Important notice: Ladies and gentlemen, I wrote this rant late at night when I couldn't sleep for all the quiet that had settled on my 'hood. I know that the magazine mentioned below is no vehicle with which to start a social revolution. It is, however, an indication of how blithely a certain segment of society will go about its business as always, denying that change needs to come, accepting the current educational climate as inevitable. The stuff I'm spewing about can certainly start with them, or they can get outta the way.

Dammit, dammit all to hell. I am so angry I could spit grenades. And it's all 'cause of a couple of articles in February's New Orleans magazine, in combination with my thoughts about this great lady's experiences in the RSD.

The magazine's IT schmucks haven't updated their site yet. Idiots. Then again, it is right after Mardi Gras. I'll give 'em that much. And yes, I know I shouldn't be wasting my time on the sometimes narrow view this magazine takes of things. (HammHawk, dude, your astute rebuttal of that article's hint is nowhere to be found in the letters to the almighty editor of the magazine. Sad, really...) The February issue focuses on the schools - the charters and the private schools. The only mention of the Recovery School District is in an article entitled "Charter Schools: Making The Grade" by Dawn Ruth.

The philosophy behind the charter school movement is pure Darwinism - only the strong survive. As the theory goes, "strong" means "successful", and successful means standardized test scores that show school children - poor as well as rich - can read, write, and compute at least at a basic level. That would be good news for New Orleans parents and the region as a whole but since many of the city's new charter schools are only six months old, it will be another four or more years before anyone can pass fair judgment as to whether charters are the answer to New Orleans' past education woes.

...Overall, New Orleans charters performed better than traditional schools but that outcome is not surprising considering RSD schools struggled with serious problems including a shortage of classrooms and teachers to meet the demand of an influx of returning students. Since then, most problems have been resolved.

I think Ms Ruth could have dug a bit deeper into the situation, especially after the New Orleans LEAP scores were released in August. Michael Homan has some great thoughts on the subject that could certainly use some elaboration, especially some important words from a Ralph Adamo article, the effects of white flight on the quality of the public schools, and the toll the current roadblocks to rebuilding can take on a caring parent who loves this city so. Seems Michael Tisserand is one of the few journalists to examine the realities of the charter school situation a little further. Oy vey.

The reality is that the current climate here doesn't favor the regular public schools, whatever those are. The ones I'm talking about are the state-run RSD schools that are not charters. The ones that are largely being bolstered by teachers who are run through the Teach NOLA program with not much more than a bachelor's degree are taking their toll on those souls. The salaries need a boost for certified as well as uncertified teachers. It is all more than enough to drive sane, caring people completely insane.

More evidence that the current climate is giving the RSD the proverbial finger? Try the next education article in the magazine on for size: "The Cost Of Learning: High School Tuition Vs. College Success". The thing reads like another big ad for Darwinism, pulling back from its conclusions a tad at the very end to try to instill hope in those readers who have been crushed by its endorsements. Kathy Finn writes:

In New Orleans, as elsewhere, private institutions are sometimes criticized as having abetted an exodus of students from taxpayer-financed elementary, middle and high schools. It's an argument that likely will arise among people who champion the need for high-quality public eduaction. But many educators believe the existence of solid private schools helps to raise the bar for teachers and pupils throughout the area.

The importance of making a good education available to all, regardless of financial status, seems indisputable. However, it's difficult to challenge the theory that having quality private schools available as an option can also mean a great deal to the quality of local education overall.

In other words, everything is hunky dory, because it's optional. Survival of the fittest, folks. But hey, when you're talking entry to top colleges, the sky's the limit, right? Spend and spend away on your kids, 'cause it's worth it. Check the stats that are cited to help the young 'uns compete with record numbers of Ivy League applicants and loads of foreign-born and raised applicants in the bargain:

In researching the path to eight of the top colleges in the U.S., the (Wall Street) Journal (note: I'm trying to find this article, but the online Journal wants $79 for the privilege) identified some 70 high schools that send the largest number of seniors into those colleges. While annual tuition at a few of the feeder high schools runs as low as a few thousand dollars, and annual tab above $20,000 is much more typical and tuition at a few of the prep schools runs close to $40,000.

Fortunately for local families, some excellent private schools are available at far lower prices. At Isidore Newman School in New Orleans - long one of the most expensive private schools in the local area - high school tuition for 2008 is listed at just over $15,000. Tuition at the highly respected Metairie Park Country Day School, meanwhile, will stop just short of that mark for 2008, as will the tab at Louise S. McGehee School.

Yep, getting your kids into Harvard still requires loads of dough for the right "feeder schools". But guess what????? New Orleans can give it to you at near-bargain prices!!!! I'm waiting for the Special Man* to pop out from someplace and tell the parents to let their kids have it....with noooooooooo problem!!!! except now they have to save for high school and college.

But don't despair, those of you who can't afford all this for your children!

...when it comes to comparing outcomes among private, parochial and public schools, many educators say the real key is parental involvement. Students who have abundant support and encouragement from their parents throughout their school years are far likelier to achieve their full potential than are students who lack parental attention, no matter what type of school they attend.

Nobody could tell you that better than an RSD teacher:

Today was report card conferences. Two parents from my homeroom class came to collect their child's report card. One of those volunteers/works at school. Other parents from other homerooms came in but most didn't stop to talk. Just took their kid's failed test and left. I want to cry just looking at the math grades in comparison to most students' other grades. It makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong to give out all those Fs.

Today I feel like shit. Just personally, I felt like shit about today. The kids were little bastards all day. And the parents, by their absence, proved to me why this is the case.

Yeah, fine, standards are needed. There's not so, so much wrong with giving these kids some basic skills. But standards should not be the only thing looked at in all this mess called education. So many things are wrong. Throwing money at it isn't going to help if that money isn't used wisely, which was one of the many reasons why pre-8-29 New Orleans public schools were largely failures, with a few exceptions. Parents dropping their kids off and leaving their responsibility to those kids at the school doors for the duration as well isn't working, either, which warrants a greater examination of the stresses on parents that center around work, finances, and simply providing food, clothing and shelter for themselves and their kids. Politicizing the system has its pitfalls as well, as I saw in a recent article.

A further examination of how we perceive community and how that could help us all is definitely in order - folks like Michael Homan have been working to get quality schooling right in their own neighborhoods that isn't going to break backs from the cost. A recent observation from the cantor of an area synagogue, on seeing the middle school-aged kids at my religious school schmoozing with each other at break time, puts this in some perspective - he said it was amazing seeing all these Jewish kids all together like this because, all together, they represented so many different secular (i.e., non-Jewish) area schools, private and charter, as well as places like Ben Franklin High School, which is still under the old Orleans Parish SD. In fact, once many of these kids are about to enter college, it may be at gatherings of synagogue youth groups that they hit it off with somebody only to then discover that, all through their schooling years, they lived only a couple of blocks apart all that time. I personally found that to be a little sad. Having one kid a couple of blocks away from the other going to an entirely different school outside of the city limits can diminish one's sense of community at home unless parents take an active role in their neighborhoods as well.**

In the end, little rings truer for me than the conclusions a prep school college counselor comes to about that whole process:

Powerful emotions get mixed up in the college-admissions process. Michael Thompson wrote in "College Admission as a Failed Rite of Passage" that central to this experience is "the most important and most difficult transition in all of life: the end of childhood and the late-adolescent separation and individuation from parents." He continued,

The frantic involvement of many parents in the process is, from my perspective, a cover for this profound parental anxiety: Did I do a good job with this child? Did I do everything I needed to do for this child? Is this child prepared? Is this child going to have a good life? ... Such fears about letting go of an unfinished child exist in all families. How can we let go of a child who is still so young in so many ways?

Surely he's right about this. Also lurking uncomfortably beneath the surface of these waters are class anxiety, the culture wars, and a whole set of unexamined prejudices about what does or does not constitute a "good" college. All this drama is nice for admissions offices that like to see applications stacked to the roof and supplicants spilling out into hallways as they wait nervously for information sessions to begin. None of it is good for seventeen-year-olds just taking their first tentative steps into adult life.

Articles such as the ones in the current New Orleans magazine feed that parental anxiety most of all. They crap all over the hardworking, unsung heroes who are the folks who are teaching in the RSD and overcoming the humps as best they can. They shortchange all our kids with their obvious and subtle biases.

Next time my husband renews his WYES membership, I'm gonna tell him to tell YES we say "no" to the New Orleans subscription. Put that money into better programming... 'cause it certainly ain't helping that magazine out any.

Survival of the fittest. Heh, heh.

___________________

*Yes, I know that's not the real Special Man in the commercial...but you gotta love the box of chicken thrown into the deal, right?

**All community-oriented thoughts influenced by my recent readings of Dolores Hayden's work. Skewer me in the comments if you must...

Aaack! My husband is out of town. He had to leave on Mardi Gras for Gulfport to take a flight to D.C. on business. Typical. At least he left after nearly everybody visiting got pancaked. (It turns out, according to NOLA Cleophatra, that Mardi Gras is also the perfect time for other pancake hijinks. Hey, we had no clue. We just like pancakes. Next year: a gray brick road pancake race!)

Why am I aaacking, then? 'Cause he's the only one who knows how to download pictures off my son's Fisher-Price digital camera, and he refuses to explain to me how to do it until he gets back from his trip. Grrrrrrrr....

So pictures will have to appear at a later time. Sorry. 8-(

Anyhow, our first big Krewe of Pancakes and Syrup gathering came off quite well. We pulled in our pal Justin, his wife, Justine, and their pals, who toted mimosa ingredients with 'em. Edie came first and had to advise Justine via cell phone what the house number was, since she didn't recognize the house - she hadn't seen it since before it was repainted. Dan's klezmer triomates came next, bringing two friends each, along with some Nutella and some mixed nuts, not to mention a little extra champagne for mimosas. Everybody dug into the three king cakes there to start, two of which were my homemade ones and one was a chocolate cream cheese from Winn-Dixie. I knew it was Clay's birthday, and I almost did a multicolor sprinkle job on one of the king cakes, but I opted for a black and gold on one instead; the other was traditional purple, green, and gold.

Just as I was starting in on the second pancake batch, Sheckrastos and Dr A dropped in with some pecan bread pudding, a few bottles of Mardi Gras Bock, and some marvelous meatballs. By then, people were starting to venture out onto the parade route and calling in to our phones to let us know that Zulu had arrived. I walked the dog shortly before 7 AM and observed that our bead-eating tree spot was, once again, part of a roped-off area that nearly blocked off the entire sidewalk in front of the bank. Once again, I was happy to stay in and flip some flapjacks. Next year when I encounter that kind of stuff, I'm gonna play parade territory terrorist and bring a box cutter with me. HEY! Great costume idea!!!!! Then again, maybe not...

A little afterwards, the Oyster clan came through, helping us take a big bite out of the third batch of pancakes. Lovely let us know how obsessive Obamoyster can get about overanalyzing the facial expressions of the presidential candidates in mid-debate, constantly rewinding videotape to capture the nuances of each raised eyebrow, each subtle twitch of the corners of one's mouth, each tilt of the head. Pearlgirl did her best to capture this sort of subtlety with the little guy's digital camera, playing pancake party paparazzi to the hilt. That's the other reason why I want to download the pictures, 'cause she took some good ones! Grrrrrr.....

At one point, Edie came running back to the house, adamant that she had to have a hamburger, right that second!!!! The smells coming from all the curbside barbecues, fried chicken trucks, and carny corndog stands had her craving some junk food. Dr A's meatballs to the rescue!!!. Edie slathered some Blue Plate mayo on some hamburger buns, stuck some heated-up meatballs between 'em, and satisfied her junk food hunger for a bit. The other reason why she came back was that things were getting testy around the roped-off area in front of the bank. Some folks were getting seriously ticked off at how little was left of the sidewalk and were making something of it. I grabbed my first beer of the day after that.

Shortly after the Oysters left and Shecky and Dr A headed out for a bit, Celcus and Cleo came by, and we talked of all sorts of matters. A drumming sounded in the distance, and we peered out the front windows as a large samba band and its marchers drummed their way down the gray brick road. I kicked at the windows, ticked that I couldn't open the damn things - they were still painted shut. While they were there, a friend of one of the klezmer trio mates came back, elated that he'd received a Zulu coconut, and he hadn't had to pay for it like he'd paid for one at a synagogue auction the year before.

The rest of the day was spent cleaning up some, hanging with the little guy, greeting Shecky and Dr A as they walked in with cans of Miller Li...uhhh...Rodeo Lawyer beer, a sure-fire sign they'd been to see Jeffrey and Menckles at their spot (I should have handed those two the tallboy six-pack of the RLB I'd gotten just for them when I saw 'em on Saturday. Oh, well...). They rested their legs and tactfully watched Cars with the little guy (He did what in his cup??!?!??) while Shecky speculated what car love would be like (just...use your imaginations, y'all. Eccch.).

I had seen earlier in the day by way of the Net that Mike Huckabee had taken a state. I flipped the TV over to a network showing mostly Republican primary results, and it projected a win for McCain in Missouri. I switched over to the Rex ball on the local PBS station in time to see the highlight of the whole thing - the Marine Corps Reserve Band doing a stylin' drumline thing. How did I know it was the highlight? The band went into the "Star-Spangled Banner" shortly afterwards, and the scene switched to all the society broads standing in their finest. One of them couldn't conceal her yawn - and the king and queen of Rex hadn't arrived yet!

Dan had called earlier. He'd made it to D.C., and he ran into a family on the Metro that was headed for a Mardi Gras celebration somewhere outside the Beltway. He immediately handed over most of the big bag of beads he'd brought with him to the family, who were elated. It turned out they came from New Orleans originally. If he'd had an extra king cake with him, I know he'd have given them that, too - but he had to bring something to the conference.

I just wish he'd been able to stay here for the whole day.

Oh, well. I now need to dig up the Fisher-Price digital camera manual. Got to get those pictures up!!!!

UPDATE!!!!: I got it.

The little guy in a rare state of repose. He spent nearly every parade moseying around back by the bank ATM, schmoozing with any and all other kids hanging out nearby and picking up broken strands of beads and swinging them around to make arcs that looked similar to this. He really doesn't care about getting parade swag. Not one bit. (sigh) I was, however, heartened to see him chase down a Tucks football that bounced into his territory on Saturday.

What follows are Friday night parade shots of Hermes and Krewe D'Etat floats.:

Pearlgirl's pics in another post. Soon, very soon! 'Til then:

Looove me! I am the cutest Dorothy alive!!!!!!

All on a Bacchus Sunday (or is it a Thoth Sunday?):

Popped into Surrey's for breakfast and met up with a retired couple from Bayside, Queens, outside the door. It was a hoot to talk Nu Yawk with 'em for a bit, like having my Long Island grandparents here for a chat while insanity reigns....only this couple really really loved New Orleans and wished they could move here permanently. "You gotta deal with the summers first," Dan said bemusedly.

The little guy went walking through the restaurant while we were waiting for our breakfast, and he saw some small wall hangings of funky-looking shotgun houses with mirrors for windows. He stood in front of a couple's table, mesmerized by them, asking me what kind of house it was. "It's a shotgun house, honey," I told him.

"And what's that one, Mom?" he asked pointing to another house next to it.

"That's a double shotgun," I told him. "Excuse us, please," I said to the couple with a smile.

"Oh, no, that's okay," the man said.

He then turned to my son and said," That shotgun's about to be turned into condos, see. And then the bank will foreclose on it!"

Evil laughs came from the man's companion and myself. "It's true, but it's sad," I said, and we all agreed, as the kid went wandering around and asking me if every house on the wall was a shotgun. Yes, yes, and yes again. And it's shaping up to be quite a 'hood, apparently.

___________________

Nothing spoils parading fun like having somebody mark off our parade spot with packing tape attached to parade chairs and a cooler on wheels, with our bead-eating tree roped into the bargain as a territory marker. If it weren't so crass, I'd have spray-painted it as our spot a long time ago, but that ain't right. I set up the chairs just outside of the tape zone and settled in to mark time for us until Thoth came down the pike. Dan and the little guy came by most of the way through Babylon, and Dan set about trying to annoy the packing tape crew as much as he could. "Can I go get your scissors from home and just cut that crap?" he asked me.

"No objections from me," I said as a float went by and Dan went running off to whore himself for doubloons. Yeah, we've got our priorities straight.

At one point, the little guy bummed his way up on a ladder with the son of a lady whose mother was visiting from Germany. Normally, the family doesn't go out and see this many parades, but they decided to take it all in just for the frau. The kid worked it up there with the boy and got a spear and some stuffed animals from Thoth. The lady's daughters worked it on the ground and one of 'em came back with some stars and bars beads around her neck. "Look what I got, Mama!" she said.

The lady took one look at those Confederate flags and gave her daughter a short history lesson on what they stood for right then and there. The beads came off and went into their bead bag. The frau, who was sitting next to the swag bag, picked them up out of the bag and put them on herself. Her daughter turned around and saw them on her. A short discussion in German followed along the lines of what the lady had just told her own daughter, with something about the Nazis thrown in for emphasis. The frau pulled the beads off superfast after that and tossed them in the bag.

"I can't believe somebody would buy those, let alone throw 'em at a parade!" I said to the lady.

"Well, that's Mardi Gras for ya," she said. Oy vey.

I got my sign ready for when float 16A came around:

Hey Huck!
Upchuck Us Somethin', Mister!

and it was in that way that I got to meet yet another fellow blogger. Huck, man, one of these days, you'll just have to take the mask off. We've gotta stop meeting like this! Thanks again for the throws with an actual country's flag on 'em and not the stars and bars. Hope you enjoyed the ride.

_________________

We decided to poop out on Bacchus (largely because of the packing tape crew...I did get some perverse satisfaction out of the fact that a float rider tossed an open Coors Light at one of the members of the crew, soaking her lap. What goes around comes around) and headed over to Edie's for the Super Bowl, some chili, some beer, and some copious amounts of nacho dip, and ice cream. I am now glad that we made that decision, since it was one helluva game that even had Edie's daughter on the edge of her seat. It certainly made history, y'all, and we even got back home and got a parking spot on our block.

Life is goooood.

However, just 'cause life is good for me right now doesn't mean that city officials have quit being pigheaded idiots for the duration, just 'cause it's Carnival. Main offender of the day: the Walking Id. Otherwise known as the Grand Liar Whose Pants Are On Fire.

Urrrgh. For the second year in a row, I had to miss Muses and could only experience their parade through the swag Dan brought back. Four Parades In A Row + One Extremely Tired Little Guy = Mom And Little Guy's Early Exit From The Parade Route.

And then I turn on the radio and hear the author of a certain Atlantic article being interviewed by Scott Simon.

First, Kill All the School Boards :

I asked Marc Tucker, the head of the New Commission on the Skills of the American Workforce (a 2006 bipartisan panel that called for an overhaul of the education system), how he convinces people that local control is hobbling our schools. He said he asks a simple question: If we have the second-most-expensive K–12 system of all those measured by the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, but consistently perform between the middle and the bottom of the pack, shouldn’t we examine the systems of countries that spend less and get better results? “I then point out that the system of local control that we have is almost unique,” Tucker says. “One then has to defend a practice that is uncharacteristic of the countries with the best performance.

“It’s an industrial-benchmarking argument,” he adds.

Some intriguing conclusions by Matt Miller:

What of school boards? In an ideal world, we would scrap them—especially in big cities, where most poor children live. That’s the impulse behind a growing drive for mayoral control of schools. New York and Boston have used mayoral authority to sustain what are among the most far-reaching reform agendas in the country, including more-rigorous curricula and a focus on better teaching and school leadership. Of course, the chances of eliminating school boards anytime soon are nil. But we can at least recast and limit their role.

In all of these efforts, we must understand one paradox: only by transcending local control can we create genuine autonomy for our schools. “If you visit schools in many other parts of the world,” Marc Tucker says, “you’re struck almost immediately … by a sense of autonomy on the part of the school staff and principal that you don’t find in the United States.” Research in 46 countries by Ludger Woessmann of the University of Munich has shown that setting clear external standards while granting real discretion to schools in how to meet them is the most effective way to run a system. We need to give schools one set of national expectations, free educators and parents to collaborate locally in whatever ways work, and get everything else out of the way.

My legs are achy as all hell, and I must rest for today's parades. Talk amongst yourselves. Next year, Muses for Mama!!!!

Oh, and I had to look this up, because I saw this graphic on the side of an NOPD Mobile Command unit at the beginning of one of the parades:

and all I could think of was a silly SNL skit. The explanation behind the name is a great deal more serious than what I thought, though. I suggest NOGAP change the name pronto.

I am procrastinating out the wazoo today. Yesterday, I worked my butt off cleaning my kitchen, I had to pick up the little guy from school earlier than I should have because he kept spitting on everybody when he was repeatedly told not to (his teacher did the "If you do that one more time..." and, of course, he did it. Mom had to take the kid out like she was taking out the garbage as a result), and I rewarded myself by checking out last night's parades (Clay and Candice did good in their float debut, by the way). Today, my body and my legs are paying the price for all that activity. And I still have to clean the rest of this place up - our pals who moved to the north shore recently will be commandeering our place for the Muses parade tonight, if the weather doesn't kill their plans first. At least I can see my countertops again and my toilets are squeaky clean.

Sooo, much as I would love to take this whole cleaning job and shove it, I really don't have much of a choice right now, especially with the Krewe of Pancakes and Syrup doing its thing at my humble blue home on the gray brick road come Mardi Gras Day.

invite picture courtesy of Dan C.
If'n you wanna come, lemme know at liprap2@netscape.net.
Act right and bring somethin'!

I'm waiting on the painters of our house to unstick the windows they painted shut so that, among other things, we can head out onto our balcony and pelt passersby with beads accumulated from past parades this weekend (hey, it improves the little guy's hand-eye coordination!). I am also contemplating whether or not we should stock up on some s'mores ingredients to take advantage of the fire pit in the backyard our tenants have had going off and on throughout the parading season - Dan got some marshmallows the other night after a long evening of checking out some parades, only to find that the fire had gone out by the time he came back with the food. Man, was he ticked. Anybody got a line on purple, green, and gold marshmallows?

ANYway, I have me some links.

A little something from AnimaMundi that's kind of appropriate to this time of year:

"Here's the problem for a drinker.
If things are going to hell, you drink to forget. If they're going great, you drink to celebrate. If there's nothing to do, you drink to have something to do."

Best argument for not adding to the national Nielsen ratings on February 3rd and going out to watch Hulk Hogan in Bacchus instead: tell Super Bowl sponsor Bridgestone-Firestone to take their off-the-books yet still documented slavery practices in Liberia and shove 'em up their collective butts sideways with chainsaws. Chances are, I will be out on the parade route anyhow as an official enabler for Dan's obsession with doubloons, while he sits at home and watches the Patriots (hopefully) get their comeuppance. Plus, I really really don't want to enable stuff like this. Double Stuf Oreos are gross.

Cliff gives us actions and words to live by.

Charlotte informed everybody on the bloggers' listserve about the New Orleans Murder Blog, which I have added to my blogroll. Today's entry is a sobering one for me personally (my cousin stayed in that Hollerday Inn when he was here with his high-school group), as is the one for Nicola Cotton, the officer shot in the line of duty recently in Central City.

Miss Amanda Shaw is a real switch - a teenager in the public eye who is smart, polite, and is following her dream on her own terms. Damn, that's kind of sad that that's not the norm. Plus, her new album is really good. And yeah, I know how strangely cool it would be if she was "Miss Amanda Jones", but hey, it ain't a perfect world. Deal with it.

If I were of a mind to do a Sheckrastos-style caption contest, I'd do it with this picture. Priceless. Absolutely priceless.

This is for Maitri. If you ever get in a situation where you are in labor and you see one of those patented turntables in the delivery room, RUN. Listen and giggle, madame.

I took this sucker recently and was thoroughly embarrassed. I am only 67-point-whatever percent smarter than the rest of all us peons. Take the quiz and lie down afterwards. Drink yourself into oblivion if you need to...it is that time of year after all.

Oh, and my Hornets offer still stands, youse guys. I must warn you, however, you may have to prop me up with a two-by-four and dust me off if you expect it to happen right after Mardi Gras.

Just letting you know....

Update, 12:43 PM: Okay, so loads of parades have been rescheduled or cancelled due to the weather that's coming. Can you say "momentary sigh of relief?"

Ohh, boy.

I just got insanely inspired.

I never shoulda read the comment thread to this post in the first place. It must be Mardi Gras getting me going or something. Problem is, when I hear wusses like AshMo and Obamoyster standing up for the home team like they do and then lamenting that they can't go due to babysitting problems...well...just check my offer:

All RIGHT, dudes. Bring the kids on over to Camp Chez Liprap when you head to a Hornets game. Lemme know WELL AHEAD of time.

The only thing I ask for in return is two season tix.

Am I out of line? Out of my head? Have I just unleashed a potential Blogger Spawn Hoe-Down (as G-Bitch would call it)/Blogger Pilgrimage To The Arena sans Kiddies?

Only time will tell. Get back to me, fellas...

And, if this thing DOES get bigger (like, say, Mr Clio decides to take advantage with his brood), I will need volunteers for assistance with the young 'uns. Compensation for the volunteers to be named later.

A "response" to the SOTU address last night from Kathleen Sebelius, governor of Kansas, aired on ABC. It was much better than seeing the illustrious oaf pressing the flesh last night, as though he were running for office again. I much preferred watching Ratatouille for the umpteenth time with my son over watching Dubya throw New Orleans a bone and implore everyone in a highly unconvincing manner to trust him.

She mentions, in her speech, that the city manager of Greensburg, Kansas, was there on the dais behind the Rampart monkey. Anybody remember Greensburg?

more awful pictures of the May 4, 2007 tornado's aftermath can be seen here

Sebelius had a prime opportunity to really skewer the lame schmuck currently in the White House. And she had all the ammunition with which to do so. In the aftermath of the EF-5 tornado that wiped out most of the city, Sebelius expressed her concern that recovery efforts were being hampered by the fact that much of the equipment needed was in Iraq:

"When the troops get deployed, the equipment goes with them. So here in Kansas about 50 percent of our trucks are gone. We need trucks. We are missing Humvees, we're missing all kinds of equipment that could help us respond in this kind of emergency," she said.

She is the one Democratic leader left of a state hit by catastrophic disaster that saw with Greensburg some similar things to what Kathleen Blanco saw with 8-29 and after. Jindal, our newly inaugurated Republican governor, cannot do this and won't even try.

I keep listening to her speech over and over, trying to decipher it. It is a wimpy, wispy piece of retort, there's no question. She sounds as tired as I am of all the crap that's been going on. She is quite concerned for the well-being of the entire country, for certain, but she's got her own problems. All she could do was implore Dubya to get off his duff and start working with the Democratic Congress to make things better for ourselves and for future "greatest generations". She offered up Greensburg as a model for "green living" when she could have taken some time to discuss how the infrastructure of the entire country needs some serious help of a different sort of green. Maybe it's the name "Kathleen" that's the problem...note to parents of a future greatest generation: stay away from that name if you want your daughters to go far in politics.

Kathleen, honey, if this is what you mean by "bipartisan action", well, I think you need to get more specific in order to distance yourself, and help distance your party, from these kinds of actions. And our illustrious oaf of a prez has had eight years to work with Congress and has squandered every opportunity to do so. You sound like a tired, civilized lady - but divisive politics are unfortunately the order of the day.

God bless, and sleep well, and in the morning, let's get to work.

For some people, that work will be business as usual.

And, in American politics today, that is a sad, sad thing.

The Gambit hasn't updated their site yet (update, 5:45 PM: oh, goody! They got around to it), but I caught this little quote in the cover article by David Winkler-Schmit about Endymion's move back to their Mid-City route (thank GOD and the City Council and the po-lice!).:

Mardi Gras historian Arthur Hardy notes that the second Saturday of the parade season puts a lot of stress on NOPD in terms of logistics. Parades that day include NOMTOC, a large and popular Algiers parade that rolls in the morning, followed by Iris and Tucks on the Uptown route - and finishing with Endymion's Mid-City trek.

"The fact that the NOPD has the manpower to do that speaks volumes about where we are in the recovery," Hardy says. "To me it's a win, win, win, win. Mid-City wins, Endymion wins, Uptown wins, and, most of all, NOPD is strong enough, even if it's not 100 percent. I never want to sound like I have rose-colored glasses...but this is certainly more than a baby step back."

Arthur, man, your glasses may not be rosy, but you probably should get your prescription checked. Go visit the police as they monitor the parades standing in the same places for twelve-hour shifts, with short short breaks for eating and maybe the bathroom, and see how well you see after that. For the NOPD to be "winners" in your scenario, they have to be standing their feet off and watching out for more than the average carnival mischief, all on piddling salaries.

So, folks, be kind to the po-lice. They are keeping your Mardi Gras season a fun one, as they have for many, many years. Pass 'em a handwarmer out there if'n it's cold. Let 'em head for a Hubig's Pie if they so please. And, if the absolute elation of our pal who was on the beat Saturday is any kind of indication, the float riders need to be tossing these to every cop along the route:

Yes, that's treating our law enforcement right here in New Orleans...

I cannot tell you how jealous my husband was.

Oh, and I nominate our illustrious oaf of a prez for Rampart Monkey of the Century. There is little to no confidence in any ability he might have to address the true state of the nation head-on. The man will most likely be laying one huge egg with his speechifying tonight, as mythical Rampart monkeys are wont to do, apparently. Maybe somebody can supply Dubya with several gross of Super Viagra beads to toss to everybody in the Capital to soften the blow a tad. Update, 5:49 PM - Amorphous Funk details the bone Dubya will be throwing this region later tonight. What do you think - should they all stay in the Superdome?

Update, 2:43 PM: And this is treating our law enforcement wrong:

In a 11:45 a.m. press conference, Police Chief Warren Riley said a rape suspect, who the officer was attempting to handcuff, resisted and struggled with the 24-year-old officer. After a tussle lasting about seven minutes, the suspect grabbed the officer's weapon and shot her multiple times...

The officer was patroling alone, without a partner. Riley said many officers patrol by themselves.

Arthur Hardy's not the only one who needs to get his glasses prescription checked. Officers patrolling alone. That's really great. Just what we all need.

via Prytania Waterline

Although this was the first big parading weekend of the Mardi Gras season, religious school still went on this morning, with the only concession to the city's festivities being an earlier dismissal time. I'm a little apprehensive about how the students in my mosaic glass class are going to finish up all their projects before the trimester runs out - during-the-week work from me will most likely be needed. It's kind of what I bargained for with setting up something this ambitious, though, so I'll just have to do what I have to do.

A question was asked of the clergy this morning about B'not Mitzvah ceremonies (the ones for girls). Why are more of them done in this country than in Israel itself?

The short answer is simply that the orthodox in Israel hold more sway over the decisions that concern women. Because, in the synagogue, women are not required to do as much as men, a bat mitzvah ceremony is seen as unnecessary. A woman is seen as maturing a year earlier than a man (if, in many synagogues in Israel, the ceremonies were given equal time for both sexes, girls would be doing it at twelve, boys at thirteen), but her sphere is largely seen as being in the home. And, yes, that's the nice way to put it all. Somebody stop me before I start to go into why women's voices shouldn't be heard in a shul, why some men still think that a woman reading from the Torah or even touching the Torah is an unclean act, how orthodox women are separated from men in so many public ways...Here in the U.S., though, things are a tad more secular, and a tad more equal. A good thing, in my humble opinion.

The cantor from a different area synagogue gave a different, more convoluted answer that spoke of how times, traditions, and history could contribute a great deal to such ceremonies, to things that Jewish children over the past few hundred years have seen as, at worst, a form of public torture, and at best, as a ceremony of some generational meaning that culminates in a fantastic party.

In Prague, the cantor went looking for relics of the former Soviet Union. His son had asked him for an AK-47 as a souvenir, which would have been impossible for the cantor to purchase, forget about taking it home. The man automatically opted for something a little less expensive, though he had no clue what it could be - yet. He went into a shop that reminded him of an average t-shirt shop in the Quarter, only this one had memorabilia from a failed decades-long experiment in socialism. The cantor walked away from the shop with a Red Army captain's hat for his son and some extra items he hadn't counted on finding at all. He hadn't even been looking for them, but once he saw them, he knew he had to have them.

A case labeled "Inappropriate Judaica" was sitting next to the one that held the captain's cap. It held some items that were relics from the Shoah. Armbands Jewish people had had to wear to show the world that they were Jews and could supposedly bear any kind of crap the Nazis threw at them until the wearers of the armbands were sent to death camps. A stamp with a Star of David on it that was used to stamp the passports and important papers of those who were Jewish. Some "yads" - pointers that were used to follow the words in the Torah scrolls as they were being chanted by the reader - were there as well, dating from the late nineteenth century. They had been stripped of any jewels they might have had on them, yet the silver decoration on them was exquisite. The cantor paid for the armbands and two yads, and consulted with the Holocaust Museum in D.C. about them. The armbands were fakes. The yads, however, were the real thing. They had most likely been plundered from one of many synagogues that were burned or otherwise destroyed in the 1930's and 40's, or taken from someone's possessions as he was loaded onto a train to a camp.

The cantor gave a yad to his niece on the occasion of her bat mitzvah. She was most likely the first person to use the yad as it was intended for the first time in nearly seventy years.

The cantor was also quite certain, as am I, that his niece was the first woman to have ever touched that yad.

How many women will be missing that chance, I wonder? And how many more will be making the most of such opportunities to take their place in history - and possibly even change it? The mind boggles...

I certainly know mine did.

I almost didn't sign up for it this year. But a sense of tradition and by God, I can't miss this! won out.
So I will see y'all there tomorrow afternoon, I hope. Just look for a first-time-ever-outside-of-camp sighting of this. Complete with a rescue dog in her very own doggie life vest. 'Cause I come prepared.

Until then, contemplate this. Lies, damned lies, Facebook stats, and sadistics. I'm not stating my opinion - it's a warning.

I have to approach this sort of news along the lines of "I really really really hope this sticks".

Sad, I know. But it's true...

Laureen Lentz talks of the unanimous approval of a serious overhaul of the Historic Conservation Review District Committee (HCDRC) by the City Council. She also details some of what she terms the "bi-weekly massacres of due process" she observed along with Karen Gadbois.

One important point:

Regardless of how you feel about preservation and the issue of demolitions in the City, this reform is encouraging for all citizens because it sends a clear message in its unanimous authorship by City Council that small-time dictators at City Hall can't continue to operate fiefdoms within their departments irregardless of the laws and procedures without the notice of the public. It's sometimes easy to give up but I am learning to have some faith and patience in this process of reform post-K.

Like I said before, I really hope it sticks. Especially in light of the news that really isn't very new to all us who live here.

G-Bitch actually does this kind of rundown waaay better than I have, with some rightful criticism of Nola.com thrown in as a little lagniappe. R'fuah sh'leimah goin' out to The Girl in her struggles with strep, G! Y'all be well.

The parades in my neck of the woods begin tonight. One of 'em is rumored to have a real live camel marching in it - a Carnival first. Dan is also thinking it's gonna be a Carnival last, due to the cantankerous disposition of the ship of the desert. Watch out, folks, they spit. Maybe, if it does, we can get Xy to work some placenta magic on the beast.

I can, however, assure you that you won't see camels in Jefferson Parish. And that's the truth.

Mardi Gras, Curious George, and the Four Penguins of the Apocalypse from the flick Madagascar (fine, just one penguin) have converged in my son's storytelling.

"Mom, Curious George is a Rampart monkey!"

"Oh, and what is a Rampart monkey?"

"It's a mammal that lays eggs in a nest!"

"Oh, really?" I said, trying hard not to laugh and/or drive off the road (yes, this was, once again, happening in the car). "I thought that was a platypus."

"No, George does that. And his pal Skipper is a Rampart leopard penguin!"

I let him babble on for the rest of the car trip about how George and Skipper laid their eggs all day and all night. I heard all the drama of one of Skipper's eggs making it to term and hatching out of its egg with small crackling coming from it and a peep! I heard other smatterings of Skipper being a big hotelier in Animal City and firing all his monkey employees. I thought this was turning out so much better than the day the little guy announced that "One day, Curious George was all alone. The man in the yellow hat died."

"What????!!!!!" I nearly yelled, happy he'd told me this when we were coming to a stop at a red light anyhow. "What happened????" I asked, horrified.

"Well, George ended up moving to Animal City and working for Skipper," he said matter-of-factly, as though what he'd just said didn't merit any elaboration. Nice. The only time the child has ever mentioned a human being in his stories, and he kills him off. No explanation. The man in the yellow hat is simply gone. Poof. Irrelevant.

Oh, and the Rampart part? Try "Mardi Gras Mambo" for that reference.:

Down in New Orleans
Where the blues was born
It takes a cool cat
To blow a horn
On LaSalle and Rampart Street
The combo's there with a mambo beat

No, I'm not gonna go on with the rest of the song. It's my least favorite Mardi Gras song ever. Hate's not a strong enough word.

Although...Rampart monkeys and Rampart leopard penguins make for mighty interesting costume ideas. Hmmmm...

Naaaah. I just can't go with a trainwreck of a song lyric, storybook animals, and some creative zoology as an excuse to dress up. That would just be wrong, wrong, wrong. It's all happening way waaay too early this year to be that crazy. Heh heh.

_____________________

Recent email from my mom, with the surprising title of "This sucks":

Leigh this is rediculous (sic).

Hang in there Love, Mom

http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/01/24/nola.firehouses/index.html

As ever, Mom is correct. She's also been getting some blogspeak through osmosis, I fear. I'd expect an email titled "This sucks" from Dad more than from Mom; for a moment there, I thought he'd hijacked her email account.

Be well, Mom. Don't worry.