I am in significant discomfort. My thighs are shouting at me. Bending and sitting are almost out of the question. Resting my backside on the toilet seat and rising from that position may take the use of a crane. I have begun working out with a trainer.
After years of prodding, and one excruciating bulging disc, I understood that I did indeed have to strengthen my 'core'. If I was to have any chance of not spending my later years looking like I was continually searching to find a penny on the ground, I would have to do something far more significant than think happy thoughts about my back.
I am doing the beginner's beginner exercises. The third session took place yesterday (I am so grateful that I got a week off after the first 2 sessions, due to the vacation plans of my leader. I am seriously thinking of paying her to take a vacation every month). I was required to do lunges in which I was made to walk like Groucho Marx did, in all those movies. I cramped up in both legs after about 10 seconds.
On the bike, with the weights, then to the mat, moving always moving. Struggles pile up on one another. I do nothing well and some things worse than others. I can't even understand the basic instructions given to me, nor the control panels of the machines. I am totally uncoordinated and I dress badly. I was told by my family to get longer shorts to be sure my junk stayed hidden. I have started to wear basketball shorts that end well below my knees. I now look even more ridiculous than before.
Do you remember when you were in that class in school where it seemed like the hands on the clock never moved? Who knew they had moved that clock into the exercise room.
Today is Friday. My pain level seems to be moving ever higher but I hope it soon begins to recede. With much luck, and much Advil, I may be feeling pretty good by Monday, the day of my next workout. Welcome to my cycle of pain.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Partners in Crime
The US presence in Afghanistan feels like an uncomfortable fit on so many levels. Our CIA financial support and alliance with one of the apparent drug lords, who just happens to be the brother of President Karzai, is but one more head shaking example.
We struggle to deal with aligning ourselves with the best of a bad lot. We want to put our considerable weight behind a government that is credible to both the Afghan people and to the world that is watching. But we have had to twist the arm of the President to have a 'do-over' election which was mandated by an earlier vote marked by rampant fraud.
Now we learn of the CIA's willingness to look the other way while the President's brother allows the drug trade to flourish, to his considerable benefit, and to the detriment of those trying to eradicate this trade. The Taliban, we are told, rely heavily on the money generated by the sale of drugs, to sustain themselves. For President Karzai to be our partner in trying to rid the area of Taliban, and yet to have a brother who is sleeping with the enemy, makes our support for this government even more suspect.
Handing over money to Karzai's brother and looking the other way at his actions is like having to pay a bad guy to be an informant. We hold our nose and close our eyes. That has been part of our strategy through the years, as we have paid local warlords to abandon their allegiance to the Taliban. But is this what we are left with at the highest levels in Afghanistan?
We are in a critical moment in this country. We have decided, for better or for worse, that this area has become the new epicenter of our focus. We are in desperate need of a credible local partner. This latest story to come out of the region can only add to the feeling that we are hitching our horses to a broken down wagon.
We struggle to deal with aligning ourselves with the best of a bad lot. We want to put our considerable weight behind a government that is credible to both the Afghan people and to the world that is watching. But we have had to twist the arm of the President to have a 'do-over' election which was mandated by an earlier vote marked by rampant fraud.
Now we learn of the CIA's willingness to look the other way while the President's brother allows the drug trade to flourish, to his considerable benefit, and to the detriment of those trying to eradicate this trade. The Taliban, we are told, rely heavily on the money generated by the sale of drugs, to sustain themselves. For President Karzai to be our partner in trying to rid the area of Taliban, and yet to have a brother who is sleeping with the enemy, makes our support for this government even more suspect.
Handing over money to Karzai's brother and looking the other way at his actions is like having to pay a bad guy to be an informant. We hold our nose and close our eyes. That has been part of our strategy through the years, as we have paid local warlords to abandon their allegiance to the Taliban. But is this what we are left with at the highest levels in Afghanistan?
We are in a critical moment in this country. We have decided, for better or for worse, that this area has become the new epicenter of our focus. We are in desperate need of a credible local partner. This latest story to come out of the region can only add to the feeling that we are hitching our horses to a broken down wagon.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Where is the Paperboy? (or Looking a Gift Horse in the Mouth)
What time is it? A little bit after 8 AM was the reply. This was the second Sunday in a row that our paper had not arrived in a timely fashion and it was disturbing the rhythm of my day. What was going on?
It grew closer to 8:30 and still no paper. I don't think the paperboy is going to get any Christmas present this year, I announced. Then the phone rang.
What is happening with our delivery Jo asked. We partied too hard last night and the paperboy is not moving so quickly this morning. This was totally unacceptable.
You see, our closest friend lives directly across the street in Great Barrington. Each Saturday and Sunday morning, for about 2 years now, we have had absolutely free home delivery by him of the NY Times, together with bagels. We have come to expect prompt and efficient service. Delay caused by anything short of catastrophe the night before is not an excuse.
I met up with my friend this morning,and chastised him for his lack of effort and his unwillingness to live by the schedule I had established. I am sure he understood the possible ramifications of any further failures on his part.
We have developed a strange and wonderful bond. However, bonds can be broken. This is now an official warning that he is on a very tight leash. I will be standing at my door at 8 AM the next Saturday we are both in the Berkshires. If there is no paper and warm bagel in my hand at that time, I will have to think seriously about our future together. You see something for nothing may just not be good enough.
It grew closer to 8:30 and still no paper. I don't think the paperboy is going to get any Christmas present this year, I announced. Then the phone rang.
What is happening with our delivery Jo asked. We partied too hard last night and the paperboy is not moving so quickly this morning. This was totally unacceptable.
You see, our closest friend lives directly across the street in Great Barrington. Each Saturday and Sunday morning, for about 2 years now, we have had absolutely free home delivery by him of the NY Times, together with bagels. We have come to expect prompt and efficient service. Delay caused by anything short of catastrophe the night before is not an excuse.
I met up with my friend this morning,and chastised him for his lack of effort and his unwillingness to live by the schedule I had established. I am sure he understood the possible ramifications of any further failures on his part.
We have developed a strange and wonderful bond. However, bonds can be broken. This is now an official warning that he is on a very tight leash. I will be standing at my door at 8 AM the next Saturday we are both in the Berkshires. If there is no paper and warm bagel in my hand at that time, I will have to think seriously about our future together. You see something for nothing may just not be good enough.
Friday, October 23, 2009
The Curse - Part 2
In the recesses of my mind, it lingers. It speaks to me in my moments of uncertainty. As Nick Swisher flied out to center field and the series headed back to New York, the refrain in my head kept repeating itself. Was the curse of the Bambino transferred from the Red Sox to the Yankees in 2004?
From 1918 to 2004 the Babe had cast a spell over the team that traded him for a song and a dance. Yet, if we search our memory banks, we remember that the great Bambino did not end his career wearing the pinstripes of the team that traded for him in 1918, and whose House he built in 1923. He was discarded by the Yankees like an old worn out shoe and finished his playing days in 1935 wearing a Boston Braves uniform that must have seemed both foreign and demeaning. Maybe his early revenge was against the Sox, but possibly the ultimate prize was payback for the Bombers' transgressions.
I was at game 7 of the American League Championship Series in 2004, when the curse was lifted from the shoulders of the Sox. It was a palpable feeling of dismay that settled upon me that day. Kevin Brown was not a warrior and to place any trust in his resolve was an invitation to disaster. As the Red Sox flew around the bases and the fourth straight loss descended, a weight was lifted from one team and settled on another franchise.
Until World Series victory number 27 is completed, I will live with a doubt that was born on that terrible October day. Since then, a startling lack of consistency in post season pitching has doomed the Yankees to repeated early exits from the playoffs. We now have CC and AJ to calm our worried souls and bring us, once more, to our rightful place, but the job remains incomplete.
The gloom created by those 4 straight losses in 2004 will disappear for moments at a time, but will not go away. Last night I thought, ever so briefly, that with the 2 run lead in the 7th inning having come upon the Yankees with such swiftness, maybe the clouds were parting and the sun was about to shine once more. In my desire to drive all the demons away, I would have considered a 9 out call to the bullpen for the great one, Mariano. You see, the team would have received a 7 day all expenses paid vacation back to New York by winning last evening. But fate, and maybe the Babe, would not let such a scenario play out. Thus, we now await Saturday night, and the next installment of this series.
I ask the Babe, in all his greatness, to forgive the Yankees' trespasses. Vengeance is ugly, Babe. Let go of your anger, and bring us victory on Saturday and then against the Phillies. We do not curse you, but cherish your memory. Let's be friends once more.
From 1918 to 2004 the Babe had cast a spell over the team that traded him for a song and a dance. Yet, if we search our memory banks, we remember that the great Bambino did not end his career wearing the pinstripes of the team that traded for him in 1918, and whose House he built in 1923. He was discarded by the Yankees like an old worn out shoe and finished his playing days in 1935 wearing a Boston Braves uniform that must have seemed both foreign and demeaning. Maybe his early revenge was against the Sox, but possibly the ultimate prize was payback for the Bombers' transgressions.
I was at game 7 of the American League Championship Series in 2004, when the curse was lifted from the shoulders of the Sox. It was a palpable feeling of dismay that settled upon me that day. Kevin Brown was not a warrior and to place any trust in his resolve was an invitation to disaster. As the Red Sox flew around the bases and the fourth straight loss descended, a weight was lifted from one team and settled on another franchise.
Until World Series victory number 27 is completed, I will live with a doubt that was born on that terrible October day. Since then, a startling lack of consistency in post season pitching has doomed the Yankees to repeated early exits from the playoffs. We now have CC and AJ to calm our worried souls and bring us, once more, to our rightful place, but the job remains incomplete.
The gloom created by those 4 straight losses in 2004 will disappear for moments at a time, but will not go away. Last night I thought, ever so briefly, that with the 2 run lead in the 7th inning having come upon the Yankees with such swiftness, maybe the clouds were parting and the sun was about to shine once more. In my desire to drive all the demons away, I would have considered a 9 out call to the bullpen for the great one, Mariano. You see, the team would have received a 7 day all expenses paid vacation back to New York by winning last evening. But fate, and maybe the Babe, would not let such a scenario play out. Thus, we now await Saturday night, and the next installment of this series.
I ask the Babe, in all his greatness, to forgive the Yankees' trespasses. Vengeance is ugly, Babe. Let go of your anger, and bring us victory on Saturday and then against the Phillies. We do not curse you, but cherish your memory. Let's be friends once more.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
A Slap on Their Wrist, and a Slap in Our Faces
I believe in this administration. At least, I want to believe in this administration. But they continue to test my patience as they seem to be unable to turn words into meaningful deeds. Their struggles are no more evident than in the latest pronouncement on the oversight of the monies being paid out to 7 firms who have received billions and billions of dollars in bailout aid.
While we read in another front page article in today's NY Times of 500 people signing up to try to win 1 job paying $13 per hour, we are simultaneously advised that the top 25 earners at 7 companies who survived due solely to our largesse, may only have to settle for being very rich this year. Let's see, 175 people in total receive diminished compensation while millions of people do without. It doesn't take a math major to determine that there continues to be a staggering inequity here.
The companies who fall under the watchful eye of the government, are only those like AIG, Citigroup, Bank of America and Chrysler who have been unable to repay the government the monies delivered to them at the height of the crisis. Many others have shrugged off the continuing downturn as little more than an annoyance. For those companies whose ships have been righted, and who have handed back their government loans with a wink and a smile, there are no reprisals. These giants are about to pay bonuses larger than ever and there is NOTHING being done to stop them. Greed runs rampant in these institutions.
What message are we receiving when there is nothing but a symbolic slap on the wrist for all the pain and suffering caused by the misdeeds of these companies? Further,when the worst of the worst now are now once more living in excess without so much as a hint of remorse, or recompense, we feel deeply wronged. When one opening at a truck driving school in Indiana results in applications from a former IBM business analyst with 18 years experience, a former director of human resources and someone with a master's degree and 12 years at a top accounting firm, we know that something is still terribly amiss.
We continue to learn the ugly truths about the political process. Movement, we are told, is accomplished in slow, imperceptible ways. Early this year, the President spoke of the economy being like a big ocean liner, not a speedboat, that doesn't turn around immediately. When those who so abused our system remain unchecked except for the smallest of empty gestures, and when the trickle up economy has hardly seen a trickle, we search the horizon for answers. Sometimes it is hard not to feel like the big ocean liner we are on is the Titanic and all we see is an iceberg when we look ahead.
While we read in another front page article in today's NY Times of 500 people signing up to try to win 1 job paying $13 per hour, we are simultaneously advised that the top 25 earners at 7 companies who survived due solely to our largesse, may only have to settle for being very rich this year. Let's see, 175 people in total receive diminished compensation while millions of people do without. It doesn't take a math major to determine that there continues to be a staggering inequity here.
The companies who fall under the watchful eye of the government, are only those like AIG, Citigroup, Bank of America and Chrysler who have been unable to repay the government the monies delivered to them at the height of the crisis. Many others have shrugged off the continuing downturn as little more than an annoyance. For those companies whose ships have been righted, and who have handed back their government loans with a wink and a smile, there are no reprisals. These giants are about to pay bonuses larger than ever and there is NOTHING being done to stop them. Greed runs rampant in these institutions.
What message are we receiving when there is nothing but a symbolic slap on the wrist for all the pain and suffering caused by the misdeeds of these companies? Further,when the worst of the worst now are now once more living in excess without so much as a hint of remorse, or recompense, we feel deeply wronged. When one opening at a truck driving school in Indiana results in applications from a former IBM business analyst with 18 years experience, a former director of human resources and someone with a master's degree and 12 years at a top accounting firm, we know that something is still terribly amiss.
We continue to learn the ugly truths about the political process. Movement, we are told, is accomplished in slow, imperceptible ways. Early this year, the President spoke of the economy being like a big ocean liner, not a speedboat, that doesn't turn around immediately. When those who so abused our system remain unchecked except for the smallest of empty gestures, and when the trickle up economy has hardly seen a trickle, we search the horizon for answers. Sometimes it is hard not to feel like the big ocean liner we are on is the Titanic and all we see is an iceberg when we look ahead.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Too Smart for Wall Street? (Updated)
To the Editor:
I have an alternative explanation for Calvin Trillin to consider (Wall Street Smarts, NY Times, Oct 14, 2009).
The economic debacle on Wall Street was fueled by an intellectually and morally bankrupt administration that (as once and future partners of those involved in the chase for unlimited bounty) allowed lack of regulation and lax enforcement to create an environment where unchecked greed was not only made possible but was also encouraged.
UPDATE: You can read this post in today's (Oct 19, 2009) New York Times letters to the editor section (under the heading "Did the Smart Guys Destroy Wall Street?").
I am a bit dazed and confused by this. I have now been published in the letters section of this newspaper 5 times in the last year.
Meanwhile, I stumble along in my 'other life' doing things like last night, where I asked Richie to google directions for me and then gave him the wrong address. If it weren't for Joanne's quick thinking in the car, I would, much as I seem to do in many ways on many days, be headed for parts unknown. The brain is a mystery.
Apologies to email subscribers who may have received multiple notifications. We experienced some technical difficulties this morning.
I have an alternative explanation for Calvin Trillin to consider (Wall Street Smarts, NY Times, Oct 14, 2009).
The economic debacle on Wall Street was fueled by an intellectually and morally bankrupt administration that (as once and future partners of those involved in the chase for unlimited bounty) allowed lack of regulation and lax enforcement to create an environment where unchecked greed was not only made possible but was also encouraged.
UPDATE: You can read this post in today's (Oct 19, 2009) New York Times letters to the editor section (under the heading "Did the Smart Guys Destroy Wall Street?").
I am a bit dazed and confused by this. I have now been published in the letters section of this newspaper 5 times in the last year.
Meanwhile, I stumble along in my 'other life' doing things like last night, where I asked Richie to google directions for me and then gave him the wrong address. If it weren't for Joanne's quick thinking in the car, I would, much as I seem to do in many ways on many days, be headed for parts unknown. The brain is a mystery.
Apologies to email subscribers who may have received multiple notifications. We experienced some technical difficulties this morning.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
The dinner guest
I have had to confront life's harsh realities each of the last two weekends. Maturity motivated me to act in ways foreign to my instincts. While my inner voice was screaming for someone to turn on the television, the screen remained dark. I was a guest at dinner parties, while my beloved Yankees were battling the elements and the enemy.
Sure, I was allowed to talk about the game. Everyone at each of the gatherings was aware of the depth of my obsession. However, much of the evening's conversation focused on various topics that I find myself immersed in when in the company of others without my myopic interests.
Time and effort had gone into the planning of each of these events. I understood that it would be an insult to our host and hostess, and a blatant sign that I was a boorish idiot if I made too much of a fuss. Even as I made periodic momentary retreats to capture slivers of what was happening, I knew I had to tough it out.
Actually, both of these evenings were much fun. The food was excellent, the smiles were genuine, and there was a flow to the conversation. By the way, I am not just sucking up to my friends who may be reading about their efforts.
But, by the time dessert was served and eaten, I had lost all pretense. On both occasions, as the last morsel passed my lips, I made a hasty exit into the den. I only hoped that I had met the mandates of civility and could now spend the remaining part of the evening screaming at the sights and sounds of little men running to and fro.
Sure, I was allowed to talk about the game. Everyone at each of the gatherings was aware of the depth of my obsession. However, much of the evening's conversation focused on various topics that I find myself immersed in when in the company of others without my myopic interests.
Time and effort had gone into the planning of each of these events. I understood that it would be an insult to our host and hostess, and a blatant sign that I was a boorish idiot if I made too much of a fuss. Even as I made periodic momentary retreats to capture slivers of what was happening, I knew I had to tough it out.
Actually, both of these evenings were much fun. The food was excellent, the smiles were genuine, and there was a flow to the conversation. By the way, I am not just sucking up to my friends who may be reading about their efforts.
But, by the time dessert was served and eaten, I had lost all pretense. On both occasions, as the last morsel passed my lips, I made a hasty exit into the den. I only hoped that I had met the mandates of civility and could now spend the remaining part of the evening screaming at the sights and sounds of little men running to and fro.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Should Rush Be Thrown for a Loss?
Marge Schott was a majority owner of the Cincinnati Reds in the 1990's. Her repeated remarks showing bias against Jews, blacks, gays and Japanese people led to her being banned from running her own team for a three year period from 1996 to 1998. We now learn that Rush Limbaugh is hoping to join the fraternity of owners in the National Football League. Much as my daughter says about the wearing of Spandex, ownership in a professional sports enterprise is a privilege, not a right.
We have had an ongoing discussion over the past years about the damage done in the sports world by the use of performance enhancing drugs. Central to the debate is the question of the message that our athletes are transmitting to a world that is watching and listening so intently. Athletes, and the owners who they work for, do have an impact on our society far greater than the sum of their wins and losses. Lives are changed by how these people act and what these people say.
Mr. Limbaugh is a divisive figure. Some revere him for what they see as his unflinching honesty. Many find him to be boorish at best and a Marge Schott type at worst. From his limited time behind the microphone as a sports analyst, to his current perch as the not so silent voice of the conservative movement, Mr. Limbaugh's prejudices have repeatedly surfaced. The National Football League should not endorse Mr. Limbaugh and give him another platform from which to espouse his views, especially when those views are so disparaging of many who would be in his employ.
We have had an ongoing discussion over the past years about the damage done in the sports world by the use of performance enhancing drugs. Central to the debate is the question of the message that our athletes are transmitting to a world that is watching and listening so intently. Athletes, and the owners who they work for, do have an impact on our society far greater than the sum of their wins and losses. Lives are changed by how these people act and what these people say.
Mr. Limbaugh is a divisive figure. Some revere him for what they see as his unflinching honesty. Many find him to be boorish at best and a Marge Schott type at worst. From his limited time behind the microphone as a sports analyst, to his current perch as the not so silent voice of the conservative movement, Mr. Limbaugh's prejudices have repeatedly surfaced. The National Football League should not endorse Mr. Limbaugh and give him another platform from which to espouse his views, especially when those views are so disparaging of many who would be in his employ.
All the Good and Bad Ideas That Are Fit To Print
A post by Richie Jay
Though I try to read most of the New York Times each day, I am a mere mortal, and there are simply more words in each issue than I have the capacity to process. So, after scanning the front page and maybe a few science articles (it is Tuesday, after all), I often flip to the op-ed page. The New York Times has a reputation for being liberal--and this is an arguably true description of their editorials--but what makes their op-ed columns and letters different from most other papers is actually how diverse they are ideologically. In addition to having a slate of both liberal (i.e. Krugman, Rich) and conservative (i.e. Brooks, Douthat) staff columnists (and they used to have Kristol, who swung the median ideology of all their columnists about 10 steps to the right), the Times prints submitted op-eds from across the political spectrum. (An aside: Much like the length and depth of its news articles, this is a testament to the intellectual rigor and openness to criticism and debate of the Times, characteristics not shared by most other American publications and media outlets).
Today being no exception, the op-ed page is filled with a variety of ideas from across the political spectrum, some more specifically ideological than others.
In good ideas, David Brooks (yes, I can see eye-to-eye with conservatives) praises recent trends in academia, where the line between 'soft' social sciences and 'hard' natural sciences is blurring, each side helping to inform and improve the other, as well as to improve public policy (though his last sentence about 'policy wonks' seems tinged with conservative cynicism). He explicitly refers to the growth of "social cognitive neuroscience," a field I was fortunate enough to dabble in as an undergrad and as a grad student studying, what else, public policy. At Dartmouth, I worked in a social cognition lab, where we studied how cognitive processes affect and are affected by attitudes about race, gender, and class (i.e. How do people think, feel, behave, and process information, and does this differ depending upon the race, class, or gender of the people they are working with/talking to/reading about?). My advisor there, Dr. Jennifer Richeson, has since gone on to receive a MacArthur Genius Award for her work, and continues to be an innovator in the field. At Berkeley, I worked with Dr. Jack Glaser, whose social cognition work on racial profiling has helped inform real-world criminal justice policy.
In bad ideas, the Times printed an op-ed co-written by Virginia Republican George "Macaca" Allen (Why do we continue to take him seriously?) and Virginia Democrat Paul Goldman (ah, the bipartisanship of bad ideas!). In it, the two argue that the best solution for our dilapidated and outdated schools is not to adequately finance their maintenance, renovation, and construction, but instead to support huge tax breaks for private developers, who can buy the schools, rehabilitate them, and then profit by renting the schools back to the districts indefinitely. In addition to adding a profit motive to public education, a dangerous precedent, the two fail to consider the long-term costs of such a process, and they fail to consider the possibility of funding school districts to engage in these projects themselves (with no added cost for profit), dismissing that as costlier than subsidizing private for-profit developers to do the same thing (without showing the math). They also argue that there should be a "level playing field" between the public and private sectors, but fail to see the irony of arguing for massive tax breaks for private entities in the same breath. It's worth pointing out that this staunchly anti-government, pro-privatization ideology is in large part responsible for the economic mess we find our country (and, by extension, our school districts) in today, and Allen and Goldman show woefully little awareness of this fact.
Though I try to read most of the New York Times each day, I am a mere mortal, and there are simply more words in each issue than I have the capacity to process. So, after scanning the front page and maybe a few science articles (it is Tuesday, after all), I often flip to the op-ed page. The New York Times has a reputation for being liberal--and this is an arguably true description of their editorials--but what makes their op-ed columns and letters different from most other papers is actually how diverse they are ideologically. In addition to having a slate of both liberal (i.e. Krugman, Rich) and conservative (i.e. Brooks, Douthat) staff columnists (and they used to have Kristol, who swung the median ideology of all their columnists about 10 steps to the right), the Times prints submitted op-eds from across the political spectrum. (An aside: Much like the length and depth of its news articles, this is a testament to the intellectual rigor and openness to criticism and debate of the Times, characteristics not shared by most other American publications and media outlets).
Today being no exception, the op-ed page is filled with a variety of ideas from across the political spectrum, some more specifically ideological than others.
In good ideas, David Brooks (yes, I can see eye-to-eye with conservatives) praises recent trends in academia, where the line between 'soft' social sciences and 'hard' natural sciences is blurring, each side helping to inform and improve the other, as well as to improve public policy (though his last sentence about 'policy wonks' seems tinged with conservative cynicism). He explicitly refers to the growth of "social cognitive neuroscience," a field I was fortunate enough to dabble in as an undergrad and as a grad student studying, what else, public policy. At Dartmouth, I worked in a social cognition lab, where we studied how cognitive processes affect and are affected by attitudes about race, gender, and class (i.e. How do people think, feel, behave, and process information, and does this differ depending upon the race, class, or gender of the people they are working with/talking to/reading about?). My advisor there, Dr. Jennifer Richeson, has since gone on to receive a MacArthur Genius Award for her work, and continues to be an innovator in the field. At Berkeley, I worked with Dr. Jack Glaser, whose social cognition work on racial profiling has helped inform real-world criminal justice policy.
In bad ideas, the Times printed an op-ed co-written by Virginia Republican George "Macaca" Allen (Why do we continue to take him seriously?) and Virginia Democrat Paul Goldman (ah, the bipartisanship of bad ideas!). In it, the two argue that the best solution for our dilapidated and outdated schools is not to adequately finance their maintenance, renovation, and construction, but instead to support huge tax breaks for private developers, who can buy the schools, rehabilitate them, and then profit by renting the schools back to the districts indefinitely. In addition to adding a profit motive to public education, a dangerous precedent, the two fail to consider the long-term costs of such a process, and they fail to consider the possibility of funding school districts to engage in these projects themselves (with no added cost for profit), dismissing that as costlier than subsidizing private for-profit developers to do the same thing (without showing the math). They also argue that there should be a "level playing field" between the public and private sectors, but fail to see the irony of arguing for massive tax breaks for private entities in the same breath. It's worth pointing out that this staunchly anti-government, pro-privatization ideology is in large part responsible for the economic mess we find our country (and, by extension, our school districts) in today, and Allen and Goldman show woefully little awareness of this fact.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Hole Once More
The first was short, low, ugly and lost. The second, I didn't even see. Welcome back to the wonderful world of golf.
Having been laid low by my back surgery, four months later I was given clearance to begin my battles anew. Maybe, I should have waited a little longer.
I was instructed to only play 9 holes initially. I did not even last that long, and to be quite honest, it had nothing to do with any recurring pain as I had none. It was the psychic battering that drove me from the course.
I had decided only to play every other hole, so as to not place undue strain on my back. The best part of this experience turned out to be the holes I did not play.
I met my friends as they finished the second hole. By the time the third green was in sight, I had already advised each of them as to the specifics of my surgery. I figured that would, at least in some small measure, explain the dribbles, the mishits and the shanks as I tried to follow the bouncing ball. It made embarrassing take on a whole new meaning.
The wind seemed to blow its hardest as I was in the middle of my backswing. The ball, when it did go in flight, seemed totally unimpressed with the force I tried to impart upon it. Is that the best you got, it seemed to say.
By the time we reached the 8th hole (and only the fourth I was playing) I was hoping for rain. My tee shot headed in directions unrelated to the fairway. I had felt the smallest of twinges upon completion of the swing. I announced that I was already through for the day, as I had courageously made one too many efforts to prove how tough I was. I gingerly entered the cart (to emphasize the point) and rode with my friends until the 9th green, where I bid them a fond farewell.
I was invited to join them for future adventures, but I know they were just being nice. This has been the lost season and now it had the perfect imperfect ending. Wait til next year is all that is left at this point. I am uncertain whether that is a promise or a threat.
Having been laid low by my back surgery, four months later I was given clearance to begin my battles anew. Maybe, I should have waited a little longer.
I was instructed to only play 9 holes initially. I did not even last that long, and to be quite honest, it had nothing to do with any recurring pain as I had none. It was the psychic battering that drove me from the course.
I had decided only to play every other hole, so as to not place undue strain on my back. The best part of this experience turned out to be the holes I did not play.
I met my friends as they finished the second hole. By the time the third green was in sight, I had already advised each of them as to the specifics of my surgery. I figured that would, at least in some small measure, explain the dribbles, the mishits and the shanks as I tried to follow the bouncing ball. It made embarrassing take on a whole new meaning.
The wind seemed to blow its hardest as I was in the middle of my backswing. The ball, when it did go in flight, seemed totally unimpressed with the force I tried to impart upon it. Is that the best you got, it seemed to say.
By the time we reached the 8th hole (and only the fourth I was playing) I was hoping for rain. My tee shot headed in directions unrelated to the fairway. I had felt the smallest of twinges upon completion of the swing. I announced that I was already through for the day, as I had courageously made one too many efforts to prove how tough I was. I gingerly entered the cart (to emphasize the point) and rode with my friends until the 9th green, where I bid them a fond farewell.
I was invited to join them for future adventures, but I know they were just being nice. This has been the lost season and now it had the perfect imperfect ending. Wait til next year is all that is left at this point. I am uncertain whether that is a promise or a threat.
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