And the entire irony is that the person who produced the environmental bete noir An Inconvenient Truth produced "Waiting for Superman", and the unions are furious about the movie exposing the results of putting themselves ahead of the kids, and are even more furious when more successful charter schools - which have none of the union interference that the failing public schools have - are actually educating the kids, rather than making them pawns when battling with the school board.
The name of the movie should be renamed An Inconvenient Education. It's the kids who are inconvenienced in the end because the teacher's unions are too greedy.
9/18/2010
A good argument for keeping the Bush tax levels
NPR (yes, that NPR) has a clear and consistent argument regarding extending the 2001-2003 tax structure. Dan Kennedy of Media Nation loves it too, and it is a well-written and well-informed article.
Here is where the debate lies...many people can try to define "rich" but it's impossible to define it in dollar terms. Back in the 1970s, earning $35,000 was a small fortune because the minimum wage was $1.60. Today, earning $35,000 isn't much, especially where the minimum wage is $7.50 an hour. In order to earn what you earned in the 1970s, you'd have to make at least $100,000 a year. So for Congress to define "rich" is an exercise in futility.
Also, the famous canard of "high income earners pay most of the taxes" or "low income earners pay no taxes at all" are both false. The government finds ways to take money no matter what your earnings and taxation level.
High income earners, despite paying a high amount of taxes, have the ability to reduce them through retirement account disbursements, investing, donations, writeoffs, and spending, so that when their tax bill does come around, they will either pay far less than they expected (and they have the ability to do so) or get a refund.
The low income earners, despite receiving credits and appearing not to pay income taxes, pay a huge amount of consumption taxes - that is, the government will dilute the credits that they gave to the low-income earners anyway through sales, sin (alcohol, tobacco), property, utility (fuel, electricity) and excise taxes, plus fees that function as taxes, like license renewal and registration.
In my opinion, the best thing to do is to execute class warfare card through the media. The media is equally guilty of misinformation to the public; they do no service by trying to gin up anger between one sector of the public and the other. In fact, the public relations the media is trying to do for the government is obnoxious and wrongheaded - they should shut up and do the research first (like NPR did) before they go on camera. It will save them a lot of embarassment later on.
Here is where the debate lies...many people can try to define "rich" but it's impossible to define it in dollar terms. Back in the 1970s, earning $35,000 was a small fortune because the minimum wage was $1.60. Today, earning $35,000 isn't much, especially where the minimum wage is $7.50 an hour. In order to earn what you earned in the 1970s, you'd have to make at least $100,000 a year. So for Congress to define "rich" is an exercise in futility.
Also, the famous canard of "high income earners pay most of the taxes" or "low income earners pay no taxes at all" are both false. The government finds ways to take money no matter what your earnings and taxation level.
High income earners, despite paying a high amount of taxes, have the ability to reduce them through retirement account disbursements, investing, donations, writeoffs, and spending, so that when their tax bill does come around, they will either pay far less than they expected (and they have the ability to do so) or get a refund.
The low income earners, despite receiving credits and appearing not to pay income taxes, pay a huge amount of consumption taxes - that is, the government will dilute the credits that they gave to the low-income earners anyway through sales, sin (alcohol, tobacco), property, utility (fuel, electricity) and excise taxes, plus fees that function as taxes, like license renewal and registration.
In my opinion, the best thing to do is to execute class warfare card through the media. The media is equally guilty of misinformation to the public; they do no service by trying to gin up anger between one sector of the public and the other. In fact, the public relations the media is trying to do for the government is obnoxious and wrongheaded - they should shut up and do the research first (like NPR did) before they go on camera. It will save them a lot of embarassment later on.
9/14/2010
Better start learning the meaning of "closed door" in Grove Hall
The residents of Mattapan love the new 60 foot articulated buses on the Route 28 bus. I rode them on the Route 39 when they first came out and they're really, really nice.
The residents of Grove Hall? They do too, but not their so-called "community leaders" to bitch about not being "consulted." One of the comments from the boston.com site is quite telling...
What the T should do is introduce a neat little concept called "closed door" service. Routes 14, 19, 23, 28 and 45 go through that area. Since the "community leaders" are pissed they weren't able to extort all sorts of things from the T, the T should turn around and state that those route will not stop to discharge passengers nor to pick up passengers. All routes will just go right through Grove Hall without stopping. If it means a quarter mile to half mile walk to Grove Hall, in the blazing sun or during a hefty blizzard, that's the way it has to be.
They will, however, get more than an angry earful from passengers who rely on the T, who worked so hard for improvements, and now have to go out of their way just because the pigheaded, egotistical, hamfisted, loudmouthed control freaks killed service in their area, and the T will not lift a finger to return it to normal. Then these so-called "community leaders" will be seen for who they truly are: obstructionists who are too selfish to let their residents have what they truly deserve, because improvements would dilute their power and ego to infinitesimally small irrelevance.
The residents of Grove Hall? They do too, but not their so-called "community leaders" to bitch about not being "consulted." One of the comments from the boston.com site is quite telling...
Yet despite all of this, these community groups act as though they're being victimized. Like the State is coming in to destroy their neighborhoods. They killed the #28X [Route 28X would have been a Silver Line-style BRT route running down the median of Blue Hill Avenue. -ed]. Now they're completely apoplectic over the fact the T didn't kiss their feet and beg them to allow larger buses to offer better service to what is arguably a community long-underserved by mass transit. This is literally the least the T can do to help them, and still the community groups are trying to fight them to do less. They'd rather see the rest of their community get nothing, than have their "authority" undermined.
It appears to be about ego, control and the need to assert both.
What the T should do is introduce a neat little concept called "closed door" service. Routes 14, 19, 23, 28 and 45 go through that area. Since the "community leaders" are pissed they weren't able to extort all sorts of things from the T, the T should turn around and state that those route will not stop to discharge passengers nor to pick up passengers. All routes will just go right through Grove Hall without stopping. If it means a quarter mile to half mile walk to Grove Hall, in the blazing sun or during a hefty blizzard, that's the way it has to be.
They will, however, get more than an angry earful from passengers who rely on the T, who worked so hard for improvements, and now have to go out of their way just because the pigheaded, egotistical, hamfisted, loudmouthed control freaks killed service in their area, and the T will not lift a finger to return it to normal. Then these so-called "community leaders" will be seen for who they truly are: obstructionists who are too selfish to let their residents have what they truly deserve, because improvements would dilute their power and ego to infinitesimally small irrelevance.
8/01/2010
Puritanism - still alive and well in Massachusetts
I was reading an article this morning in the Boston Globe magazine from Tom Keane regarding Massachusetts' efforts to control alcohol. Among the interesting snippets:
This is because of the former Blue Laws that the Puritans put down in the 1620's because most of the Puritans were supposed to have their eyes and ears with God at all times, and not engage in frivolity such as liquor consumption. Many of the Blue Laws have been struck down, but only since the mid 1980s. Liquor stores have only been allowed to open on Sundays since 2005 or so.
This brings me to the debate of the soon-to-be-dead gambling bill. I've been wavering between being for it and being against it, but now I'm solidly against it. Governor Deval Patrick should not only veto the bill, he should be commended for it at the risk of losing his support from unions and others.
This is because Puritanism is still alive and well in Massachusetts.
We have way too many finger waggers, nags, wrist wringers and such who feel that any kind of fun should be eliminated or strictly controlled in the wake of some kind of fake moral enlightenment. Liquor and alcohol is a great example: keeping such a "vice" away through high price and scarcity makes the ones who are disturbed by its effects (even when people drink responsibly) soothes whatever guilt and bias they might have towards this vice. The same is true with cigarettes, food, and gasoline - self-styled moralists figure that the unwashed masses are not "enlightened" enough and must have these items made difficult to procure for "the greater good."
(In my honest opinion, the greater good would love to give these self-styled moralists a nice hard slap in the face, followed by a nice hard boot to where God split ya.)
If the Legislature were a more honest, less self-interested group, they would have expanded the bill to include as many resort casinos and slot parlors as they would allow without the worry of some group screaming that Massachusetts' moral fiber would decay at a ridiculous rate. There would be no scare tactics of prostitution or people wasting their entire paychecks on slots or children being abandoned in their cars. The Legislators would have no problem with the money coming in and distribute it evenly, rather than try to corner the money for their own town, city or ward.
Even if the casino bill passed, I can imagine the kind of "gambling" we'd get if it went through - it would be regulated just as tightly and stiffly as alcohol is today, along with a mix of gimmicks such as environmental standards, limits on play, money and alcohol consumption, no ATM machines or ATM machines with very high access fees, and bans on any kind of comps, credit and the like.
When Puritanism dances with Curley-style parochialism, what you get are political hacks, self-styled moral activists, and others killing something that may or may not have had promise, but no one dared to try because they were afraid they'd offend the wrong people. The writer of the article sums everything up nicely, and you can easily substitute "gambling" for "alcohol":
It would certainly prove that we cut all the laws of Puritanism but six, who were forced into service as pallbearers.
Alcoholic beverages sold for off-premise consumption can only be sold in licensed package stores. No one is allowed to own more than three stores that sell alcohol. State law puts sharp quotas on the number of liquor stores, bars, and restaurants permitted in every town, a formula carefully based on population. Holiday and Sunday sales are limited. In fact, we’re not even permitted to have happy hours. Free drinks and discounted prices are flatly illegal.
This is because of the former Blue Laws that the Puritans put down in the 1620's because most of the Puritans were supposed to have their eyes and ears with God at all times, and not engage in frivolity such as liquor consumption. Many of the Blue Laws have been struck down, but only since the mid 1980s. Liquor stores have only been allowed to open on Sundays since 2005 or so.
This brings me to the debate of the soon-to-be-dead gambling bill. I've been wavering between being for it and being against it, but now I'm solidly against it. Governor Deval Patrick should not only veto the bill, he should be commended for it at the risk of losing his support from unions and others.
This is because Puritanism is still alive and well in Massachusetts.
We have way too many finger waggers, nags, wrist wringers and such who feel that any kind of fun should be eliminated or strictly controlled in the wake of some kind of fake moral enlightenment. Liquor and alcohol is a great example: keeping such a "vice" away through high price and scarcity makes the ones who are disturbed by its effects (even when people drink responsibly) soothes whatever guilt and bias they might have towards this vice. The same is true with cigarettes, food, and gasoline - self-styled moralists figure that the unwashed masses are not "enlightened" enough and must have these items made difficult to procure for "the greater good."
(In my honest opinion, the greater good would love to give these self-styled moralists a nice hard slap in the face, followed by a nice hard boot to where God split ya.)
If the Legislature were a more honest, less self-interested group, they would have expanded the bill to include as many resort casinos and slot parlors as they would allow without the worry of some group screaming that Massachusetts' moral fiber would decay at a ridiculous rate. There would be no scare tactics of prostitution or people wasting their entire paychecks on slots or children being abandoned in their cars. The Legislators would have no problem with the money coming in and distribute it evenly, rather than try to corner the money for their own town, city or ward.
Even if the casino bill passed, I can imagine the kind of "gambling" we'd get if it went through - it would be regulated just as tightly and stiffly as alcohol is today, along with a mix of gimmicks such as environmental standards, limits on play, money and alcohol consumption, no ATM machines or ATM machines with very high access fees, and bans on any kind of comps, credit and the like.
When Puritanism dances with Curley-style parochialism, what you get are political hacks, self-styled moral activists, and others killing something that may or may not have had promise, but no one dared to try because they were afraid they'd offend the wrong people. The writer of the article sums everything up nicely, and you can easily substitute "gambling" for "alcohol":
What we really need is a culture that celebrates the wise use of alcohol rather than a body of laws whose aim is to make us feel guilty.
It would certainly prove that we cut all the laws of Puritanism but six, who were forced into service as pallbearers.
6/16/2010
...and my father was allergic to shellfish, believe it or not...
Suldog reminisces about his father, who died 16 years ago.
My father, Bernie, retired from a job he had worked at for over 30 years in 2002. He was 60, but even with the white hair, he looked about ten years younger. When he started working for RCA and Sperry-Rand in 1972, his year's salary could buy three automobiles (indexed for inflation, it would be around $35,000) and computers back then were not the 1TB monsters they are now; in fact, back in '72, 8K was tops.
In 2004, we began to notice changes - not frightening changes, but ones that started to give us concern. My dad began complaining about his leg hurting around August 2004, and by September 2004 he could barely walk on it. One night, the doctor wanted to bring him in for an MRI, because by then we knew it wasn't a rheumatoid problem. While waiting for the call for the doctor, my father reached for the TV remote.
The next thing I knew, my youngest brother, Sean, came upstairs with his cell phone - and usually when the sentence that comes out is "We have a 62 year old man in pain, we suspect he broke his leg..." that ain't good. We weren't panicking, but this was very, very strange and upsetting, as my brother was about to introduce his first child into the world - in Beverly. My father, mother and others were ready to cheer my sister-in-law when this happened.
The next morning, after they brought him to the Brigham and Women's Hospital, we visited him. Of course, he was high on morphine, but he was in good spirits. A lab tech came into the room with a little metal case and told us it was nuclear medicine. My mother, brother and myself decided to retire to the cafeteria for lunch, but eight hours later, our worlds would be turned upside down.
It was lung cancer. Stage IV. That was why my father's tibia had broken - it had already spread to his bones. Tearful phonecalls ensued. I broke down sometime later because getting whacked with the news your father has cancer is pretty hefty.
Fast forward one year later. After six regimens of cancer treatment and several radiation treatments for the glioma that was discovered in his brain in May 2005, we knew that his time on earth would not be long. This time, he was at the Brigham and Women's for a hematoma that grew in his shoulders and burst, and he remarked with absolute clarity to my mother that "this had gone full circle."
The hematoma would mark the last time he would ever see a hospital, but the weird thing about this, though, was that he seemed to be getting back to normal. He was eating heartily and was still lucid. But radiation and chemotherapy, while we think eliminated the lung cancer, had stolen his laughter, his functions, and he transgressed from cane, to walker, to wheelchair, and then to bed.
My father's functions began their decline on the weekend after my 34th birthday. My father, who had celebrated his 63rd birthday at a rehab center in August 2005 after receiving more radiation in his bones, looked at least 20 years older. We had already had a 35th wedding anniversary celebration at home (and again, Dad wasn't a slouch in eating - he even cracked a few jokes and lent out a huge smile), but a few days later he began to descend into hallucinations. By Friday, he was in the full throes of decline. He would extend his hands out and knit with invisible yarn. He would ask for dead people, like his father, who had died in 2000; his mother, who had died in 2004; and other people. By Saturday morning, my father lapsed into a coma; our mother then told us to go buy suits because we would be needing them soon for the wake and the funeral.
Monday night, we had an Irish wake for my dad. It was the most fun I had, even though I had finally told my supervisor that my father was ill and he might not last long. The next morning, November 22, 2005, my brother woke me up. We came downstairs and I looked at my father for the last time. No sound. He peacefully passed away in his sleep, exactly 14 months to the day he was diagnosed. My mother was weeping and hysterical, Everyone was called to alert people of the news. Then, my brothers, mother and I we gathered around to bade him farewell before the funeral directors took him to be prepared for the wake and the funeral.
Of course, while dumping out the drugs that made my father comfortable in his last days, my mother scolded me (well, introducing him as the "guest of honor" to the hospice nurse at 6:30 in the morning will cause a newly-anointed widow to do that) for not expressing my emotions correctly and told me I shouldn't be stoic. She didn't realize that from the moment he was diagnosed until the moment he died, fourteen months of pure torture culminated in a peace I never felt before. I finally felt relieved that the long battle my father endured was over - he didn't win the battle, but he was free from the torture that cancer had allayed him with.
The saving grace is that a representative of the Big Deity Upstairs was already present. My aunt, Sister Genevieve Kozlowski, nicknamed Aunt Kay (she was actually my grandmother's adopted sister) was going to go back to her convent outside Buffalo and was visiting us for Thanksgiving. When she learned my dad was about to die, she stayed until that Sunday. She read at the wake a passage from John 14:2, which reads: "In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you." She also helped assemble the memory board with various pictures of my father in his youth, middle age, and towards the end.
I contributed his timeline and added the following poem on there - "Say Yes!" which was written by a confederate soldier and is the title of Rick Wakeman's autobiography (organ and keyboards from the prog-rock group Yes). I will leave you with that thought for now.
Say Yes!
I asked for strength that I might achieve;
I was made weak that I might learn humbly to obey.
...I asked for health that I might do greater things;
I was given infirmity that I might do better things.
I asked for riches that I might be happy;
I was given poverty that I might be wise.
I asked for power that I might have the praise of men;
I was given weakness that I might feel the need of God.
I asked for all things that I might enjoy life;
I was given life that I might enjoy all things.
I got nothing that I had asked for;
But everything I had hoped for.
Almost despite myself my unspoken prayers were answered;
I am, among all men, most richly blessed.
- Unknown Confederate soldier.
My father, Bernie, retired from a job he had worked at for over 30 years in 2002. He was 60, but even with the white hair, he looked about ten years younger. When he started working for RCA and Sperry-Rand in 1972, his year's salary could buy three automobiles (indexed for inflation, it would be around $35,000) and computers back then were not the 1TB monsters they are now; in fact, back in '72, 8K was tops.
In 2004, we began to notice changes - not frightening changes, but ones that started to give us concern. My dad began complaining about his leg hurting around August 2004, and by September 2004 he could barely walk on it. One night, the doctor wanted to bring him in for an MRI, because by then we knew it wasn't a rheumatoid problem. While waiting for the call for the doctor, my father reached for the TV remote.
The next thing I knew, my youngest brother, Sean, came upstairs with his cell phone - and usually when the sentence that comes out is "We have a 62 year old man in pain, we suspect he broke his leg..." that ain't good. We weren't panicking, but this was very, very strange and upsetting, as my brother was about to introduce his first child into the world - in Beverly. My father, mother and others were ready to cheer my sister-in-law when this happened.
The next morning, after they brought him to the Brigham and Women's Hospital, we visited him. Of course, he was high on morphine, but he was in good spirits. A lab tech came into the room with a little metal case and told us it was nuclear medicine. My mother, brother and myself decided to retire to the cafeteria for lunch, but eight hours later, our worlds would be turned upside down.
It was lung cancer. Stage IV. That was why my father's tibia had broken - it had already spread to his bones. Tearful phonecalls ensued. I broke down sometime later because getting whacked with the news your father has cancer is pretty hefty.
Fast forward one year later. After six regimens of cancer treatment and several radiation treatments for the glioma that was discovered in his brain in May 2005, we knew that his time on earth would not be long. This time, he was at the Brigham and Women's for a hematoma that grew in his shoulders and burst, and he remarked with absolute clarity to my mother that "this had gone full circle."
The hematoma would mark the last time he would ever see a hospital, but the weird thing about this, though, was that he seemed to be getting back to normal. He was eating heartily and was still lucid. But radiation and chemotherapy, while we think eliminated the lung cancer, had stolen his laughter, his functions, and he transgressed from cane, to walker, to wheelchair, and then to bed.
My father's functions began their decline on the weekend after my 34th birthday. My father, who had celebrated his 63rd birthday at a rehab center in August 2005 after receiving more radiation in his bones, looked at least 20 years older. We had already had a 35th wedding anniversary celebration at home (and again, Dad wasn't a slouch in eating - he even cracked a few jokes and lent out a huge smile), but a few days later he began to descend into hallucinations. By Friday, he was in the full throes of decline. He would extend his hands out and knit with invisible yarn. He would ask for dead people, like his father, who had died in 2000; his mother, who had died in 2004; and other people. By Saturday morning, my father lapsed into a coma; our mother then told us to go buy suits because we would be needing them soon for the wake and the funeral.
Monday night, we had an Irish wake for my dad. It was the most fun I had, even though I had finally told my supervisor that my father was ill and he might not last long. The next morning, November 22, 2005, my brother woke me up. We came downstairs and I looked at my father for the last time. No sound. He peacefully passed away in his sleep, exactly 14 months to the day he was diagnosed. My mother was weeping and hysterical, Everyone was called to alert people of the news. Then, my brothers, mother and I we gathered around to bade him farewell before the funeral directors took him to be prepared for the wake and the funeral.
Of course, while dumping out the drugs that made my father comfortable in his last days, my mother scolded me (well, introducing him as the "guest of honor" to the hospice nurse at 6:30 in the morning will cause a newly-anointed widow to do that) for not expressing my emotions correctly and told me I shouldn't be stoic. She didn't realize that from the moment he was diagnosed until the moment he died, fourteen months of pure torture culminated in a peace I never felt before. I finally felt relieved that the long battle my father endured was over - he didn't win the battle, but he was free from the torture that cancer had allayed him with.
The saving grace is that a representative of the Big Deity Upstairs was already present. My aunt, Sister Genevieve Kozlowski, nicknamed Aunt Kay (she was actually my grandmother's adopted sister) was going to go back to her convent outside Buffalo and was visiting us for Thanksgiving. When she learned my dad was about to die, she stayed until that Sunday. She read at the wake a passage from John 14:2, which reads: "In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you." She also helped assemble the memory board with various pictures of my father in his youth, middle age, and towards the end.
I contributed his timeline and added the following poem on there - "Say Yes!" which was written by a confederate soldier and is the title of Rick Wakeman's autobiography (organ and keyboards from the prog-rock group Yes). I will leave you with that thought for now.
Say Yes!
I asked for strength that I might achieve;
I was made weak that I might learn humbly to obey.
...I asked for health that I might do greater things;
I was given infirmity that I might do better things.
I asked for riches that I might be happy;
I was given poverty that I might be wise.
I asked for power that I might have the praise of men;
I was given weakness that I might feel the need of God.
I asked for all things that I might enjoy life;
I was given life that I might enjoy all things.
I got nothing that I had asked for;
But everything I had hoped for.
Almost despite myself my unspoken prayers were answered;
I am, among all men, most richly blessed.
- Unknown Confederate soldier.
5/31/2010
"No Sesame Street, please...we're British"
Of all the exports Britain has brought to America, there is one American import that hasn't caught on - Sesame Street.
The BBC flatly rejected Sesame Street in 1971 because they thought the programming was "authoritarian." (How can Big Bird be authoritarian?) So it went to another network in England (HTV) before Sesame Street was cancelled.
And like today, the BBC still won't tell British children how to get to Sesame Street - unless you live in Northern Ireland. The reason: there are already other children's programmes out there, including the "talk down to children's" Blue Peter and other shows.
Which leads me to believe one thing and one thing only: the BBC doesn't want Elmo or any of his friends running the Beeb, because you know Stadtler and Waldorf will have their own rollicking politics show, and that the Count will be a financial advisor, and that Bert and Ernie will surpass the popularity of the two women from Absolutely Fabulous.
The BBC flatly rejected Sesame Street in 1971 because they thought the programming was "authoritarian." (How can Big Bird be authoritarian?) So it went to another network in England (HTV) before Sesame Street was cancelled.
And like today, the BBC still won't tell British children how to get to Sesame Street - unless you live in Northern Ireland. The reason: there are already other children's programmes out there, including the "talk down to children's" Blue Peter and other shows.
Which leads me to believe one thing and one thing only: the BBC doesn't want Elmo or any of his friends running the Beeb, because you know Stadtler and Waldorf will have their own rollicking politics show, and that the Count will be a financial advisor, and that Bert and Ernie will surpass the popularity of the two women from Absolutely Fabulous.
5/25/2010
No President is above reproach
Criticizing the President of the United States, no matter how unwarranted or wildly bizarre it may seem, is not sedition, even if the President is your close friend.
No President is above reproach. In fact, we're fortunate enough to criticize, mock, cajole, protest and needle the President of the United States without getting thrown into jail, tortured, murdered, disappeared, or fined into poverty because their leader is seen as a God who must not be challenged. (Viz: North Korea, the former East Germany, Cuba, etc.)
If the Governor feels that the opposing party is being too harsh on the President, perhaps it's because there's a legitimate reason for the agita that resides beyond the Beltway, i.e. the President is not the Emperor, the United States isn't the Roman empire, and people don't like to be ruled.
No President is above reproach. In fact, we're fortunate enough to criticize, mock, cajole, protest and needle the President of the United States without getting thrown into jail, tortured, murdered, disappeared, or fined into poverty because their leader is seen as a God who must not be challenged. (Viz: North Korea, the former East Germany, Cuba, etc.)
If the Governor feels that the opposing party is being too harsh on the President, perhaps it's because there's a legitimate reason for the agita that resides beyond the Beltway, i.e. the President is not the Emperor, the United States isn't the Roman empire, and people don't like to be ruled.
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