Policia de Catalunya

We experienced our first science project this weekend. It was hell. Pure, torturous hell.
Two weeks ago, Mr. M was given the choice of writing about black holes (his idea) or the topic suggested by his teacher: Saturn's rings. He quickly figured out that black holes are way complicated -- a PhD is required to even read about them -- and opted for the rings.
Despite my gentle reproaches for two full weeks, Mr. M chose to wait until yesterday, the day before the report was due, to even start his research.
The instructions for this odious undertaking were onerous: the report was to be typed or NEATLY handwritten. It was to be presented in a folder, accompanied by a model. Moreover, the topic was to be extensively researched.
In other words, the parents had been assigned a one-page science report. More specifically, the mothers had been tasked with researching and writing a one-page science report. I mean, come on. What non-genius seven year old knows how to type? Or constructively google?
So, yes, I was irritated. Frankly, I don't do well in Alphamomville; I'm just not that competitive. But it felt like I was going there. Nor do I have the time or inclination to research Saturn's rings.
But hells bells. I had to give it a whirl, at least jump-start the poor kid. I couldn't just sit idly by, hoarding research skills honed from years of legal research, while my first-grader laboriously pecked out S-A-T-U-R-N, struggling to master Google. Bet the other kids don't have a Westlaw wizard for a mom. I am mother, here I roar.
Besides, the on our Childcraft encyclopedia is, umm, well, 1964. My mom bought the set for us at a garage sale. The volume called "World and Space" devoted one meager paragraph to Saturn. Clearly, we'd need to consult more up-to-date sources. In the sixties, you see, scientists believed Saturn's rings were made out of ice. Get out!
Alrighty then. This was not going to be as easy as I thought.
Still, this was Mr. M's assignment, whether the teacher liked it or not. I was determined that he do the work himself. So I found an astronomy website for kids, clicked the article on Saturn's rings, and told him to have at it.
And make it good, I admonished him. No silly "Saturn has many rings. It is a nice planet. The end," report was going to come out of this powerhouse think tank. Oh, no.
Except . . . there's a raging debate about the age of Saturn's rings. GD it. Who knew?
Turns out, the particles in the rings are shiny, which suggests the rings are young-ish. The shiny particles haven't been around long enough to collide with meteorites (or was it asteroids?) and collect dust, so goes one argument. If they were older, they'd have dark spots. Astronomical signs of middle age, I suppose.
The other school of thought is that the rings are in fact old. They are re-forming all the time, due to some complicated gravity-pulling merging-with-other-matter clump thing going on. So naturally, indeed this should be intuitive, the dust from prior collisions is knocked off. Thus the particles, old as they may be, remain shiny.
Got that?
Mr. M certainly didn't. And neither did I, not completely (thinking about gravitational pull hurts my head). Mr. M and I became frustrated by the entire topic and with each other. Enter Science King Husband. But he didn't get it either, though he was loathe to admit same.
Then all three of us got flummoxed and frustrated. There was yelling, weeping, gnashing of teeth. I got so stressed out that I grabbed the Economist and headed outside to relax, to read about the economy.
But through the screen door, I could hear Science King and Mr. M hashing it out at the kitchen table.
_______________________________________________
Science King: Write down that Saturn is the most gaseous planet.
Me, yelling, from the backyard: Says who? You are totally making that up.
Mr. M: Dad, I'm only supposed to write about the rings.
Science King: I think this paper should at least say something about the planet Saturn.
Me, from the backyard: We have already spent hours researching the age of the rings. If you want to change topics mid-course, reinvent the wheel and spend all of Sunday investigating Saturn, be my guest. But I'd suggest you stay on point.
Science King (to Mr. M): How many rings does Saturn have?
Mr. M: Dad, I have no idea.
Science King: Well, let's look it up on google.
[FIVE MINUTES OF TOTAL SILENCE ELAPSE]
Science King: Okay. Just write down, "Saturn has many rings."
Me (from the backyard, now a shrew at fever pitch): The point here is that there are two competing views on the age of the rings. He needs to explain both of them and the significance of the shiny particles.
Science King (shouting to me): How do you spell Voyager?
Me: Is it not in the article you just read on the internet, or are you just making "Voyager" up?
Science King: You're my net, baby.
[MORE TIME ELAPSES, THEY ARE TALKING IN LOWERED VOICES]
Expediency has quickly overtaken substance in importance; they are now unabashedly making it up as they go along.
Science King: Okay, so what are the rings made of, anyway? Probably gas. Yeah, that sounds right. Write, "The rings are made up of gas."
Me (from the backyard, having totally lost my composure): PARTICLES! The rings are made up of particles!
Science King: But gas can have particles in it, can't it?
Me (now insane): Hell if I know. All I'm saying is that the particles are shiny and there's a lot of controversy about the age of the rings. Just say no one knows how old the stupid rings are, few people care, and put forward the two competing views. This doesn't have to be hard.
Science King: Umm, Mr. M's pencil just broke. We're going to walk to the store to buy a pencil sharpener.
[FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, THEY RETURN]
Me (calling out from the backyard): Did you get the folder?
King: Folder?
Me: Yes! The folder! For his report.
King: You didn't say he needs a folder. They didn't have a pencil sharpener, anyway.
Mr. M: Mom, they were selling Girl Scout cookies up there and I told Dad you wanted Thin Mint and he just refused to buy them.
Me (to Science King, now rabid): You mean there were Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies up there and you REFUSED to buy me any?
Science King: Umm, Mr. M, let's go make the model. I think we've researched enough.
____________________________________________________
Talk about trials and tribulations. Jesus H and a flat pancake.
Why can't it be like it used to be, back when I was growing up? My parents didn't stand around arguing about Saturn's rings. There were no family meltdowns over piddly-ass science projects. So what's changed, I'd like to know.
And to think this is only the beginning, the second semester of first grade.
P.S.: Stiletto Mom? Girlfriend, you've had it easy. Book report, schmook report. Sage mother at Mothers Handbook, what sayest ye?

Labels: Rings

this was too funny not to share.

Labels: Autographs, Bible Verse, Tim Hawkins

On the oil spill, pundits say, they can offer Obama little comfort.
A profound pronouncement? And a circular one at that? You bet.
But it's no better than Obama's forgettable quote on Friday:
"My job right now is just to make sure everybody in the Gulf understands: This is what I wake up to in the morning, and this is what I go to bed at night thinking about. The spill."(Sorry, but the "spill"? The "spill"?!? And his primary job is to make sure we understand he's thinking about it? Axe, are you on vacation or something? Axe . . . ?)
More reassuring was Big P's priceless quote from its stunningly empathic CEO: "I would like my life back." (So would we all, my friend, so would we all. And the livelihoods of Louisianans, while you're at it.)
Seriously though, I think I've found someone who can help Spock Obama. Someone he can model himself after, during this unfolding nightmare.
Now, the fellow I have in mind is no super model, I'll grant you that. Obama would crush him in a pick-up game, in two minutes flat.
But if you're looking for a "bullhorn" man, may I present the rotund, frank, and clearly feeling Billy Nungesser of Louisiana's Plaquemines ("plack-a-means") Parish.

This ADD fellow -- who gets things done, by the way -- is a man after my own heart, and my country's.
By way of example, here's a snippet from a recent New York Times profile of wild-marsh Bill:
How did Mr. Nungesser come to own an elk ranch in the parish?
The elk, he said late Thursday night over a 10-minute dinner of Sun Chips and soda, were bought from a man in Nebraska with the money he got from selling his house to his sister when he went to live in a shipping container.A few minutes later, he added:
"I had a Jacuzzi," he clarified. "It was nice."
See why I love this guy, nonsequiturs and all?
Because he's real. He's there. And he cares.
"The buck stops with me," said the president. "And the muck does, too," said I. And Billy.

Labels: Billy Nungesser, Marshes, Obama, Oil Spill, Plaquemines Parish

There are an awful lot of obtuse legal expressions, like "go hence without day." But the old adage, "bad facts make bad law," is fairly self-evident.
So let's look at some bad facts: the rabidly anti-gay protesters at Elizabeth Edwards's funeral.
They were the Westboro whackos, the ones who picket certain military funerals -- those honoring our troops who are alleged to be gay.
At it again at Mrs. Edwards's funeral, three adults and two children waved inane epithets while Christmas carolers circled the service and kept the protesters at bay.
The group picked out the deceased Mrs. Edwards because of her inter vivos statement that she was "completely comfortable" with gay marriage. This intolerable, intolerant group is not.
But perhaps we would feel differently, were they instead condemning John Edwards's infidelity, waving placards like, "You're in a better place, Elizabeth. John will rot in hell!"
It would still be offensive. But should speech be curtailed because it's in poor taste? Or just plain stupid?
Related is whether the government can forbid these Westboro folks from protesting at military funerals. Because it raises First Amendment issues of free speech, as well as a father's right to peaceably assemble at his son's funeral, the case will be heard by United States Supreme Court. It will be a fascinating decision.
We know we can't scream "Fire!" falsely in a crowded theater because it would likely cause injury to others. It is illegal to incite a crowd to commit "imminent acts of lawlessness." But beyond that, it is hard to draw a bright line.
It is hard because we find ourselves looking at how these intrusive protesters devastate the grieving parents and other mourners. And we can't help but notice how futile is their speech since the object of their hatred is already dead.
In other words, it's impossibly difficult to exclude the merits of the message from the analysis. And regulating the content of what would otherwise be legal speech -- that it's occurring at a funeral is the main source of outrage -- is problematic, to say the least.
What if the Westboro people were protesting misogyny? Or the war? Or the draft, supposing there were one? What if they were protesting outside the house of the dead serviceman instead of the funeral service?
And what of counter-protesters, the well-intentioned people who show up to support the grieving and tell these Westboro congregants where to put it? Can they be banished?
It's a sticky wicket, this slippery slope. Before we regulate content, we must be excruciatingly circumspect.
Liberals might presently cheer the notion that Fox News be subject to an FCC "public value" test. But one day it may be MSNBC's speech that is regulated under the same rationale.
Whether speech is "good" or "bad" is in the eye of the beholder. I prefer to let free market principles work their magic on unpopular people and unpopular ideas: let the people decide.
If "God damn America" isn't a message you'd like to hear in church, worship somewhere else. The calm carolers at Mrs. Edwards's funeral did an excellent job quelling the protesters.
As Charlotte Bronte wrote in Jane Eyre, "An eager listener quickens tongue of the narrator."
Alas, so does an eager press.

Labels: Anti-Gay, Elizabeth Edwards, Fcc, First Amendment, Free Assembly, Free Speech, Funeral, Protesters, Public Value Test, US Supreme Court, Westboro Baptist Church

Golly gee. Everyone seems to be going at it these days, from Thomas Blow-Hard Friedman and Bob Herbert to George Will and my favorite law-prof blogger Ann Althouse, and . . . well the list just keeps growing.
Here's a snippet from Friedman's most recent bloviatings (assuming you can bear to read them):
President Obama�s bad luck was that he showed up just as we moved from the fat years to the lean years. His calling is to lead The Regeneration. He clearly understands that in his head, but he has yet to give full voice to it. Actually, the thing that most baffles me about Mr. Obama is how a politician who speaks so well, and is trying to do so many worthy things, can�t come up with a clear, simple, repeatable narrative to explain his politics � when it is so obvious.
Mr. Obama won the election because he was able to "rent" a significant number of independent voters � including Republican business types who had never voted for a Democrat in their lives � because they knew in their guts that the country was on the wrong track and was desperately in need of nation-building at home and that John McCain was not the man to do it.
They thought that Mr. Obama, despite his liberal credentials, had the unique skills, temperament, voice and values to pull the country together for this new Apollo program � not to take us to the moon, but into the 21st century.(emph. added)
He says Obama "speaks so well" but says nothing. Et tu, Thomas?
But, ah, it feels good to be a rented voter, yes?
And never did I think I'd agree with Susan Estrich on anything, but check out this excerpt from her recent column:
Paying doctors and hospitals less to give us more? That's bound to work�
It's not a communications problem. What's gone wrong is that people see the country swimming in debt, see the jobs recovery lagging, see friends and neighbors who are not even hanging on, and they just don't know how this administration is planning to pay for a massive health care reform effort.
The appointment of a bipartisan commission on the deficit only underscores the problem and makes it seem that the administration has no answer for it except another new spending program. "Just say no" isn't the answer to the need for health care reform � but neither is another big spending program when we are being told our historic debt is a ticking time bomb for our children.She makes perfect sense. "Don't tell me I can eat an entire chocolate cake and not gain an ounce, Mr. President. I'm not stupid."
Fact is, folks, we're screwed. And these truths are self-evident, even through the obfuscating gauze of Obama's "empowering" oratory.
The problem is that no one in DC will say so. The biggest D.C. denial game being played is that we, the voters, don't already know how bad things are.
Unemployment will remain at crisis levels for years to come.
Social Security is running out of money at a rapid pace. And let's not even talk about Medicare or Medicaid. It's too damn depressing.
Fannie and Freddie are hemorrhaging losses (and some $3.9 TRILLION in liabilities are being carried off the balance sheet, don't forget -- so that the real losses -- borne by you and I -- are never reflected in the federal budget. You think an Obama 1.6T budget is unpalatable? Imagine the fireworks if the White House budget were truthfully stated.)
As we trudge to work everyday, facing unpaid bills and late-fees, the voters know the government is taking our hard-earned dollars to bail out people behind in their mortgage payments, including people who should have never been allowed to borrow in the first place.
It feels good, eh? Keep on truckin' trudging!
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for charity. But can it at least be voluntary rather than by default?
As for the housing market, well, unless the Fed changes its mind, losers Fannie and Freddie will be buying no more
mortgages from the private banks, come the end of March. Which is . . . okay.
But brace yourselves for the consequences. Can you say "no more loans" for home buyers? Higher interest rates on everything? More and more new treasury issues (i.e., government bonds we sell to investors overseas) that we will never be able to re-pay without massive tax increases or cuts in spending? And all of this assumes anyone will even buy our debt.
We can jump in bed and cover our heads, but Santa's not coming tonight. Or tomorrow.
Better that we face what's ahead of us now, I say -- and go on a rice-and-beans diet immediately -- rather than choke ourselves to death on a "reconciled" healthcare cram-down and a cap and tax bill.
Choke (def.): to check or block normal breathing of by compressing or obstructing the trachea or by poisoning or adulterating available air.
Make no mistake: health care and global warming deserve our attention. They are worthy causes, noble undertakings, and ultimately attainable -- in some future incantation. But not now.
Sorry, Washington, but we the people simply can't afford them.
Because closer to home, it's things like summer camp, dental bills, and a new pair of glasses for our kids that we're finding harder and harder to swing. Vacations we crossed off our wish-list months ago. It would be great if the funds were there, but they're not.
We get it.
But, inexplicably, Congress does not. Take a look at these 2010 omnibus budget-busters, which were A-Okay per the DC folk:

A 38 percent increase for International Food Aid;

A 20 percent increase for the Transportation Security Administration;

An 8.4 percent increase for Lawmakers' Office Allowances;

An 8.1 percent increase for the National Endowment for the Arts; and

A 67 percent increase for the Environmental Protection Agency's State and Tribal Assistance Grants;

An 8.1 percent increase for the National Endowment for the Humanities.

WTF? And they wonder why we're apoplectic?
A chicken in every pot . . . sounds mighty good.
So now then. Who's going to rustle up those chickens?

Labels: Bipartisan, Flogging, Health Care, Obama Agenda

So Mitch ditched and left the lion's den. But who can blame the fellow, after his wife's vilification preview in the press last week. She left Daniels for a doctor, so the story goes, and the doc left his wife. After duking it out in a custody battle, she and the doc drove off, "abandoning" their children and spouses.
Yep, that is a tough narrative. It's terribly interesting; and the doctor's spurned ex sounds vituperative ("Look up 'narcissist.' I really question [Cheri's] character and motives") and bitter.
Barbour began the charge from the fray, withdrawing his name at the end of April. Huckabee followed suit a few days later.
The Donald, too, told us no, but then raptured his decision with a maybe so. He's coy, that boy.
Perfecting the scare-the-nanny stare.
That leaves Pawlenty, like polenta. Or hummus and couscous. But none of them bring to mind presidential hubris (although his video today was serious and humorless). Yee-haw "T-Paw" is hardly better: that's the guy in the room next to grandma at the nursing home.
Huntsman sounds strong, but a cheese is still a cheese.
We've got Godfather's Cain, which makes me think of pizza, and Able, his antithesis.
Finally we've got Romney, which makes me think: rummy. Gin rummy and a hair-sprayed mummy.
Oops. I forgot about old Newt. Isn't there a tiny sea creature called a newt? Tiffany's makes it in a brooch, I think.
Maybe I'm too shallow, but presidential images these names do not conjure.
The most feared contender, no one wants to acknowledge -- at least no one in the liberal press.
Gosh, Josh Margolin posted a fairly innocuous piece today, reporting that Obama is doing opposition research on Chris Christie. This compelled Christopher Robbins to bash them both with a bat.
There was brain matter on the floor, such was the reaction. Maybe Margolin stood up Robbins for a drink, or keyed his car, or drove a stake through his heart.
Then again, maybe it's just that Obama's distraction tactics (trying to elevate mere mortals like Paul Ryan into mortal enemies) aren't working.
� 2011, .

Labels: Cain, Cheese, Godfather, Hairsprayed Mummy, Huntsman, Mitch Daniels, Mitt Romney, Newt, Pawlenty, Polenta, Yee-Haw T-Paw

Photo credit: Michael Stravato/Polaris
It's actually working. Probationers "sentenced" to read are turning their lives around. Recidivism rates for these folks are dramatically lower. And the reading program costs a whole lot less than a prison cell.

Labels: Changing Lives Through Literature Program