If you believe the critics, public schools can’t teach the ABC’s because of the Killer B’s: bullies, bureaucrats, and broken-down buildings.
I worry more about efficiency.
Today’s public school is a marvel of modern organization: a beehive of activity.
But where are they hiding the honey?
In my elementary days, things weren’t nearly as neat and tidy.
I remember, as a child, arriving at school everyday with a delicious sense of dread. I remember hushed accounts of spanking machines, and teachers that were odd, unusual, even spooky – at least to my literally untutored eyes. I will never forget one particularly sweet matron – a third grade teacher who honestly, earnestly believed in elves. So maybe I am romanticizing a time that was not exactly the golden age of education.
Perhaps.
Certainly today’s teachers are better educated than ever before, and deserve to be considered ‘professionals’, and paid accordingly.
But I am worried that we are squandering their skill, and surrendering our children to – heaven forbid, the statisticians!
A week ago Wednesday was my son’s first experience with that sausage-maker known in Massachusetts as the THE MCAS – and, coincidentally, was also the last day of his first journey through The Lord of the Rings.
Mary read the entire Lord of the Rings to him, out loud, every night (for the most part) over more than 100 days.
Nothing, I think, could be more stimulating to his brain, and important to his ‘development’, than to go along on that Journey with Tolkien.
At times he was exhilarated.
At times he was in tears.
There were occasions when he was angry, with the author and the world.
Who was this man called Strider?
Who were those dark riders?
Why did Sam choose to stay in the shire, while Bilbo and Sam and Gandalf, sailed away to the Havens?
But then, you may never have had the pleasure of reading The Lord of the Rings. Certainly though, you have felt the thrill that great writing, or travel, or a chance encounter can produce: that jolt of current down your spine?
It is the intensity of our experiences, I believe, that forge our character – not the accumulation of information.
You want facts, try a phone book.
A phone book is an efficient transmitter of facts.
A phone book however, does not have complexity, and is short on emotion. A phone book offers little in the way of adventure, and requires absolutely no imagination.
Like the MCAS.
I’m concerned that the MCAS getting in the way of our children’s education.
Are we forgetting about the joy of learning because the focus is on developing the skill of testing?
Is the entire educational experience being slowly boiled down to a series of rubbery, tasteless, tests?
Try and imagine your favorite book, reduced to a list of names of characters, incidents of plot, and other abstract facts. That would be like coming home from a cross-country trip, with nothing but snapshots of highway signs to tell the story.
Exit 3, Tom Bombadil.
Exit 7, The Orcs
Exit 17: The Eye of Sauron.
That is what I fear our focus on testing, our obsession with grades, and our panic about college admissions, is attempting to do: reduce the educational experience to its least common denominator.
I don’t fault the teachers.
The teachers I know are valiantly trying to fight the power. If they had their way their classrooms would be colorful, vibrant places full of mystery and magic, and adventure.
But they are up against a society that is content to feed their children, calorie-free canned experiences – and then expects teachers to somehow fill in the blanks.
It’s impossible.
I think we need to choose. Either school should be an enriching experience that awakens young minds to the possibilities of the world – and trusts them to choose their own path in their own time, or it can be a training camp – a rehearsal for the drudgery that awaits them.
I am, of course, using a thick, broad brush to make a point.
Drudgery doesn’t necessarily await all those who attend public schools – far from it.
The MCAS is not the Eye of Sauron, keeping an unblinking watch on the slaves of public education.
But at the very least the eye of the student is being jaundiced by our focus on what we like to call ‘results’.
If we train their minds, but fail to exercise their emotional musculature, we should not be surprised when they perform well on the standardized tests, but collapse at their first encounter with the unpredictable world that awaits them.
When the last words of The Lord of the Rings were left dangling in the air, Patrick was not happy. He couldn’t understand why the ‘Fellowship’ could not stay together. He yearned for a sugary ending but was given - even in this epic fantasy, something bittersweet instead.
Evil was defeated, for now, but the Shire did not escape unscathed.
Lives were lost, and even for those that survived there were scars, aches, and remorse that would not fade with time.
In the end Patrick didn’t have pictures.
In the end, he didn’t have any so-called facts.
When the story was over, he didn’t even receive a fancy certificate.
After 1100 pages all Patrick had was an unrecognized hunger: an emptiness in his gut that could not be satisfied by any standard fare.
I just hope that all of this testing, leaves some room for that.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
A Homely Refresher
Paranoia is, of course, our most valuable natural resource.
Without paranoia we would be Switzerland.
Not that there’s anything wrong with Switzerland.
Paranoia fueled our western expansion.
Paranoia sunk the Maine!
And paranoia, for the most part, re-elected a President who wasn’t qualified to manage the local Burger King, much less a country.
Not that there’s anything wrong with managing a Burger King.
Just that I think I should be pre-excused for saying that the end is near, and China is its name.
I’d like a pre-emptive pardon for my paranoid ramblings.
Need more evidence of paranoid delusions before you let me off the patriotic hook?
How about this: I like the idea of America in the Avis spot: you know, we’re number two, so we try harder.
I’m not a hater, I love America. But I think I’d even like it too, if we showed a bit of humility.
Even if you think we’re still sitting pretty, you have to admit that it’s hard being the leader of the free world, the richest nation, and the inventors of both baseball and Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots.
I think it’s about time someone else stepped up to the plate: and who better than the Chinese?
Walmart had their chance, and they blew it.
India has potential but is – I will come right out and say it, too English.
Australia has the right attitude, but that’s about all.
China’s got it all.
They’ve got more Walmarts than, well, Walmart.
They’ve got more potential mall rats than India.
They’ve got more attitude than Australia too – but they keep it to themselves.
And most importantly, the Chinese want it too – they want it real bad.
They’ve got an ancient porcelain chip on their shoulder.
At one time – a few thousand years ago, China had the title but, ironically, no one outside of China had a clue.
You’ve got to feel for all those old empires, don’t you: the Persians, the Macedonians, the Egyptians - and the Chinese? They all had their turn at ruling the world, but that was long before the World Wide Web – so who knew.
And there was something about that old title too, ‘Ruler of the Known World’: it had a kind of built-in asterisk; kind of like adding, ‘relatively speaking’ to every compliment.
You’re damn good looking – relatively speaking.
Your breath’s not bad – relatively speaking.
You rule – relatively speaking.
Today, America still is the Undisputed World Champion – and we’ve got the Gold Nuclear Warheads to prove it. But our time is running out.
We’re doing the Ali rope-a-dope, but taking shots in all hemispheres.
If this were baseball, we’d be the Yankees: a lot of trophies in the case, but with a bloated payroll full of overblown egos.
The other nations respect us sure, and hate us at the same time.
But they won’t have America to kick around, for too much longer.
The handwriting – or should I say, calligraphy, is on the wall.
Green Tea is the key.
At least Green Tea is the source of my paranoia.
Not the tea itself, but the secret message on the packet the tea comes in.
Remember when we used to laugh at the silly misspellings that the Japanese would make, on the packages their cute little transistor radios came in?
Remember when anything cheap, brightly colored, and plastic had a ‘Made in China’ imprint, somewhere underneath?
Today, Pacific Rim countries, like China and Japan, provide us with most of our cars, most of our electronics, most of our dishes, most of our take-out food, and – for me, nearly all of my daily required dosage of paranoia.
You would think that they could afford to pay someone to learn to speak and write English – so that they could correct the silly misspellings and odd phrases that appear on products made there, and sold here.
Actually, they can afford it.
American businesses now spend millions training their employees on their culture – so that we can sell more to them.
The difference is that we’re concerned that we will be left out of their markets, and they aren’t – concerned that is.
How do I know this?
Paranoia, pure and simple.
I know because the nice people at the new Chinese restaurant told me.
Well, they didn’t exactly sit me down and lecture me on international business, but they might as well have.
On the packet of green tea that was dropped into the bottom of my take-out order were a series of Chinese calligraphic symbols, and underneath, a translation - of sorts.
Green Tea, the label suggested, has a “Fragrant Aroma”.
Green Tea is also, the translation noted, a “Valuable Gift”.
Green Tea has - a third phrase promised, a “Mellow Taste”.
And finally, Green Tea is, the packet concludes, a “Homely Refresher”.
I laughed at that final attribute.
I laughed first because, at least in part, the phrase was silly: an obvious mistake.
I laughed as well at the oddity of the phrase, ‘homely refresher’.
I kidded my wife: “you”, I said to Mary, “are a homely refresher”.
“You’re refreshingly homely”, she countered.
We both laughed, but then it hit me.
“Homely Refresher” was not a mistake.
It was purposefully left as is, as a message to all Chinese that, economically at least, they don’t have to care anymore.
Now they can act like Americans have, for the last fifty years.
We don’t bother to learn other languages – we expect them to learn ours!
We never could bother to learn their customs and traditions – we expected them to know ours!
But the worm has turned.
Now they have the numbers, the cash, and a culture that we are scrambling to understand.
China - FYI, has a history that goes back before the Yankees won their first pennant.
China had immigration problems before we had people on this continent.
The Chinese actually managed to build a giant wall at their border – three thousand years before we started ours, to keep out undocumented Mongolian farm workers.
It didn’t work either, but it’s a big tourist attraction today.
And word is that they’ve been working on that old wall, working on it at night: adding steel reinforcement bars, infra-red surveillance cameras, razor wire, and more.
When asked what they were up to, a Chinese official said that these were just ‘aesthetic improvements’. Pressed further, he said that they were just addressing some ‘safety concerns’. Put on the spot, he acknowledged that it was part of a national plan to modernize China, to be more competitive in the world economy.
The plan was called, he said, “A Homely Refresher”
Hey, even paranoid people are right – some of the time..
Without paranoia we would be Switzerland.
Not that there’s anything wrong with Switzerland.
Paranoia fueled our western expansion.
Paranoia sunk the Maine!
And paranoia, for the most part, re-elected a President who wasn’t qualified to manage the local Burger King, much less a country.
Not that there’s anything wrong with managing a Burger King.
Just that I think I should be pre-excused for saying that the end is near, and China is its name.
I’d like a pre-emptive pardon for my paranoid ramblings.
Need more evidence of paranoid delusions before you let me off the patriotic hook?
How about this: I like the idea of America in the Avis spot: you know, we’re number two, so we try harder.
I’m not a hater, I love America. But I think I’d even like it too, if we showed a bit of humility.
Even if you think we’re still sitting pretty, you have to admit that it’s hard being the leader of the free world, the richest nation, and the inventors of both baseball and Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots.
I think it’s about time someone else stepped up to the plate: and who better than the Chinese?
Walmart had their chance, and they blew it.
India has potential but is – I will come right out and say it, too English.
Australia has the right attitude, but that’s about all.
China’s got it all.
They’ve got more Walmarts than, well, Walmart.
They’ve got more potential mall rats than India.
They’ve got more attitude than Australia too – but they keep it to themselves.
And most importantly, the Chinese want it too – they want it real bad.
They’ve got an ancient porcelain chip on their shoulder.
At one time – a few thousand years ago, China had the title but, ironically, no one outside of China had a clue.
You’ve got to feel for all those old empires, don’t you: the Persians, the Macedonians, the Egyptians - and the Chinese? They all had their turn at ruling the world, but that was long before the World Wide Web – so who knew.
And there was something about that old title too, ‘Ruler of the Known World’: it had a kind of built-in asterisk; kind of like adding, ‘relatively speaking’ to every compliment.
You’re damn good looking – relatively speaking.
Your breath’s not bad – relatively speaking.
You rule – relatively speaking.
Today, America still is the Undisputed World Champion – and we’ve got the Gold Nuclear Warheads to prove it. But our time is running out.
We’re doing the Ali rope-a-dope, but taking shots in all hemispheres.
If this were baseball, we’d be the Yankees: a lot of trophies in the case, but with a bloated payroll full of overblown egos.
The other nations respect us sure, and hate us at the same time.
But they won’t have America to kick around, for too much longer.
The handwriting – or should I say, calligraphy, is on the wall.
Green Tea is the key.
At least Green Tea is the source of my paranoia.
Not the tea itself, but the secret message on the packet the tea comes in.
Remember when we used to laugh at the silly misspellings that the Japanese would make, on the packages their cute little transistor radios came in?
Remember when anything cheap, brightly colored, and plastic had a ‘Made in China’ imprint, somewhere underneath?
Today, Pacific Rim countries, like China and Japan, provide us with most of our cars, most of our electronics, most of our dishes, most of our take-out food, and – for me, nearly all of my daily required dosage of paranoia.
You would think that they could afford to pay someone to learn to speak and write English – so that they could correct the silly misspellings and odd phrases that appear on products made there, and sold here.
Actually, they can afford it.
American businesses now spend millions training their employees on their culture – so that we can sell more to them.
The difference is that we’re concerned that we will be left out of their markets, and they aren’t – concerned that is.
How do I know this?
Paranoia, pure and simple.
I know because the nice people at the new Chinese restaurant told me.
Well, they didn’t exactly sit me down and lecture me on international business, but they might as well have.
On the packet of green tea that was dropped into the bottom of my take-out order were a series of Chinese calligraphic symbols, and underneath, a translation - of sorts.
Green Tea, the label suggested, has a “Fragrant Aroma”.
Green Tea is also, the translation noted, a “Valuable Gift”.
Green Tea has - a third phrase promised, a “Mellow Taste”.
And finally, Green Tea is, the packet concludes, a “Homely Refresher”.
I laughed at that final attribute.
I laughed first because, at least in part, the phrase was silly: an obvious mistake.
I laughed as well at the oddity of the phrase, ‘homely refresher’.
I kidded my wife: “you”, I said to Mary, “are a homely refresher”.
“You’re refreshingly homely”, she countered.
We both laughed, but then it hit me.
“Homely Refresher” was not a mistake.
It was purposefully left as is, as a message to all Chinese that, economically at least, they don’t have to care anymore.
Now they can act like Americans have, for the last fifty years.
We don’t bother to learn other languages – we expect them to learn ours!
We never could bother to learn their customs and traditions – we expected them to know ours!
But the worm has turned.
Now they have the numbers, the cash, and a culture that we are scrambling to understand.
China - FYI, has a history that goes back before the Yankees won their first pennant.
China had immigration problems before we had people on this continent.
The Chinese actually managed to build a giant wall at their border – three thousand years before we started ours, to keep out undocumented Mongolian farm workers.
It didn’t work either, but it’s a big tourist attraction today.
And word is that they’ve been working on that old wall, working on it at night: adding steel reinforcement bars, infra-red surveillance cameras, razor wire, and more.
When asked what they were up to, a Chinese official said that these were just ‘aesthetic improvements’. Pressed further, he said that they were just addressing some ‘safety concerns’. Put on the spot, he acknowledged that it was part of a national plan to modernize China, to be more competitive in the world economy.
The plan was called, he said, “A Homely Refresher”
Hey, even paranoid people are right – some of the time..
Daylight Spending
I don’t know about you, but I’ve already spent my extra daylight savings.
Tuesday was a bit gloomy, at least around here – and I wanted to go to the Cape to take some pictures: so I spent the whole wad that afternoon.
Easy come, easy go!
Spending that daylight, I was reminded of the big tax breaks we’ve all been receiving over the last four or five years.
It’s nice to get the check - $400 I think it was, last time: but if you blow a tire, or crack a filling, it goes pretty quick.
And you pay a pretty big price – all told, for your little check.
That is, to give back that extra $400 to everybody, the government has to make some serious cuts in their budget.
You get your filling replaced, but a school in Arkansas goes without a new roof, and a road in Maine is left unpaved, and an AIDS Clinic shuts down in Tucson.
Are the two – federal taxes and daylight savings, related?
Consider the source.
I tend to look at all of these governmental ‘gifts’, with a bit more than a dose of skepticism.
At best, I think, the government is guilty of a lack of imagination.
At worse, well, I’ll leave that to you.
Now my idea of daylight savings goes a bit further than the tinkering we are recovering from this week.
This is the computer age: everything –from battleships to stuffed animals, uses computer chips today.
With all that digital technology it seems both possible, and preferable, for time to be measured in relation to the actual amount of sunlight available to – not rationed out in bits and pieces.
First of all, and to avoid confusion, my idea is to have two different kinds of time (at least at first): Schedule Time, and Experiential Time.
Schedule Time would be the same, everywhere, for everyone – though allowing of course, for differences based on time zones: so planes could schedule their trips, and buses could be there to meet them, and people could make reservations at restaurants and then break them.
That’s Schedule Time.
But then there’d be Experiential Time – which would be based on the way that we experience time.
In Experiential Time (ET) high noon would always be in the exact middle of the ‘day’ – when the sun is directly overhead, and the number of minutes of so-called daylight before and after noon would be based on the number of minutes of daylight actually available to you at that longitude, at that time of year.
In the winter the days would actually be shorter.
In the summer the days would actually be longer.
An hour of day in the summer might be 65 minutes long.
An hour of day in the winter might be 55 minutes long.
Experiential time would not be measured at night – that is, after the sun sets and before the sun rises. The overall length of night would be all that matters – and that would change, depending on the usual factors.
My sense is that once adopted – in no time at all, experiential time would be the only time.
And from there we could move on, to better uses of the time available to us.
We could, for example, have an official ratings potential for days, based on the expected weather, the amount of sunlight, and other seasonal and/or cultural details.
If the forecast called for a highly rated day, with perfect temperatures, low pollen counts, a sky with only the occasional wandering cloud - and this happened to be the time of year that wild strawberries were ripening in the fields – both work and school would be cancelled.
If the forecast called for a reasonably good day – by most measurements, and this was the anniversary of the day you got your first tattoo – take the day off!
Instead of notices of cancellations scrolling by at the bottom of your television, there would simply be a short note: take tomorrow off, and enjoy!
If, on the other hand, a day was expected to be particularly bleak - regardless of what day of the week or time of year, or even if it was your 50th anniversary, school would be in session, and everyone would have to go to work.
Of course there would always be the possibility of the odd, unexpectedly good day – which we would miss out on, but that would be unavoidable.
This wouldn’t simply change sleeping habits, it would change lives.
There would be no summer vacation because people would be enjoying themselves throughout the year.
Of course there would be those who try and take advantage of the situation – working on days that everyone has off. But there would be ways of dealing with these anti-social types.
Pay rates – for example, would be pro-rated based on the quality of the day.
Those working on good days would receive far less than those working on gloomy days.
It’s just common sense – and it would be infectious.
Instead of giving people meaningless tax breaks, maybe we’d give them the things they need to enjoy life, and go from there.
Health Care would be free.
Gasoline would be free.
Education would be free.
Electricity would be free.
The things we need simply to survive – the government would provide: isn’t that the way it is supposed to be?
In turn we would work hard – on those less than perfect days, and with no worries, we’d probably be more creative, more productive and - as a nation, a lot easier to get along with.
Have you noticed? Lately we’ve been pretty cranky – nationally speaking.
I don’t think that – as a nation, we’re getting enough sleep.
I don’t think that, nationally speaking again, we have enough time off.
Sorry Ben, Daylight Savings Time – no matter how much you tinker with it, doesn’t really do much of anything for anybody.
If we’re going to save daylight – or cut taxes, let’s make it worthwhile.
Not just a few minutes, here or there.
Not just a few dollars – tossed at us from Air Force One.
Otherwise, what’s the point?
Tuesday was a bit gloomy, at least around here – and I wanted to go to the Cape to take some pictures: so I spent the whole wad that afternoon.
Easy come, easy go!
Spending that daylight, I was reminded of the big tax breaks we’ve all been receiving over the last four or five years.
It’s nice to get the check - $400 I think it was, last time: but if you blow a tire, or crack a filling, it goes pretty quick.
And you pay a pretty big price – all told, for your little check.
That is, to give back that extra $400 to everybody, the government has to make some serious cuts in their budget.
You get your filling replaced, but a school in Arkansas goes without a new roof, and a road in Maine is left unpaved, and an AIDS Clinic shuts down in Tucson.
Are the two – federal taxes and daylight savings, related?
Consider the source.
I tend to look at all of these governmental ‘gifts’, with a bit more than a dose of skepticism.
At best, I think, the government is guilty of a lack of imagination.
At worse, well, I’ll leave that to you.
Now my idea of daylight savings goes a bit further than the tinkering we are recovering from this week.
This is the computer age: everything –from battleships to stuffed animals, uses computer chips today.
With all that digital technology it seems both possible, and preferable, for time to be measured in relation to the actual amount of sunlight available to – not rationed out in bits and pieces.
First of all, and to avoid confusion, my idea is to have two different kinds of time (at least at first): Schedule Time, and Experiential Time.
Schedule Time would be the same, everywhere, for everyone – though allowing of course, for differences based on time zones: so planes could schedule their trips, and buses could be there to meet them, and people could make reservations at restaurants and then break them.
That’s Schedule Time.
But then there’d be Experiential Time – which would be based on the way that we experience time.
In Experiential Time (ET) high noon would always be in the exact middle of the ‘day’ – when the sun is directly overhead, and the number of minutes of so-called daylight before and after noon would be based on the number of minutes of daylight actually available to you at that longitude, at that time of year.
In the winter the days would actually be shorter.
In the summer the days would actually be longer.
An hour of day in the summer might be 65 minutes long.
An hour of day in the winter might be 55 minutes long.
Experiential time would not be measured at night – that is, after the sun sets and before the sun rises. The overall length of night would be all that matters – and that would change, depending on the usual factors.
My sense is that once adopted – in no time at all, experiential time would be the only time.
And from there we could move on, to better uses of the time available to us.
We could, for example, have an official ratings potential for days, based on the expected weather, the amount of sunlight, and other seasonal and/or cultural details.
If the forecast called for a highly rated day, with perfect temperatures, low pollen counts, a sky with only the occasional wandering cloud - and this happened to be the time of year that wild strawberries were ripening in the fields – both work and school would be cancelled.
If the forecast called for a reasonably good day – by most measurements, and this was the anniversary of the day you got your first tattoo – take the day off!
Instead of notices of cancellations scrolling by at the bottom of your television, there would simply be a short note: take tomorrow off, and enjoy!
If, on the other hand, a day was expected to be particularly bleak - regardless of what day of the week or time of year, or even if it was your 50th anniversary, school would be in session, and everyone would have to go to work.
Of course there would always be the possibility of the odd, unexpectedly good day – which we would miss out on, but that would be unavoidable.
This wouldn’t simply change sleeping habits, it would change lives.
There would be no summer vacation because people would be enjoying themselves throughout the year.
Of course there would be those who try and take advantage of the situation – working on days that everyone has off. But there would be ways of dealing with these anti-social types.
Pay rates – for example, would be pro-rated based on the quality of the day.
Those working on good days would receive far less than those working on gloomy days.
It’s just common sense – and it would be infectious.
Instead of giving people meaningless tax breaks, maybe we’d give them the things they need to enjoy life, and go from there.
Health Care would be free.
Gasoline would be free.
Education would be free.
Electricity would be free.
The things we need simply to survive – the government would provide: isn’t that the way it is supposed to be?
In turn we would work hard – on those less than perfect days, and with no worries, we’d probably be more creative, more productive and - as a nation, a lot easier to get along with.
Have you noticed? Lately we’ve been pretty cranky – nationally speaking.
I don’t think that – as a nation, we’re getting enough sleep.
I don’t think that, nationally speaking again, we have enough time off.
Sorry Ben, Daylight Savings Time – no matter how much you tinker with it, doesn’t really do much of anything for anybody.
If we’re going to save daylight – or cut taxes, let’s make it worthwhile.
Not just a few minutes, here or there.
Not just a few dollars – tossed at us from Air Force One.
Otherwise, what’s the point?
Chump Change
You heard the news?
Yes, it’s true.
I appreciate the advice, but I already have a plan.
Sure, $287 million is a lot of money, but it’s just money: I won’t have any trouble spending it.
I’ll do things my way though, and start off slow.
Everybody runs off and buys a half-dozen cars, a new house or two, a boat – stuff like that.
But I’ll start with the things that are really important.
The things that really separate us from the rich.
Like drips.
The first thing I am going to do is have a plumber in to fix the drips.
Where the other half lives – or so I am told, it’s very quiet.
Mostly because they don’t have drips.
A bigger well too.
A sure sign of my middle class status is the well pump coming on, every time someone flushes the toilet.
From now on, whenever anybody ‘goes’, no one will know.
I guess that means more toilets, too.
And showers: I want one of my own – just mine. And I know, from experience, the only way that you have something of your own, is when everyone else has their’s too.
Of course I’ll have to bring the plumbers in when it’s dark, in unmarked vans – which means overtime.
But I can’t risk anyone seeing a plumbing truck in my driveway for a month or so. That’s a sure sign that I won the lottery. And if anyone guesses, I’ll need another bathroom too, for guests.
So okay – what’s that come to? About $50,000?
Peanuts!
Next the house. Not a new house, an improved house.
I’ve still got the 10x12 deck that came with the house. It would be nice to have a new deck, a bit bigger, with some built in-amenities. Nothing too fancy, just a little more room to maneuver. In fact, I hate grass, so I think I’ll just surround the entire house with deck, maybe a few big flower pots, one of those all-season fireplaces, and a lap pool. No, not a lap pool, one of those tide pools, where you can practice surfing or being swept out to sea.
Nothing fancy, just a nice deck. About $75K.
Drop in the bucket!
And you know something – now that I can afford it, I want to invite those poor raccoons back in. Put a few doggie doors in both sides of the attic, and build them a little play area. Maybe some close circuit infra-red cameras so we can watch them at night
I’m sorry. Mary’s giving me a dirty look, and she’s right. I got carried away there. Forget the raccoons, at least for now.
What about a room of my own – or better yet, a little cabin out back, where I can work undisturbed (or not work, undisturbed). Nothing fancy, just a room, with a toilet and shower – nice sound system, satellite dish.
I can buy one of those pre-built garden shacks, and have it dressed up a bit: a little landscaping, a few shrubs for privacy, a nice stone walk. Then again, maybe it would be nice if it could be used by guests too: relatives we don’t like but can’t turn away.
Figure on about $100,000, give or take.
Chump change!
Mary’s signaling me from the couch, and she’s right again.
Before I go putting in a little shack in the backyard, I might want to address some of the other shortcomings of our present abode.
It would be nice to have a doorbell that works. Now we can afford to splurge on chimes that play ‘Satisfaction’.
We’re going to need a new roof, too. Now we can have any color we want.
Shingles. And not just the ones that need replacing – all of them!
A garage, where we can hide the cars that usually end up on blocks in the backyard.
Security system, to keep out the relatives.
A new refrigerator.
That’s another sign of real money – a fancy refrigerator. Rich folk always have oversized refrigerators, filled with fresh produce, a bottle or two of champagne, and space.
You know somebody is doing alright, when you look in their refrigerator and there’s space.
I want one of those oversized, silver ones, too big for the kitchen. I want one that dispenses water, and beer, and whipped cream.
And paint!
No, not a refrigerator that dispenses paint, just paint!
No, not just paint: an actual painter – a pro to go over all the places where I made a mess of things.
And new carpet too.
Not the durable kind that stands up to wear and tear – the fuzzy, thick, colorful kind that folks that really can’t afford it worry about staining.
Better yet, oriental rugs that you really shouldn’t walk on, and hardwood floors made from rare trees that you’re not supposed to cut down: a lot more not to worry about.
And a boat.
Not in the house.
And not to actually put in the water either: just for show. Something to stick alongside the garage, and annoy the neighbors. (Another place to stash the relatives, too!)
Sorry Mary.
But we haven’t even spent a million dollars.
At this rate we’ll never run out of money.
We could spend $2 million a year, for fifty years, and still have more money than most of our neighbors.
Okay, so maybe I will buy a car, or two.
I just want a Karman Ghia: probably can find a rebuilt one for $20,000.
Mary will probably get that BMW SUV.
I’ll get Bobby another one of those 79 Volvos that he used to drive, and just keep getting it fixed when it breaks down. Or maybe we can get him his own mechanic, so he doesn’t have to bug us every time he has a little accident.
Patrick won’t be driving for another 8 years, so he can have a horse.
The relatives?
We’ll get them all AAA Plus.
And we’ll get them other stuff, too. Or better yet, we’ll let them have our old stuff, every year. The old refrigerator. The old BMW. The old TV, and so on.
With our money it is almost an obligation to replace everything every year.
But I don’t want to go crazy.
I just want to smooth things out a bit.
Quiet things down.
Make things smell better.
Sleep a little later.
$287,000,000 should do the trick.
Yes, it’s true.
I appreciate the advice, but I already have a plan.
Sure, $287 million is a lot of money, but it’s just money: I won’t have any trouble spending it.
I’ll do things my way though, and start off slow.
Everybody runs off and buys a half-dozen cars, a new house or two, a boat – stuff like that.
But I’ll start with the things that are really important.
The things that really separate us from the rich.
Like drips.
The first thing I am going to do is have a plumber in to fix the drips.
Where the other half lives – or so I am told, it’s very quiet.
Mostly because they don’t have drips.
A bigger well too.
A sure sign of my middle class status is the well pump coming on, every time someone flushes the toilet.
From now on, whenever anybody ‘goes’, no one will know.
I guess that means more toilets, too.
And showers: I want one of my own – just mine. And I know, from experience, the only way that you have something of your own, is when everyone else has their’s too.
Of course I’ll have to bring the plumbers in when it’s dark, in unmarked vans – which means overtime.
But I can’t risk anyone seeing a plumbing truck in my driveway for a month or so. That’s a sure sign that I won the lottery. And if anyone guesses, I’ll need another bathroom too, for guests.
So okay – what’s that come to? About $50,000?
Peanuts!
Next the house. Not a new house, an improved house.
I’ve still got the 10x12 deck that came with the house. It would be nice to have a new deck, a bit bigger, with some built in-amenities. Nothing too fancy, just a little more room to maneuver. In fact, I hate grass, so I think I’ll just surround the entire house with deck, maybe a few big flower pots, one of those all-season fireplaces, and a lap pool. No, not a lap pool, one of those tide pools, where you can practice surfing or being swept out to sea.
Nothing fancy, just a nice deck. About $75K.
Drop in the bucket!
And you know something – now that I can afford it, I want to invite those poor raccoons back in. Put a few doggie doors in both sides of the attic, and build them a little play area. Maybe some close circuit infra-red cameras so we can watch them at night
I’m sorry. Mary’s giving me a dirty look, and she’s right. I got carried away there. Forget the raccoons, at least for now.
What about a room of my own – or better yet, a little cabin out back, where I can work undisturbed (or not work, undisturbed). Nothing fancy, just a room, with a toilet and shower – nice sound system, satellite dish.
I can buy one of those pre-built garden shacks, and have it dressed up a bit: a little landscaping, a few shrubs for privacy, a nice stone walk. Then again, maybe it would be nice if it could be used by guests too: relatives we don’t like but can’t turn away.
Figure on about $100,000, give or take.
Chump change!
Mary’s signaling me from the couch, and she’s right again.
Before I go putting in a little shack in the backyard, I might want to address some of the other shortcomings of our present abode.
It would be nice to have a doorbell that works. Now we can afford to splurge on chimes that play ‘Satisfaction’.
We’re going to need a new roof, too. Now we can have any color we want.
Shingles. And not just the ones that need replacing – all of them!
A garage, where we can hide the cars that usually end up on blocks in the backyard.
Security system, to keep out the relatives.
A new refrigerator.
That’s another sign of real money – a fancy refrigerator. Rich folk always have oversized refrigerators, filled with fresh produce, a bottle or two of champagne, and space.
You know somebody is doing alright, when you look in their refrigerator and there’s space.
I want one of those oversized, silver ones, too big for the kitchen. I want one that dispenses water, and beer, and whipped cream.
And paint!
No, not a refrigerator that dispenses paint, just paint!
No, not just paint: an actual painter – a pro to go over all the places where I made a mess of things.
And new carpet too.
Not the durable kind that stands up to wear and tear – the fuzzy, thick, colorful kind that folks that really can’t afford it worry about staining.
Better yet, oriental rugs that you really shouldn’t walk on, and hardwood floors made from rare trees that you’re not supposed to cut down: a lot more not to worry about.
And a boat.
Not in the house.
And not to actually put in the water either: just for show. Something to stick alongside the garage, and annoy the neighbors. (Another place to stash the relatives, too!)
Sorry Mary.
But we haven’t even spent a million dollars.
At this rate we’ll never run out of money.
We could spend $2 million a year, for fifty years, and still have more money than most of our neighbors.
Okay, so maybe I will buy a car, or two.
I just want a Karman Ghia: probably can find a rebuilt one for $20,000.
Mary will probably get that BMW SUV.
I’ll get Bobby another one of those 79 Volvos that he used to drive, and just keep getting it fixed when it breaks down. Or maybe we can get him his own mechanic, so he doesn’t have to bug us every time he has a little accident.
Patrick won’t be driving for another 8 years, so he can have a horse.
The relatives?
We’ll get them all AAA Plus.
And we’ll get them other stuff, too. Or better yet, we’ll let them have our old stuff, every year. The old refrigerator. The old BMW. The old TV, and so on.
With our money it is almost an obligation to replace everything every year.
But I don’t want to go crazy.
I just want to smooth things out a bit.
Quiet things down.
Make things smell better.
Sleep a little later.
$287,000,000 should do the trick.
No Snow to Speak Of
I’ve got nothing to say – and I blame it on the weather.
Not just any, or all weather – our weather: this half-assed excuse for a winter, specifically.
Don’t look surprised: I’m just like you. My thoughts are not my own. I am – as the psychics like to say, just the conduit.
Did you ever notice that the psychic channelers always seem to be channeling princes and emperors, great warriors or priests?
Did you ever notice that when, under hypnosis, people remember their past lives – there’s almost always a person of great wealth, rank, or significance in there someplace?
Not me.
When I channel for this column I usually bring forth news of squirrels in the attic – literally, or wells that won’t pump, or what kind of candy the kid brought home Halloween night.
I channel the average, everyday stuff that we all deal with – but hopefully with an interesting slant, a different perspective.
And what inspires me is the average and the everyday.
But not today.
Today, this week, this month, I have been suffering from poor reception, from a stuttering imagination, from a lack of inspiration because for the past thirty days the average and the everyday have been absent from these parts.
Maybe they’ve gone on vacation.
Look around you.
You call this weather?
Is there anything more inspiring to the imagination than a sudden blanket of white?
When the landscapes that we know so well suddenly disappear, and the background sounds that we expect to hear are muffled, and the schedules that we usually maintain are unavoidably altered, it shocks the system and stirs our thoughts.
And at a time of year when we instinctively crave anything that can awake us out of our stupor – weather is oftentimes our best and only friend.
But we haven’t had any – any weather that is.
At least not ‘round here.
Oh sure we’ve had a taste of rain, a snap of cold, a smattering of sleet, and a sheet or two of ice: but no snow to speak of.
The weather people would argue of course: they’d bring out their charts and cite the statistics.
According to the statistics we’ve had a few inches, here and there.
But that’s not snow, it’s the Dandruff of the Gods: and they’re not sure what’s going on either.
They’re up there, on Olympus, scratching their heads.
It’s not just me either – all of the so-called news has been affected.
People aren’t really interested in Anna Nicole Smith – they’ve just got nothing better to think about.
My youngest son is out there now – not in the Bahamas, in the backyard I mean: out back trying to scrape up enough of that dirty, crusty stuff to make a dandruff man.
“Can you come out and play in the snow with m”, he asked?
“If there was snow to play in, I would”, I promised, but I was not going to get down on the ground and grovel around, pretending.
Of course there are plenty who would.
Of course that’s what they’ve been doing down in Florida, and now in California, and soon in the Bahamas: groveling around in the dirt, trying to scrape up enough stuff to make a story.
Sad to say, the Anna Nicole story is like the weather we’ve been having: hardly enough news there to measure.
And now that the story – and the poor woman herself, have been lying around for more than a week, it’s gotten a bit dirty, a bit crusty too.
That’s the genius of Andy Rooney on Sixty Minutes: somehow he turns what annoys him, into the subject of his weekly ‘column’. Somehow what annoys him, amuses us.
But Andy’s secret is – I imagine, that he is amused by what annoys him too: he actually revels in his own annoyances.
I just can’t manage the same enthusiasm for what bores me.
I can’t manage to find inspiration, in its lack.
So, we’re moving.
Taking a vacation of sorts.
We’ve rented a house up near Syracuse, New York. The owners were left in the lurch, when the last tenants moved out giving no notice at all.
The house is fully furnished. The refrigerator is full. The previous tenants pre-paid for six months of satellite TV.
And they’ve got enough inspiration piled up, to last at least until June.
I’m bringing my own shovel: stay tuned.
Not just any, or all weather – our weather: this half-assed excuse for a winter, specifically.
Don’t look surprised: I’m just like you. My thoughts are not my own. I am – as the psychics like to say, just the conduit.
Did you ever notice that the psychic channelers always seem to be channeling princes and emperors, great warriors or priests?
Did you ever notice that when, under hypnosis, people remember their past lives – there’s almost always a person of great wealth, rank, or significance in there someplace?
Not me.
When I channel for this column I usually bring forth news of squirrels in the attic – literally, or wells that won’t pump, or what kind of candy the kid brought home Halloween night.
I channel the average, everyday stuff that we all deal with – but hopefully with an interesting slant, a different perspective.
And what inspires me is the average and the everyday.
But not today.
Today, this week, this month, I have been suffering from poor reception, from a stuttering imagination, from a lack of inspiration because for the past thirty days the average and the everyday have been absent from these parts.
Maybe they’ve gone on vacation.
Look around you.
You call this weather?
Is there anything more inspiring to the imagination than a sudden blanket of white?
When the landscapes that we know so well suddenly disappear, and the background sounds that we expect to hear are muffled, and the schedules that we usually maintain are unavoidably altered, it shocks the system and stirs our thoughts.
And at a time of year when we instinctively crave anything that can awake us out of our stupor – weather is oftentimes our best and only friend.
But we haven’t had any – any weather that is.
At least not ‘round here.
Oh sure we’ve had a taste of rain, a snap of cold, a smattering of sleet, and a sheet or two of ice: but no snow to speak of.
The weather people would argue of course: they’d bring out their charts and cite the statistics.
According to the statistics we’ve had a few inches, here and there.
But that’s not snow, it’s the Dandruff of the Gods: and they’re not sure what’s going on either.
They’re up there, on Olympus, scratching their heads.
It’s not just me either – all of the so-called news has been affected.
People aren’t really interested in Anna Nicole Smith – they’ve just got nothing better to think about.
My youngest son is out there now – not in the Bahamas, in the backyard I mean: out back trying to scrape up enough of that dirty, crusty stuff to make a dandruff man.
“Can you come out and play in the snow with m”, he asked?
“If there was snow to play in, I would”, I promised, but I was not going to get down on the ground and grovel around, pretending.
Of course there are plenty who would.
Of course that’s what they’ve been doing down in Florida, and now in California, and soon in the Bahamas: groveling around in the dirt, trying to scrape up enough stuff to make a story.
Sad to say, the Anna Nicole story is like the weather we’ve been having: hardly enough news there to measure.
And now that the story – and the poor woman herself, have been lying around for more than a week, it’s gotten a bit dirty, a bit crusty too.
That’s the genius of Andy Rooney on Sixty Minutes: somehow he turns what annoys him, into the subject of his weekly ‘column’. Somehow what annoys him, amuses us.
But Andy’s secret is – I imagine, that he is amused by what annoys him too: he actually revels in his own annoyances.
I just can’t manage the same enthusiasm for what bores me.
I can’t manage to find inspiration, in its lack.
So, we’re moving.
Taking a vacation of sorts.
We’ve rented a house up near Syracuse, New York. The owners were left in the lurch, when the last tenants moved out giving no notice at all.
The house is fully furnished. The refrigerator is full. The previous tenants pre-paid for six months of satellite TV.
And they’ve got enough inspiration piled up, to last at least until June.
I’m bringing my own shovel: stay tuned.
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