Dec 31, 2005
tomorrow the world
Google Jim Anderson (not as a phrase) and my site pops up sixteenth, right before Scottish Nudibranchs. Take that, Archidorus pseudoargus!
bah humbug
Today's gem from the letters to the editor:
The War on Christmas Crap is over, and Jesus won.
I felt a sadness come over me after I left shopping at the Capital mall. Christmas was missing. No grand Christmas trees, no Christmas carols, etc.Come off it, Ms. Millar. Jesus is happy that he's no longer expected to help sell Barcaloungers, nose hair trimmers, perfumed candles, DVD players, diamond pendants, foot massagers, yards-o-beef, and everything else Christmas moves off the shelf.
The joy of feeling Christmas was not present.
But the retailers did not mind pushing holiday sales at us.
The young do not know what has happened to the celebration of Christmas by the few who object. I do not understand why those few have such power to change something that has been with the many for so long?
Jeane Millar,
Olympia
The War on Christmas Crap is over, and Jesus won.
Dec 30, 2005
clean bill of health: part II
"Air and barium were instilled retrograde to fill the entire colon through an inflated rectal balloon catheter. No intrinsic filling defects or extrinsic mass impression is demonstrated. No apple core lesions are present. The proximal appendix was filled and unremarkable. The terminal ileum was refluxed. Incidental note is made of ileal cecal valve lipomatosis."
I think this means I'm okay, but a translation would help.
I think this means I'm okay, but a translation would help.
clean bill of health
Unless I hear otherwise from the doctor, my BE results were "beautiful." I got a glowing commendation from the radiologist, who said I was the "most complacent" patient she'd ever seen.
I had been led to believe that a barium enema is forty-five minutes of hell. "I wouldn't ever want one," reassured the tech. "Not ever." But after the discomfort and outright torture of the sigmoidoscopy, a gallon of cool liquid coating the bowels was downright pleasant.
I don't yet know what's causing my troubles, but at least it's not cancer. Whee!
I had been led to believe that a barium enema is forty-five minutes of hell. "I wouldn't ever want one," reassured the tech. "Not ever." But after the discomfort and outright torture of the sigmoidoscopy, a gallon of cool liquid coating the bowels was downright pleasant.
I don't yet know what's causing my troubles, but at least it's not cancer. Whee!
the four things meme
Thank you, Bora.
Four jobs you've had in your life
1. Toiling at Briggs Nursery, hauling shrubs hither and yon for pittance.
2. Sales clerk and one-hour-photo guy at a small Radio Shack dealership
3. Computer sales for Circuit City, back when they paid commission and the reps actually cared
4. High school English teacher (2002 to present)
Four movies you could watch over and over
1. Amores Perros
2. Nine Queens
3. Kill Bill, vols. 1 and 2
4. The General
Four places you've lived
1. Gimli, Manitoba (born there, 1979)
2. White Sulphur Springs, Montana
3. Longview, Texas
4. Olympia, Washington (at present)
Four TV shows you love to watch
I don't have cable, so all of these I watch on DVD, thanks to Netflix
1. Arrested Development
2. The Simpsons
3. Deadwood
4. The Sopranos
Four places you've been on vacation
1. Washington, DC
2. Most of Interstate 90
3. Aguascalientes, Mexico
4. Cape Town, South Africa
Four websites you visit daily
Only four?
1. Pharyngula
2. Dispatches from the Culture Wars
3. Hit and Run
4. The Olympian
Four of your favorite foods
1. Green bean casserole
2. Nanaimo bars
3. Mom's homemade pizza
4. Chicken, any style
Four places you'd rather be
Honestly, I'm completely happy in the Pacific Northwest, in this kooky town we call Olympia. Sorry.
Four albums you can't live without
1. Cake, Motorcade of Generosity
2. Ben Folds Five, Whatever and Ever Amen
3. The Postal Service, Give Up
4. Modest Mouse, Good News for People Who Love Bad News
I'm not passing this on, per principle. Take it up as you please.
Four jobs you've had in your life
1. Toiling at Briggs Nursery, hauling shrubs hither and yon for pittance.
2. Sales clerk and one-hour-photo guy at a small Radio Shack dealership
3. Computer sales for Circuit City, back when they paid commission and the reps actually cared
4. High school English teacher (2002 to present)
Four movies you could watch over and over
1. Amores Perros
2. Nine Queens
3. Kill Bill, vols. 1 and 2
4. The General
Four places you've lived
1. Gimli, Manitoba (born there, 1979)
2. White Sulphur Springs, Montana
3. Longview, Texas
4. Olympia, Washington (at present)
Four TV shows you love to watch
I don't have cable, so all of these I watch on DVD, thanks to Netflix
1. Arrested Development
2. The Simpsons
3. Deadwood
4. The Sopranos
Four places you've been on vacation
1. Washington, DC
2. Most of Interstate 90
3. Aguascalientes, Mexico
4. Cape Town, South Africa
Four websites you visit daily
Only four?
1. Pharyngula
2. Dispatches from the Culture Wars
3. Hit and Run
4. The Olympian
Four of your favorite foods
1. Green bean casserole
2. Nanaimo bars
3. Mom's homemade pizza
4. Chicken, any style
Four places you'd rather be
Honestly, I'm completely happy in the Pacific Northwest, in this kooky town we call Olympia. Sorry.
Four albums you can't live without
1. Cake, Motorcade of Generosity
2. Ben Folds Five, Whatever and Ever Amen
3. The Postal Service, Give Up
4. Modest Mouse, Good News for People Who Love Bad News
I'm not passing this on, per principle. Take it up as you please.
Dec 29, 2005
countdown to the barium enema
19 hours, 58 minutes
You'd think that since the sigmoidoscopy came back negative, I could relax, trade in my laxatives and suppositories for pizza and popcorn, banishing forever all memory of the moment my duodenum was blown up like a balloon as I lay gasping and swearing on a cold table, clutching my wife's hand and whatever dignity was still within reach.
You'd think that only because you've forgotten the second half of the show, the barium enema. My doctor (I use the word "my" loosely; after all, I'm at the mercy of an HMO, and I've never actually met my "real" doctor), cheerily empathetic, gave me the hope and strength to continue. "You're going to be Mr. Flatulence today," he said. "Then tomorrow, the real fun. That barium enema's no picnic. You keep thinking, how can they put a gallon of that stuff in there?"
So I'm still on a steady diet of laxatives and apple juice, biding my time, secretly suspecting that another negative result is on the way, and all this torment will be for naught.
1 hour, 28 minutes
I'm one suppository away from the final procedure. I spent most of last night flitting in and out of sleep, nauseated from bisacodyl, which seems much more violent to the system when taken orally.
Does it help to think I'm just like a supermodel getting ready for the runway, what with the ascetic diet and metaphoric self-flagellation?
No, it doesn't.
Tonight I can eat again. That helps.
You'd think that since the sigmoidoscopy came back negative, I could relax, trade in my laxatives and suppositories for pizza and popcorn, banishing forever all memory of the moment my duodenum was blown up like a balloon as I lay gasping and swearing on a cold table, clutching my wife's hand and whatever dignity was still within reach.
You'd think that only because you've forgotten the second half of the show, the barium enema. My doctor (I use the word "my" loosely; after all, I'm at the mercy of an HMO, and I've never actually met my "real" doctor), cheerily empathetic, gave me the hope and strength to continue. "You're going to be Mr. Flatulence today," he said. "Then tomorrow, the real fun. That barium enema's no picnic. You keep thinking, how can they put a gallon of that stuff in there?"
So I'm still on a steady diet of laxatives and apple juice, biding my time, secretly suspecting that another negative result is on the way, and all this torment will be for naught.
1 hour, 28 minutes
I'm one suppository away from the final procedure. I spent most of last night flitting in and out of sleep, nauseated from bisacodyl, which seems much more violent to the system when taken orally.
Does it help to think I'm just like a supermodel getting ready for the runway, what with the ascetic diet and metaphoric self-flagellation?
No, it doesn't.
Tonight I can eat again. That helps.
Dec 28, 2005
countdown to the oscopy
[a work in progress]
See "gallows humor" for the backstory.
24 hours, twenty minutes
I've begun the Great Apple Juice Drink-off of 2005. The only pain I'm feeling is regret, for the juice is stocked in a fridge overflowing with Christmas bounty, which I struggle to not think about whenever tippling. The real fun starts later this evening, when I have to drink atwenty ten-ounce bottle of green liquid to start the laxative process that will continue well into the morning. But none of that now. Now is the time to blog, to revive a waning Sudoku addiction, and, mostly, to savor the sweet goodness of generic apple-water.
18 hours
1. Chicken broth ain't all that.
2. The Sopranos is a forty-eight minute food commercial. They're eating in every other scene. At least one new pasta per episode.
3. The Bank Dick clocks in at seventy-two minutes. Why don't they make short movies these days? Phone Booth is the last contemporary film I remember seeing that was under ninety. Probably seventy, eighty percent of recent cinema would be recognized as ingenious if the director found a way to lop off fifteen minutes. (Syriana is probably the worst offender.)
16 hours, 19 minutes
I down the entire ten-ounce bottle of green goodness. A disappointment: the elixir gets its color from the bottle. It's actually clear, lemony, almost pleasant--imagine someone dumping a saltshaker into your Sprite as a joke. I won't blog what's going to happen in a half hour or so. Suffice it to say that magnesium citrate is a laxative.
13 hours, 23 minutes
For the record, that's a different James Anderson.
13 hours, 14 minutes
Sing along with Buddy Hackett!
Shipoopi! Shipoopi, Shipoopi
The girl who's hard to get!
Shipoopi. Shipoopi, Shipoopi
But you can win her yet.
3 hours, 4 minutes
"Borborygmus" is the goofiest example of onomatopoeia, ever. This morning it's a symphony of rumbles, clicks and whistles, as if someone has stuffed a gray whale in my gut.
The order of business: shower, shave, suppository, at-home-enema, then two minutes down the street to Group Health for the flexible sigmoidoscopy.
28 minutes
I'll spare the details of the last two hours. I will say, though, that my wife is very, very brave.
See "gallows humor" for the backstory.
24 hours, twenty minutes
I've begun the Great Apple Juice Drink-off of 2005. The only pain I'm feeling is regret, for the juice is stocked in a fridge overflowing with Christmas bounty, which I struggle to not think about whenever tippling. The real fun starts later this evening, when I have to drink a
18 hours
1. Chicken broth ain't all that.
2. The Sopranos is a forty-eight minute food commercial. They're eating in every other scene. At least one new pasta per episode.
3. The Bank Dick clocks in at seventy-two minutes. Why don't they make short movies these days? Phone Booth is the last contemporary film I remember seeing that was under ninety. Probably seventy, eighty percent of recent cinema would be recognized as ingenious if the director found a way to lop off fifteen minutes. (Syriana is probably the worst offender.)
16 hours, 19 minutes
I down the entire ten-ounce bottle of green goodness. A disappointment: the elixir gets its color from the bottle. It's actually clear, lemony, almost pleasant--imagine someone dumping a saltshaker into your Sprite as a joke. I won't blog what's going to happen in a half hour or so. Suffice it to say that magnesium citrate is a laxative.
13 hours, 23 minutes
For the record, that's a different James Anderson.
13 hours, 14 minutes
Sing along with Buddy Hackett!
Shipoopi! Shipoopi, Shipoopi
The girl who's hard to get!
Shipoopi. Shipoopi, Shipoopi
But you can win her yet.
3 hours, 4 minutes
"Borborygmus" is the goofiest example of onomatopoeia, ever. This morning it's a symphony of rumbles, clicks and whistles, as if someone has stuffed a gray whale in my gut.
The order of business: shower, shave, suppository, at-home-enema, then two minutes down the street to Group Health for the flexible sigmoidoscopy.
28 minutes
I'll spare the details of the last two hours. I will say, though, that my wife is very, very brave.
Dec 27, 2005
Jones Soda National Holiday Gift Pack
Boxing Day 2006. Older sister had brought the titular libations, scored at a "white elephant" gift exchange. I set out teacups. Bro-in-law Jon poured, we toasted, then sampled. Hilarity ensued as we retched and laughed 'til our stomachs ached.
I have ranked the sodas from best--least horrible, really--to worst.
Cranberry Sauce
Medicinal, almost sweet. The only one remotely close to drinkable, in the way that cough syrup is drinkable, when your sinuses are inflamed and you've lost your sense of taste.
Turkey and Gravy
Of the "weird" flavors, the blandest. Perhaps it's entirely psychological, but it feels greasy going down. Tastes a bit like watery chicken broth left out in the sun for a week.
Wild Herb Stuffing
"It tastes like bitters," according to my wife. I've never imbibed bitters, so I'll describe it as combining Turkey and Gravy Soda with Pinesol.
Pumpkin Pie
Ever scooped out raw pumpkin with your bare hands, snacked on the sloppy yellow fibers, licked the juice from your fingers? No? Of course not. Raw pumpkin is gross. So is this.
Brussels Sprout with Prosciutto
Noxious, abhorrent, disgusting, nauseating, loathsome, obscene, filthy, nasty, repulsive, sickening, vile. My wife couldn't quite bring herself to drink some, and I wish I hadn't found the nerve. I very nearly vomited, and spent the rest of the afternoon smelling and tasting it in everything. (It didn't help that my mother brought out broccoli cheese bread as a snack later that day.) It ought to come with a warning label. Don't drink it. I implore you.
General Caveats
Since my parents are teetotalers, we had no shot glasses in the house, and were forced to use the aforementioned teacups. Wine is poured into a wide glass so the full bouquet reaches the nostril. In the same manner, drinking these sodas from a broad-brimmed cup means experiencing the worst of the flavor. If you are foolhardy enough to follow in our footsteps, use shot glasses and drink quickly. If you don't, stand near the sink or keep a bucket handy.
Consider yourself warned.
Update: Jeri and pals were smart enough to drink from the bottle (remember what I said about the bouquet?), while PZ says I'm a "braver, weirder man" than he.
I have ranked the sodas from best--least horrible, really--to worst.
Cranberry Sauce
Medicinal, almost sweet. The only one remotely close to drinkable, in the way that cough syrup is drinkable, when your sinuses are inflamed and you've lost your sense of taste.
Turkey and Gravy
Of the "weird" flavors, the blandest. Perhaps it's entirely psychological, but it feels greasy going down. Tastes a bit like watery chicken broth left out in the sun for a week.
Wild Herb Stuffing
"It tastes like bitters," according to my wife. I've never imbibed bitters, so I'll describe it as combining Turkey and Gravy Soda with Pinesol.
Pumpkin Pie
Ever scooped out raw pumpkin with your bare hands, snacked on the sloppy yellow fibers, licked the juice from your fingers? No? Of course not. Raw pumpkin is gross. So is this.
Brussels Sprout with Prosciutto
Noxious, abhorrent, disgusting, nauseating, loathsome, obscene, filthy, nasty, repulsive, sickening, vile. My wife couldn't quite bring herself to drink some, and I wish I hadn't found the nerve. I very nearly vomited, and spent the rest of the afternoon smelling and tasting it in everything. (It didn't help that my mother brought out broccoli cheese bread as a snack later that day.) It ought to come with a warning label. Don't drink it. I implore you.
General Caveats
Since my parents are teetotalers, we had no shot glasses in the house, and were forced to use the aforementioned teacups. Wine is poured into a wide glass so the full bouquet reaches the nostril. In the same manner, drinking these sodas from a broad-brimmed cup means experiencing the worst of the flavor. If you are foolhardy enough to follow in our footsteps, use shot glasses and drink quickly. If you don't, stand near the sink or keep a bucket handy.
Consider yourself warned.
Update: Jeri and pals were smart enough to drink from the bottle (remember what I said about the bouquet?), while PZ says I'm a "braver, weirder man" than he.
Bye Bye Dembski
Or, The Sycophants' Chorus
We love you, Dembski,
But now you're through
And bid your faithful adieu
We've never once been untrue
Oh Dembski, we love you.
[Via PZ]
We love you, Dembski,
But now you're through
And bid your faithful adieu
We've never once been untrue
Oh Dembski, we love you.
[Via PZ]
Dec 24, 2005
all the best to you and yours
Tomorrow, whether you're celebrating Christmas, the first day of Hanukkah, Kwanzaa Eve, Washington crossing the Delaware, Gorbachev's resignation, the British surrender of Hong Kong, or any combination of the above... good food, good fellowship, good times for you and all accompanying.
I'm off to visit two sets of families. Enjoy my absence as I'm sure you always do.
I'm off to visit two sets of families. Enjoy my absence as I'm sure you always do.
Dec 23, 2005
Leaked Email Reveals Rift between God, Jesus
A Corrugated Times-Dispatch exclusive
The text of an unredacted email is published below. It was leaked by an anonymous source in the offices of Triune Being LLC, and refers to another appearance by the second member of the organization, in a Jacksonville restaurant's nacho pan.
The text of an unredacted email is published below. It was leaked by an anonymous source in the offices of Triune Being LLC, and refers to another appearance by the second member of the organization, in a Jacksonville restaurant's nacho pan.
Subject: Nacho Pan Fiasco in Making
From: God [father@triunebeing.com]
To: Jesus [son@triunebeing.com]
CC: Holy Spirit [spirit@triunebeing.com]
Priority: Urgent
Jesus, Jesus. You've done it again. Windowpanes, toast, and now this? Don't you understand this makes a mockery of all our efforts? Don't you have better things to do?
I specifically ordered you to cut out the cheesy miracles. (No pun intended.) Cease and desist, or the Spirit and I will be forced to take action against you. You know how the shareholders feel about your silly pranks.
I'm seriously considering coal in your stocking this year.
G.
how to make sure sperms are alive
1. The mirror test.
Hold up a mirror to the sperm's mouth. If it fogs over, the sperm is still breathing. Note: sperms, having tiny lungs, breathe weakly. Place the mirror within a millimeter or two of the sperm to register respiration.
2. The pulse check.
If the mirror test fails, place your index finger on the wrist (or, if unavailable, the carotid artery) of the sperm. If a pulse is detectable, the sperm lives.
3. The music effect.
If an i-Pod or other portable music device with headphones or external speakers is handy, play a tune (preferably jazz or classical), holding the headphones close to the sperm. If the sperm is still alive, it will begin to swim in a figure eight pattern.
4. The poke test.
With a needle or other sharp object, poke the sperm to see if it shouts.
5. The EEG.
If tests 1-4 do not succeed, the sperm may still be alive. Using the miniature Electro-Encephalograph included with recent editions of Doctor Barbie, record the sperm's brain wave activity. Movement on the screen indicates a viable sperm.
[fiftieth in a series]
Dec 22, 2005
this oughtta make the Mariners stronger
You can bet the AM stations are aflame over this brilliant move.
where to dine in Olympia: Southern Kitchen
Update, 2008: Southern Kitchen is no longer open, having been replaced by Ranch House BBQ, which moved over when its original location was destroyed by a wall of mud. Ranch House, it should be noted, is a fine restaurant, some of the best barbecue in the region.
A colleague described Southern Kitchen, the new offshoot of its acclaimed Tacoma progenitor, as the best Southern restaurant in the state. This evening my wife and I decided to test its offerings. We were two rain-soaked Washingtonians in search of hearty cuisine.
Settling on two dishes wasn't easy--but then, little that's rewarding is easy. My wife's Cajun catfish strips were peppery with only a little of the swamp taste common to the bottom-feeding siluriform. Two pieces of fried chicken left comfortable amounts of grease on my fingers, the skin peeling nicely off the meat, the meat peeling cleanly off the bone.
We sampled each other's sides. I opted for sweet buttered corn, red beans, and cornbread dressing, a three-inch square drenched in gravy. My wife, polishing off her dressing, ended up taking home extra mac 'n' cheese and candied yams, both of which she pronounced "yumbly."
Our server was friendly and efficient (though, oddly, she seemed a bit overeager to give us a box for our extras, even though I was still elbow-deep in chicken bones).
The restaurant's hues are warm, burnt sienna and mustard, its decor sparing, unsurprising given its recency and its location in the downtown Ramada. The owner is friendly, welcoming patrons and taking the chance to visit when time allows. Prices are reasonable, averaging around $10 per entree, many including a choice of three sides and a cornbread pancake.
I declare the cornbread dressing to be the best side dish in Olympia. In fact, next time we dine at Southern Kitchen, I'm going to order a plateful and stuff myself with it, gravy and all.
The author is an unpaid blogger. He easily remains anonymous because no one knows who he is.
(added)
The restaurant is open Sunday-Thursday, 7am to 9pm, Friday-Saturday, 7am-10pm. Breakfast served all day.
621 S Capitol Way, in the Ramada Governor House, across from Sylvester Park.
phone: (360) 943-8300
Update: On Saturday, April 22, my wife and I were treated to lunch by my parents. A few observations on the differences in this second visit:
1. The floor was littered with breakfast's debris. There's no excuse for that.
2. The corncakes came right with the meal, so there was no time to savor them before trying to delve into the lunch offerings.
3. Cornbread dressing has to be served hot, because it cools quickly. My mom's came out cold; mine was lukewarm.
All in all, though, the food is fantastic, the service dependable, and the belly filled with goodness at the end of the meal. Southern Kitchen hasn't yet reached perfection, but once a few inelegances are ironed out, it'll be much like Ricardo's, the sort of restaurant you drag your friends to when you want to show off the best of South Sound cuisine.
A colleague described Southern Kitchen, the new offshoot of its acclaimed Tacoma progenitor, as the best Southern restaurant in the state. This evening my wife and I decided to test its offerings. We were two rain-soaked Washingtonians in search of hearty cuisine.
Settling on two dishes wasn't easy--but then, little that's rewarding is easy. My wife's Cajun catfish strips were peppery with only a little of the swamp taste common to the bottom-feeding siluriform. Two pieces of fried chicken left comfortable amounts of grease on my fingers, the skin peeling nicely off the meat, the meat peeling cleanly off the bone.
We sampled each other's sides. I opted for sweet buttered corn, red beans, and cornbread dressing, a three-inch square drenched in gravy. My wife, polishing off her dressing, ended up taking home extra mac 'n' cheese and candied yams, both of which she pronounced "yumbly."
Our server was friendly and efficient (though, oddly, she seemed a bit overeager to give us a box for our extras, even though I was still elbow-deep in chicken bones).
The restaurant's hues are warm, burnt sienna and mustard, its decor sparing, unsurprising given its recency and its location in the downtown Ramada. The owner is friendly, welcoming patrons and taking the chance to visit when time allows. Prices are reasonable, averaging around $10 per entree, many including a choice of three sides and a cornbread pancake.
I declare the cornbread dressing to be the best side dish in Olympia. In fact, next time we dine at Southern Kitchen, I'm going to order a plateful and stuff myself with it, gravy and all.
The author is an unpaid blogger. He easily remains anonymous because no one knows who he is.
(added)
The restaurant is open Sunday-Thursday, 7am to 9pm, Friday-Saturday, 7am-10pm. Breakfast served all day.
621 S Capitol Way, in the Ramada Governor House, across from Sylvester Park.
phone: (360) 943-8300
Update: On Saturday, April 22, my wife and I were treated to lunch by my parents. A few observations on the differences in this second visit:
1. The floor was littered with breakfast's debris. There's no excuse for that.
2. The corncakes came right with the meal, so there was no time to savor them before trying to delve into the lunch offerings.
3. Cornbread dressing has to be served hot, because it cools quickly. My mom's came out cold; mine was lukewarm.
All in all, though, the food is fantastic, the service dependable, and the belly filled with goodness at the end of the meal. Southern Kitchen hasn't yet reached perfection, but once a few inelegances are ironed out, it'll be much like Ricardo's, the sort of restaurant you drag your friends to when you want to show off the best of South Sound cuisine.
that Drying, Enfeebling LIQUOR
The women complain that coffee makes their men impotent, and should be banned.
More coffee-blogging here and here.
We Humbly Pray, That you our Trusty Patrons would improve your Interest, that henceferth the Drinking COFFEE may on severe penalties be forbidden to all Persons under the Age of Threescore; and that instead thereof, Lusty nappy Beer, Cock-Ale, Cordial Canaries, Restoring Malago's, and Back-recruiting Chocholes be Recommended to General Use, throughout the Utopian Territories.The men respond.
Alas! alas! Dear Hearts, the Coffee house is the Citizens Academy, where he learns more Wit than ever his Grannum taught him, the Young-Gallants Stage where he displays the Wardrobe of his excellent no parts; 'Tis the Non Cons Bull-baiting,the News-mongers Exchange, the Fools business, the Knaves Ambuscade, and the Wise mans Recreation: Here it is where we have the sparkling Cyder, the mighty Mum, and the back recruiting Chocolate; 'Tis Coffee that both keeps us Sober, or can make us so; And let our Wives that hereafter shall presume to Petition against it, be confined to lie alone all Night, and in the Day time drink nothing but Bonny Clabber.Par for the course, London, 1674.
More coffee-blogging here and here.
back from the grave
A long-dead specter rises again to beat back the foes of the poor, in the only forum (other than the static on the AM dial) a specter can access these days, the op-ed page:
Queen Christine and her flunkies do not seem to care about people on fixed incomes who are having a hard time making ends meet now and do not seem to care.
It is time we cleaned the flunkies out of Olympia and elect people who will stand up for us.
That is hard to do, as they are allowed to lie so it is hard to distinguish between fact and fiction.
Tim Eyman is coming back with an initiative for the $30 car tabs. Do you think our queen and her flunkies will pay attention?
I think not.
Jim Hendrix, Tenino
Dec 21, 2005
WASL doubt: not just for guilty liberals
Stefan Sharkansky calls Booth Gardner on "soft bigotry of low expectations" (a phrase forever ironically linked to its progenitor, C-student George W. Bush), reducing Gardner's argument to the claim that our education system is overwhelmingly Eurocentric.
But the Shark ignores the bulk of Gardner's essay, including the most telling paragraph:
"California Dreamer," a commentator on Sharkansky's site, puts it well:
Don't believe me? Look at the numbers. Students who didn't meet standard on one section of the WASL averaged a 2.83 GPA in their freshman year of college [pdf]. More specifically, students who flunked the math WASL attained an average 2.7 math GPA in their freshman year. Yet under the current scheme, they'd have to retake until they passed, lose their diploma, or drop out and get a GED.
More coherent thoughts will follow when time permits.
But the Shark ignores the bulk of Gardner's essay, including the most telling paragraph:
It is ironic that the force behind the "single test fits all" is the big-business community. Its members apparently believe the only way to judge whether a student has successfully met learning standards is with a single measuring stick, the high-school WASL. Believe me, none of them uses a single indicator to measure the health of their business. They use a "cockpit" of indicators because they are aware that no single measure is sufficient to evaluate their operations.Sharkansky's other significant error: assuming the WASL is objective. It ain't. On the highest-scored portions, student answers are graded by humans on a rubric, and right answers aren't enough to earn a high score.
"California Dreamer," a commentator on Sharkansky's site, puts it well:
I feel really strongly about clear and strong academic standards, and objective testing to see how well those standards are being met. But I really hate the WASL. It costs something like $60 a student to grade, while tests like the ITBS test cost under $3. The WASL shouldn't be dumbed down, it should be replaced.And therein lies the problem. It isn't that the WASL is a wrongheaded test, but that it's bulky, time-consuming, expensive, and, ultimately, no better at predicting educational outcomes than grades, SAT or ACT scores, or the ITBS.
Don't believe me? Look at the numbers. Students who didn't meet standard on one section of the WASL averaged a 2.83 GPA in their freshman year of college [pdf]. More specifically, students who flunked the math WASL attained an average 2.7 math GPA in their freshman year. Yet under the current scheme, they'd have to retake until they passed, lose their diploma, or drop out and get a GED.
More coherent thoughts will follow when time permits.
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