Princeton High School's current building has to survive one more year. In the fall of 2014, we are scheduled to move across the street into the new Princeton High School/Middle School complex, a single building with common spaces (cafeteria, main gym, auditorium) connecting the two school wings.
Since the announcement of the new school and the eventual destruction of the old building, maintenance has been a bit less urgent, and the cracks have begun to show around school. In general, the issues have been survivable and workable. Maybe half the hallway clocks are working, the drips in the 'covered' walkway through the courtyard have been less likely to be repaired,
In some other ways, though, the building is aging very, very quickly. Twice this year we have had power outages - once in only the music wing and cafeteria, once throughout the whole school. This past Friday we missed a day of school because the fire alarm control panel stopped working - leading a repairman to open his conversation with a principal by saying, "Wow, I haven't seen one like this in fifteen years."
Bit by bit the old girl is falling apart, and I am at least looking forward to the coming year when things really go to pieces.
One day Don Freeman walks into Mathews Auditorium to find all the seats mysteriously gone, the floor replaced with a lush carpet of moss.
We close the second floor to any staff or students save for fifteen-year-olds as the creatures there seem to be angered by anyone of a different age.
Two lights in the community room consistently flash Morse code messages over and over - "He is coming...He is coming...He is coming..."
Triceratops are found in the technology wing when Mr Simpson unlocks the doors in the morning. They seem to be adapting to CAD use but are still struggling with fine motor skills on the mouse.
The electrical outlets in the small gym and rooms next door are all flipped upside down overnight.
All windows on the third floor look out not on Chester and Sharon Roads but rather on mid-twentieth century London during the Blitz.
The hallways are littered with students turned to stone whenever they speak aloud any of a half dozen swear words viewed offensive by the Native American spirits.
Three rooms in the 600 wing are filled three inches deep with water. Even when the doors are opened, the water stays. Shop vacs running for hours on end can't seem to make any dent in the depth of water. Shark fins are seen cutting through the surface of the water in spite of the fact that no shark could survive in water that shallow or green.
No sound can be made in room 446B.
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At least there would be good stories to tell from the year.
The above printed remarks were written for President Richard Nixon in case something went wrong with the Apollo 11 mission to the moon and stranded the astronauts there. We had absolutely no hopes of recovering the men if such an accident had occurred, and those men knew that. They knew that they were heading further from home than any human ever had before and that they were entirely on their own the whole way.
As a nation we entrusted our greatest adventure to our greatest men, men who became our heroes, inspiring generations of scientists and military men because they had their feet in both camps having been trained as engineers and airplane pilots before being sent into the wild, black yonder.
When the men came home, they had the world at their fingertips, finding themselves in demand for endorsements, appearances, speaking engagements, and every possible opportunity for moneymaking believable. This era - those of the second seven as well as the original nine - is wonderfully told in Tom Wolfe's The Right Stuff.
And there was Neil Armstrong choosing to disappear from the public eye and requiring his accomplishments to speak for themselves, to eschew the greatest of possible famous lives. Instead, he moved back to Ohio and lived not thirty miles from where I eventually made my home, making occasional appearances - most notably in the last few years when he was chosen for and humbly served jury duty, simply and quickly acknowledging the assembled press before heading into the courthouse.
When, this past week, Neil Armstrong passed on, we lost one of our greatest and most private Americans. His family released the following statement after his passing:
“We are heartbroken to share the news that Neil Armstrong has passed away following complications resulting from cardiovascular procedures.
“Neil was our loving husband, father, grandfather, brother and friend.
“Neil Armstrong was also a reluctant American hero who always believed he was just doing his job. He served his Nation proudly, as a navy fighter pilot, test pilot, and astronaut. He also found success back home in his native Ohio in business and academia, and became a community leader in Cincinnati.
“He remained an advocate of aviation and exploration throughout his life and never lost his boyhood wonder of these pursuits.
“As much as Neil cherished his privacy, he always appreciated the expressions of good will from people around the world and from all walks of life.
“While we mourn the loss of a very good man, we also celebrate his remarkable life and hope that it serves as an example to young people around the world to work hard to make their dreams come true, to be willing to explore and push the limits, and to selflessly serve a cause greater than themselves.
“For those who may ask what they can do to honor Neil, we have a simple request. Honor his example of service, accomplishment and modesty, and the next time you walk outside on a clear night and see the moon smiling down at you, think of Neil Armstrong and give him a wink.”
I promise I'll stop posting about the man for at least a while, but I thank so many folks on the intertubes for posting their tributes to Armstrong. Here's the last one I'll point out, from the Sci-ence site.
I put this to writing a week or so ago, and it sums up a lot of what I know about the world:
Rules can be bent if you want to bend them.
If you don’t want to bend them, it’s nice to have rules to fall back on.
We all take advantage of and get screwed by that.
It's far from a chipper thought and all, but it's something that I've seen happen over and over again. Teachers and administrators give students second and third chances, but if they don't want to give those second and third chances - because the student's a jerk, because the teacher's in a bad mood, because the student didn't ask the right way - then it's awfully easy to just point at a the rules and say 'tough luck, kid.'
It doesn't matter whether you're a teacher, a student, a building administrator, a politician, a father, a mother, a police officer, a boss, or an underling. There are times when the rules work for you - because you understand the rules better or because you're in a position to make the rules - and there will surely be a time when you'll come out wishing the rules weren't there.
People are doing the best job they can.
There are a hundred reasons why they might be doing a crappy job, but they're doing the best that they can. They might be dumb. They might be ignorant of how to do a better job. They might have things going on at home or with their mistress. They might have your wishes running about fourteenth on their list of priorities, but they're doing the best they can within those limits.
Don't complain that they're lazy. Don't complain that they're stupid. Don't tell them to just work harder. At best you'll get a momentary improvement but rarely anything valuable in the long term.
You get more bees with honey than with vinegar.
There are hundreds of reasons why we could go through the golden rule in any one of its variations, but I find much of the important things about behavior boil down to this - be nice to people. It's not always easy to do. It's not always something that sees quick results. But it's the better path if you can manage to take it.
I'm going to have to straight up open by saying that I don't understand the Occupy Wall Street (et al) protests.
Actually, let me back up a little bit.
Whenever the question of free speech vs governmental restrictions comes up, I side with free speech. I think we should be able to say pretty much anything we want to say, anywhere, anytime - unless it can be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that allowing such would cause direct and immediate harm to somebody. We can debate the exact details all over the place, but I'll generally err on the side of allowing free speech. Just thought you should know that.
Pursuant to that position, I'm fully supportive of people's rights to protest. If you're bothered by your local school board's policies, show up at the meeting and have your say. If you're worried that your city is discriminating, call the media and let 'em film your signs. If you think the federal government is turning control of the country over to some world government via secret codes on the back of the highway signs, write to the newspaper and set yourself ablaze.
I may not join you, but I'll defend your rights to say your piece to the ends of the Earth.
That being said, unless you have a specific issue and a solution, I may just ask you what you're hoping to accomplish here, and that's where I am with Occupy Wall Street. I just don't get what the protesters are hoping to accomplish.
I think we can all agree that there is a gigantic economic disparity in our country. The rich are getting richer on the backs of the poor and the middle class. We're in the middle of an economic downturn/recession that's as bad as anything we've had since the late 1970's (or longer depending on what measures you trust). Or maybe we're barely coming out of it - very...slowly. The recession was caused by the mistakes made by large investment banks that didn't seem to suffer too much in the (so far) long run.
And the middle class is getting killed. Jobs are being lost. Homes are being lost. Retirement savings are being lost.
I get the anger. I understand the frustration. I just don't see the way out or what the Occupy Wall Street protesters are hoping to change. Rather, I don't get how the Occupy Wall Street protesters are hoping to turn their Occupy-ing into change.
How are they hoping that camping out, Occupying Everywhere, chanting, cheering, getting arrested, beaten, and trampled is going to lead to this change? And just what change do they want to see happen?
Do they want taxes raised on the richjob creators?
Do they want more regulations on investment banks?
Do they want more jobs?
Do they want more governmental support of unions?
Do they want to end subsidies to oil companies?
What's the specific goal that can be accomplished to make the protesters happy? If their goal is a more equitable distribution of wealth, I'm afraid they're going to be Occupying through a whole lot of long, cold winters.
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That being said, the treatment that the protesters have received - and possibly that they have given back to law enforcement in some cases - has been deplorable. The video above shows a peaceful protest at UC Davis which was broken up by the infamous (and meme-inspiring) pepper-spraying John Pike. We've seen similar incidents in lots of other cities - including Portland, shown to the right - many of which have lead to extremely violent showdowns between protesters and law enforcement - most noticeably in Oakland.
I am happy to say that all reports here in the Queen City have been that police have done their jobs while being respectful of the protesters. There have been arrests and park-clearings, but there hasn't been violence.
In which we close out the classic...at this point, I'm fed up with this film...
Remember, all clips are . You have been warned.
White cop just dropped stammerer three stories or so. Stammerer didn't, of course, die and is about to gun down Ice T until White cop shoots Stammerer from above.
Ice T smirks his approval.
'Cause he's like dat.
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Nino did say that if Ice T's character turned out not to be genuine, he would kill G-Money.
He did say that.
He did warn us.
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When Avon Barksdale and Stringer Bell have a confrontation like Nino and G-Money are having on the riverside, there was four seasons of weight behind it. We had been through the wars with these characters. They had held each other up and betrayed each other in equal fashion.
When G-Money and Nino have the same conversation, there's a whole eighty-minutes of weight behind it.
I'll shut up about The Wire now.
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Wesley Snipes kissed G-Money.
I'm glad I don't kiss guys because clearly I would have to kill them if I did. That's what the movies have taught me.
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The shot that kills G-Money...
Oh, spoiler alert...
The shot that kills G-Money is the worst faked shot in the world. No recoil...no flash...no puff of smoke...no bullet wound...no recoil...no blood...just a sound effect and G-Money falling over saying 'doh'...
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Nino's still watching Scarface with the "never come between us" girl kissing around on him. Why can't he figure out that she's trouble?
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White Cop just climbed down from the roof and got the attention of the black bodyguard by saying, "Yo, Buckwheat."
I swear I am not making that up. Apparently Mario van Peebles thinks white people are all outwardly racist because every white character (there's White Cop and...um...) is outwardly racist but inwardly down with his bruthahs.
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Ice T swung into the window of Nino's apartment carrying the body of a different bodyguard as a human shield. That's brutal, man.
And strong...
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I want Nino's haircut - flat-top with a wide front-to-back ridge on top. It's like a stubby shark fin.
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Nino just got thrown out of the window onto the fire escape where it's dark. At least it's dark from inside the apartment. Outside, however, it's the middle of the day.
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Wise Old Black Man appears for the third time, watching Ice T beat the snot out of Nino.
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Ice T: "Man, that teacher you kill[ed]. That was my mother!"
I told you that was going to come back.
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Ice T's about to shoot Nino. He's clearly wigged out because he's making his whole face shake. It's kind of creepy (7:03 into the above clip).
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I can't quote Ice T's line at 7:10 because this blog is linked from my school page, but it's the best line in the whole movie.
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Suddenly Nino's deposed girlfriend is on the scene saying that she'll testify. Nice timing, chicka.
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White Cop reaches past Ice T to help Ice T take back the gun that's pointed at Nino.
White Cop is wearing bedazzled, fringed, black leather biker gloves. Clearly he and Ice T have an interesting relationship.
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Fifteen degree angles are back for the wrap-up. I'd really missed them.
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Why would Ice T show up to testify in court wearing sneakers, his Kangol hat, sunglasses, and a velour track suit?
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Nino's final soliloquy: "I'm not guilty; you're the one who's guilty: the lawmakers, the politicians, the Colombian drug lords...all you who lobby against making drugs legal....just like you did with alcohol during the prohibition. You're the one who is guilty. I mean, c'mon, let's kick [?] the ballistics here. Ain't no uzi's made in Harlem. I mean, not one of us in here owns a poppy field. This thing is bigger than Nino Brown. This is big business. This is the American way."
I'm still not quite clear how van Peebles feels about drugs.
Nino continues after being asked if he was the head of the CMB: "Yes. Yes, I was a member, but I was forced into this way of life. Hey look, I've been dealing drugs ever since I was twelve years old. See, I didn't have the chances that you had, Ms. Hawkins. I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth, Ms. Hawkins. I wanted to get out, but they threatened to kill my mother."
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Nice...Nino is claiming that smart, middle-class black guy (the computer guy, the one who recognized Ice T) was the brains behind the CMB.
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Wise Old Black Man makes his final appearance, calling Nino an idolater.
See, he's bringing it full circle.
...and pulling otu a gun to shoot Nino...who then falls - theatrically - three stories while White Cop smiles and laughs and Ice T puts on his sunglasses.
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O'Jays, sing us out..."For the love of money..."
Nevermind, it's another remix with somebody rapping about how money ruings things.
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Words on the screen to make sure Van Peebles makes his point in case you missed it...
"Although this is a fictional story, there are Nino Browns in ever major city in America. If we don't confront the problem realistically -- without empty slogans and promises -- then drugs with continue to destroy our country.
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So, that's New Jack City. It's a spectacular time capsule of the early 1990's and an example of how to eschew all pretenses of subtlety in a movie.
Feel free to roll through the movie with us, but know that the clips are all . You have been warned.
If you're following along at home, we're 45:40 into the film or right at the start of the above clip.
Time has no meaning in this film. Pookie has been working in The Carter for like one scene, but now rich, upper class black guy (the computer expert and horrible actor) says..."You know, I told G-Money how good you been working out, right? And I told him how many customers you bringin' in. And you're just a lookout. ... We gonna get you a better position."
Apparently Pookie has been working there for a while even though the movie doesn't do anything else to suggest this is the case.
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Ice T and Asian cop both start screaming "yes, inside!" when Pookie gets taken to see G-Money (apparently the name of Velour suit). I guess this isn't police work but rather a college basketball game.
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Mario Van Peebles is carrying his baby in a front papoose walking the beach between cigarette dangling (not smoking, of course, just dangling) Judd Nelson white cop; African medallion, African fabric hatted, dreadlocked Ice T uber-black cop; and Pookie saying that he doesn't know if Pookie is ready for this.
Damn if this man isn't subtle.
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Wait, Ice T just revealed that a little junkie like Pookie killed his mother back in 1974. Mother wasn't in the game, just came up and shot her for no reason.
Remember that for about an hour from now when Nino tells a story about his first kill as a gang member.
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Pookie's back on the pipe.
He's beaming up to Scotty.
It took all of one scene for him to slide all the way back.
Seriously, if this were a season-long show, this would've worked because we would've gotten a couple of episodes with Pookie looking tempted then trying to resist and then finally giving in. Instead, we get "you owe a lot of people...don't screw it up" followed immediately by Pookie screwing it up.
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He's screwing it up wordlessly...with a massive, exaggerated look of anguish on his face and a wailing, electric guitar in the background.
If Dave Chapelle taught us anything, it's that white people love electric guitar. Why does Pookie have an electric guitar playing behind him?
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White cop just called Ice T "Superfly"...that's not racist.
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When asked if Pookie's odd actions (viewed through a James Bondian belt buckle tv camera) were a cry for help, White cop said "no, it's a black thing."
Ok, that might have been racist.
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At least White cop isn't a stereotype or anything.
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Pookie is about to blow it by revealing the belt buckle camera. Half an hour ago (in movie-watching time) he was coked out. Fifteen minutes ago he was rehabbed and got into the Carter. Now the undercover work is about to end.
Give this a full season done up right like The Wire because compressing it this much doesn't make a lick of sense.
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Wait, did G-Money really just say "What, you Five-Oh?"
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The CMB is prepared. They have dozens of gas cans all around to burn the computers right up. I am impressed with their organization.
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The cops come in guns a blazin, M16s firing, black hoods pulled over their faces, plastique blowing up the doors.
Where do they get all their fabulous toys?
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The computers which were just doused in gasoline and set on fire now seem to be totally unburned. Luckily the CMB ejected all the disks with the data on them so White cop couldn't find them.
Apparently the CMB were prepared but their gasoline didn't actually burn anything. That's just bad luck there.
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White cop knows how to defuse bombs - like the one strapped to Pookie's chest. Lucky that, eh?
Not that it matters because Pookie's dead.
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And Nino is in bed with the girl who would never come between him and G-Money.
She seems nice.
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Whoever gave Wesley Snipes the chain is a genius. He uses it as a dog leash then as a jump rope then as a garrote. I'm not actually joking about this; Wesley Snipe is really acting here, using the prop to his character's full advantage.
This may be the best scene in the movie.
And the line "Sit you five-dollar a$$ down before I make change." is outstanding.
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Nino just stabbed upper class computer black guy in the hand with a sword from his cane, nailing the hand to the table. I've wondered before just how easy it would be to stab somebody through the hand because you see it in movies all the time, and it doesn't seem to take much effort.
How likely would you be to hit bones and screw up the drama of the move?
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All of the flashy colors are gone from the wardrobes around the table now. Black tops, black slacks, black shoes. Apparently something went wrong.
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Wesley Snipe at 3:07 in the above clip nails the dismissal "leave me" of the emperor who is bored with the proceedings and wants to be left alone. I don't know why he would be bored at this point, but I love the line delivery none the less.
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G-Money has cracked. He's being filmed through a fish tank with the huge amounts of bubbles obscuring his face. He's delivering a soliloquy to a crack pipe. He's like some sort of demented MacBeth at this point.
I know when actors have to fake drinking beer they use apple juice. When they have to fake smoking tobacco they use cloves. When they have to fake smoking marijuana they use (I assume tobacco).
How do they fake freebasing crack?
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We've come full circle at Pookie's funeral. The minister is reading the lines from 1st Corinthians that were painted on the wall in the first scene (neither fornicators nor idolaters...shall inherit the Kingdom of God). That's beautiful symmetry...
...if this were the end of the movie. It's not. It's like fifty-eight minutes into a two-hour movie.
This should be the end of the first season.
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Why does one of the gravediggers have a metal hook for a hand? Is that a joke?
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Why does Mario Van Peebles's character have his tie untied at Pookie's funeral? Nobody else is going casual.
What decision did Van Peebles the director make to tell Van Peebles the actor that this was a good choice?
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Van Peebles says that he gambled on Ice T, and Ice T gambled on a crack head. Ice T starts to punch Van Peebles, but Judd Nelson stops him and says "that's enough, man".
What bonding crap have we missed to make this reasonable? Judd Nelson's character hates Ice T's. Judd Nelson's white cop has done nothing but mock the choice of Pookie the whole time.
Why the sudden flip?
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"Scottie, let it go, man. Operation's over...it's over."
For some reason, I'm actually thinking that it might not be over.
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Oh, wait. Ice T just came back with "it ain't over."
Oh, here's the bonding moment that apparently happened before hand. White cop and black cop are drinking together on a roof. Apparently Van Peebles is doing a Pulp Fiction and showing us scenes out of order.
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White cop delivers soliloquy #2...
"This whole drug s***...it's not a black thing and it's not a white thing. It's a death thing. Death doesn't give a s*** about color. [...] We're in this together now, partner."
Black cop retorts...
"You know, a drug dealer is the worst kind of brother, man. He won't sell it to his sister. He won't sell it to his mother, but he'll sell it to one of his boys on the street."
I wonder how Van Peebles feels about drugs.
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I love the "jump a guy in the alley but only show the confrontation in shadows against a wall" technique. That's not used enough. (7:15 in the above clip)
Where the heck is the light that bright shining into any alley to do that?
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Smooth, young Italian (who lost his ponytail earlier, who brought a lawn jockey with a noose to Nino) introduces G-Money to White cop and Black cop as drug dealers. Black cop has on a black, fur fedora and a leather duster that is resting on his shoulders, his arms not in the sleeves.
And G-Money trusts Italian guy because of why again?
Oh, and White cop doesn't say anything because he's "the main man".
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I love that it takes all of thirty seconds for Ice T to go undercover successfully.
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We're now in season two of the correctly paced television show New Jack City.
And the Italian smoothy called somebody and said "Nino is about it ich."
See, that's a reference to something that his Italian mobster leader said earlier.
You have to be paying attention to this movie, I tell ya.
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The CMB are now paying a tense game of one-on-one wearing slacks, dress shoes, and no shirts.
How times have changed.
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Van Peebles wisely chooses the subtle path in letting his message slip gently into the film again.
At 0:45 the camera pulls back to show this...
I wonder how Van Peebles feels about drugs.
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Upper class computer guy says he recognizes Ice T from somewhere. (remember the "well-dressed black man" who saw Ice T shoot Pookie and on whose face we flashed three separate times?)
Subtlety, thy name is Van Peebles.
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G-Money is supposedly buying drugs 60% cheaper from Ice T.
Um, where are the cops getting all the drugs to sell?
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Nino and Ice T are sharing a moment on the roof at night.
No, not that kind of a moment. It's a bonding moment like White cop and Black cop had a few scenes ago.
Nino is telling a story about his first time killing someone for a gang.
I was wrong. You can stop thinking about Ice T's mother dying now.
It was Nino who killed Ice T's mom.
Isn't that a tragic coincidence?
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Wise old black man is back for his second appearance.
He points out that Nino is an idol worshiper, an idolater.
Where have we heard something about that before?
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This time the old man has a gun and draws it on Nino before Ice T takes the gun away to save Nino's life.
Ice T is conflicted.
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Nino is hosting a wedding at a public park...in the daytime.
Bright, sunshiny daytime.
At the same time, White cop is breaking into Nino's house to get something from his safe...at night.
Dim, dark night.
At the same time as the bright, sunshiny daytime.
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White cop can crack safes, too.
Later in the movie, he's going to show us how to cook a three-minute egg in two minutes. He's just that good.
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The wedding is nearly over, but the entire CMB inner circle is still there...because apparently they're cleaning things up.
Wait, the catering staff is all Italians.
Italians?!?!
Oh, there are two little girls still there. They're needed to have to run back across the screen before the shooting begins.
It worked in Untouchables...it worked in Battleship Potemkin...it'll work in New Jack City...
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Where did all the fifteen degree camera angles go? I kinda miss them.
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The Italians ?!?!?! are really bad shots.
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Ice T has his first moment of conflicted conscience - he has a clear shot at Nino while the shooting is going on and decides to pass.
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Suddenly Nino's girlfriend (not the one who came between the 'brothers', she's apparently mysteriously gone) says Nino is a murderer...that she's seen him kill too many people.
Um, have you not been watching the same movie as the rest of us?
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The CMB are back in the muted primary colors again. Apparently things are going well again.
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3:34 - three Italians playing cards at a street-side trattoria that isn't under a bridge.
Except in the next cut, it is.
At 3:38 I think Judd Nelson might be one of the Italians.
At 3:40 I think Paulie Walnuts might be one of the Italians.
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Driving a motorcyle in a hood with eyeholes that small must really cut down on your peripheral vision.
Plus the guy doesn't have a helmet.
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Worst drive-by shooting death scene ever. Check the guy in the orange shirt at 3:47.
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The final drug buy, sting scene is here. Nino Brown is "Mr Untouchable" as we just heard, but it's taken about fourteen movie minutes for him to trust Ice T enough to buy drugs directly from him in a warehouse.
That's about right.
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Oh, and the warehouse has an Asian cop leaning into the window with a camera and a big zoom lens.
Nobody notices that even though we're about to see that the warehouse has dozens of CMB henchmen throughout the rafters and catwalks.
Apparently Asians are invisible...must be magic.
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We flash on the upper class computer guy's face. He's remembering something.
Wow, it's a most un-opportune moment for that.
Apparently Washington (Ice T) is Five Oh, man.
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White cop drives his car through the warehouse door.
The car breaks though about three feet above ground.
Apparently the road outside is at the height of plot.
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Step one, White cop saves the briefcase full of money.
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And apparently White cop is wearing black face.
'Cause he's not racist.
Seriously, 6:50 in the above clip, you tell me Judd Nelson isn't wearing black face makeup.
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At 7:01 could they not afford to use the Wilhelm scream?
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Did you know that when a guy gets shot from above, he flies backwards - even if there aren't any signs of the bullets hitting him?
Oh, and he flies into empty cardboard boxes which break his fall.
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Nino hangs upside down to surprise a cop and slit his throat. Luckily the cop and Nino wear exactly the same size uniform.
Nino is now wearing his worst outfit of the movie.
Instead of running, though, he lies in wait and kills Asian cop without Asian cop making a sound.
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8:59 would also have worked for the Wilhelm scream.
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Seriously...look at 9:04 and tell me whether you think White cop is wearing black face makeup for the raid.
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I can't take this anymore. I'll be back next week to wrap up the last fifteen or so minutes of New Jack City complete with the final fall of Nino Brown, the show of restraint from Ice T, Wise Old Black Man's third and final appearance, and Nino Brown's soliloquy.
I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I bought New Jack City on DVD, a moive that I remember fondly from when it came out back when I was in high school (1991).
I've watched the movie once since I bought it, and I can freely admit that it isn't a good film, but it certainly is an interesting film. So I'm going to take a little bit, rewatch it, and jot down a few thoughts. I'm not sure whether this will end up as a single blog entry or a few, but it'll certainly be rambling.
First up, the trailer...this is going to be the last embedded clip that isn't . Consider yourself warned.
And now to the movie, itself.
From the first strains of the soundtrack, you can tell that this is a film with a message. This isn't a standard urban gangster, throw-away film. We get a flyover of Manhattan, heading to a black man holding a white, three-piece-suit-wearing over the edge of a bridge, threatening to drop him. Throughout the course of the flyover, the soundtrack plays an early-90's rap over the the O'Jay's "For the Love of Money", one of the all-time great bass lines. Radio clips play over the music, informing us that there are too many poor in the country, that there are wealthy preying upon those less fortunate, that the poor are addicted to drugs.
If there was a better way to scream "heavy-handed, message movie coming" as a warning, Mario Van Peebles didn't know it at this point in his filmmaking career.
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And out of a limo steps Wesley Snipes, resplendent in a head-to-toe, royal blue suit with a gold medallion the size of a bread plate on his chain. Snipes tells the upside down business man that "money talks, bull---- runs the marathon, " letting us know that he's a hip cat, someone who knows the old cliches but turns them on their ear with his own style.
Down goes the white man into the river.
And back to the radio voiceover:
The number of addicted infants born in Manhattan-area hospitals has risen steadily over the past few years. Hospital officials say that the care required by these, the smallest victims of the cocaine epidemic, has severly impacted the available resources allocated for pediatric care.
And, just in case you missed that this movie was going to be heavy, we pan down a mural painted on a building. The mural is a simple, single biblical quote:
Don't be decieved
Neither fornicators - nor
Idolaters nor adulterers...
Nor abusers of themselves
With mankind nor
Thieves nor drunkards
Nor revelers nor
Extortioners
Shall inherit the
Kingdom of God
1 Corinthians 6:10
No foreshadowing there, no heavy-handed pushing of the message.
I have absolutely no proof of it but I'm thinking that all of the radio voiceover was recorded for the movie rather than actually recorded off of the radio. There's no way that Van Peebles (the director, in case I hadn't mentioned) found radio quotes this on point to his message.
...
And b'dam...Ice T, the main man himself in all his pre-Law and Order glory, eventually headed to the small screen but here acting for only the third professional (IMDB-listed, anyway) gig - after Fame, Breakin', and Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo (and those had been seven and eight years before NJC). This is the hard man, himself, and the casting of a member of NWA had to be a risk for a Hollywood studio.
Respect, Mario, respect.
Plus, Ice is paired up against a very young Chris Rock. Impressive talent.
...
The camera circles our two actors as they talk through a drug deal, continually tiled at about a ten degree angle, reminding us that this film is not only heavy but edgy, too. We focus on Ice T's black, knit rastafarian hat, his gold chains, his black Adidas Raiders track suit, the Adidas shelltoes, the gigantic gold rings, the back-to-Africa t-shirt. Hell, I'm half expecting a Run DMC video to break out at any time.
...
The chase is on as Rock robs Ice T and the deal goes sour. Our camera switches to overhead, back to a close up, then into another edgy tilt-ten-left-then-rotate-to-ten-right angle as Ice T hurdles down the stairs after Rock and the movie's theme, "New Jack Hustler" by Ice T, himself, plays over the chase.
Suddenly the previously dry streets are wet, and Chris Rock is jumping a fence onto a playground where Ice T shoots him in the heel, bringing him down but spilling the drug deal money into the wind, bringing people from all over.
...
I swear that one person - when he runs over for the money - says "He's kicking his monkey a--".
I'm not making that quote up.
...
Three times we flash back to a well-dressed, black man watching the shooting scene unfold. I wonder if he'll be an important character later on. Maybe if they'd flash back to his stunned face a couple more times, I might have an idea that he was somehow important.
...
We're on a new basketball court with a dozen young black men. The lead is in a velour track suit with a four-inch dollar sign gold medallion. His leather Kangol hat is turned backwards, of course. The others all have bucket hats and Adidas non-velour track suits. His left hand has a dollar-sign ring spanning at least three of his fingers.
Seriously, did Run DMC have a hand in producing this film?
Velour-track-suit makes bets and shoots a twenty-footer for all the money. It took me five watchings, the final one slowed down to a crawl, to tell whether he made the shot or not. The rim doesn't have a new, so it's almost impossible to tell that he swished the shot. Sure, he acts like he made it and collects his winnings, but the actual shot might as well have been missed for the way it looks on screen.
...
We spin right - again, camera tilted ten degrees - to see Wesley Snipes in a Jeep Wrangler, brick-sized cell phone to his ear, the business-man-dropping guy driving. Velour hops in the back, spanning at least fifty feet in the blink of an eye.
...
Montage of the city storefronts...
...
Wesley Snipes is different. His Kangol is turned sideways.
Take that, convention.
Take that, white man.
Take that, Charlie Murphy.
There's a new Darkness in town.
...
And of course Flava Flav is in the movie with a giant clock necklace.
How could he not be?
...
And the rap he's doing samples heavily from the Inspector Gadget theme.
Because it's the 90s.
...
Wesley Snipes drinks Dom Perignon straight from the bottle...with a straw.
Because it's the 90s.
...
We're twelve minutes into the film.
...
Ah, our first chance for a direct soliloquy.
Snipes: Because you got to rob to get rich in the Reagen era.
They running a strange program, y'all. I mean mo' po' and disenfranchised folks than this place has ever seen. And see they try to put this s--- off and act like it don't exist. Velour: Meanwhile, the rich get richer...
Black businessman from earlier scene: ...and the poor don't get a f---ing thing.
Snipes: Times like these, people want to get high...real high and real fast, and this is gonna do it.
(focus in on vial of freebasing cocaine, crack)
...
I think this movie was originally written as a television series proposal.
After Snipes gives his preachings, he lays out the plan: take over The Carter (an apartment building) and turn it into a drug, making, distributing, using Mecca. This plotline eventually wraps up in about thirty or forty minutes, and the movie switches to a different storyline with the same characters, the kind of thing that would have happened with a one-hour, television drama.
Sure the language would have to have been cleaned up drastically (NJC is all about the ). Maybe this plotline would actually have worked better as the first season story arc. In the movie the takeover of the Carter is about to take like five minutes via montage, but the consolidation of the Carter would be a number of episodes and have a lot more drama involved.
...
Velour is now wearing a tailored suit and killing people in broad daylight on the sidewalk.
...
We get our first visit from the wise old black man who appears at various times throughout the film to decry the actions of Wesley Snipes's Nino Brown character. Here he only looks on disapprovingly as Snipes holds a shotgun to the head of a naked man who is being divested of his control of the Carter's operations.
...
Time for the 'consolidating power montage' with a capella, doo wop "For the Love of Money" being sung by a quintet of black kids on the street corner. The lyrics "don't let money change it" and "all mighty dollar" are emphasized this time.
I'm thinking that "For the Love of Money" could have worked really well as a recurring leitmotif in the NJC television series, sort of the way "Way Down in the Hole" was for The Wire.
...
The gang - Snipes and Velour's gang - is now wearing custom-made clothes. They're sort of a letterman's jacket with leather sleeves and knit main in all black with red, glitter CMB on the back and on the front lapel.
Nothing says 'serious movie' like henchmen dressed alike.
...
Is Wesley Snipes really The Joker?
...
Oh, and some of them have CMB shaved into their afros, too.
Because it's the 90s.
...
Snipes is now wearing a white suit with black t-shirt underneath.
I'm thinking I couldn't pull that off without looking like a moronic Sonny Crockett.
...
And it's winter by the time the montage ends, and there are only three singers in the group. Apparently it's the group Levert, which makes sense because I would have sworn it was one of the O'Jays standing around the burning trash can at the end of the montage. (According to this, one of the O'Jays was a father to two members of Levert.)
...
It's 1989 now. I know because the screen said 1989 at the bottom. No reason for subtlety at this point.
I think the movie said 1986 at the beginning.
Ice T is leaning against a chain link fence outside a playground (probably not the same one as earlier, but maybe), and we zoom in to see a kid pick up a cheap soccer ball from a puddle. The puddle is filled with disposable vials, the same kind that we just saw the CMB (Cash Money Brotherhood) filling with crack in the Carter during the montage.
Seriously, subtlety has no place in this movie.
...
Wise black man is back, and we're on to season two of the series.
He's yelling at a clearly out-of-touch policeman saying that "[He] wants to know how drug pushers could take over an entire apartment building right under your noses."
Wise black man isn't really part of the story at this point. He's just window dressing so Mario Van Peebles (director and now actor, back since Sweet, Sweetback's Bada----- Song) can push past him as the harried police detective who 'gets it' and is willing to fight the drug pushers the right way, the only way they know how. Thankfully Detective Gets It has an Asian assistant detective who can help him out.
Detective Gets It puts down photos of his two choices for officers who will work on his soon-to-be-successful task force: Ice T and Judd Nelson.
Seriously...Judd Nelson.
"These two are trouble," says the Police Commissioner. He might as well have yelled that they're both "loose cannons."
...
Soliloquy #2
Police Commissioner: You and I both know the system wasn't ready for this kind of epidemic. Crack came on the scene and spread like wildfire.
But now I got the Mayor...and the governor on my back. I need some results...Fast!
You get me Nino Brown (Wesley Snipes). Forget Paretti (Nelson) and Appleton (Ice T), the risk's too high.
Van Peebles: With all due respect sir, I mean you still don't get it. You're talking about a war out there that we're losing, and you're not gonna give me what I need to win.
Now I need some cops who know these streets. I need some New Jack cops to take down a New Jack gangster.
...
A motorcycle pulls up. The kickstand kicks down. The jeans are rolled up but not pegged. The hobnail boots are worn heavily at the toe. The laces aren't tied.
Hell, it's John Frickin' Bender.
I swear that Judd Nelson walked into this movie wearing the same boots that he last had on as John Bender in The Breakfast Club. Are we supposed to believe that Nick Paretti is some kind of grown-up John Bender?
We'll see in our next installment of Pardon our ramblings: New Jack City...
(Please read the last couple of parts if nothing else. I know it's long. Feel free to skip the beginning; they're just ramblings. The later part actually turns into something I'm kind of proud of.)
The shooting of Gabrielle Giffords on Saturday has been an interesting newsmaker.
The misreporting of the incident to initially include the Congresswoman's death was understandable in light of the likely chaos at the scene as well as the proliferation of amateur newsreporters via cellphone, twitter, YouTube, and the rest of Web 2.0.
I've actually been very happy not to have seen any sort of amateur video of the incident posted on YouTube...yet. It's amazing that in our era of constant internet connectivity, omnipresent cellphone cameras, and unstoppable media leakage that no one has posted this video. I will be even happier if no video of the incident exists or at least is ever posted online.
My CORE (our advisory students) today asked a number of really interesting questions about the incident. Following our daily announcements, a separate announcement was made asking for a moment of silence for the six people who were killed in the incident. After the announcement, I asked how many of my fifteen students knew about the event. About half did, and we had a good discussion about the facts of the case for about ten minutes.
TheDailyWh.at covered the event via continual updates on their initial post. I know I'm newish to the whole TheDailyWh.at thing, but they aren't one to give most news stories more than passing mention. They aren't a news agency. To me, the fact that they covered the event was surprising.
Much of the discussion after the incident focused on the increasingly angry and violent tone of our political discourse and how this might have contributed to the likelihood of such an attack. On the surface this seems very reasonable and relevant. I'm not sure that, upon further investigation, however that this connection should be automatically made. The shooter - I'll say allegedshooter because the legal convention deems that I must label him thusly until conviction thought the idea of anyone but Jared Lee Loughner being convicted of this seems ludicrous - seems to be entirely unhinged.
His YouTube videos are nothing if not paranoid, and what little we know about the young man does not suggest someone driven to the brink by political decisions and rational if angry and vitriolic debate so much as a modern day Travis Bickle or Jack D Ripper, a man who has taken the smallest nuggets of political ramblings and allowed them to fester and foment within an obviously twisted mind until the only 'rational' response was the kill the enemy wherever they were to be found and identified.
The crazed actions of one man do not mean that an entire society's actions should be condemned. Yes, we do need to shift our political - and non-political discourse - into a more civil direction. While I disagree with Glenn Beck and Bill O'Reilly and Rush Limbaugh and Sarah Palin, turning them into demagogues and demons isn't any more appropriate a response than is their blind, angry lashings out. Better, instead, to take the routes of Stephen Colbert and Tiny Fey in turning them into punchlines. Humor will always win more converts than will vitriol.
Thankfully, very few people have reacted positively to the shooting.
One online comic retailer, however, posted a link to the news story in a forum on what appears to be his personal blog. He headlined the post "1 down, 534 to go" referring to the combined number of Senators and US Representatives. (See the post cached if, as I did earlier, you have trouble seeing the original post.) In the post, he appears to be endorsing the armed attacking if not outright killing of members of our government. The post was linked to from Comics Alliance, and that's how I found out about it.
The poster in question - Travis Corcoran - is the proprietor of Heavy Ink, and online comic distributor. Corcoran runs a very political blog in which he openly advocates for the right of the people to bring up arms against their oppressors, oppressors in the name of the American government. After the furor that the "1 down" post raised, Corcoran posted an entry clarifying his political beliefs. In it, Corcoran admits that his post was intentionally callous but that he does not endorse the shooting of politicians because...
I think that today, there is little or no serious prospect for rolling back government by taking up arms. That, alone, disqualifies the idea of a revolution in 2011.
...a position that he bases on his Catholic beliefs and a Vatican catechism on Just War (to which he incorrectly links - corrected link here, scroll to 2309).
Admirably, Corcoran has allowed a discussion of his positions on a Heavy Ink forum. Equally admirably, the tone of that discussion has been absolutely respectful and a spectacular example of how intelligent, rational discourse can be held over an issue that could very well devolve into the sort of violent name calling that has been so recently decried in the media.
I highly recommend reading the forum discussion to see how well discussions can be held when everyone involved takes the high road but is still willing to state their case.
Thank you to Travis Corcoran, Comics Alliance, Heavy Ink, and most especially to Heavy Ink's forum writers for inadvertently pointing out such a spectacular example of high-minded discourse.
The original title of this post was "If ever a boycott were in order", and my intent was to eventually point out the hateful writings of Mr Corcoran and discuss the consequences that a person's choice to make their private views very public can have on their professional lives (something of which I am constantly aware as I write this blog every day), but as I read the Heavy Ink forum, I felt my disappointment with Mr Corcoran's espoused beliefs lifting as his customers (many now more properly titled former customers) remained rational and friendly while putting forth their opinions.
I don't take advantage of Heavy Ink's services and likely would choose not to after reading Mr Corcoran's missives. In spite of my turning of this post into something more positive than I may have initially intended, please do remember that our greatest weapon in protesting or disagreeing with the merchants who service us is our purchasing power. If you firmly believe strongly that your merchants are doing wrong - politically, economically, racially, whatever-ly - do your due diligence and research, inform them of your views and your intent to take your business elsewhere, give them an opportunity to right their actions, and if they choose not to change, speak with your wallet and take your business elsewhere.
It's been a rough year or so at Princeton. Since last winter, we've lost three students - two seniors to car accidents (last school year) and one this past weekend. The short story - and I don't know many more details - is that the student had an asthma attack on Wednesday evening and was taken to the hospital where he was in critical condition with limited - if any - brain function until he passed away Saturday evening. We'd gotten an initial report on Thursday morning from our principal who stated at the time that they had pulled the young man's schedule from our computer system, telling us that things weren't likely to get any better without him actually telling us exactly that.
I've taught fourteen years now - just starting my fifteenth year - and can remember most of those years without a current student passing away during the school year. I was speaking to one of my students from last year, another junior-to-be last Thursday and told him that when he asked if this was normal. He didn't say it with any pleading but just with a kind of simple questioning, trying to figure out if what he'd seen was what every high school student sees.
It's not. It's been a very rough streak for Princeton's students this past year, and it's been something that's been oddly distant from me because I haven't known any of the students at all. Ryan - who passed last fall - was someone who photo I'd taken a few times at a football game. Guadalupe - who passed in the spring - wasn't anyone I knew at all, couldn't even place a face or find a photo of her. Jovante - who passed this weekend - was someone I'd spoken to in the hallway a few times but whose name didn't mean anything to me until Calen reminded me of a story about his involvement in Pasta for Pennies during his freshman year.
I hope that he and his family and teachers won't mind me telling the one story that I knew of Jovante here. If they do, I apologize in advance. That year we had an incentive for the top freshman class. The top freshman class got to join us at a pizza party that would have two other classes there. We were always thrilled to reward the frosh because we always seemed to see those kids again as leaders of the campaign throughout their time at Princeton. That year, there were two classes competing strongly for the top spot, but their competition was a friendly one. The two teachers pushed their respective classes forward but shared every opportunity, splitting store collection opportunities.
On the final day, the two teachers' classes were neck and neck, and Jovante brought in a donation that would have pushed his class ahead at the last moment. The teachers got together and asked Jovante for permission to split his donation between the classes so that the two classes would end up in a perfect tie - the same amount raised by the same number of students. He agreed, and the two classes both earned the pizza party.
This would've been Jovante's junior year. He would've been in my chemistry class.
I'll miss getting to know him. Easily the oddest part of this passing for me is that it was news, not the kind of news that says "local high school student in critical condition" but the kind of news that says "son of famous athlete is in critical condition". For those of you who aren't Princeton people, Jovante was Ickey Woods's son, so Jovante's passing was local news and even - as the screen cap at the top of this post shows - small national news. I was shocked to see the headline on the side of the ESPN homepage on Sunday.
And I don't like that it was news.
I understand that some events like this - another local student passed away this past week when his car flipped as he was driving 130 miles per hour on the interstate - are news. They shut down the interstate. They intrigue people. They serve as warnings.
This passing was tragic and random. Jovante had an asthma attack. He was an athlete. He was healthy. He hadn't done anything wrong. And he's gone.
That isn't news, and I didn't like seeing it covered. Even though the coverage was tasteful - the Enquirer's series of articles and ESPN'spair - it felt wrong. This was a kid in my school. This wasn't someone who gets mentioned on ESPN's website.
But he was. The first day of school wasn't bad - especially considering the loss that we suffered over the weekend. I saw a number of shirts with Jovante's name or football number, a few haircuts with Jovante's number carved into them, a few folders with Jovante's name. The students had a few places around school where they could write memorial messages, and we heard that there will likely be a memorial held at the school in a couple of weeks.
A few years ago, we had a teacher - the boys basketball coach - pass away suddenly overnight. I wasn't at school the next day, but I heard a number of stories about how tough a day that was.
We've gotten a new principal since then, and while I don't always agree with the decisions he makes, he's sadly becoming really good at helping our school grieve. In every case, he's been very proactive, opening the school over the weekend to let the kids start grieving together as soon as possible. We've worked with the families to hold public memorials or to assist in any way that we could while making sure to respect the families' wishes.
I hate that we're getting good at this. I haven't attended either grieving session - this weekend for Jovante or last winter for Ryan. These weren't my students. These weren't people I knew.
The closest I've come to helping with the grieving was a few years ago at Joey's funeral (I mentioned it in a post at the time). I remember feeling absolutely helpless to help my students - and Joey was one of mine, the mourners were mine - in any way other than to be there, to grieve with them.
This time I'm helping by offering stability, normalcy, a regular school day. It's probably a cop out because it's the same thing I'd be doing even if nothing had happened this weekend.
It's tough for me, in particular, because special education is something that I largely see from the outside. My classes - honors and advanced placement chemistry - tend not to be heavily populated with special needs students. Add that to the fact that I'm a school success story - National Merit, good tester, smart kinda guy - who never had an inkling of needing special services. All in all, every single thing that I'm about to say could be dismissed with a hearty "well, yeah, but you wouldn't understand."
And that would entirely correct.
Yet, I head once more into the breech, dear friends, once more.
I've been saying for years that special education will be the death of public education in this country.
I work in - and we (American students, at least) were each educated in - a system of mass production. Raw materials enter my classroom twenty or thirty at a time. I apply a fairly standard curiculuum to each blob of developing brain matter, hoping to impart the same knowledge to all twenty or so of them at the the same time and in the same way. At the end of the year, my classroom pops out twenty quasi-identical widgets ready for the next step in the processing line (their junior year, senior year, freshman year in college).
It's a method designed for maximum efficiency - one person making twenty widgets in a single go. No need or time to really differentiate anything, no real incentive to adjust anything other than what I'm doing from time to time as the line boss directs. Sure, there will be a certain amount of raw material waste as not every widget comes off the line stamped and educated to perfection, but even the most off-blueprint widgets have a home somewhere out in the world.
Then, along comes the special education movement, the idea that some of the brain blobs need to be treated differently, that they can achieve the same level of widget perfection, but that they are just a further into the raw state of things when they come to me. This means I have to invest a little more time, have to adjust my teaching a little more, have to monitor these certain brain blobs a little more closely.
And this doesn't fit well in the mass production model of education. No longer am I able to successfully widgetify twenty or so brain blobs as once because this one takes a little more time than the others. No longer am I able to be as efficient - producing the maximum number of working widgets with the minimum time and money invested - because some of the brain blobs take more of my time.
A factory education model runs entirely antithetical to a special education society. If our educational system had been a little more woodwright's shop and a little less Henry Ford, then things might be a little different.
Why do we have special education?
My general understanding - and I'll admit that I've never seen this written anywhere, it's entirely my conjecture - is that somehow we're saying that certain people come to school behind and need a little help in catching up. Some of the reasons for that catching up need seem entirely reasonable to me - blindness, head trauma, radioactive spider bite - but some of the reasons for special education just seem like poor home training.
The boy who won't do his homework...the girl who doesn't seem able to control her mouth...the boy who throws tantrums at the age of fifteen...the student who was never trained to appreciate education so won't do the work needed to see the rewards. How are those justifications for employing a new person to do nothing more than do the home training that never got done at home?
I will admit that I struggle sometimes seeing the necessity for special education services when the disability is not readily visible. The blind student, the epileptic student, these are disabilities that I can see, that I simply cannot doubt.
The student with anxiety, depression, ADHD, disorganization are students that I often find myself wondering why they need services. I don't mean to doubt the veracity of these conditions - at least not the veracity of the existance of these conditions within the population - merely to state that I often find myself wondering whether these conditions really exist within the students that I see.
I know that there are people with far more expertise than I - psychologists, counselors, special education specialists, medical doctors - who are able to diagnose these conditions, but I wonder how many of the conditions are excuses for a lack of training that these young people received in their very young, most early formative stages.
ADHD? Maybe you just weren't given tasks that occupied you. Maybe you spent too much time in front of hyperactive, jump-cut-filled television programs as a wee bairn.
Disorganization? Don't ask me the proper, clinical term - I just know that I have had students whose primary symtoms came out to me simply as disorganization. He would do assignments - according to parents and counselors, anyway - only to never turn the assignments in, having simply lost or forgotten them. Are we really saying that this student is somehow crippled? Disabled? Because he was messy? Because he was forgetful?
I admit freely that I find myself wondering whether many of these conditions couldn't have been more effectively dealt with by the parents at a younger age. Wondering whether these diagnoses aren't simply admissions of poor parenting.
I had a student once whose condition was "weak wrists."
The student was allowed to see another student's notes from class. He wasn't to be penalized for his poor penmanship. He was allowed to have his parents scribe his assignments from home.
I'll admit that I haven't a clue as to how you measure the strength of wrists, but I always did wonder how this "weak wristed" student could manage to be a starting pitcher on our school baseball team in spite of his 'disability'.
I know I'm probably of a very old school mindset here, but I so often wish that I could simply stand up at some of these meetings and say "Your kid isn't good at science." or "Your kid isn't very smart." or even just "Your kid isn't honors smart."
"Lots of people aren't, and they're doing just fine. They end up as store managers, solid workers, hell, teachers in this building."
"Just because your kid isn't going to get a National Merit Scholarship or isn't going to be the valedictorian doesn't frickin' matter."
"Let him find his way in the world and offer him help where he needs it, but get him the heck out of the honors science class because he's drowning. There's no shame in being really good at some things and not so good at others. This is the way of the world."
"Few of us can be outstanding at everything. Maybe your kid's skills are in playing soccer, singing, making music, throwing a baseball. It doesn't mean he's disabled just because his science skills don't his skills in other areas."
I had a girl in class whose disability was that she was really smart in all areas but one.
Her tested ability levels in math and science were outstanding, 99th percentile kind of stuff.
Her tested ability levels in English - particularly in the writing part of the game - was in the 70th percentile, above average but not phenomenally so.
She was on an IEP (individualized education plan) because he writing skills weren't the equal of her math and science skills.
So what?
So she didn't write so well. Why does that mean she should get twice the time on tests as the kid who is just average - hell, slightly above average - across the board?
I remember her counselor telling me - us, probably, there were seven teachers at the meeting - saying that the qualification for special services came about because one of her ability levels was drastically below her other ones, that no matter that he one was still in the 'above average' category, that skill being below her other skills made her a special education student.
To me, a spike in one ability doesn't mean special education, it means gifted...just in one area.
Why does talent in one area have to mean disability in the other areas?
I could never do the job of the special education professionals in our building.
I especially could never do the job of the special education folks working with the severely handicapped, the mentally retarded (I apologize for not knowing the correct current term), the non-verbal, the wheelchair bound students.
I love my job, love working almost exclusively with the smart kids, the good kids, the ones with whom I have to worry about cheating and SATs and APs and calling home because they aren't doing their homework.
I never have to worry about taking one of them into the shower to clean them up after they've soiled themselves. I never have to worry about guiding them by hand through the hallway during the bells because otherwise they will grab onto any person who passes by. I never have to wait patiently for them to construct a sentence using a word board, one picture at a time before the computer will enunciate their words for them.
I also never have to worry about the murderous, the violent, the unstable, the abusive and the abused. These are all taken care of far from my door. For good or for ill, I simply never see those folks except as they pass by my door on the way to lunch or to Mr O's room,
I know that special education is too expensive for us.
In the past decade, the special education population at Princeton High School has sky rocketed from 4% to nearly 20% this year. That mean one in five of our students are somehow deemed as unable to perform without assistance.
That means in my typical class of 20 or 25, there should be 4 or 5 students who are legally entitled to more of my time, more of our school's money than are the other fifteen or twenty.
It's a problem financially, a big problem financially, because it means that 20% of our population is taking up a far bigger proportion of our resources than 20%. There are separate federal funds to support this extra outlay, but it's not like that money comes out of thin air. Somewhere along the line, it's coming from the same pie.
And when people look at schools and say that we're paid too much, the we spend too much, that our building are too opulent, we need to point out that we are doing exactly what we're told to do from above, from the government, from the people who vote for the government.
And that government says that the moment a student is labeled as needing an IEP or a 504 plan, they are entitled to more services which are more expensive, and we don't have a lick of choice in the matter.
Not that I'm sure we should.
With all that being said, with my very solid dose of skepticism, I can't imagine how it must feel as a parent to realize that your child is not - and maybe cannot - be ready to be independent in the world, to think that the only way my child could ever succeed is with drastic help beyond that which most people get.
Especially, if that knowledge made me confront the fact that perhaps I made a poor choice of mates (nature) or that I had done a poor job of raising my child (nurture).
No, I'm not buying Beatles Rock Band today. I'm probably not buying it at all.
I've got Guitar Hero III for the PS2, and I haven't played that in like six months. I got through the easy setting and like four songs of medium and just don't have any interest in going further. So I'm thinking that looking to buy another game in the series wouldn't be a great decision.
I doubt it would be a decision that I would regret or anything, just not something that I feel the need to do.It's those regrets that I'm here to ramble about today.
See, the thing is that I don't have them.
I just don't.I know there are people who look back on their roads taken or not taken and wish that they'd headed down the other path, but I'm just not one of those folks.
I'm happy with where my life is, and I know tat where I am - who I am - is a compilation of every single decision that I've made to get me here. If any one of those had been made differently - a street crossing made instead of avoided, a word spoken when I instead chose to stay silent (or, more likely, the opposite), a cliff jumped from - then something would have changed.
The change might've been minor, changing a memory or a single neural connection in my brain. The change might've been significant, having never gone to Scotland, having never landed at Princeton, getting hit by a bus. Even the minor things, however, could have lead to a hundred different changes down the road, and I could've been an entirely different person leading an entirely different life.Sure, there are things that I look back on and kind of wish that I would have done differently because I think I took the road less entertaining or less fun, but I don't in any way actually regret my decisions.
One that pops into my brain was my decision - not really a conscious one - as I was in Scotland to date two women, both Americans in the same program that I was on.
Oh, I enjoyed my time spent with both of them - one relationship ended by me (badly handled, I'm sorry to say) and one ended by the girl (not The Girl, just the girl I was dating at the time). I have no regrets about the relationships themselves - maybe wish I would've been a little quicker and more decisive about ending the second one - just kind of wish that I'd gotten to know a lady who didn't have the same background as I did.
Plus, now I have no clue what the Scottish lassies do to woo a man.There are a couple of other - non-Scottish - incidents when I look back on them and realize that I just might not have noticed that I had a different route to take.
There was a time in high school when I went with ColdNorthGamer to a girl's house, a friend of a girl that he was then starting to date. I knew it was going to be just the four of us - Gamer and his girl, me and a volleyball player from a neighboring school. In retrospect, I realize that I probably was supposed to be some sort of wingman. I have to admit that I had no clue at the time. Not that I've got much game now, but at least I'd like to think that I could entertain te girl a little more directly than I did that night watching videos.
A similar situation happened once at Wabash - weirdly sort of involving Gamer again. It was my freshman year, and none of my friends had joined me in choosing to matriculate to Wabash. A number of them had chosen, however, to attend Purdue, and a group of them had found a way to borrow a car and drive down to see me in Crawfordsville - or they were driving back from somewhere or something. Either way, I was hanging out at an all-campus party waiting for my friends.
As I was waiting, a trio of girls - rare enough on an all-male campus - came up to me asking if I could direct them to the Lambda Chi house, my fraternity house. I happily obliged, stepping to the doorway and pointing down the street toward our house. One of the girls asked if I'd be willing to walk them that way, it being dark or something - memory fades, admittedly. I declined because I was where my friends were supposed to meet me.
When I mentioned the story to one of the upperclassmen the next day, they pointed out that I just might have had a different road to take there, that perhaps I again hadn't noticed that an opportunity might have been presenting itself to me and I'd just let the doorway slip right on by.I have a number of other times where I made decisions and had to live with the pretty unpleasant consequences of those decisions, but I don't have any regrets on the decisions that I made. If I'd made them any differently, it's entirely possible that all of my roads from that point forward would've been taken in some sort of alternate universe, one in which I'd attended IU instead of Wabash, parked my car in the garage instead of on the driveway, waited a day to drive back for senior comprehensive exams, not hit Zack Bonifer with a lunchbox in fifth grade, simply closed Brent's email.One thing I certainly don't regret is starting this blog.
New title for any ramblings. From here on out, any ramblings will be titled Pardon our ramblings: and then the topic of the ramblings.
Rants just might be retitled to Pardon our rants:, too.
Feel free to avoid them. It's your dime.I've been thinking a lot about consequences lately.
Every decision that we make...every decision that we don't make...they all have consequences, both positive and negative. There is simply no way around it.Last Friday, two of our students -
I say our students because they're Princeton students and because they're honors students. I had one of the two in class a couple of years ago, the third of three sibling, both of the older that I knew far better. He wasn't the best student I've ever had or the one to whom I was the closest. The other wasn't a student I had, but he was a student who had helped out with Pasta for Pennies last year and seemed like a nice guy. He probably is.
Two of our students showed up at a road football game drunk - or high - or drunk and high.
I wasn't there. I can't say for certain. My knowledge pretty much all comes third hand - from a person who was there and saw them get caught, from a teacher who heard from a teacher, from somebody else.
Either way, they were certainly caught and might've admitted to being drunk - or high - or drunk and high. At this point, they're both suspended for ten days pending expulsion. It's pretty likely that they'll serve their full ten days and then come back to school. If other similar situations are any indication, they'll have to do some diversionary training - out-patient, class kind of stuff.
This week I heard some students talking about the fact that it wasn't fair because other students had been at the same game in the same condition but hadn't gotten caught, that the now-suspended students told the truth when asked about their condition and got in more trouble because they admitted their transgressions.
It's a tough time of life, the teenage years. It's a time when you look to the world to be just, to be fair, to be right, and when it doesn't live up, you curse the world, you look for answers, you search. And it's the time to do that. I have no problems with that.
Most of the teenagers that I work with have - generally - their crap together and are really in training to be adults. They've passed the simple tests of getting to high school, navigating youthful rituals, and they're ready to see how the world starts treating them as young adults. They're ready to see if the world will act the way that they want it to, they way they think it should when they start making their decisions.
And sometimes it doesn't.
Which sucks.
But I feel like there's a bigger lesson here, something about consequences.
Every time you do something, we can reasonably judge what the consequences will be. And every time we do something, we need to look at how likely those consequences are.
And every time we do something, we need to accept the consequences if and when they come.
Yes, those students likely looked at their actions and saw a possible outcome in which they broke the rules - the laws - and then went to the game, enjoyed themselves, were hidden by their friends, and headed home without any significant negative consequences.
They also likely - whether consciously or not - saw a different outcome in which they broke the same rules, went to the same game, enjoyed themselves equally, weren't hidden quite as well by their friends, and found themselves facing expulsion and an extra year at PHS. Added to that consequence, they could have seen themselves suspended from all sports for the year. They could have seen themselves disappointing their friends and teammates, their parents, their teachers. They could have seen themselves doing damage to their reputations - something that will likely stay with them far longer than any sports or academic suspension ever could.
They should even have seen a far worse consequence in which their choices lead to deaths on the road to or from the football game - held half a hour or more from the school.
Yes, those last two sets of consequences were less likely than the first. They were far more likely to get away with their decisions than they were to get caught. But the cost of the consequences were are simply far to high to make the decision they made.
If they're lucky, the long-term consequences with which they'll come away is a lesson learned about bad decisions and their consequences.Every time I choose to write for you instead of cutting my grass, instead of grading my papers, instead of setting up for a lab, instead of going to bed at a reasonable hour, I accept consequences.
And I would like to think that I'm far enough along in my understanding of that fact to not place blame for those consequences on anyone's shoulders but my own.
Every time I stop by The Cone on the way home for a pumpkin milkshake (which is, admittedly, far too often), I recognize that my consequences will come in the form of breathing more heavily than I should when cutting the grass, a bellyache when I don't tell The Girl about the milkshake and proceed to eat a normal full dinner like I hadn't eaten since my 9:30am lunch, likely a shortened lifespan, heartburn, clogged arteries.
And yet I keep stopping.
Just because I know the consequences - sometimes when I know that those consequences are ridiculously horrific and horribly likely to happen - doesn't mean I always make the right choice.
It just means that I don't get to pass the buck when and if those consequences come to pass.
I made decisions all the time knowing full well that the consequences are too high, that the consequences are too likely, and I in some cases I keep making the same decisions.Everyone - big, small, rich, poor - has consequences.
A new car built by my company leaves somewhere traveling at 60 mph. The rear differential locks up. The car crashes and burns with everyone trapped inside. Now, should we initiate a recall? Take the number of vehicles in the field, A, multiply by the probable rate of failure, B, multiply by the average out-of-court settlement, C. A times B times C equals X. If X is less than the cost of a recall, we don't do one.
Sometimes that weighing of the consequences are really well worded.A world without consequences isn't a world in which I would want to live...
We ignore negative consequences
because the consequences are too far in the future to seem real
because the consequences are too unlikely
because the consequences are too small to worry about
because we're stupid and think that just because somebody else got away with it, we'll get away with it, too
because the positive consequences (often guaranteed) outweigh the negative consequences (often hoped to not be guaranteed)
It's amazing how often we don't realize just what the consequences of our actions are likely to be.
Every time Calen and I work with students at a Pasta for Pennies event, we try to impress upon them the consequences of their actions. Every time we do anything, we have to recognize that anything with a possible consequence of us losing our campaign - every time a student says "oh, send the black kid to the cops with a gun" (it was a starter's pistol for the race, I swear)...every time a band behaves badly in rehearsals...every time one of our students is anything but over polite to a possible donor...every time we push a little too hard on a teacher to get his or her class involved - we risk losing the entire campaign, having to scale it back, not being able to help the LLS as much as we always have been able to.
And those consequences simply are too high to ever risk, no matter how unlikely they are.I know a teacher who admitted to me once that she missed doing some of the illegal things that she did when she was in college. She specifically mentioned partaking of a particular illegal substance.
She doesn't miss it often, but she admitted that if there wasn't the possible consequence of losing her livelihood - her teaching license, her job, her profession - she probably would continue to partake.
But she knows that the consequences are far too high, no matter how unlikely those consequences may be.
A times B times C is way higher than X for her.
She knows that.
She doesn't regret her decision.
She doesn't lament her decision.
She doesn't blame someone else.
She accepts her decision and knows the consequences of that, too.To quote Steve Martin, [f]inally, I can't overstress the importance of having a powerful closing sentence.
