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Showing posts from March, 2008

Evening News

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First came the picture of a young man whose remains were found and positively identified. Matt Maupin been captured in Iraq, tortured and killed. His parents held out hope. You know the story. You know the drill. In his Army photo, he seemed the picture of health; square jawed and almost a smile. The grainy videotape purporting to be his execution was inconclusive, but that doesn't matter now. Then came the local story of the woman who argued with her husband after mass. She ran him down in church parking lot when the service was over. The photo showed only her mug shot and then the convex, smashed front windshield of their car. He is in the hospital. One month ago she sought and obtained a restraining order against him. Two weeks ago she married him. What percentage of our news is now medical? Last night we find out that Vytorin doesn't work. Never did. Five Billion dollars in profit later and it's determined to be ineffective. Now that's a h

Why, What's the Reason For?

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Sometimes words are not necessary. This seems to be one of those times a picture will do nicely. "Camouflage colored Easter eggs," he said, so I thought I'd better investigate. Sure enough now, here they are. The possibilities are endless, but I really want to know what you think about camouflage Easter eggs?

A Thought About Second Thoughts

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We live in a paradoxical cosmos. Sometimes the contradictions are transparent, but on other occasions they lied buried in the mud of all that gets discarded in daily garbage mills. Yet garbage is just as life giving as sterile blood. What it produces can either be recycled or used to fertilize new growth. A case in point, the recent rush to find self-realization through Oprah's Book Club or Big Gives, or a hybrid vehicle, or essential Omega 3 Oils, or solar panels, or political hope, or LA weight loss, or the Final Four, or Income tax rebates, or being an American Idol, or Meeting the Press, or America's Next Top Model, or Viva Viagra, or Making the Playoffs, or Rollover minutes, or Air Miles, or great tasting, less filling, Constitution loving, Star Spangled, truth-telling, yes I can dance consciousness. But seriously folks, why do my landing gear retreat when the way to Nirvana is again on the New York Times best-seller list. Could it be *The Myth of the Eternal Return, l

The Race Is On

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I wish I could just write about the Run for the Roses here. It's easier and certainly more fun to speculate about 3 year olds like Pyro and War Pass than to focus on all the muck coming out of the Democratic Party's stables these days. In light of recent developments, however, the RACE is on. A short week ago, War Pass was undefeated and looked like the Triple Crown was his for the taking. Barack Obama was running for president and enjoyed a narrow delegate lead in this historic stretch drive for the nomination. Now War Pass is questionable, his pedigree and health in doubt. Obama is suddenly a Black man running for president. Wasn't it all inevitable? Americans (North Americans, that is) have such a difficult time talking about race. It's no wonder we have to ask ourselves if we should even have the conversation. Of course we should, but root canal often becomes preferable because we fear that we'll be misunderstood. So a Black minister assuages his anger

Lookie Here...

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Hey look; it's the Chairman of the Board! No, not Frank Sinatra, another American icon, Uncle Ben is now the Chairman of the Board. Uncle Ben has been converted just like his rice. He's gone from the kitchen cook of the 19th and 20th century American imagination to the owner of the company. His bow tie works with his new three piece suit as easily as it adorned his white cook's uniform. If ever you have difficulty measuring change in race relations or the power of advertising images, just think of Uncle Ben. His friend Aunt Jemima has under gone a similar makeover in recent years s well. What is now merely a head band worn by a healthy looking young adult was once the bandana of the world's most recognizable mammy. Just think, in a few short years there will be an entire generation who will have no idea about the past lives of our famous Aunt and Uncle. Maybe that's a good thing? Maybe it isn't. In light of some of the recent comments of ageing politi

Tattoos

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I've been thinking about getting a tattoo for the last few years. Two young teachers I worked with in "06 wanted to give me one for a good-bye gift. It just never happened. I moved to Portland, and they moved to different schools. It was going to be on my forearm. A rainbow trout; colorful but small and tasteful, I imagined. It still may happen. Katie wants to get one too. Probably a Buddha...a tiny Buddha. In thinking about the word and concept: tattoo...seems to me I already have a few. We all do, even our cars, trucks, bikes, but definitely our bodies. When I look at what were once very small freckles or birth marks on my arms, neck, back, I think, they've become a kind of tattoo. Scars are tattoos also. I see the mark made at 14 in wood shop. A slipped chisel leaves a tattoo. By my elbow is a spider webb fragment from a horse who wanted all my carrots and nudged me into a barbed wire fence because I resisted. Invisible is the tattoo I wear under my lip fr

Poe Boy, Long Way From Home

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     What I like about Poe Ballantine is how he takes us out to the ragged edge of our towns, which are any town, as he stumbles around and across this country.  In his collection of essays, Things I   Like About America , Ballantine rambles all over and across the country hanging on by dime here and a quarter there.  He takes most any job that will last a few days or weeks, cutting himself on sheet metal, or fending off the noise assault from hammering freight pallets together.  He cooks in questionable kitchens with questionable people. Poe takes rooms in places most of us would eliminate on sight.  He eats either the same fast food that's plentiful on the frozen streets of Fond Du Lac, Wisconsin or the melting asphalt of Mexico. He notices how strip mall restaurants have red plastic roofs. Sometimes Poe eats wonderfully colorful combinations of supermarket fare.  Sardines and oranges, or buys cookie cutter cheese burgers, homemade chile and apples. His KFC, has no wings...he

Pain into Power

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Last week I got the chance to take a workshop from Daniel Beaty, a very talented writer/poet who works with students on turning their pain into power. He's noted for appearances on Def Poetry Jam and other spoken word programs. The Oregon Writing Project's annual writing retreat was the venue. A teacher working with a group of teachers is a powerful thing. After modeling a piece based on speaking to a person about the way it was and the way it could be, we worked on duality pieces. For Daniel, being a Yale educated kid from the ghetto states the case nicely. His piece cleverly featured a dialogue between the hustler homeboy and the educated young man. Kind of a Nigga/Negro thing. Since my previous efforts from his inspiration were intense personal pieces, I wanted to focus on something lighter. I immediately thought of my passion for horses as well as blues music. What resulted was this poem: Bluesman V. Horseman Inside the same pair of Levis

Tell Me About Your Mother...

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My mom showed up in a dream the other night.  Unlike most of her appearances she wasn't in a particularly good mood, and certainly didn't have her usual kind appearance.  But then I knew it was a dream and that means it wasn't she, but what she represents.   My dreams lately have had a few twists.  Some new motifs have emerged and they give credence to the theory that as we age, our dream content changes.  Still the teacher dreams continue.  But now, I have not retired.  I only indicated I did, and in the dreams I will teach this year and then retire.  What's the message?  That we never stop teaching? I'm always removed in these re-teaching dreams.  I'm always at another school with some classes I like and then one that I never seem to give adequate attention to.  When I finally find where that class meets (I frequently forget in the dreams) I'm relieved to find that I'm such a professional that I can flawlessly launch into something meaningful-a seamle