Who knew that your donations to a campaign might be put toward outfitting the candidate in designer duds?!? The headline today read: "RNC Spends Thousands on Palin Clothes" and the article began by revealing that they (the Republican National Committee) have spent over $150,000 in under two months to dress Gov. Palin up for the campaign trail.
To put it in a perspective I can relate to personally, that's more than most teachers earn in a year...maybe two or three times as much.
The campaign issued a statement saying they can't believe that with the serious economic issues facing the country right now people are fussing over pantsuits and blouses, and tried to justify the excessive spending by saying it was always their intention that the clothing "go to a charitable purpose" after the campaign.
So I should feel better that she'll only be wearing the outfits once or twice before passing them on to some other less fortunate soul? What's she going to wear if (or, God help us, when) she becomes Vice President? Her old Alaskan Governor clothes? Or will she borrow something from the infamous emperor of fairy tales when she holds a press conference?
Oh, that's right. She doesn't hold press conferences.
22 October 2008
03 October 2008
If You Do One Thing Today...
With thanks to Leta Joy's blog, which I connect to through Bab's blog...see? That exponential thing is happening already (think Prell commercial). If you care about the election, go to this link and watch THIS!
(I tried to embed the video, but apparently I have not yet attained that level of blogger sophistication...)
I think I have five friends...
(I tried to embed the video, but apparently I have not yet attained that level of blogger sophistication...)
I think I have five friends...
Did Palin's Performance Pass the Test?
That depends on which test you mean...
After last night's vice presidential debate, the buzz among those interviewed as part of post-debate coverage was that Palin had exceeded expectations. Not a hard thing to do when those expectations are set barely an inch above an absolute disaster. What happened to the high standards constantly called for by educators, politicians, and the general public, the high standards espoused by supporters of No Child Left Behind?
Political leanings aside, if we grade Governor Palin's debate performance on the standards used to grade the average essay test or English paper, she hardly earns a passing mark.
Here's how I would score Palin's performance using the criteria by which I evaluate my students' writing:
Voice: she might earn the high marks in this category if I were looking solely to hear her authentic voice. Clearly, in her responses peppered with gems like "heckuva," "doggone," and "you betcha," she was speaking with the voice that we believe to be authentically hers from the few brief unscripted appearances she's made in the past few weeks. I would have to question, however, whether such down home, folksy, and informal remarks -- beginning with her pre-debate question to Biden, "Can I call you Joe?" -- are appropriate fare for a national debate. I mean, come on. If Biden had called her Sarah, who wouldn't have taken him to task for being utterly condescending?
Word Choice: Palin's trademark words --the same ones mentioned above -- earn her a low mark on Diction. I almost felt like I was sitting around Mayberry or eavesdropping on a conversation from one of those good, clean, family-oriented TV shows that were so popular in the 1950's. "You betcha, darlin', now why dontcha just quit frettin' and go on out and have yourself a good ol' time like we do in Alaska?" Is that how she would sit down and give her buddy Vlad in Russia a talking to?
Tone: for snide, sneering attacks on Obama's and Biden's records punctuated with a wrinkle of her nose or a syrupy sweet smile, I give her high marks. On the other hand, at times I wasn't sure if I was listening to a vice presidential candidate or my mother scolding me for coming home after curfew.
Answering the Question: there's no question she'd fail an essay test based on her inability -- or unwillingness -- to respond to the questions asked. Allow me to provide some supporting evidence for this claim:
1) Halfway through Palin's response to the question about her "Achilles heel," I forgot what the original question was and had to ask my husband, who had also forgotten.
2) When asked whether she believes the Vice President is part of the Executive Branch or if she subscribes to Dick Cheney's broader definition of the VP's powers, she gave her opinion (the latter), and then proceeded to discuss her qualifications for VP based on her executive experience as governor of Alaska. A valid segue in a contest of word association, but hardly relevant to the meaning of "Executive" in the context of Gwen Ifill's question.
3) Her response to the question about Iran or Pakistan being the greatest threat to our national security turned into a pandering plea for the pro-Israel vote. Florida, anyone?
4) The time she basically told Gwen and the American people that she didn't want to address whatever subject had been posed by the question; she wanted to (and did) talk about energy (translation: oil).
Overall in this category, an A for redirecting the questions to fit her prepared remarks; an F for staying on topic.
Ideas and Development: for the sake of clarity, I've divided this area into three subtopics.
1) Specifics: the words I (and other English teachers) write most often in the margins of their students' papers are "Be more specific" or the self-referential "Vague." The only time Palin got close to offering any specifics was when she talked about drilling for oil.
2) Repetition: Palin began to recycle her main points not more than 20 minutes into the debate; most noticeable was the repetition of age old catchwords like "raise taxes" and "reform," not to mention her favorite word to describe herself and her running mate: "mav-rick." As I tell my students, asserting the same point repeatedly, even in different words, does not necessarily make it so.
3) Regurgitation: An A+ to Palin's coaches, who spent the past five weeks preparing her in virtual isolation. But if my students spat back textbook answers in the manner that Palin recited her scripted answers, their grades would surely suffer. Is critical thinking not still held to be one of the cornerstones of an American education?
Conventions: Let's start with punctuation. Yes, it still counts in speeches, and it was notably lacking in some of Palin's 90-second responses. There is a difference between a long sentence that employs multiple clauses or parallel structure and a run-on. Also, too, where redundancy is concerned, Palin tended to repeat herself and say the same thing more than once throughout the night during the whole debate.
Presentation: The one place I'd say Governor Palin earned an A+. She looked sharp and played to the camera like a pro, which I would expect of anyone with telejournalism experience on their resume. But could she do as well speaking extemporaneously, without a script or five weeks of coaching, which her duties as Vice President would likely require?
Her final grade? A "C" by the most generous of standards; a borderline pass based on NCLB standards. But then we've been here before.
After last night's vice presidential debate, the buzz among those interviewed as part of post-debate coverage was that Palin had exceeded expectations. Not a hard thing to do when those expectations are set barely an inch above an absolute disaster. What happened to the high standards constantly called for by educators, politicians, and the general public, the high standards espoused by supporters of No Child Left Behind?
Political leanings aside, if we grade Governor Palin's debate performance on the standards used to grade the average essay test or English paper, she hardly earns a passing mark.
Here's how I would score Palin's performance using the criteria by which I evaluate my students' writing:
Voice: she might earn the high marks in this category if I were looking solely to hear her authentic voice. Clearly, in her responses peppered with gems like "heckuva," "doggone," and "you betcha," she was speaking with the voice that we believe to be authentically hers from the few brief unscripted appearances she's made in the past few weeks. I would have to question, however, whether such down home, folksy, and informal remarks -- beginning with her pre-debate question to Biden, "Can I call you Joe?" -- are appropriate fare for a national debate. I mean, come on. If Biden had called her Sarah, who wouldn't have taken him to task for being utterly condescending?
Word Choice: Palin's trademark words --the same ones mentioned above -- earn her a low mark on Diction. I almost felt like I was sitting around Mayberry or eavesdropping on a conversation from one of those good, clean, family-oriented TV shows that were so popular in the 1950's. "You betcha, darlin', now why dontcha just quit frettin' and go on out and have yourself a good ol' time like we do in Alaska?" Is that how she would sit down and give her buddy Vlad in Russia a talking to?
Tone: for snide, sneering attacks on Obama's and Biden's records punctuated with a wrinkle of her nose or a syrupy sweet smile, I give her high marks. On the other hand, at times I wasn't sure if I was listening to a vice presidential candidate or my mother scolding me for coming home after curfew.
Answering the Question: there's no question she'd fail an essay test based on her inability -- or unwillingness -- to respond to the questions asked. Allow me to provide some supporting evidence for this claim:
1) Halfway through Palin's response to the question about her "Achilles heel," I forgot what the original question was and had to ask my husband, who had also forgotten.
2) When asked whether she believes the Vice President is part of the Executive Branch or if she subscribes to Dick Cheney's broader definition of the VP's powers, she gave her opinion (the latter), and then proceeded to discuss her qualifications for VP based on her executive experience as governor of Alaska. A valid segue in a contest of word association, but hardly relevant to the meaning of "Executive" in the context of Gwen Ifill's question.
3) Her response to the question about Iran or Pakistan being the greatest threat to our national security turned into a pandering plea for the pro-Israel vote. Florida, anyone?
4) The time she basically told Gwen and the American people that she didn't want to address whatever subject had been posed by the question; she wanted to (and did) talk about energy (translation: oil).
Overall in this category, an A for redirecting the questions to fit her prepared remarks; an F for staying on topic.
Ideas and Development: for the sake of clarity, I've divided this area into three subtopics.
1) Specifics: the words I (and other English teachers) write most often in the margins of their students' papers are "Be more specific" or the self-referential "Vague." The only time Palin got close to offering any specifics was when she talked about drilling for oil.
2) Repetition: Palin began to recycle her main points not more than 20 minutes into the debate; most noticeable was the repetition of age old catchwords like "raise taxes" and "reform," not to mention her favorite word to describe herself and her running mate: "mav-rick." As I tell my students, asserting the same point repeatedly, even in different words, does not necessarily make it so.
3) Regurgitation: An A+ to Palin's coaches, who spent the past five weeks preparing her in virtual isolation. But if my students spat back textbook answers in the manner that Palin recited her scripted answers, their grades would surely suffer. Is critical thinking not still held to be one of the cornerstones of an American education?
Conventions: Let's start with punctuation. Yes, it still counts in speeches, and it was notably lacking in some of Palin's 90-second responses. There is a difference between a long sentence that employs multiple clauses or parallel structure and a run-on. Also, too, where redundancy is concerned, Palin tended to repeat herself and say the same thing more than once throughout the night during the whole debate.
Presentation: The one place I'd say Governor Palin earned an A+. She looked sharp and played to the camera like a pro, which I would expect of anyone with telejournalism experience on their resume. But could she do as well speaking extemporaneously, without a script or five weeks of coaching, which her duties as Vice President would likely require?
Her final grade? A "C" by the most generous of standards; a borderline pass based on NCLB standards. But then we've been here before.
22 September 2008
A Farewell to Summer
Well, it's officially over. Summer, that is. Today at 3:44 p.m., we say goodbye until June 21, 2009 at 5:45 a.m.
Of course, for students and teachers, summer ended nearly a month ago, when the first bell rang on the first day of the new school year. And their anticipation (or perhaps, dread) of that day began sometime in July when the first back-to-school commercials hit the airwaves. Before you know it, those ads will start in mid-June, as soon as the school year ends, kind of like the way Christmas ads begin around Halloween.
And for those who spend their summers, or a good deal of them, poolside, summer ended officially the Tuesday after Labor Day weekend when the pools closed down for the winter months. Never mind that there will still be plenty of days warm enough for a dip in the water...the lifeguards had to get back to school.
And for those who work year round, with only a number of weeks of vacation to last them the whole year, summer is air-conditioning season. They'll know it's not summer anymore when the building's temperature control system switches over to the furnace, especially on those unusually hot days of Indian summer when there's no AC to be had and no windows in the cubicle to open.
For those of us who prefer the more temperate climes of fall and spring to the humid scorchers of mid-summer, it's not such a sad goodbye. Sure, I'll miss going barefoot in the grass, wearing sleeveless shirts and open-toe sandals, doing my morning pages on the front porch, and eating fresh watermelon, strawberries, corn, and tomatoes. But I won't miss mowing the lawn or 90 degree days with 90% humidity.
To those who live for three months in the middle of the year, here's a little reminder of the joys of the other three seasons: in the fall, the changing leaves against a backdrop of blue skies, temperatures in the 70's, and a new fall line-up instead of endless reruns; in the winter, snow days, down comforters, and snuggling up in front of a warm fire; and in the spring, a rainbow of colorful blossoms, cleansing April showers, and (if you're lucky) spring break.
So be sure to dedicate a few moments today to a last hurrah for Summer, whether it be savoring a soft-serve ice cream cone, swinging at the playground, or sneaking outside when nobody's watching for a ten-minute break.
And remember, it's not really good-bye -- it's just so long for now.
Of course, for students and teachers, summer ended nearly a month ago, when the first bell rang on the first day of the new school year. And their anticipation (or perhaps, dread) of that day began sometime in July when the first back-to-school commercials hit the airwaves. Before you know it, those ads will start in mid-June, as soon as the school year ends, kind of like the way Christmas ads begin around Halloween.
And for those who spend their summers, or a good deal of them, poolside, summer ended officially the Tuesday after Labor Day weekend when the pools closed down for the winter months. Never mind that there will still be plenty of days warm enough for a dip in the water...the lifeguards had to get back to school.
And for those who work year round, with only a number of weeks of vacation to last them the whole year, summer is air-conditioning season. They'll know it's not summer anymore when the building's temperature control system switches over to the furnace, especially on those unusually hot days of Indian summer when there's no AC to be had and no windows in the cubicle to open.
For those of us who prefer the more temperate climes of fall and spring to the humid scorchers of mid-summer, it's not such a sad goodbye. Sure, I'll miss going barefoot in the grass, wearing sleeveless shirts and open-toe sandals, doing my morning pages on the front porch, and eating fresh watermelon, strawberries, corn, and tomatoes. But I won't miss mowing the lawn or 90 degree days with 90% humidity.
To those who live for three months in the middle of the year, here's a little reminder of the joys of the other three seasons: in the fall, the changing leaves against a backdrop of blue skies, temperatures in the 70's, and a new fall line-up instead of endless reruns; in the winter, snow days, down comforters, and snuggling up in front of a warm fire; and in the spring, a rainbow of colorful blossoms, cleansing April showers, and (if you're lucky) spring break.
So be sure to dedicate a few moments today to a last hurrah for Summer, whether it be savoring a soft-serve ice cream cone, swinging at the playground, or sneaking outside when nobody's watching for a ten-minute break.
And remember, it's not really good-bye -- it's just so long for now.
05 September 2008
Out of the Mouths of Pit Bulls...
I watched the big speeches of the Democratic Convention last week -- Hillary, (missed Bill for yoga class), Joe Biden, and Obama -- so I thought it was only fair to give the Republican Convention equal time this week. Although I missed Tuesday night's speakers, I tuned in for Guiliani (on the radio as I drove home from yoga), the surprise VP candidate Sarah Palin, and McCain. What follow are a few moments from this week's coverage that stuck with me.
1) Guiliani's dig at the Democrats (or one of many). He took them to task for not mentioning the words "Islamic Terrorists" all week at their convention and mocked them for trying to do what he termed "the politically correct thing." He then went on to wonder out loud what was so bad about calling a spade a spade, since surely the Terrorists deserve that label. (Clue: No, Rudy, I think it has more to do with implying that the whole nation of Islam is comprised of radical terrorists...)
2) "Drill, baby, drill!" The delegates repeated this chant throughout Palin's speech on Wednesday night. What the heck? Screw the environment -- even though it's been widely acknowledged that drilling more won't have any effect on the ridiculously high gas prices at all for at least ten years -- let's drill. So much for conserving our natural resources for future generations. Let's just rape and pillage mother Earth for the immediate gratification of our own selfish needs.
3) Palin's tag line (not at all ad-libbed): "What's the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull? Lipstick." Ha ha. Honestly, after 8 years of Dick Cheney occupying the Vice Presidency, I really don't want another pit bull in that position. I'd be content with a Collie (Lassie would do) or a Saint Bernard, or at most, a German shepherd.
With an all-star line-up of pit bulls preceding him on stage, McCain was able to take a bit more of the high road last night, and I acknowledge him for that. I'd take him over Giuliani any day. But I still prefer the other candidate's message of change.
I just hope that we won't let our junior high instincts take over (see May 19 entry) when we go to the polls in November. I hope we will remember that this is more than a popularity contest -- the war hero vs. the celebrity, the old white guy vs. the young African-American, the pragmatist vs. the idealist. I hope that, in the end, we will make this a contest that is more about issues than personalities.
1) Guiliani's dig at the Democrats (or one of many). He took them to task for not mentioning the words "Islamic Terrorists" all week at their convention and mocked them for trying to do what he termed "the politically correct thing." He then went on to wonder out loud what was so bad about calling a spade a spade, since surely the Terrorists deserve that label. (Clue: No, Rudy, I think it has more to do with implying that the whole nation of Islam is comprised of radical terrorists...)
2) "Drill, baby, drill!" The delegates repeated this chant throughout Palin's speech on Wednesday night. What the heck? Screw the environment -- even though it's been widely acknowledged that drilling more won't have any effect on the ridiculously high gas prices at all for at least ten years -- let's drill. So much for conserving our natural resources for future generations. Let's just rape and pillage mother Earth for the immediate gratification of our own selfish needs.
3) Palin's tag line (not at all ad-libbed): "What's the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull? Lipstick." Ha ha. Honestly, after 8 years of Dick Cheney occupying the Vice Presidency, I really don't want another pit bull in that position. I'd be content with a Collie (Lassie would do) or a Saint Bernard, or at most, a German shepherd.
With an all-star line-up of pit bulls preceding him on stage, McCain was able to take a bit more of the high road last night, and I acknowledge him for that. I'd take him over Giuliani any day. But I still prefer the other candidate's message of change.
I just hope that we won't let our junior high instincts take over (see May 19 entry) when we go to the polls in November. I hope we will remember that this is more than a popularity contest -- the war hero vs. the celebrity, the old white guy vs. the young African-American, the pragmatist vs. the idealist. I hope that, in the end, we will make this a contest that is more about issues than personalities.
25 August 2008
Call Me Professor
It all happened rather suddenly, starting with an email that landed in my box last Tuesday. The director of the Maryland Writing Project forwarded a message about unstaffed sections of English 102 and a handful of other electives to all of us T-C's (teacher consultants, i.e. graduates of the Invitational Summer Institute). The next morning, I sent an email to the English Department Chair expressing my interest and mentioning Barbara's name (at her instruction), and 24 hours later, was offered the job. I signed the contract on Friday morning, ordered books that afternoon, and have a little over a week to prepare a syllabus and be ready to greet my class on Sept. 2.
I'll be teaching one section of English 102 (otherwise known as Freshman Composition) at Towson University this fall. Twenty students, two mornings a week from 8:00 to 9:15 A.M. Yes, it's a dreaded 8:00 class...but it's better than my old start time of 7:25! And, as the department chair reminded me when I went in to fill out paperwork last week, if a student says "I don't want to be in this class anymore," just hand him/her a drop slip and say, "So long!" No obligation to keep students who just don't want to be there, unlike high school protocol.
As I was filling out the requisite paperwork, I came upon a question that asked what "salutation" I preferred. Scanning the choices on the list, which went far beyond the usual Mr./Ms./Mrs., I noticed that Professor was an option. I didn't dare check it at first, thinking there had to be something else I had to do to earn that title, but it turns out that having a Masters degree and teaching a university class is enough. Later on I went to order books, and when the woman assisting me picked up the phone to confirm the order and began, "I have Professor Heller here..." something inside of me lit up. Just like the first few times I heard other people call me Mrs. Heller after the wedding.
Mrs. Heller?
That's Professor Heller to you!
I'll be teaching one section of English 102 (otherwise known as Freshman Composition) at Towson University this fall. Twenty students, two mornings a week from 8:00 to 9:15 A.M. Yes, it's a dreaded 8:00 class...but it's better than my old start time of 7:25! And, as the department chair reminded me when I went in to fill out paperwork last week, if a student says "I don't want to be in this class anymore," just hand him/her a drop slip and say, "So long!" No obligation to keep students who just don't want to be there, unlike high school protocol.
As I was filling out the requisite paperwork, I came upon a question that asked what "salutation" I preferred. Scanning the choices on the list, which went far beyond the usual Mr./Ms./Mrs., I noticed that Professor was an option. I didn't dare check it at first, thinking there had to be something else I had to do to earn that title, but it turns out that having a Masters degree and teaching a university class is enough. Later on I went to order books, and when the woman assisting me picked up the phone to confirm the order and began, "I have Professor Heller here..." something inside of me lit up. Just like the first few times I heard other people call me Mrs. Heller after the wedding.
Mrs. Heller?
That's Professor Heller to you!
19 August 2008
A Bad Day at the Office
I had a really bad writing day last week.
Spectacularly bad.
The Judge (my pet name for the critical voice in my head) was on a tear, thriving on the energy of comparison and scarcity, stoking my self-doubt. So loud was the Judge's ranting that it drove away every other idea that tried to break through to consciousness. In the end, I walked away from my notebook feeling drained and disgusted.
It wasn't until I attempted to relate just how bad my writing had been to my husband later that evening that the revelation hit me: My bad day wasn't a sign that I should drop the pen and never pick it up again. It was just a "bad day at the office." I had plenty of them as a teacher -- days when a lesson plan fell flat, when reviewing the reading felt like slogging through a pit of quicksand, when a student's bad behavior or sour attitude made me want to quit. Why shouldn't the same hold true for the writing life?
Somewhere along the way, I had bought into the fantasy that if I was doing what I loved, there would never be any ups and downs. Just one up after another. It was the Judge at work again. The one who convinces me that everything in life is either good or bad and that the "bad" parts are to be avoided at all costs.
But without those days when the writing is hard, when it feels like the words have to be squeezed through the nib of the pen one letter at a time, how would I develop an appreciation for those blessed days when the muse visits, or even just the ones when days or weeks of revision result in a poem or essay ready for the public eye?
When I sat down to write the next morning, the Judge was silent. My words flowed from the pen to the page in a steady stream, and the bad writing of the day before receded into memory.
Spectacularly bad.
The Judge (my pet name for the critical voice in my head) was on a tear, thriving on the energy of comparison and scarcity, stoking my self-doubt. So loud was the Judge's ranting that it drove away every other idea that tried to break through to consciousness. In the end, I walked away from my notebook feeling drained and disgusted.
It wasn't until I attempted to relate just how bad my writing had been to my husband later that evening that the revelation hit me: My bad day wasn't a sign that I should drop the pen and never pick it up again. It was just a "bad day at the office." I had plenty of them as a teacher -- days when a lesson plan fell flat, when reviewing the reading felt like slogging through a pit of quicksand, when a student's bad behavior or sour attitude made me want to quit. Why shouldn't the same hold true for the writing life?
Somewhere along the way, I had bought into the fantasy that if I was doing what I loved, there would never be any ups and downs. Just one up after another. It was the Judge at work again. The one who convinces me that everything in life is either good or bad and that the "bad" parts are to be avoided at all costs.
But without those days when the writing is hard, when it feels like the words have to be squeezed through the nib of the pen one letter at a time, how would I develop an appreciation for those blessed days when the muse visits, or even just the ones when days or weeks of revision result in a poem or essay ready for the public eye?
When I sat down to write the next morning, the Judge was silent. My words flowed from the pen to the page in a steady stream, and the bad writing of the day before receded into memory.
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