Monday, August 28, 2006

The poor get richer

It's official. The check arrived today. I'm now $6,013.30 richer, thanks to Vincent Mottola.

It's the ultimate in money management. I mean, sure, I could have just set aside some money in my checking account every month, or I could have opened up a savings account, or I could have invested in the stock market --but-- I decided to pay someone else's car insurance for two and a half years. The choice was clear.

To celebrate the check's arrival, I ate a pound and a half of ribeyes (that would be six, yes SIX, small ribeye steaks).

My tentative "to spend" list:

* about $1,200 for a new Mac Book laptop
* $2,000 towards my car loan
* $2,000 in some kind of savings or investment
* $15 for air fresheners for Mark's apartment

Sunday, August 27, 2006

The Final Year Begins

In about nine and a half hours, my final year at Garfield will begin.

I've spent the last eight years of my life there (Nancy, that's 8/30, or 4/15, of my life), long enough to see former students head off to college. Long enough to have their younger sisters and brothers, some of whom I've known since they were preschoolers, walk through my door as students. I've worn many, many metaphorical hats (and a few actual hats, all SAL of course).

I read a fabulous book over the summer by one of my favorite authors, Jonathan Kozol. It's titled The Shame of the Nation, mostly about how, 52 years after the Supreme Court's Brown v. Board of Education decision, America's schools are as segregated as ever and, consequently, white children and children of color have wildly different schooling experiences. The quote below comes from that book. I don't want to spend a bunch of time explaining what it has to do with anything, because I need to go to bed and be well rested for my 48 new kiddos tomorrow, but you're all smart. You can figure it out.

What, we may ask, is missing from this purely economic explanation of the motives that bring thousands of unselfish men and women into public schools each year and lead many to remain within these schools and classrooms during the full course of their career? One thing it lacks is any recognition of the role of altruistic and protective feelings, empathetic fascination, love of children, love of learning in itself, with all the mysteries and all the miracles and all the moments of transcendence. Teachers often cry on the last day of school. Is this because their paychecks are so small? Is it because they think themselves to be "the lowliest of bureaucrats" in Mr. Chubb and Mr. Moe's unfortunately chosen words? Or is it because they know that they will miss those children terribly?

Highlights from Jonathan Kozol's The Shame of the Nation

A must read. Here, my favorite excerpts:

But history teaches us that every good idea contains the seeds of its own heresy and "much of what is going on in the name of standards and accountability verges on the heretical... We are giving kids less and calling it more," "limiting what we teach" to what "we can easily measure." (pg. 131)

There are hundreds of principals in our urban schools who are authentic heroes, few of whom would emulate the posturing and bluster of Joe Clark and most of whom do not receive the notice and support that they deserve. But there is a difference between recognizing the accomplishments of able school officials and the marketing of individuals as saviors of persistently unequal systems. As with the hero children, so too with the hero principals, there is this inclination to avert our eyes from the pervasive injuries inflicted upon students by our acquiescence in a dual system and to convey the tantalizing notion that the problems of this system can be superseded somehow by a faith in miracles embodied in dynamic and distinctive individuals. I don't believe that this is true. I don't believe a good school or a good school system can be built on miracles or on the stunning inteventions of dramatically original and charismatic men or women. I don't think anyone really believes this. (pg. 200)

Playing games of musical chairs with children's lives, when half the chairs are broken and the best chairs are reserved primarily for people of his class and race, is cynical behavior in a president. (pg. 204)

"Before we gave up on integration, we should have tried it," wrote Jack White, a columnist for Time magazine, nearly ten years ago. (pg. 216)

"Even many black leaders," notes educatoin analyst Richard Rothstein, weary of the struggle over mandatory busing programs to achieve desegregation, "have given up on integration," arguing, in his words, that "a black child does not need white classmates in order to learn." So education policies, instead, he says, "now aim to raise scores in schools that black children attend."

"That effort," he writes, "will be flawed even if it succeeds." The 1954 decision, he reminds us, "was not about raising scores" for children of minorities "but about giving black children access to majority culture, so they could negotiate it more confidently... For African Americans to have equal opportunity, higher test scores will not suffice. It is foolhardy to think black children can be taught, no matter how well, in isolation and then have the skills and confidence as adults to succeed in a white world where they have no experience."

"We adhere, as though to a raft, to those ideas which represent our understanding. For a vested interest in understanding is more preciously guarded than any other treasure. It is why men react, not infrequently with something akin to religious passion, to the defense of what they have so laboriously learned." (pg. 268)

If the differentness of children of minorities is seen as so extreme as to require an entire inventory of "appropriate" approaches built around the proclamation of their absolute uniqueness from the other children of this nation, it begins to seem not only sensible but maybe even ethically acceptable to isolate them as compeltely as we can, either in the segregated schools they now attend or else in wholly separate tracks within those schools in which some mix of economic class and race may now and then prevail.

The insistence upon nothing less than a distinctive pedagogy for these children makes it easier, of course, for parents of the middle class and upper middle class to put away for good whatever inclinations some initially may have to see their children educated in the same schools as black and Hispanic children. Why, they understandably may ask, should they inflict upon their children a compendium of stick-and-carrot practices and strange salutes and silent signals and direct commands modeled upon military terminology when they have reason to believe their children can be educated well and wisely by instructional techniques that draw upon a child's thirst for learning rather than relying on the inculcation of docility and fear? Why should their children be denied exposure to the arts and music, history and science? Why should they also lose the healthy exercise of recess? (pg. 272)

"I went to Washington to challenge the soft bigotry of low expectations," the president said again in his campaign for reelection in September 2004. "It's working. It's making a difference." It is one of those deadly lies which, by sheer repetition, is at length accepted by large numbers of Americans as, perhaps, a rough approximation of the truth. But it is not the truth, and it is not an innocent misstatement of the facts. It is a devious appeasement of the heartache of the parents of the black and brown and poor and, if it is not forcefully resisted and denounced, it is going to lead our nation even further in a perilous direction. (pg. 284)

What, we may ask, is missing from this purely economic explanation of the motives that bring thousands of unselfish men and women into public schools each year and lead many to remain within these schools and classrooms during the full course of their career? One thing it lacks is any recognition of the role of altruistic and protective feelings, empathetic fascination, love of children, love of learning in itself, with all the mysteries and all the miracles and all the moments of transcendence. Teachers often cry on the last day of school. Is this because their paychecks are so small? Is it because they think themselves to be "the lowliest of bureaucrats" in Mr. Chubb and Mr. Moe's unfortunately chosen words? Or is it because they know that they will miss those children terribly? (pg. 296-297)

Now segregation seems almost to be the order of the day. We don't have many people who believe that integration's even possible or worth attempting anymore, not in the government at least. You don't hear it from the president or other leaders in Washington. You don't hear it being mentioned in political campaigns. We've made a mockery of the decision of court in 1954 and yet we continue to commemorate its anniversaries.

"What is it that we are commemorating then? We commemorate the decision in itself. We commemorate the individuals who fought for it. We commemorate the bravery of students who risked life and limb to act upon it after it had been decided. But in terms of making real that promise in the years that have gone by since then, I think we know it's been betrayed. I don't believe that this is something we can hide under the rug. I don't think we can sweep it into a dark corner. As long as this continues we will be divided as a nation. It's in our national interest to address this and confront it openly. I don't think that we can be at peace with ourselves as a society until we do." (Congressman John Lewis, Georgia, pg. 311)

"Sometimes, you have to ask for something that you know you may not get. And still you have to ask for it. It's still worth fighting for and, even if you don't believe that you will see it in your lifetime, you have got to hold it up so that the generation that comes next will take it from your hands and, in their own time, see it as a goal worth fighting for again.

"A segregated education in America is unacceptable. Integration is, it still remains, the goal worth fighting for. You should be fighting for it. We should be fighting for it. It is something that is good unto itself, apart from all the other arguments that can be made. This nation needs to be a family, and a family sits down for its dinner at a table, and we all deserve a place together at that table. And our children deserve to have a place together in their schools and classrooms, and they need to have that opportunity while they're still children, while they're in those years of innocence.

"You cannot deviate from this. You have to say, 'Some things are good and right unto themselves.' No matter what the present mood in Washington is like, no matter what the people who are setting policy today believe, or want us to believe, no matter what the sense of temporary hopelessness that many of us often feel, we cannot give up on the struggle we began and on the dream that brought us here.

"You cannot give it up. We cannot give it up. As a nation, as a people, I don't think that we have any choice but to reject this acquiescence, to reject defeat." (Lewis, pg. 316-317)

Friday, August 25, 2006

Man Cannot Live On Pizza Alone, Either

A handy checklist for what NOT to do in the 24 hours following a 3 day juice fast:

* ravenously start eating a large pizza 1 second after the fast is over
* quickly eat 10/12 of the aforementioned pizza and promptly fall asleep next to the pizza box
* don't eat anything for the next 19 hours
* spraypaint your classroom's ugly yellow bookshelf outside with the wind blowing towards you
* eat the remaining two pieces
* play tennis for 2 and a half hours

Thursday, August 24, 2006

William Hunger

At midnight tonight, the 72 hour juice fast will, officially, be over.

Twenty minutes ago, I brought home a large Maui Zaui pizza from Round Table. It's sitting here, next to me, teasing me with its olfactory charms. I look over at it periodically, my eyes irresistibly drawn to it, then a quick glance at the clock. "Oh yes, just 2 and a half hours to go, and you'll be mine.. all mine," I whisper. One second after midnight, I will shove one of its coquettish triangles into my mouth with gusto.

I don't mean to complain or to be overly dramatic, but I really don't like fasting. About a year and a half ago, when we sustained ourselves for three days on water alone (all those adventures are here in case you're feeling nostalgic), my body essentially shut down, save for hallucinogenic visions of Lindsay Lohan and Tony Robbins. This juice fast has been relatively easier, but still difficult for me.

Again, all the moments of my life were experienced in the context of the fast. Hunger was my constant companion - a glass or two of juice made it easier to ignore, but it never went away. The passage of time was simply progress towards the end. Sleep, and rereading Harry Potter Book 6, was a convenient way to pass that time.

Unfortunately, for an estimated 13 million American kids, including many at Garfield, this constant feeling of hunger is not, as it is for me, a 72 hour test of mental toughness.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Man Cannot Live On Juice Alone

So... about that juice thing.

Mark did quite a nice job of summarizing our current situation. We are nearly 2/3 of the way through a three day juice fast. His idea. I now hate him. I want to kill him and eat him.

You know you're hungry when you're reading a sports article in the news and you salivate when you come across the name Carl Yastrzemski because it reminds you, strangely, of pastrami.

Monday, August 21, 2006

A Window Into My Vacation

PC euphemism for lazy:

"promptness-challenged"

http://www.contracostatimes.com/mld/cctimes/news/local/15318863.htm

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Skol!


Yesterday I bought a juicer, a Jack LaLanne Power Juicer. Jack LaLanne is a 92 year old man who's in much better shape than I am. That's him on the left there, back when he was my age.

This morning, I *drank* a zucchini, 3 carrots, and a kiwi.

As a man whose meals consist almost entirely of varying combinations of cheese, turkey, and salsa, I figured some fruits and vegetables would be a darn good idea.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Santa Teresa

After the Heidi-Amber fiasco, I received a phone call shortly after 9 am Friday. Seeing that the number was a 714 area code, I excitedly answered, knowing that it was Mercury. I had all my arguments planned out. I had practiced my opening salvo. I was ready for battle.

Teresa: Darron?

Me: Yes, that's me.

Teresa: This is Teresa from Mercury Insurance. I'm really sorry about what happened yesterday. I'm going to look at all the documentation we have on our end and I'll call you back soon. Of course you can email me what you have. Just send me the first and last bank statements and your spreadsheet. We want to get this taken care of as quickly as possible and get you your money back. I am soooo going to fire Heidi as soon as I get off the phone with you, that stupid lying b*tch.


Ok, so maybe she didn't really say that last part, but the rest was true. And no, I normally would never use that word or endorse using that word to describe anyone, especially women (well, I take that back - it's often a useful descriptor for Mark), but indulge my little fantasy.

But Teresa put out my flames of rage. I am no longer a rageaholic (you know, addicted to rageahol).

The grand total stolen from me? $6,013.30.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Vincent Mottola, Part 2

I now severely dislike Mercury Insurance. I won't say hate, because once I say hate, where else can I go? I'll reserve that word for what appears to be an inevitable showdown with "Heidi" and her supervisor "Amber."

I'll try to write a Mark Manasse-esque blog and write down what I remember of my phone conversation today.

Heidi: This is Heidi.

Me: Hi, this is Darron Evans. We spoke a couple of weeks ago. I'm the guy who's been paying the car insurance for myself and some other guy for the last two ye--

Heidi: Yes, yes, I know who you are. I have you right here on my desk.

Me: So I got all the info you asked for. I have all the payments that were wrongfully taken out of my account listed in a spreadsheet. Can I email it to you?

Heidi: My supervisor says that we need the copies of your bank statements.

Me: I can't just email them to you? I have all the statements in PDF format and I can send them plus the spreadsheet I made.

Heidi: We can't get outside emails. Our email system doesn't allow outside emails. You need to either fax or mail the documents to us.

Me: That's an awful lot of papers. I've counted at least 28 payments taken erroneously out of my account. I need to fax or mail all of those bank statements?

Heidi: Yes, we need proof from your bank that the money came out of your account.

Me: Well, Heidi, I know that you're not responsible for this, but I would think that Mercury would have detailed records of payments. Doesn't Mercury have records of payments?

Heidi: Yes.

Me: And I would think that those records would show where the money came from. The money came from my account and it wasn't supposed to.

Heidi: Yes, but my supervisor needs proof that the money came out of your account.

Me: (brief pause as I try to figure out where to go to next) But, you received the money, right? Mercury hasn't just been giving this guy free auto insurance these last two years. You received the money. And you know it came from my account.

Heidi: Yes, but we didn't know that until recently. Because your policy number and his policy number were similar, it was inputted wrong and your bank account was linked to his policy, but we weren't aware what was happening.

Me: But now you know what was happening because I called you two weeks ago and told you.

Heidi, growing a bit frustrated: Yes, but we need proof. You need to send us the proof.

Me: Well, I gotta say, you guys sure are making me work hard to get my own money back. I know it's not your fault, Heidi, but I have to express my discontent. I let you know about Mercury's mistake more than two weeks ago and I still have not received my money. Mercury knows that the money should not have come out of my account. Mercury knows that I've been making payments for this guy. I've spent hours getting records from my bank and poring through bank statements to find out the information you requested when we last talked. I feel like I'm having to jump through a bunch of hoops to get my own money back. It would be a lot easier if I could just email you what I've got. Do you understand what I'm saying?

Heidi: (silence for at least 10 seconds)

Me: Who is your supervisor? What is her name?

Heidi: She doesn't... she, uh.... her name is Amber.

Me: May I talk to her please?

Heidi: Yes.

*on hold for several minutes*

Heidi: Sir, we have to have the actual documents. My supervisor says we can't receive outside emails.

Me: Even your supervisor can't receive outside emails?

Heidi: No.

Me: Well, may I talk to her please? Does she have a direct number that I can call?

Heidi: She's not here.
(I kid you not; that's what she said!!!)

Me: She's not there?

Heidi: No, but you can leave her a voice mail.

Me: Ok.


And so I left Amber a very nice voice mail and she hasn't called me back and I really, really, really dislike Mercury Insurance.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

YES!!!

My heart is pounding! I'm in near disbelief! My kids rocked the state exam! I mean, I knew they would do well, better than any group I've ever had, but these results are even beyond what I was hoping for!

The state released test score data today (http://star.cde.ca.gov). I don't know anything yet about whether or not we met our API or AYP (have I explained what those are in previous blogs?), but in just a quick perusal of the data, our 5th graders did better this year than any other Garfield 5th grade group has done before.

* 34% of our 5th grade students scored at Proficient or Advanced in English language arts (when they were in 4th grade, only 28% did; only 20% of last year's 5th grade students were Proficient or Advanced). This is the best percentage in our entire school.

* 57% of our 5th graders scored Proficient or Advanced in math (when they were in 4th grade, 36% of them did; 43% of last year's 5th grade students were Proficient or Advanced). This is also the best percentage in our school AND it's better than the district and state averages! 37% scored Advanced, which is unheard of - the district average was just 24%.

Compared to other schools in our district with similar student populations, my kids kicked butt!

Why am I so excited? A lot of teachers despise these tests. I am a critic, but I do believe they have value in measuring and comparing real learning between schools. It's the only objective measuring stick I have to see how my kids are doing compared to kids in other schools, and my kids did great!

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Lose a lot, lose all you've got, at Del Mar

Wishing my losing streak will end at the track, with all my hopes on a horse named High Standards...

this is an audio post - click to play

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Variations on a theme

* Whoever invented the dolly is my new god. I bow down to that person's inventive genius. It transforms one of me into the equivalent of four average men (not that I don't hear that all the time!).

* An ironing board looks a lot like a surfboard. A surfboard looks a lot like an ironing board. A chess board does not resemble either.

* When fingers are just not available, you can hit the down elevator button using your shoe. When doing so, however, you will likely hit the down AND the up button unless you have great shoe/ankle dexterity.

* Eating a huge burrito prior to moving all of your girlfriend's stuff is not advisable.

* It should not take an hour and a half to get a moving truck at Uhaul, but if you're kinda in a hurry, well, it will.

* Moving stuff into a moving truck is psychologically defeating - you know that less than 24 hours later you're just gonna have to take it all out again.