Writing=Punishment

Why is it that authorities, in school or out, never assign equations or accounting problems as punishment? Nope, when a student is "bad" then authorities assign an essay, a book report, or just random writing, such as "I will not disrupt bus duty" for 500 times. That last example stems from a misguided special ed teacher assigning my then five-year-old son writing as punishment, during the first week of school, before his kindergarten teacher ever taught the letter "A." Unfortunately, public school got worse for him, not better, and we have decided to forgo any "services" from the local school system.

During my tenure as a high school English teacher, I often cracked jokes about the typical use of writing in public schools; what else could I do? I was obligated to teach writing, and the only way to do that is for students to write. Still, every time I made an assignment, I knew that some in the class were wondering, "What did I do to deserve this?"

I'm blessed to be away from high school, both as a teacher and as a parent, but government officials are still punishing students with the written word, as is mentioned in the news story that links to this post. Oh, most folks will read the story because it is ridiculous to arrest a middle school kid who doodles on a desk with a pen. But after the arrest and the handcuffs, the real punishment was finally levied— writing!

Sad, isn't it?

Updates

I'm still wading through my latest "big book," The Complete Ivory, as Theodora mulls over becoming married to her love interest, Ran Cormelleon. The world of Ivory is well thought out, the plot moves, but there is not enough suspense to make me stay up at night; however, I am enjoying the trilogy. Unfortunately, I have not had a lot of time to read of late.

This afternoon, I spent about three hours wading through another morass— figuring out medical claims for hubby's flexible spending account. After the folks at SHPS insisted that they had to have certain documentation for the IRS, I printed out sixty plus pages of EOB's, xeroxed eight charge receipts, three pages of medical center statements, and wrote them a check for three cents. Yep, there was a three cent error made by a medical provider, and they by gosh wanted to be reimbursed for it. The envelope is ready to go, and it is not quite as thick as the manuscript for a novel. I also wrote a letter for hubby to send to a local hospital, which had overcharged him. (And no, I don't feel punished by God, and anyone in America who likes the IRS needs a shrink.) Actually, I didn't say a cross word, which hubby thought was quite remarkable, as he signed three forms and the letter. No doubt reading over all this will keep a couple of folks employed for several hours, and it will take a couple of dollars to mail it, so I feel pretty good about stimulating the economy.

While reading the news this afternoon, I saw an editorial in the Wall Street Journal about a previous topic, the removal of child friendly motorcycles from dealerships across our nanny-state. There is quite a bit of unsold inventory, and customers sitting on their cash, due to this government boondoggle.

And lastly, I'll share another timely quote:

"Every government interference in the economy consists of giving an unearned benefit, extorted by force, to some men at the expense of others."

—Ayn Rand

Parallels

Parallel is a neat word, with multiple meanings in mathematics, gymnastics, and in literature. The very idea that ideas can be alike, yet different, is intriguing. I’ve often enjoyed works with parallels, such as the fable, Animal Farm, which is the tale of animals rebelling in England, but closely parallels happenings in Russia, beginning with the Bolshevik revolution and ending with events which happened during World War II.

I just finished, and I say that with a bit of pride because it was difficult, Parallel Attraction by Deidre Knight. Having heard Ms. Knight speak at a writer’s conference, in her role as literary agent rather than as a writer, I wanted to like this debut novel. As I struggled to make it through the chaos of the time travel plot, I checked out the reviews on Amazon. Some of them were glowing, especially those by her clients and fellow authors. But others, by readers, gave it one or two stars, and I tend to agree with some of their comments. The opening of the novel works well enough, and Knight’s prose is quite good overall, although she sometimes does some odd phrasing, such as, “...as he barked something at a group of engineers out in the breezeway who had been working on one of his fighter planes when they’d stridden in.” More troubling was the plot/peril sequence, which was a confusing time travel sequence. The hero wasn’t particularly heroic, nor was the villain particularly villainous, which is a greater flaw. Also, there was very little romance in this romance novel, because the main characters became “mated” with almost no build up, and the characterization seemed to be more driven by introducing minor characters to become main characters in subsequent novels in the series.

Recently, the proprietor of a used book store told me that one can judge a book by its price used. As I write this, Parallel Attraction can be purchased via Amazon for one penny, plus shipping, from fifteen vendors, and for under a dollar from seven more. Perhaps that says more than all of those glowing reviews from Deidre’s colleagues.

I will no doubt revisit Animal Farm, with its entertaining parallels with both history and human behavior, and I hope that Deidre Knight does succeed in writing a great romance, since she seems to be such a nice person.

Scary Stuff

Like Facebook? Apparently, this site, once beloved by teenagers, has become popular with a wider audience. (Take that either way.) However, people who use the site are giving their pictures, emails, comments, and other content to fellow users and to the owners of the site. Even if a user deletes content, it is still archived. Think about your online content. I’ve often warned my students that anything online is as private as a movie poster on display. Anyone who ever wants to get or keep a job should consider what might happen if such content makes it to an employer.

Remember the “lead in toys from China” scare last year? So does our federal government. While growing up in rural Georgia, I had a minibike, my sister had a go-cart, and I rode numerous motorcycles over the years, everything from a Honda 65 to my dad’s Suzuki 1000 four cylinder. Kids are going to be giving up their rides, however. The illustrious “nanny-state” congress passed a law to regulate lead content in toys for children under twelve. This means that any item for youngsters, including mini bikes, motorcycles, and go-carts, would have to be tested and proven lead free. It is tough to make a battery without it, so manufacturers and dealers who sell these products just withdrew them from sale. Some parents are now filled with relief to know that the United States government doing their all to keep elementary and middle school age kids from chewing on their motorbikes.

Recently, my sister and I were seated together at a babyshower. The hostess stated that we’d be playing a game, and sister rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, no. The last one I went to had the 'poopy diaper' game, and we were to identify the contents of the soiled diaper.”

“Say what?” I responded. Sister went on to explain the game in more detail. Okay, it has been a while since I had a baby, but I was appalled by this apparently popular baby shower time waster, wherein the hostess melts various chocolate candies into disposable diapers, and participants are to figure out which diaper has the Reeses and which one has the Andes mints via appearance and smell. Yuck! Voltaire once said, “Common sense is not so common.” Thankfully, my young cousins, who were hostessing, chose more conventional games, such as matching children with their celebrity parents. Alas, I was horrible at the game, because I did not know most of those “famous” people. I did enjoy visiting with aunts and cousins. My second cousin, who was being “showered,” got enough stuff to handle a litter, so it was no doubt good for our ailing economy.

Here is a brief update to this post. A young woman across the pond lost her job when she said that it was "boring" on Facebook.

Being Nobody

I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you—Nobody—Too?
Then there's a pair of us!
Don't tell! they'd advertise—you know!

How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one's name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!

Did you ever consider how difficult it might be to actually prove who you are? I applied for a job recently, and my pre-employment requirements were quite an eye-opening experience. Oh, I was expecting to have to supply official transcripts from my under grad and grad schools— education matters only in education jobs, but it does matter there, so I sent off forms and checks to schools I haven’t attended for decades to prove what courses I took way back when.

But my birth certificate is with my marriage certificate, my high school and college diplomas, my original social security card, and my baptismal certificate. Only the last item on that list will be of any importance in the long run, but in the short run, my new employer wants a copy of my birth certificate in addition to my driver’s license. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen that envelope labeled “certificates” since I moved to my current residence in 1998. Daughter asked if my lack of documentation means that I don’t exist. Not to worry, for a mere $36.00 some entity known as “Vital Check” will certify that I’m me, without having ever seen me!

Certainly, I’ve had to use my DL for identification many times, including my last mammogram. Now, there is an interesting question. Why on earth would anyone submit to that rather onerous test for someone else, I wonder? I asked the clerk who handled the paperwork, but she didn’t answer me. Perhaps that is what it means to be a nobody— people just look at you rather than answering your questions.

I’ve heard that Emily (Dickinson, the author of my introductory poem) was a bit weird. A pity she didn’t live in the twenty first century, because nowadays everything is weird.