tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-127101032024-03-18T07:45:37.576-07:00Entropical ParadiseShort Attention-Span Theaterentropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.comBlogger6896125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-4781704437706423792024-03-18T06:00:00.000-07:002024-03-18T06:00:00.138-07:00Streaking<p> I found myself doing something I try not to do: Generate ultimatums. </p><p>As I was running up the hill near my house, my legs were reminding me of all sixty-one of my years. And it made me think, not for the first time, that I didn't have to do this. </p><p>I could find an alternative way to exercise. I could discover something that worked up a sweat and worked my cardiovascular system in a similar fashion. One that didn't come with the complication of tired joints. </p><p>I also know that there are many and varied options to the pain. Younger men than myself have surrendered to knee replacement surgery. Which brings its own flurry of insurance and logistical hoops through which I would need to jump. Bad knees and all. </p><p>Which is where I rationalize, as the miles go by, that it's not so debilitating after all. It's not the sub-ten minute mile I used to work toward, but it's getting up and getting out.</p><p>This is about the time that I make this weird equivalency: Would I rather give up running or writing this blog? They are both lifelines in my world of seemingly endless repetition. They are both, at the end of the day, optional. I choose to do both of these activities. Daily. That's where it crosses over into compulsive. Finding alternatives to that need to check the box and fill in the blank every single day is the part that starts to lock up my gears. </p><p>What's the matter with taking a day off? If you were to ask any sane person, they would counsel calm restraint. Just let your mind and body tell you how to proceed. </p><p>I'm sure that's what Cal Ripken's brain said around the time he passed Lou Gehrig's consecutive game streak. "Why not just stop? Two thousand one hundred thirty-one games is a remarkable accomplishment. Go ahead and sit this next one out."</p><p>He didn't. He kept going for another five hundred games. </p><p>So if you see me running around the neighborhood, that's pretty much what's going through my mind. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-66775944271606012032024-03-17T06:00:00.000-07:002024-03-17T06:00:00.133-07:00Plain Kate<p> I don't care about Kate Middleton. </p><p>Okay, I care about Kate Middleton in the same way that I care about all of my fellow inhabitants of the rock called Earth, but I am struggling to stay interested in the whereabouts of a young mother who was last seen entering the hospital for "abdominal surgery." Why should I care?</p><p>"Because she is part of the Royal Family," comes the answer from somewhere behind me.</p><p>They Royal Family from whom we separated nearly two and a half centuries ago? The ones who have a whole wing of Netflix devoted to them? The ones who have absolutely no say in the day-to-day policy and governance of our former enemies across the pond? The ones whose life of privilege continues to fascinate those of us who are not Kardashian? </p><p>Well, sorry. That never got the needle to jump off of "don't care." </p><p>Yet, here I am, devoting time and space to the discussion of the latest "tragedy" to befall this terribly inbred group of soap opera stars whose relevance has been all but snuffed out beyond their ability to generate tabloid fodder. </p><p>Which sort of makes what your are currently reading just that: tabloid fodder. </p><p>To be completely transparent, I am not above digging around in the dirty laundry of families whose sole interesting factor is their momentary flash of fame. But these royals have been hogging social bandwidth since 1603, with a brief Republican Break from 1649 to 1660. Which, considering the short attention span of your average hairless ape, is pretty impressive. But they haven't really ruled much of the world for a century now, and once they gave up Hong Kong back in 1997 they tend to rule primarily the gardens behind the castles they continue to maintain at taxpayer's expense. </p><p>But here in America, we can't help but keep one eye on the Monarchy, just out of our genetic predisposition. Once a colony, always a colony, I suppose. Then there's the whole Disney-infused fascination with princesses, which always seems to work out in the storybooks, but not so often in real life. One need look no further than Kate's late mother-in-law, the tragic Princess Diana of Wales. Since that was way back in the late twentieth century, around the time that Hong Kong was given back to China, I suppose the Royal Family pot needs a little stirring. "Abdominal surgery?" </p><p>Sure. Why not? </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-69471485549558742562024-03-16T06:00:00.000-07:002024-03-16T06:00:00.152-07:00Do-Gooder<p> In the world of politics, and sports, there was this news: Steph Curry suggested that, once his days of playing basketball are over, that he might consider<span style="font-family: inherit;"> a career off the court. "<span style="background-color: white; color: #232a31;">I have an interest in leveraging every part of my influence for good.”</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #232a31;">Mister Curry, known to his friends, family and most of the rest of the planet as Steph, has already had a huge impact on the world around him. He used the occasion of the release of his second book for children, <a href="I have an interest in leveraging every part of my influence for good,”" target="_blank">I Am Extraordinary</a>, to discuss his future with a reporter from CBS News. Then there's the map of the Bay Area that is littered with signs of Steph's attention to the place that brought him to fame and fortune in the shape of playgrounds and youth programs. Oakland is the center of his <a href="https://www.eatlearnplay.org/" target="_blank">Eat Learn Play Foundation</a> that he and his wife started in 2019. Students there have been supported not just in healthy food and excellent equitable places to play, but in their efforts to ensure that every student can become a proficient reader by the end of third grade. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #232a31;">If he didn't already have my vote for winning multiple championships for his adopted hometown, his generosity and activism would. For the past two years, I personally received a membership to<a href="https://www.masterclass.com/?campaignid=20654081747&adgroupid=160260243731&adid=677053315421&utm_term=masterclass&utm_campaign=%5BMC%5D+%7C+Search+%7C+Brand+%7C+Keywords_Consolidated_EM_PM_BM+%7C+ROW_US+%7C+EN+%7C+MAX+%7C+EG&utm_source=google&utm_medium=search&utm_content=677053315421&hsa_acc=9801000675&hsa_cam=16376419640&hsa_grp=160260243731&hsa_ad=677053315421&hsa_src=g&hsa_tgt=kwd-66880027&hsa_kw=masterclass&hsa_mt=e&hsa_net=adwords&hsa_ver=3&gad_source=1&gclid=Cj0KCQjwncWvBhD_ARIsAEb2HW9FPfYo4tFsm1UoYD_BzLEW6waqkenWIWu5NpHmInDqfYGAGTct0G4aAl6FEALw_wcB" target="_blank"> Master Class</a>, with an eye toward moving up the career ladder. Or taking a class from <a href="https://www.masterclass.com/classes/garry-kasparov-teaches-chess" target="_blank">Gary Kasparov</a> to improve my chess game. And while he continues to strive for another NBA title, he is <a href="https://express.adobe.com/page/CBwfUqfozA1sq/" target="_blank">creating scholarships</a> for women's sports, and <a href="https://about.underarmour.com/en/stories/2020/03/inspiring-young-girls-to-be-amazing.html" target="_blank">lifting them up</a> to the level he believes they should be. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #232a31;">Yes, I understand that nailing three pointers in the closing seconds of an NBA game is very different from creating public policy. There are plenty of actors, athletes and other nominal celebrities who have made forays into the political arena with widely varied results. But wouldn't it be nice to have a hero?</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #232a31;">A hero who helps build playgrounds and lifts people up. A hero who remains committed to his ideals and manages to be a devoted family man while pursuing a career that has continually defied the odds? </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #232a31;">For now, there are no immediate plans for Steph to hang up his sneakers, but when he does, I will be ready. Ready to vote for someone who does good. And well. </span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-77904823144831687462024-03-15T06:00:00.000-07:002024-03-15T06:00:00.147-07:00All Wet<p> Raining again. </p><p>Can't help but think of my mom. </p><p>She always used to say, "We need the moisture." This was her standard reply no matter what the season when water fell from the sky. It didn't matter if it was rain or sleet or hail or snow. It didn't matter how many inches or feet. "We need the moisture."</p><p>When I moved from Colorado to California, we had periodic discussions about the precipitation levels in our respective locations. When I told her we were getting rain, she would often ask if I couldn't "send some it our way," over the hills over the mountains, halfway across the continent. Because that was the way it worked. </p><p>There were times when, in spite of my best efforts, I couldn't make this transference happen. When we had a deluge, one that had caused flooding and all sorts of alerts and damages, I could sense my mom was tensed in anticipation. </p><p>Then there was only a sprinkle east of the Rockies. A shower of disappointment, if you will. </p><p>Then there were those storms that bore down on my old hometown without ever making an appearance on the left coast. Blizzard conditions. Swollen streams and rivers. Where did all of that come from without first making at least an appearance on the left coast?</p><p>These days the weather is pretty much my own. With my mother gone, I don't have a Colorado correspondent for comparison. </p><p>But I still sneak a peak at the weather over there. I want to say on top of these things, meteorologically speaking. </p><p>We need the moisture. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-16619206348094467992024-03-14T06:00:00.000-07:002024-03-14T06:00:00.147-07:00Blue Bird<p> It grinds on me, a little bit, that I can no longer automatically post these blog posts on Twitter. I used to be able to shout out to the world from my comfortable little corner of Al Gore's Internet using the amplification supplied by that little blue bird.</p><p>I still call it Twitter, but journalists and the like are now prone to referring to it as "X, formerly known as Twitter." And the benign and not-so-oft putting verb "tweeted" has been replaced by "posted." The fun, it would seem, has gone along with the thrill. Just like my automatic posts. </p><p>It's a business deal. Much like the way Tech-Daddy Google swooped in way back in 2003 to devour Blogger. I am certain there were Blogger folks who reacted in a similar way to Twitter zealots when their machine was engulfed by a giant. This was just before yours truly began scribbling on this outlet, so I didn't notice the way the furniture was arranged or the wiring was any different. </p><p>Until Elongated Mush paid four billion dollars to spoil everyone's good time. He took away that little blue bird and replaced it with an unknown quantity from an algebra book. He let the Nazis back on. He started using it to promote his own scary world view. This little corner where people used to gather to complain about the red carpet fashions and the red hatted fascists has been converted to a place where I now regularly get ads for The Epoch Times sprinkled into my timeline. For those of you were unfamiliar, as I was when it first started to appear, The <a href="https://www.theepochtimes.com/" target="_blank">Epoch Times</a> is a media conglomerate that likes its news the way we drive here in America: to the far right. They like the unvaccinated, QAnon, election denier angle on things. I don't claim to know a lot about computer algorithms, but it seems to me that the clicks I click on the artist formerly known as Twitter should be bringing me kinder, gentler left wing content rather than the January 6 apologists and fans of a certain former game show host. </p><p>Alas, the new owner of this former bastion of free speech is currently busy twisting this once snarky place into a snarling vision of his own ugly imagination. A place where lies get amplified and anyone who points out that the emperor has no clothes or business doing so gets banished. And of course there are cat videos. </p><p>Why don't I just leave? Because I don't want to leave when there is a point to be made in the name of truly free speech. There are still those who fight the good fight, calling out the nastiness and hypocrisy. It's free, after all.</p><p>And sometimes there are cat videos. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-77611794996818068742024-03-13T06:00:00.000-07:002024-03-13T06:00:00.143-07:00Figures<p> Over the last week I went down a bit of a rabbit hole. This wasn't a political vortex or a path down nostalgia lane. This was all about numbers. </p><p>I have written here before about my love for teaching math. This came as a bit of a surprise since most of my enthusiasm for mathematics was knocked out of me by an ill-tempered high school instructor of elementary functions. He was not a fan of my approach to my senior year, which included a predilection toward the class clown end of the spectrum. But that didn't mean I didn't care about the math. This did not register on his end and he gave me the option of dropping his class before he failed me for my attitude. </p><p>I dropped the class. </p><p>And it was almost twenty years before I found my way back to math. </p><p>Helping kids find patterns and connections in numbers and shapes and strands is fun for me. Watching them piece together the world around them through mathematics is a joy. This also gives me a chance to extend my own appreciation for figures and calculation. This past week had me sharing with fourth graders the fact that the product of any two even numbers is an even number, and the product of any two odd numbers is an odd number, but the product of an odd and an even number is always an even number. Which was intriguing enough for them, but after I was done with the class, I found myself wondering why there weren't more even numbers than odd if that was the case. I brought this dilemma home to my wife, and made my conjecture that this might have something to do with prime numbers. Together we imagined a sea of numbers and pictured the products of even numbers lighting up, then odd numbers in another color, then prime numbers in yet another. </p><p>Later I turned to <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/NoStupidQuestions/comments/8zeu6a/why_are_there_just_as_many_odd_numbers_as_even/" target="_blank">Reddit</a>, where I found a thread of folks who had similar cogitations. I felt validated for having this somewhat vague quandary. And pleased that there was still some mystery left for me in arithmetic. Forty plus years after being kicked out of Elementary Functions, I was still thinking math thoughts. </p><p>It felt good. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-66139093711986118952024-03-12T06:00:00.000-07:002024-03-12T06:00:00.134-07:00Doubt<p> I am going to try and give Katie Britt the benefit of doubt. Specifically I doubt that it was her intent to go on national television and create a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqMyaE6kmKo" target="_blank">ready-to-air parody</a> of the Republican Response to the State of the Union Address. I doubt that she expected to spend days after her appearance on everyone's social media being roundly criticized and laughed at for her earnest and we assume well-meaning attempt to disagree with the other party's leader. I doubt that she would have imagined that this opportunity would put her team in defense mode, rather than bein<span style="font-family: inherit;">g the ace in the hole she was anticipated to be. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">A little background: Ms. Porter <span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">is the first woman to be elected to the U.S. Senate from Alabama and the youngest Republican woman ever elected to the Senate. These accomplishments should neither be denied or ridiculed. Furthermore it bears noting that California, that liberal bastion, is about to slip back into that realm of states without a woman senator after more than thirty years. Alabama has one. Once again I doubt that it was her state's or her party's intent to have her become a laughingstock. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">How could this have happened? </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">I blame the patriarchy. For all the victories women have had over the course of our history, they continue to fight their fight in a rigged game. Who makes the rules? Men. Who calls the shots in the Republican Party? Men. Who said, "Katie, I think we should shoot your response in the kitchen. Not in your office. And if you wouldn't mind delivering all of your lines in a hushed whisper, that would be great." That advice came from a man. I know this because I have spent a lot of time hanging out with men and I know that so much of what they say about "fairness" is predicated by the scraps they are willing to toss around after they have finished gorging themselves on what they can force down their power mad gullets. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">Katie Britt was there as a counterpoint to the women who have been horrified by the man who sexually abused E. Jean Carroll and then defamed her to the tune of eighty-four million dollars in defamation penalties. The man who proudly boasts that it was he who overturned Roe v. Wade. The man who cheated on his pregnant wife with a porn star. The man who <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tyhXSDeU_Oc" target="_blank">bragged about </a>walking around backstage at the beauty pageants he owned, leering at naked women. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">Does it surprise me that Katie Britt was set up for failure by the party that has chosen to go all-in on this monster? Not a bit. But unfortunately I doubt that she is fully aware of how badly she was played. </span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-62332863545240878392024-03-11T06:00:00.000-07:002024-03-13T07:49:42.848-07:00The Two Houses<p> Two towns in Texas, separated by three hundred miles: Eagle Claw and Brownsville. Consistent with every bit of branding established over decades and especially over the past eight years makes it clear which would be the landing zone for Republican candidates and where the Democrats would show up. The difference came clear to me as I reflected on <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt7221388/" target="_blank">Cobra Kai</a>. </p><p>If you missed this little gem of retro-fun on Netflix, it is based on the Karate Kid films, and tells the story of two Karate Guys: Daniel and Johnny. One grew up following the path of his late sensei, Mister Myagi. The other lost the state championship by following the ways of the Cobra Kai dojo, and his fortunes have gone in another direction. He now drinks Coors. But once the series gets rolling, Johnny picks himself up and starts to put himself back together again. Eventually he runs afoul of his old sensei, the guy who instructed him to "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V-weSpHwsMo" target="_blank">sweep the leg</a>" back in the eighties. Danielsan revives his master's style and begins training the area's youth in "Myagi-Do." Johnny takes his troubled band of teenagers to his new dojo, which he names "Eagle Fang." While the two middle aged Karate Guys try to work on their own middle aged crises, their young charges regularly trash one another's social gatherings and school functions, putting countless innocent extras at risk. </p><p>This all came to me in a rush the morning after the State of the Union address by Joe Biden. The leader of the "for defense only" dojo who came out and spit the fire that an eighty year old man can. And the name-calling response from somewhere in South Florida where the former game show host continues to beg for money to help him pay off the half billion dollars he owes in fines. The Brownsville Dojo versus Eagle Claw. All the talk of revenge and retribution makes good TV I suppose, but it doesn't go very far when it comes to solving the problems facing us. </p><p>Brownsville Joe called out his "predecessor" in hopes of getting him to tell his supporters to pass the bipartisan immigration reform bill that was quashed by the aforementioned Eagle Claw leader. This feels like a pretty empty gesture, but it's exactly the kind of thing that takes place during an election year, not unlike the brinksmanship being played with our country's budget. It's not about coming together to solve problems, but rather to stick a finger in the problem and exacerbate it. If you keep picking at it, it will never heal. </p><p>Tune in this season as Eagle Claw and Brownsville continue to square off in anticipation of the Battle Royale in November. Don't expect things to get a lot better in the meantime. That's bad TV and bad politics. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-67723565227417366162024-03-10T06:00:00.000-07:002024-03-10T06:00:00.128-07:00The Angel<p> Approximately a million years ago, a man walked into our school asking what he could do. This happened before I got here, so it's really pre-history we're talking about here. This man was a graduate of Oakland public schools and in the wake of yet another flurry of violence in the streets of cities across the country, he decided to devote some of the time he had to giving back to the people and places that made him the success that he had become. </p><p>He could have written a big check to the district or swooped in to pay for everyone's lunch, but instead he asked if he could get a regular gig coming in to read with students who were struggling. Which he did. For several years. When budgets were being cut and help was hard to find, he was there, doing his part and then some. </p><p>Which didn't keep him from writing an occasional check. Like the one he wrote to help revitalize our tired old school library. New books. New tables and chairs. And suddenly it was a place where kids wanted to be, not a place they were sent when they hadn't finished their work in class. It was a great place to pull up a chair and read with a student who needed just a little of that one-on-one magic.</p><p>When I arrived as the new Computer Teacher, I was introduced to our "business partner," a title that never fully described the commitment he had to our little corner of East Oakland. After a year or so of working with a room full of ancient Mac LCIIs and a bunch of tractor feed printers, he came to me and asked "what it would take" to get a new computer lab. Initially I gave him a lowball estimate that would allow us to get a marginal replacement for the tired old equipment in my room. He smiled, patted me on the shoulder and asked if I could try again. "What would you really like to have in here?" He pointed into the room that I had brought back from the brink of extinction, and I started to imagine. </p><p>It took a while, a couple years, but when all was said and done there were twenty-eight student PCs, a new laser printer, and furniture for it all to sit on. Our benefactor even showed up to plug them in and help sort the trash. </p><p>Best of all, this was an Internet-ready room. As we began to drag CAT-5 cable around the hallways to connect us to Al Gore's invention, we began a new era. We were connecting to a whole new world of potential curriculum and possibility. The same Internet that students now don't think about when they sit down in my room and read a book from a library they have never seen. They just know it's there. </p><p>Time passed and our generous angel stopped making his regular visits. Which is sad, but he paved the way for so many kids, making a smooth path where it wasn't always smooth. </p><p>On behalf of all us Horace Mann Jaguars past and present, Thank you Jeff Schwartz. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-50905316379472554062024-03-09T06:00:00.000-08:002024-03-09T06:00:00.130-08:00Darling Nikki<p> Prince, god rest his purple soul, once wrote a song with the title, Darling Nikki. I warn you before you click on <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=darling+nikki&rlz=1C1GCEA_enUS1055US1055&oq=darlin&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUqDAgAECMYJxiABBiKBTIMCAAQIxgnGIAEGIoFMgwIARAuGEMYgAQYigUyDwgCEC4YFBiHAhixAxiABDIGCAMQRRg5Mg8IBBAAGEMYsQMYgAQYigUyCggFEC4YsQMYgAQyEAgGEC4YgwEYsQMYgAQYigUyBggHEEUYPKgCALACAA&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8&safe=active&ssui=on#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:42dbc4f3,vid:EkwWFIqLJd4,st:0" target="_blank">the link</a> that it is naughty. So naughty, in f<span style="font-family: inherit;">act, that it was one of the very first to garner a warning <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parental_Advisory#/media/File:Parental_Advisory_label.svg" target="_blank">sticker </a>from the Parents Music Resource Center way back in 1984. Interestingly, there is a backward vocal track toward the end of the song that when played forward says, "<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">Hello, how are you? </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">Fine, fine, 'cause I know that the Lord is coming soon </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">Coming, coming soon." I'm not guessing that Tipper Gore, wife of Vice President Al Gore probably caught that subtlety, what with their minds being filled with the thoughts of becoming President one day. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">Al never became president. Some believe this was because of some malfeasance connected with ballots being dumped in swamps and eventually the Supreme Court got mixed up in it. When the ruling came down Al was out and George W was in. Then the World Trade Center came down and we went to war for more than a decade.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">All because of the distractions created by that little ditty by Prince. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">Okay. Maybe it was a little bigger than the fourth track on Purple Rain. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">But I can't help but wonder if Al Gore had his mind on the big picture instead of getting Congress to put stickers on records, maybe things would have been different. No ballots in swamps. No Supreme Court ruling. Al wins and navigates the world through the troubled waters of the early twentieth century where peace and prosperity reigns. Purple. And he is able to focus on climate change, which was his central focus for all those years. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">Now Nikki Haley has bowed out of the Republican race for President. To say that she fought a good fight would be a little like saying that the Denver Broncos "fought a good fight" when they were beaten by the Miami Dolphins <a href="https://www.espn.com/nfl/story/_/id/38514694/broncos-vance-joseph-accepts-blame-70-20-loss-dolphins" target="_blank">seventy to twenty</a> this past season. The twenty points the Broncos did manage to score suggested that there was another team on the field that day. They brought their uniforms and everything. The just weren't ready to play in the same way the Dolphins did. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">In this analogy, Nikki Haley is being portrayed by the team from Denver. Her miniscule delegate count suggests that she was not able to withstand the ugly momentum of the MAGAts. And now she will be stepping aside to allow the matchup between old white guys to carry on at full volume. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">I suggest you try and drown it out with some Prince. </span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-16145801814063395442024-03-08T06:00:00.000-08:002024-03-08T06:00:00.137-08:00Get That Cat Out Of The Cradle<p> Miss Walsh's baby was born just a few hours after Miss Walsh made a very Miss Walsh-ish appearance at the school just to "drop a few copies off" in hopes of helping her substitute be just a little more prepared. This is precisely the odd level of dedication that we have come to expect from <a href="https://entropicalparadise.blogspot.com/2024/02/miss-walsh.html" target="_blank">Miss Walsh</a>. </p><p>And once again I want to appreciate and validate her choice to take a year off to spend with her burgeoning family. They should not grow up wondering when mommy is coming home or just exactly who mommy is. </p><p>Which got me to thinking about my own voyage through parenthood. I was there in the delivery room. I was there for the first three months of my son's life. Much to the periodic chagrin of the boy's mother. Then, just as abruptly as my life had changed in oh so many ways, I was dropped into my career as a teacher. My wife has described the post-partum terror of being left alone with this incipient human and how lonely she was trying to figure out how this thing worked. </p><p>I already knew how I worked: nose to the grindstone. Dedicated and loyal. I was the breadwinner and though there wasn't a lot of bread to win back in those days, I wanted to provide in the way that I could. This included working year-round at my year-round school, becoming that mythic fixture of an employee about which stories have been written and songs have been sung. </p><p>But I really wanted to be at home with my son. </p><p>A fairly large conflict of interest there. </p><p>As milestones and anecdotes stacked up, I continued to work and come home in time to spend as much of our child's waking hours as possible together. Which seemed like a lot at the time. But looking back I wish that it had been more. I benefit from a very close and forgiving relationship with my son, who found room in his heart to forgive my absences and allow me the opportunity to make up for those lost moments when our schedules permit it. The same can be said for the woman I left in a hostage crisis with a newborn. </p><p>I am only now becoming clear about the regrets I stacked up back then. And I'm working on the forgiveness. From them and from me. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-87301276455656795822024-03-07T06:00:00.000-08:002024-03-07T06:00:00.244-08:00How Long Can This Go On?<p> I tried to imagine how I could stand the next eight months of leadup to the 2024 Presidential Election. I am already at saturation point for the level of ridiculousness. Last week saw both candidates making an appearance at our southern border. It was what we have become attuned to: a photo opportunity. A chance for everyone to see these elderly gents amble about, being shown rocks and dirt and barbed wire. Each was shepherded about by handlers and given ample chance to be seen. Then they shared some of their thoughts about the situation down there before they ignored obvious questions and left. </p><p>What effect did any of this attention have on border policy? Absolutely none. It would have been shocking if either of the major candidates for President of the United States would have said something along the lines of, "You know, I had a look around down there and what I saw was profoundly disturbing. We are treating human beings like cattle. Those who are simply trying to make it across what is inhospitable territory are doing so at the risk of their lives. Just for a chance to have a little of what we here in our great nation." Or even, "What I saw down in Texas made me sick. Why aren't we simply executing those who make the mistake of crossing our border illegally? Send a signal. Try to enter at your own peril. America for Americans!" Nothing so clear cut. Just more of the same old same old. </p><p>One old guy says that the current border policies are an attempt to overthrow our government.</p><p>The other old guy says he is just trying to undo all the harm done by the other guy. </p><p>Across the river, desperate lives and conditions wait for their chance to be part of the problem and its solution. </p><p>Which makes me flinch in the extreme. How awful do things have to be for you to line up for the opportunity to be handled, mishandled, shoved and pushed and managed in hopes of a better life for you and your family? Where is the compassion for the wretched refuse? And would you be willing to sign a release for us to use your photo as an example of "wretched refuse?" If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could you please sign an oath of allegiance to the country that tried to kill you on the way in?</p><p>Eight more months. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-580431187638700372024-03-06T06:00:00.000-08:002024-03-06T06:00:00.265-08:00When The Stars Aligned <p> Back in early 1985, a group of singers gathered in a studio to do their part to help those starving in Africa. A very cool idea, but it wasn't theirs originally. Bob Geldof, lead singer for the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SaHAvEEbQOE" target="_blank">one-hit </a>wonders The Boomtown Rats, brought a bunch of English pop stars together and recorded "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3fSknbR7Y4" target="_blank">Do They Know It's Christmas</a>," an all-star charity single that was the fastest selling single in British history until Elton John reworked his "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1o9rLDCfO6o" target="_blank">Candle in the Wind</a>" for Princess Di's funeral. Elton's record made more money, but it was split up among a variety of charities favored by the late royal. The English supergroup sold more than two million copies across the globe, raising more than twenty-four million dollars for famine relief. They called themselves, with traditional Brit irony, Band-Aid. </p><p>When all those American pop stars crammed into A&M recording studios on January 28, 1985, they had to walk under a sign taped over the entrance that read, "Check your ego at the door." Many of them had come from a night of celebrating at the American Music Awards, hosted by one of the authors of the song they were going to record, Lionel Richie. Bruce Springsteen showed up. Cindy Lauper came. Huey Lewis was there. Bill Joel and Ray Charles participated. The list of who sang "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s3wNuru4U0I&t=197s" target="_blank">We Are The World</a>" read like a Who's Who of mid-eighties pop. Tina Turner. Diana Ross. Stevie Wonder. And Michael Jackson. </p><p>There were some notable no-shows: Madonna couldn't fit it into her busy schedule. Prince and his ego couldn't agree on the circumstances under which he would stand in a room with "the competition." Eddie Murphy didn't show, but Dan Aykroyd did. Sheila E was there, as an enticement to lure her boss and paramour Prince to the gig. It didn't work. Waylon Jennings walked out for a while as the artists argued about including some Swahili lyrics. </p><p>In the end, they finished the record just about the time the sun was coming up the following morning. People drove back to their homes, hotels, or the airport, and waited for the release of the record two months later. March 7, 1985 we in the world got to hear "We Are The World" for the first time. The single sold more than twenty million copies. It might have gone to the top of the charts sooner if not for the ubiquitous Phil Collins, whose song "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKVq-P3z5Vg" target="_blank">One More Night</a>" slowed the charity single's rise. But since Phil sang on the Band-Aid record, I suppose we should forgive him. </p><p>Thus began a period of musical activism. In the summer of 1985, a global event called Live Aid featuring most of the acts from both sides of the pond, occurring simultaneously in London and Philadelphia. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEWu59OPAbQ" target="_blank">Phil Collins</a> played on both sides of the Atlantic. Madonna showed up for this one, but Prince still stayed home. Not long after that, Bruce Springsteen's guitarist Little Steven Van Zandt together ro record "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9fR2r8Qlyyk" target="_blank">Sun City</a>" with an assemblage of many of the same conscientious folks to form Artists Against Apartheid. Bob Dylan, who showed up that night at the A&M studios wondered alo<span style="font-family: inherit;">ud <span style="background-color: white; color: #303030;">“Wouldn’t it be great if we did something for our own farmers right here in America?” And thus <a href="https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=484693973459681" target="_blank">Farm Aid</a> was born. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030;">Thirty-nine years ago, music was going to change the world. Looking around the planet these days, I can't help but think that there's just not enough music. </span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-54133610844235664972024-03-05T06:00:00.000-08:002024-03-05T06:00:00.348-08:00Rock Of Ages<p> "Never trust anyone over thirty," was the adage that was tossed around frequently when I was eight or nine years old. But I do think it's important to consider that age and wisdom are often found in the same place, if only because a person makes enough wrong turns that eventually they start making the right ones and suddenly the know exactly how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. </p><p>That being said, I would like to point out that last week Roger Daltrey celebrated his eightieth birthday. He has been married to his second wife for fifty-three years. He outlived the drummer in his band by forty-six years and counting. He was diagnosed back in 2015 with viral meningitis, and after a lengthy convalescence, he was able to go back into the studio with the other surviving member of the Who and record a new album in 2019. Then he and Pete went out on the road one more time. </p><p>That was way back when he was in his seventies. </p><p>I bring this up because this is the fellow who, at the ripe old age of twenty-one, declared "hope I die before I get old." </p><p>Ah, youth. </p><p>Here was are, pushing the limits and definitions of age around to suit ourselves, complaining about putting an eighty year old man in the White House. Mick Jagger is eighty years old. He and some of the other Stones just put out a new album that is as good as anything that the have released in years. They are hittng the road to play stadiums full of fans from eight to eighty. With a guitar player who is also eighty and has looked it for the past forty. </p><p>I have tickets to see a seventy-four year old Bruce Springsteen later<span style="font-family: inherit;"> this month. I would have seen him some months ago, but a bout of <span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">peptic ulcer disease kept him from making that date. Age is just a number we tell ourselves. Those of us who are over thirty, anyway. </span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-40236973954373003092024-03-04T06:00:00.000-08:002024-03-04T06:00:00.168-08:00All In The Family<p> Recently there was some talk about "crime families" in reference<span style="font-family: inherit;"> to the leadership of our nation. It was made by everyone's favorite theatre critic, <a href="https://www.denverpost.com/2023/09/12/lauren-boebert-removed-beetlejuice-musical-denver/" target="_blank">Lauren Boebert</a>, the Colorado Congressperson currently in search of a district to represent. She let this tweet fly on February 27: "<span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The Biden Crime Family will go down as the most corrupt political family in American history."</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; white-space-collapse: preserve;">This assertion was and continues to be in keeping with her search for a moral high ground in her attempt to disgrace the current president. No matter that her lord and master is the one who is currently involved, along with his sons, in multiple litigations against their family. Never mind that she really should think more than twice about hurling stones around the glass house in which she finds herself living. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f1419; white-space-collapse: preserve;">We'll skip the review of the "Beetlejuice" incident, and the ugly divor<span style="font-family: inherit;">ce proceedings and skip right to Representative Boebert's eighteen year old son. While her own crusade to impeach Joe Biden has been all but evidence free, authorities in Rifle, Colorado </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030;">picked u<span style="font-family: inherit;">p young Tyler Boebert last Tuesday afternoon after a string of recent vehicle trespassing incidents and property thefts in the area. Ms. Boebert's son </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #303030;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">faces twenty-two counts altogether, five of which are felonies. The charges include criminal possession of ID documents with multiple victims, conspiracy to commit a felony, first degree criminal trespassing and theft. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111;">Investigators identified the</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111;"> teenager in part because he was caught on surveillance footage wearing a hoodie with the name of his </span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><a cmp-ltrk-idx="1" cmp-ltrk="Article links" data-analytics-post-depth="40" data-analytics-product-module="body_link" data-mrf-link="https://www.businessinsider.com/lauren-boeberts-former-gun-themed-restaurant-replaced-by-mexican-restaurant-2022-12" data-uri="dc5c9b5302db3e1eb2d7a8a8fba44462" href="https://www.businessinsider.com/lauren-boeberts-former-gun-themed-restaurant-replaced-by-mexican-restaurant-2022-12" mrfobservableid="77956e0d-7ffa-4724-9be6-2cf9a6ba7af8" rel="" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; text-decoration-color: rgb(17, 17, 17); text-decoration-thickness: 1px; text-underline-offset: 2px; transition: all 0.2s ease 0s;" target="_blank">mom's recently closed gun-themed eatery</a><span style="background-color: white;">.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="background-color: white;">So, not exactly the <a href="https://images.app.goo.gl/m4LPVFrNEjZQcpFU7" target="_blank">Sopranos</a>, but not the <a href="https://images.app.goo.gl/nJqyVr7CEC8NBkKZ6" target="_blank">Cleavers </a>either. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="background-color: white;">All of which makes me glad that my public profile does not allow a lot of curiosity about the skeletons in my family's closet. The bus numbers and stop signs I borrowed from the city when I was a teenager. My recreational research into the effects of alcohol and various other chemicals from my college years. That time I stole penny candy from the neighborhood Ben Franklin. And the list goes on. Never arrested. Never charged. Embarrassed and guilty in front of my parents, but have tried to leave a clean slate in my adult life, including trips to the theater when I was able to keep my hands to myself thank you very much. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="background-color: white;">And for the most part, able to avoid screeching hypocrisy. </span></span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-25175857409090301952024-03-03T06:00:00.000-08:002024-03-03T06:00:00.349-08:00Poor Richard<p> There was a time, back in a previous century, when Hollywood was handing out sitcoms to any standup comedian who had a solid ten minutes and did not want to be on Saturday Night Live. Come to think of it, if memory serves me right, there was a time during which no one wanted to be on Saturday Night Live. </p><p>But in the late eighties, it became something of a goal for the standup set to find their way to a three-camera taped in front of a live audience half hour showcase for their talents. Some of these succeeded far beyond expectations. The gold standard being Seinfeld, which told the story of a young comedian named Jerry Seinfeld and all the wacky situations a young comedian might encounter. Like the time he and his buddy decided to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=412036886540825" target="_blank">pitch a sitcom</a> to NBC about the adventures of a young comedian who...</p><p>Well, you get the idea. In spite of this lazy brilliance, there were a lot of misfires. Not everyone remembers that Ellen DeGeneres had a sitcom before she started being everyone's happy talk host. And if you do remember the cleverly titled "Ellen," you probably remember the TV milestone she and her producers generated when they decided to have the character of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vCRgnMt7MiM" target="_blank">Ellen come out to a prime time audience</a>. But you may have pushed the fact that this was a somewhat desperate attempt to attract viewers to a show that was floundering in the ratings. That shining moment could not keep the show from collapsing under its own weight one season later. </p><p>From the ash heap of this period, from the rubble of Brett Butler, Jeff Foxworthy and Robin Williams, I pull the discarded remnant of pop culture known as <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=anything+but+love+opening&sca_esv=919619def4e17474&rlz=1C1GCEA_enUS1055US1055&sxsrf=ACQVn0_wPBZzdm0Njsf4etR8hu4w3CXUsA%3A1709220243931&ei=k6HgZZu5OKfh0PEPgcem0AI&ved=0ahUKEwjbzu3L7dCEAxWnMDQIHYGjCSoQ4dUDCBE&uact=5&oq=anything+but+love+opening&gs_lp=Egxnd3Mtd2l6LXNlcnAiGWFueXRoaW5nIGJ1dCBsb3ZlIG9wZW5pbmcyBBAAGANIuiBQ7AdY6x1wAXgAkAEAmAF8oAGIB6oBAzUuNLgBA8gBAPgBAZgCCaAC3QbCAgoQABhHGNYEGLADwgINEAAYgAQYigUYQxiwA8ICFhAuGIAEGIoFGEMY1AIYyAMYsAPYAQHCAhMQLhiABBiKBRhDGMgDGLAD2AEBwgIQEAAYgAQYFBiHAhixAxiDAcICCxAAGIAEGLEDGIMBwgIGEAAYFhgewgILEAAYgAQYigUYhgOYAwCIBgGQBg-6BgQIARgIkgcDNS40&sclient=gws-wiz-serp&safe=active&ssui=on#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:f9202e03,vid:3yKE9gEkFWg,st:0" target="_blank">Anything But Love</a>. The draw here was not the standup, but rather the star of all those slasher films from earlier in the decade, Jamie Lee Curtis. Her romantic interest was Marty Gold, played by the intensely neurotic Richard Lewis. For me, Richard was the draw. Having watched Richard come of age during regular appearances on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jxCp_COTj7M" target="_blank">David Letterman's</a> show, I was a fan. Richard was definitely an acquired taste, with his nearly constant fidgeting and fits of anxiety that flirted with the edges of pain. The pain that he turned outward from inside. All the hypochondria, the social fears, the threat of failure. That was appointment television for me. </p><p>Jamie Lee Curtis would eventually win an Oscar. No Oscar for Richard. No Emmy either. But he did land a plum role on his pal Larry David's show <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YJcI1Shd75A" target="_blank">Curb Your Enthusiasm</a>. He played an older comedian who was friends with the guy upon whom the character of George on Seinfeld was based. He was a natural. </p><p>Richard went to that big open mic in the sky last week. While he was here he trembled and shook and kvetched on the Terra, and he will be missed. Aloha, Richard, see you in my fever dreams. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-31648662358941430842024-03-02T06:00:00.000-08:002024-03-02T06:00:00.132-08:00Breaking All The Rules<p> I'm going to break the first rule: I'm going to talk about fight club.</p><p>Then I'm going to break the second rule: I'm going to continue to talk about fight club. </p><p>I'm going to continue to break rules one and two until something changes.</p><p>And don't think that somewhere down deep inside the anarchic piece of me that reveled in the novel and the film of that name isn't completely at odds with me about this decision, but I'm talking about fourth graders here. </p><p>Nine and ten year old boys who arranged an afterschool rumble in the bathroom for the expressed purpose of recording and streaming it to their nine and ten year old audience. That anarchic piece was shouted down immediately when my common sense teacher brain kicked in. Safety was my first concern. Right after that came this question: "What do you suppose gave them idea?"</p><p>It would be easy enough to toss a blanket over social media and be done with it. Then again, it says right there on the <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/community-guidelines/en/youth-safety/?cgversion=2023" target="_blank">Tik-Tok website</a> that you must be thirteen years or older to have an account. Isn't someone at home monitoring their child's use of their space age telecommunications apparatus? It would be disturbing enough if the boys had arranged a bout in the bathroom over some perceived slight or lunchroom transgression, but the added level of broadcasting it for the prurient interests of a group that would most certainly reach beyond our school walls made it much worse. </p><p>In my mind. </p><p>The mind that had been occupied at the time that this was all going down by a meeting about posting pictures and videos of our students online and trying to discern exactly what tack to take when deciding which kids and whose faces we were allowed to put on Al Gore's Internet for everyone to see. The school district has recently moved to an "opt-out" policy where at the beginning of the year parents are asked to check a box only if they objected to having their children's image put out there for all to see. Everywhere. All the time. </p><p>I can guarantee the same parents who flipped on past that box on the questionnaire are the same ones who don't bother to check on their children's tech use. The outrage I felt as an educator and a parent was not mirrored by the reactions of the parents of the boys involved. None of them had the words "victimless crime" at hand, but that was the overriding expression of their concern. Kids, after all, will be kids. </p><p>I heard that little voice in my head start to speak up, but I told it to shut up and go back to 1999. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-6341314630762010442024-03-01T06:00:00.000-08:002024-03-01T06:00:00.134-08:00Incident Report<p> A few days ago, our cat got out. This happens periodically, but not enough that we have erected any sort of barrier or gate to prevent such an event. We have a general response which is to stay calm and assume that the crisis will end in much the same way that it always has before: our cat back inside the house. </p><p>When this most recent breech occurred, I arrived home to the news after the cat had a half hour head start. We adopted him from the neighborhood, and don't expect that he will wander too far afield. There are about four places where he might land, all of which are a short walk from our front door. </p><p>Nevertheless, I went into house protection mode. I become unsettled easily when things are not in a particular order. The cat not being inside is one of those elements of chaos that set my nerves on edge. I went outside to check on those places where I have often seen the cat making good on his moments of relative freedom. Not the back fence. Not in front of the apartments next door. His two landing spots across the street were devoid of his presence as well. I returned home to stare out into the front yard alternately with trips to the back door to see if he had showed up there. </p><p>My wife kept a calm vigil, reminding me that the cat has been with us for three years and has always found his way home before. Usually this return has accompanied meal time. But as darkness began to fall her composure began to slip as we each pondered all the possible fates that lay outside our control.</p><p>This is when I started thinking about the pending government shutdown. This happens all the time. We expect that common sense will prevail and once Congress reminds itself that they need to come home in order to eat they will do the right thing and make the budget work. Even though all kinds of danger exists for us all if a compromise is not reached, the cats on Capitol Hill will stay out as darkness falls. They have all kinds of cat concerns to look after beyond the obvious one: providing a budget to keep the government from shutting down. </p><p>Eventually, the phone rang and the neighbor across the street let us know that our cat had come by to hang out on her back porch. My wife walked over to retrieve our pet, our house pet, who seemed less than pleased about being dragged back to the confines of the place where he has been kept warm and fed and safe for the past three years. Where there is always a warm lap in which to sit, and any number of places to rule from his roost. Crisis averted. </p><p>For now. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-35146719945634408132024-02-29T06:00:00.000-08:002024-02-29T06:00:00.138-08:00Squeezing It In<p> Every four years we are gifted with this additional day. The one that provides endless amusement for grade schoolers and dads who enjoy being obtuse about the date and time. Things that really should be absolutes, but science has insisted that every four years we square our accounts by scooping up the fr<span style="font-family: inherit;">actions of a day and bundle them all together into February 29. All that acclaim we toss in the direction of <span style="background-color: white; color: #040c28;">Nicolaus Copernicus, but it was Julius Caesar who suggested that we needed to squeeze a few extra minutes into the calendar to align us with the stars. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #040c28;">Otherwise Astrology wouldn't work. And you wouldn't know which day to get out of bed and ask for a raise based on some quacky bit of animal and fish lore dreamed up by a bunch of drunken Greeks. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #040c28;">So now, in these more enlightened times, we hold on to that quarter day for four years and then stitch the bits together to make the day with which you are currently gifted. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #040c28;">My wife has suggested that we use this extra time to do our civic duty: voting. Make it a national holiday and remove the excuses that preclude so many of us from doing our democratic duty. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #040c28;">Yes. I said "duty."</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #040c28;">Of course this works for our rather quaint insistence that we vote for presidents every four years. But it doesn't account for those stray special elections for vacated seats and state propositions and local concerns. It also fails to recognize the willy-nilly lack of election cycles in places like Canada and Great Britain where elections seem to happen on a whim. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #040c28;">So, in an effort to maintain some of that air of responsibility but recognizing the rest of the planet does not have our same boring cycle for picking its leaders, I would like to make the following: Leak Year. Every four years on February 29, you should go around your house and fix leaky faucets. Or squeaky hinges. Or any other deferred maintenance you have set aside for "when you have the time." Here it is. Got a toilet that runs a little too long? Not after today. How about your kid's bike that just needs a little air in the tires? Done. Or maybe you could just use the day to sit down and make a list of all the things that you would like to fix. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #040c28;">Four years from now. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #040c28;">Thank you for your time. </span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-62557511866964933712024-02-28T06:00:00.000-08:002024-02-28T06:00:00.133-08:00Foul Play<p> The mayor of L<span style="font-family: inherit;">as Vegas, <span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;">Carolyn Goodman,</span> had this to say about the Oakland Athletics relocating to her city: <span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;">“I personally think they’ve got to figure out a way to stay in Oakland.” Ms. Goodman made this suggestion just a few days before pitchers and catchers were supposed to report to spring training. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;">She didn't say this back in November, when Major League Baseball unanimously voted to let the A's pull up stakes and move to Sin City. It seems that Mayor Goodman is having difficulty getting the ownership of the team to settle down on the site the city had originally proposed. Instead, the formerly Oakland A's have selected a much smaller parcel that would put them closer to The Strip. And will necessitate the tearing down of The Tropicana Hotel. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;">Which means that the mayor of Las Vegas has had a chance to get a little taste of the kind of shenanigans for which the Athletics' ownership is so widely known. Here in Oakland, where the A's have been located since 1968. Before that, they played ball in Kansas City, and before that they were in Philadelphia. So it's not like they were a Bay Area institution. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;">Except they were. Four World Series victories over their time in Oakland, the most recent being the "Battle of the Bay" that coincided with the Loma Prieta earthquake of 1989. During that same span the Oakland Raiders moved to Los Angeles. And moved back. And the San Francisco Forty-Niners moved on down the road a piece to settle in Santa Clara. The the Golden State Warriors, who were clever enough not to tie themselves eponymously to any particular city hopped across the bay to a glitzy new arena. And all the while, since before I moved to California in 1992, the Athletics have been looking for a chance to move to their very own ball park. Thirty or so years later, no deal has been made. The wretched confines of the Oakland Coliseum with its sewage problems and its multi-use configuration is more suited for a tractor pull than a baseball game. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;">Which never kept the fans from coming out and supporting their team. Until last season when it became obvious to everyone in organized baseball that the trick wasn't to put a good team on the field as much as it was to make deals that would last in perpetuity for the owners. The A's were the worst team in the major leagues last year. And now with the prospect of another year in limbo, it isn't likely that any big contracts will be signed to bring extra talent in for this team without a home. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.4px;">Mayor Goodman seems to think the A's belong in Oakland. If only the owners of the team would listen. </span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-45959340035157125262024-02-27T06:00:00.000-08:002024-02-27T06:00:00.130-08:00Rubbing Our Collective Noses In It<p> A very good friend of mine suggested many years ago that it would be appropriate, if not required for every video game death to be accompanied with a video game funeral. It was her contention as a new parent whose son seemed destined to experience a great many simulated final exits so there should be a commensurate moment to mark those who passed. Aside from the scoring bonus. This became our own family's sentiment as our son began to test the first-person shooter waters. The fact that he was limited to games in the Star Wars universe that provided him opportunities to kill faceless Stormtroopers and alien beings who certainly deserved to die didn't keep us from flinching at the body count. </p><p>Killing without conscience seemed like a bad idea. </p><p>Not that I didn't spend my own youth chasing my friends around the neighborhood with a cap gun, snapping off round after round in hopes of mowing them all down. The rules of our game were not unlike freeze tag. If the Gunner, that was me, shot you then you were to lay still until someone else who was still alive came by to tag you. It didn't occur to me back then that I had the job of taking life while the other kids were able to restore it. An odd choice on my part considering the rest of the pacifist tendencies I professed as a child. </p><p>Which is probably why I did not argue long and hard for a prohibition for shooting games in my home once I had a kid of my own. Buried somewhere in there was this feeling that we all have a streak of homicide within us and it would be best if it had an outlet that could be tapped for maintenance purposes. Being able to talk about the distinction between <a href="https://entropicalparadise.blogspot.com/2011/11/things-that-go-boom.html" target="_blank">reality and make believe</a> seemed important. Thirteen years ago when I was writing about this, it was something I wanted to express as a defense for walking that thin line. </p><p>All of this came tumbling back into my head after I read what John Mellencamp had to say about our country's gun problem. No<span style="font-family: inherit;">t the virtual ones. Not the cap guns. The ones that have made guns the <a href="https://www.kff.org/mental-health/issue-brief/child-and-teen-firearm-mortality-in-the-u-s-and-peer-countries/" target="_blank">number one killer</a> of young people in the United States. More than motor vehicles. More than cancer. Mister Mellencamp made the following suggestion in the aftermath of the shooting in Kansas City: <span style="letter-spacing: 0.17px;">“If we as a country want to find the collective will within ourselves to change our gun laws, let’s stop playing silly political games. Show the carnage on the news. Show the American people the dead children and others who have been struck down. Show us what guns and bullets can do to the human body.” I would also like to point out that the shooters in the post-Super Bowl shooting were newly minted "adults," aged twenty-two and eighteen. Eleven of the victims shot that day were under the age of sixteen. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.17px;">None of them were Stormtroopers. None of them were aliens. None of them were bad guys. And it will take considerably more than a tag from a friend to make their wounds heal. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.17px;">There is no reset button. </span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-72261447137718875292024-02-26T06:00:00.000-08:002024-02-26T06:00:00.144-08:00If The Shoe Fits<p> "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fkY7W6kCRY4" target="_blank">It's gotta be the shoes</a>!" That's what Mars Blackman would have had us believe back in 1989. It wasn't the extra long shorts. It wasn't the short socks. It wasn't the haircut or the vicious dunks. </p><p>It was Michael Jordan. Who many people believe was the greatest basketball player of all time. The shoes he wore, designed specifically for him, originally sold to the public for $64.99. Back in 1985, this was an outrageous price for a pair of sneakers, but plenty of folks ponied up the cash in the hopes that maybe in fact it was the shoes. </p><p>Four years ago a pair of game-worn autographed Air Jordans <a href="https://newatlas.com/original-first-pair-air-jordan-sneakers-auction-records/" target="_blank">sold at auction</a> for $672,000. And somehow, in 2020, this price did not seem outrageous. </p><p>If you have read this far, you are probably already putting together your imagined response from me.</p><p>I will say that this makes sense. </p><p>What do<span style="font-family: inherit;">esn't make sense is a former game show host best known for <a href="https://www.palmbeachpost.com/story/sports/2023/02/03/trump-and-golf-fancy-resorts-a-list-partners-cheating-at-highest-level/69857594007/" target="_blank">cheating at golf</a> selling his own personal brand of sneakers for $399. These spurious gold <span style="background-color: white; color: #5f6368; font-weight: bold;">lamé</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156;"> high tops with a chunk of an American flag plastered around the ankle went on sale just one day after a court in New York City fined the twice impeached former president $355,000,000 for fraud. A "lucky" bidder was able to get an autographed pair of these Made In China kicks for $9000. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; letter-spacing: -0.16px;">Roman Sharf, the founder and CEO of luxury watch dealer, Luxury Bazaar was the "winner" of the auction. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; letter-spacing: -0.16px;">I am certain that somewhere in all those numbers an equation can be generated to determine just how "important" each of these shoes truly is. From out here it looks like the early favorite would be Michael Jordan. Mike has had his share of financial setbacks and challenges, but his revenues remain ahead of his fines. Mike came back from retirement and played with the lowly Washington Wizards. Legacy untarnished. He played baseball for fifteen minutes or so with the Chicago White Sox. Legacy untarnished. He hasn't played competitive basketball for more than twenty years now, but his shoes still sell. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; letter-spacing: -0.16px;">The guy who regularly cheats at golf believes that selling sneakers will dig him out of the whole in which he has inserted himself. His legacy is secure. But not in a good way. </span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-32045900698259837412024-02-25T06:00:00.000-08:002024-02-25T06:00:00.144-08:00Miss Walsh<p> I have lost count of the dedicated folks with whom I have had the privilege of working with here at my school. This little urban oasis of education. Every so often, at the end of the school year, as we struggle through those last days of cleaning and boxing up to prepare for what is to come after two months away, I make the rounds to say farewell to those who are departing. For one reason or another, not everyone has the same trajectory I do: A straight line. Off they go into the world to seek their fortunes elsewhere. I give them this same advice: "There are no ex-Horace Mann employees, only recovering Horace Mann employees."</p><p>Then we have a good chuckle, a handshake or a hug, and we set off into the future with whatever it holds. </p><p>This is different. Miss Walsh, our stalwart veteran of the Second Grade is packing up this week, ostensibly on maternity leave. She's done that before. And then rushed right back to her post. A dedicated partner at home has worked with her to make this first child work alongside her dedication to her job. Sometimes that meant baby came to crawl around on the rug while mom set up her room. Sometimes that meant leaving a little early to be there for a doctor's appointment. But there was never a question about where her focus was. Her second graders were her kids. Their care, feeding and continued progress through the education system was her primary focus, just behind that of her own flesh and blood. </p><p>Well, now she has chosen to dip back into the parenthood pond, only this time she is planning to take some extra time away. She wants to be able to spend some real mommy time with her children. Not the ones in her classroom. The ones she feeds and talks to and puts to bed each night. She is leaving to be a part of their lives and not just the lady who takes over from day care. She will be day care. </p><p>Which leaves an island size hole in the second grade that will be nearly impossible to fill. I can remember when Miss Walsh came to us as a pup, full of excitement and enthusiasm. Years of study, meetings, parent conferences, early mornings and late nights have helped to shape a model educator. We will strive to find someone to take her place, but we won't replace her. She is that grain grain of sand that after nearly a decade of irritation has emerged as a pearl. We have been fortunate to have her. </p><p>And her children, here and at home, are lucky to have been under her care. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-45266599682808787852024-02-24T06:00:00.000-08:002024-02-24T06:00:00.138-08:00What Happened Nex<p> Tragically, this is not a new story. At least in terms of the institutional cruelty and communal savagery that exists when it comes to trans youth. Sixteen year old Nex Benedict died a day after a fight in the bathroom in their high school bathroom. During the altercation, Nex's head hit the floor. Nex was suspended from the school and was sent home. They were dead a day later. </p><p>School officials, who chose not to report the incident at the time of the fight have "launched an investigation" into the circumstances surrounding this child's death. A school resource officer went to the hospital only after they were summoned by police to the hospital where Nex was pronounced dead. </p><p>A day after the fight. </p><p>This happened in Owass<span style="font-family: inherit;">o, Oklahoma. Oklahoma's governor has <span style="background-color: white;">signed several bills that required students to use bathrooms that match their sex assigned at birth citing safety, banned the use of nonbinary gender markers on IDs, restricted gender-affirming care and banned transgender girls from participating in girls' sports citing fairness. Oklahoma's governor, Kevin Stitt, maintains a close relationship with <a href="https://www.salon.com/2024/02/03/despicable-alarm-after-oklahoma-appoints-libs-of-tiktok-creator-to-library-committee/" target="_blank">Libs of TikTok</a>, a group that churns out anti-LGBTQ+ rhetoric with baseless accusations and fear. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">To suggest that this environment had nothing to do with Nex's death is unconscionable. Not just in Oklahoma, but across these less-than-United States. So an investigation, led b<span style="font-family: inherit;">y the school district and government authorities who maintain these intolerant views, will be made. The school's website has already made their case: </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Students were in the restroom for less than two minutes and the physical altercation was broken up by other students who were present in the restroom at the time, along with a staff member who was supervising outside of the restroom.”</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps from my own interest in what lies beneath the rocks on Al Gore's Internet, I chose to review a few of the comments beneath one of the articles describing Nex's death. I was happily surprised to find that most of the discussion centered around loss of a young person. The curious bits came from the qualifying statements that preceded some of the sentiments: "I don't support this trans-stuff, but..." Accounts of students being bullied for any number of reasons tend to bring out sympathy for the victim, but in this case it is far too late. Where was the care for Nex when they needed it most?</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe the investigation will bring some measure of justice. That would be nice. But it would also be too late. </span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12710103.post-47768730806489084472024-02-23T06:00:00.000-08:002024-02-23T06:00:00.132-08:00We Interrupt This Program<p> An accounting error made it possible for students and staff of Oakland schools to have a four day weekend. Somewhere within the brain trust that controls where and how things are arranged within the district, the little detail of 2024 being a leap year escaped the calendar makers. Each school year is carefully plotted to bring our collective educational focus to bear on one hundred eighty instructional days. Somebody downtown skipped right past February 29 and Bingo, one hundred eighty-one. So it was decided that the only rational thing to do was to tack an extra vacation day onto a pre-existing day so the problem would just disappear. </p><p>But somehow that information didn't trickle down to everyone. The Friday after Valentines Day and before Presidents Day became a bonus day of rest for those of us who wake up early and stay late. Except the announcement of this treat was somewhat occluded. I was fortunate enough to be chatting with my principal about plans we might be making for the upcoming three day weekend when she let slip that it was actually four, and suddenly I was awash with questions and doubt. How could this be? Since when does the school district just give us all something without asking for something in return? Like the raise we all got a couple years back and then found out we were all going to be required to stick around on Wednesdays to do extra tutoring with our students. Not an unreasonable ask, but all part of the give and take of being a public servant. In one particular instance, our uber-dedicated second grade teacher who is preparing to go on maternity leave was shocked to find out that she had one less day to prepare her students for her absence. This constitutes chaos in her universe. </p><p>And the parents of our young charges were similarly impacted. "What are we supposed to do with our kids for that extra day?" None of them actually vocalized this concern, but it was apparent in their mild antipathy as they picked up their progeny on Thursday afternoon. Nobody asked them how they felt. Not that the kids would have insisted on sticking around for that extra day in February. </p><p>But no one asked me. Would I just as soon have pushed on through to the end of May, and then be rewarded with one less day at the end? I think that could have been arranged, if some sort of survey was made among the staff. Since that didn't happen, I found myself by Monday finally relaxing into the vacation rhythm. I woke up at my usual time. I fed the cat. I looked at the headlines. Then I did something I never do: I went back to bed. I slept for an additional two hours. </p><p>Even on my day off, I'm still learning. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><p id="blogfeeds"><$BlogFeedsVertical$></p></div>entropical paradisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09544700420855625055noreply@blogger.com0