a war we were all sure would never come.
Before 2/26, 9/11 and "Mission Accomplished".
Before John DiGiovanni, Bob Kirkpatrick, Steven Knapp, Bill Macko, Wilfred Mercado and Monica Rodriguez.
Before 6,000-plus dead and 10 times as many wounded, —most nameless, before, during and after.
Before one weekend a month, two weeks a year became, “He don’t know if he’s ever coming home…”
Before it all seemed so hopeless.
My old friend, Scott, emailed me out of the blue a telling me about an upcoming reunion of the guys we used to run with, still alive, Will tells me, despite some of our best efforts.
Fifteen years later we've settled down, married with children, our Crazy Horse, Mad Dog and Newport-fueled days of drinking and driving fucking and fighting smoking and surviving more or less behind us.
That night, I avoided the news for fear of recognizing a name in the nightly death toll of sons, daughters, husbands and wives who will never drink, smoke, fuck or fight again.
Stand up, buckle up, shuffle to the door Jump right out and count to four. If I die in a combat zone Box me up and ship me home. Pin my wings upon my chest And bury me in the leaning rest.
Something old, something new, something recommended, and something downloaded for free that will likely never be read...
Year of the Gun by Giff Cheshire Day of the Guns by Mickey Spillaine Stormbringer by Michael Moorcock Thriving on Chaos by Tom Peters Trail of Feathers by Tahir Shah Spaceman Blues by Brian Francis Slattery South by South Bronx by Abraham Rodriguez Boneshaker by Cherie Priest Funny Papers by Tom de Haven Everything is Every Thing: Poems by Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz Dialect of a Skirt by Erica Miriam Fabri Kokopelli: The Magic, Myth, and Mischief of Ancient Symbols by Dennis Slifer Technology of the Gods: The Incredible Sciences of the Ancients by David Hatcher Childress Popular Paranoia: A Steamshovel Press Anthology edited by Kenn Thomas I also have to eBooks on my wife's Kindle: I'm Perfect, You're Doomed: Tales From A Jehovah's Witness Upbringing by Kyria Abrahams Free: The Future of a Radical Price by Chris Anderson
Free, appropriately enough, I got for free and have the least interest in. I will very likely end up buying I'm Perfect... in print because the Kindle just isn't my thing, literally and figuratively.
Third, what the hell was I waiting till November for? You want to want to be real boy, Pinocchio? Er, I mean, a real writer? Then don’t set 1/12th of the year aside to do it. Do it always, and do it unconditionally. You don’t have to write a novel between November 1st and 30th. That is not your limitation. When I did it, I didn’t want to cheat, and I wanted to hit the mark, but it was all… illusory. Somebody else made up these rules. Not me. You want to write a novel? Write a novel. Start now. Outline it, write it, revise it, sell it. This isn’t meant to be insulting to the participants, though it will sound that way: just because the herd is moving doesn’t mean you need to move with the herd. Okay? That was my issue. I thought I had to move with the herd. Turns out, I didn’t.
"I don't have the time to write a novel; as part of NaNoWriMo or any other time."
"Work is hectic; I barely have time for my family, and if I go to bed before midnight, it's an early night."
"I'm lucky to blog a few times/week, but at least it's keeping the gears greased."
I have a million valid reasons for not focusing on one of my main writing goals: to write fiction; short stories and novels. Most of those reasons are really just excuses, though.
Exhibit A: I'm about to spend 3+ hours watching a football game, after spending the morning catching up on email, Facebook and Twitter.
I've been debating doing NaNoWriMo again this month, but I just don't see where I have the time to even come close to the 50,000 word goal. That seems like a legitimate reason not to do it, but then I read Chuck Wendig's post this morning, quoted above, and realized I was looking at things the wrong way.
Back in 2004, the NaNoWriMo exercise worked for me because I was trying to transition from writing poetry, stretching my muscles beyond the 3-minute time limit of the slam. I only wrote 15,000 words, and the story was a mess, but I realized that I squeeze time for writing into my schedule if it was important enough to me.
I have three fantasy novels in various stages of first drafts, and that 15,000 word Zombie Babe Ruth story is worth taking another look at. I don't need to follow the exact rules of NaNoWriMo to participate; I just need to start writing.
Review by: Lori Freshwater
on Oct. 24, 2009 :
(no rating)
Guy LeCharles Gonzalez takes the gloves right off in this wonderful collection of poetry. We know immediately that this is going to be poetry that lives up to its promise, it is going to be poetry that speaks truth. We know that because the poet tells us in “Crazy White Devil” that Evel Knievel was a better man than Elvis. “I was never inspired/to shake my hips to stolen glory/but I sped down glass-filled/urban ski slopes with abandon, /jumping curbs and milk crate ramps…” Okay, I’m an Elvis fan but I am no doubt on board with this real glory.
There are so many wonderful enjambments throughout this collection. There is pleasing and subtle internal rhyme which carries the reader along. There are many places where the beats slow and speed in marvelous ways. In the end, I came away thinking that contrary to one of the notions expressed in “Party Like a Rock Star,” some poets are indeed dancing.
Perhaps my personal favorite is “Old New York Love Story.” Perhaps that is because I was a bartender in Greenwich Village in the early 90’s, where scenes like this played out their magic in front of me so often. Or perhaps it is simply further proof of the poet’s ability to capture a sense of place, a sense of being, and a sense of humanity.
Some of the heaviest material is saved for the poems dealing with being young and “moist eyed” in the military during these uncertain times of modern war-fare and shadows for enemies. I grew up in a pit of a military town in the south, and men like the ones in these poems will be with me forever. These poems are honest, and they’re true. And we should listen carefully.
The collection is wonderfully ordered. Next Guy brings us back to the more innocent times of childhood in the touching “Breathless.” This poem reflects the painful journey of many of us who start out with a drive to make a difference, but who must face the brutal reality of changing anything, without actually giving up on the task.
I only have one suggestion for the poet. The poem “Mozer, Bethea and I” (which is wonderfully long and patient) should not end with ellipses. In should end with a period: “I know there are no easy answers.” Because there are no easy answers. Which is why we need poets like Guy LeCharles Gonzalez to help us along.
As for where the individual plot-threads came from: Stephen George is, pretty obviously, a semi-autobiographical character. The story of Luther and Blackjack comes from my childhood fascination with the “Dog” and “Cat” entries in the World Book Encyclopedia—World Book had these pictorial layouts showing all the different dog and cat breeds, and for some reason this just stuck in my imagination; then when I got to Cornell and heard the legend about dogs being allowed to roam free on the campus, I thought it might be neat to have a college for dogs. The sprites likewise spring from a childhood interest in “little people” stories, in particular the 1973 TV adaptation of The Borrowers (this also explains why, despite their Shakespearean names, the sprites talk and act like mundane human beings rather than otherworldly creatures of faerie). The Bohemians’ tale was inspired by my real-life adventures living in Prudence Risley Hall.
The very last plot element to fall into place was the framing story involving the Greek god Apollo, aka Mr. Sunshine. In the early drafts of Fool on the Hill, Mr. Sunshine’s role was filled by a character named Old Nick, and the framing story concerned a bet between God and the Devil. But this never really worked; it didn’t mesh well with the various subplots, and it also dragged in a load of personal religious baggage that had no business being there. So as I began to revise the manuscript for submission to publishers, I gave Old Nick his walking papers and looked to Mt. Olympus for a more suitable antagonist.
Matt Ruff's Fool on the Hill remains one of my absolute all-time favorite books, and one I think every writer should read at least once, because at its heart, it's all about what makes being a writer so special.I've enjoyed all of his subsequent books, especially Set This House in Order, but Fool will always be my favorite.
I was working a second job, part-time, at a Doubleday Book Shop in Manhattan in 1989 when I first discovered the paperback, and I've devoured it at least five times since, each time reminding me why I write. I even have an autographed copy that my wife got me as an anniversary present about 5-6 years ago, and I keep a separate (newer) copy in my office, too.
I've found myself thinking about it and referencing it often recently, which must be the dormant wannabe-novelist in me stirring, possibly in response to NaNoWriMo, which I absolutely DO NOT have the time for this year!
DO. NOT. HAVE THE TIME!
But, maybe if the muse calls...
Either way, I think it's time for another visit with S.T. George and Ithaca, NY.
PS: Interestingly, the movie version of Inkheart comes close to pulling off a similarly inspirational feat, but the book isn't nearly as compelling from that perspective.
