Archive for January, 2005
Take a minute and think about your stereotype of a ?college student?. Ok, wait a minute, think of the average intelligence of a ?college student?. What type of person is a college meant for? What type of people shouldn?t go to college, and what type should.
Now, does it surprise you that over 29% of college freshman this year are taking 1 or more remedial class? That?s slightly more than 600,000 students. That means that 29% of college freshman can?t read well enough to understand the daily newspaper (let alone this site), can?t write coherent paragraphs, and have trouble adding and subtracting fractions.
Since most of these students are at community colleges, the bill is picked up by you guessed it, taxpayers like you and I! Most of these skills should have been mastered before the 12th grade however, so in a sense we?re paying to educate these ?students? twice!
One solution is to remove remedial education from college classes. Of course, doing this would also remove 1/3 of today?s college freshman from school. The question of course becomes, is this really a bad thing?
I myself say no. Restricting college to the smarter students makes for a better workforce, and creates more competition among scholars. Not wasting time on simple concepts allows for classes and programs to cover much more valuable information, and most importantly the threat of not getting into college might help convince today?s high school slackers that school actually matters.
What do you think?
January 1st, 2005
This is a reader submission from True Blue.
Quickly the girl sat up, turning off the radio and taking off her headphones. The tears started to flow freely, she hugged her knees to her chest and sat on her bed, staring at the doorknob. The door?s locked, she told herself. But the memories… the memories of seeing his form hovering over her in the darkness, watching and waiting for the right time…. Her sobs were the silent sobs of one who was accustomed to crying late at night when the house slept.
At a knock on the door she rose, wiping some tears away, and opened the door to let her mother in. Her eyes rose to meet the taller woman?s gaze, then she went back to sit on her bed. Her mother sat down beside her, held her in her arms like a little girl. Her shoulders and her breath shook. She closed her eyes to keep out the fear, but it just came through her eyelids.
“Just cry… let it all out… that?s it. Don?t be afraid to be noisy, just let go…” The girl laughed to herself. It seemed impossible to be noisy now, after all those years of silent crying. Silent solitary crying. Through it all I?ve never had a shoulder to cry on, and now that I have one I almost don?t know what to do with it, she thought. In a way it?s better to be alone, then I don?t have to worry about how what I?m doing affects other people. Or worry about whether the person knows exactly how I feel. But it?s better to have someone to cry with; that way I know I?m not alone. She stopped crying and walked to the door.
“I?m sorry I scared you,” said her mother.
“It wasn?t you who scared me.”
“I know, but I wish I hadn?t been the one to bring it all back to you.”
“Doesn?t matter.” She stared at the doorknob, it wasn?t the one her brother had turned those years ago, it was new. She looked at the refection of light on it?s shiny surface, saw out of the corner of her eye some hair tumbling down from it?s place.
“I guess I?ll go back to bed then…” her mother walked through the darkness to her own bedroom, the girl walked into the bathroom, closed the door and flipped on the light. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was blank, her eyes wide and fearful. For a while she stayed there, as if waiting for something to happen, for some magical thought to click in her head. The bathroom door clicked open, the light switch clicked off. The door to her room opened and closed silently. A light went off inside, and the house was left dark and silent.
January 1st, 2005
Tomorrow is the day you?ve all been hearing about. Yes, tomorrow is the anniversary of the September 11 attacks on the world trade center and pentagon. It?s hard to believe it?s been a whole year already, but what an event filled year it has been.
9-11 is supposed to be a day of remembrance, a day of courage, and a day of patriotism. To this writer, however, the use of the word anniversary is just plain sickening. Anniversaries are supposed to be happy times. We have wedding anniversaries, commemorative anniversaries, our nation?s anniversary, and many others. An anniversary is a joyous time, a time for rejoice and celebration. I see no reason for any of those things here.
Today is merely September 10. For lack of a better word, it has it?s own special anniversary too; A day that is surely not worth celebrating, but definitely should not be forgotten.
Think back to September 10, 2001 for a minute. Save for the Chandra Levy search, nothing really newsworthy was happening. But this isn?t about any significant event that happened on September 10th, oh no not at all, it?s about our way of life and how it was much different then.
For, on September 10, 2001 the Bill Of Rights actually had meaning, it was so much more than the after-dinner napkin the Bush administration has turned it into.
September 10, 2001 was one of the last days where we as Americans were truly free. Since September 10, 2001 Americans have been given new rights. For example:
- The right to have religious and political institutions monitored by government without any suspicion of criminal activity.
- The right to be jailed or detained without having been charged of a crime, and the right to NOT confront witnesses against oneself.
- The right to have all electronic conversations including telephone, fax and email monitored without probable cause or criminal suspicion.
- The right to have all jailhouse conversations between inmates and attorneys monitored and recorded; and in some cases even used against you in court.
- And the right of the public to NOT be allowed access to subpoenaed documents, immigration hearings, or even a lawyer to defend yourself against certain charges.
Yes, September 10,2001 is definitely worth remembering, for it was the day before Americans started giving up rights to protect themselves from terrorism.
It?s the day we allowed the government to do whatever they wanted in the name of ?terrorism?. Take away our rights, Limit our freedoms, House soldiers in our homes and Tax our tea, but for God?s sake, don?t question our ?patriotism?.
Yes, remember September 10, 2001. It was the day before democracy died.
January 1st, 2005
That we even think to fly
Is all the cause we need for delusions
January 1st, 2005
Author’s note- With the one-year anniversary of the Sept. 11 attacks looming just around the corner, the major TV networks are gearing up for a full-throttle slew of retrospectives, tributes, and interviews to give the event ‘meaning’ that it would somehow otherwise lack. Mulling over this, I decided to write my own feelings on the subject, focusing less on the attacks themselves and more on how we, as a society, assimilate disaster.
. . .
With paint in your eyes, it’s hard to focus on the end of the world. Sometimes, it’s easier just to stay in your own little reality, instead.
____________________________________________________________
The radio was playing all the usual corporate rock Muzak as my friend Case and I were painting the poolhouse for the Aurora public pool. In my mind, there was a floating little calendar on which I was checking off the days until the summer season was over for the Aurora Parks Department, because that’s the earliest that I could quit. Case, all misty-eyed from paint fumes and heartbreak, continued to complain about his girlfriend (well, ex-girlfriend). We were both holed away in our own little worlds that meant so much; our own little dramas that our lives comfortably revolved around.
The song on the radio stopped in mid-verse and the station DJ came on. I silently thanked the gods, because whoever that band was, they were crucifying the Beatles with an awful cover of “Eleanor Rigby”. As I thought about this, Case complained that his ex was disinterested in him. Our worlds continued to spin on.
Then the DJ said something that stopped us both.
“Uh, we really, uh, don’t know exactly what is… exactly what’s happening, but it seems that… yeah, it looks like two commercial jets have crashed into the World Trade Center in New York… and we’re getting reports hat a third plane has hit the Pentagon in Washington D.C.”
It’s at this point that a drop of fresh paint fell from the ceiling and landed in my left eye with military precision.
Case stopped in mid-sentence of his anguish and asks, “What’d he say?”
With my face stuck under a water faucet and the raw nerves of my eye screaming in pain, I shrugged, completely forgetting how much I hate this job and how pissed I am about the paint.
The DJ goes on to say, “that this looks like an attack.”
I looked up at Case, who was distorted and blurred because of the water in my eye. We were both trying to think of something clever and appropriate to say, something to fill in this gap of conversation and give this situation meaning, the kind of thing someone would say in a movie.
Fortunately, the opening strains of Pink Floyd’s “Comfortably Numb” came on the radio and saved us from having to say anything. We probably wouldn’t have said much, anyway. Case couldn’t think of anything to say about his former flame. I forgot what I was so upset about. Our worlds came to a crunching, universe-grinding halt and were frozen on their axis’. We tried to get back to work, but ended up just sitting and listening to the radio reports, shaking our heads.
Later, on my lunch break, I went to my girlfriend’s house to watch the news. It’s a school day, but her classes were canceled because of an anonymous bomb threat. It’s a coincidence that, at the time, I didn’t find so funny.
As we watch CNN, we’re shown the same three clips: two of them show the second plane plowing through the Trade Center at different angles; the third clip showed the destruction at the Pentagon. These clips are on a loop that plays every five minutes. After a few cycles, they begin to seem more like movie clips than disaster footage. My girlfriend says the same thing. Already, we began to digest what has happened, and subconsciously start to accept it. Already, it started to become something far away, projected to us on a repeating pattern of television pixels: red, green, blue.
Red, green, blue.
Angle 1: shot from above.
Red, green, blue.
Angle 2: shot from below.
Red, green, blue.
Angle 3: Aerial shot of the Pentagon.
Already, on another network, a reporter was coughing up vague but meaningful quotes from John and Robert Kennedy. Already, CNN was giving the event an ominous, piano-based theme song. Already, someone in the room was asking, “They ever find the intern that the senator, or whoever, killed? What’s her name? Darva Conger?” Already, the tragedy and scope of what happened began to dwindle. Already, I began to hate my job, and dread going back to work at 1:00.
Everyone’s little worlds were fighting to start spinning again, lest they confront a situation that was just too real to deal with.
Back at work, my boss blames everything on Muslims. Only, he calls them “sand-niggers.” He says how, after work, he’s going to Wal-Mart to buy some ammo for his at-home gun arsenal, just in case there’s an invasion. I ask him if he really thinks that our little town in Missouri is going to be invaded. He stared back at me, confused, muttering, “you never know what those crazy camel-bangers will do.” I thought, tonight he’ll fall asleep with a shotgun tucked between his legs, and he’ll be that much more of a man. I said this out loud, but the sarcasm was lost on him.
Back at the poolhouse, our eyes red from paint fumes, Case and I wondered who could have orchestrated the attack. Then, after a few minutes, I asked, “how many days ‘till the summer season is over?” Case didn’t know. He asked me, “should I call her?”
We fight so hard to maintain a pattern. It’s so much easier to fall in line. It’s easier to disassociate yourself from tragedy than to embrace it, to face up to it. It’s easier to see it all as some far-away movie, something to be watched on TV. It’s easier to curl up with your little worries and dramas that give your life meaning than to accept something that makes you so insignificant in comparison.
When I get home after work, some of my friends come over and watch the coverage on TV, with all the repeating images and pixels.
Red, green, blue.
One of my friends said, “Come see this crash footage. CBS has an angle that the other networks don’t have yet.”
Red, green, blue.
Another asked, “If Bush comes on TV tonight, will they still air Survivor afterwards?”
Red, green, blue.
And I started to wonder if the summer season for the Parks Department ends in September, or is it in October?
Red, green, blue.
January 1st, 2005
I have finally figured out what bothers me about the American show ?Everybody Loves Raymond?. For those of us who don?t watch it, basically Raymond is a full time sports writer, while Debra is unemployed. Raymond never helps out with the house work, as Frank (his father) never did when he was working and Marie (his mother) was at home.
The fact that he never helps out around the house is seen as quite ridiculous. The show seems to create some sort of mood where you think that Raymond is so lucky to have Debra to do all those things for him, because he is practically useless.
But I think that is nonsense. She should cook, clean and pick the kids up from school. He works. He makes the money, from 9-5 (and frequently later) while she stays at home all day. Why should they share the housework? If Debra worked as well, then sure, they should both be cooking and cleaning but the fact is that he works and she is a housewife.
Its her job to cook and clean. This was once mentioned by Frank to Marie and was seen as one of the most shocking things ever said by him. Which is utter crap, because it is her job. Debra should quit complaining that Raymond never does anything around the house and do what she?s supposed to do.
Oh, and if anyone sees this as sexist you?re wrong. Because there is no reason why the roles couldn?t be revered… actually nothing would make me happier then marrying a professional woman and getting to stay home to do the chores.
January 1st, 2005
The following is non-fiction:
?Holy shit, she?s still there,?
I said as I opened the blinds above my computer and looked out the window. I?d like to tell you her name, but I honestly don?t know it. I never really cared to learn it. It didn?t matter though, because there she was. Standing there, staring straight at me, wearing her black Capri pants and her flowery pink shirt which was now soaked with sweat; no doubt from spending the last 4 hours in the hot July sun.
I laughed, and headed to the kitchen to pour myself a nice frosty Heineken. It?d been over 3 hours since I watched her son drop her off. She got out of the car, waved goodbye and off he drove. I remember well, it was right around noon and I had just finished cleaning the car when I watched him pull up.
As I sipped the foam from my beer and headed back to my computer I casually glanced at the clock. The bright neon green numbers now said 3:30. ?What the hell is she doing?? I asked myself as I sat down to read the latest User Friendly and check out what?s new on dotCULT.
Perhaps she was watching something. Maybe she was lost in thought; possibly thinking of her late husband. He lived across the street from me for the last 10 years of my life but I don?t remember his name either. Is she locked out? No, the door is wide open. Is it possible to sleep standing up? That would be a pretty cool skill to learn??
6:00 ? I crawl out of the shower, thrown on my work clothes and re-open the blinds.
?what the hell? There is something seriously wrong with her.? Apparently I?m not the only one to notice now. In fact most of the neighbors are now outside probably wondering the same things that I am. Doesn?t bother her though, she?s been staring at the sky for the last 20 minutes. She doesn?t even know we?re all watching her.
I grab a quick bite to eat and head out for work. As I get in the car I notice a vehicle pull up into her driveway. Her son exits and together they both walk in through the open door and shut it behind them. I laugh and slowly drive off to work.
Now I know what it?s like to be lonely.
January 1st, 2005
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