Know the Child Left Behind Feature: Still Working On...

Like all teachers-in-training, I am required to observe local, experienced teachers in action, and this past week, at a Prince William County school, a curly haired 6th grader asked the question on all adolescents’ minds, “Why are we doing this?” However, it was not because she was bored, over-challenged, or simply being snarky. She merely wanted to know, “How is this going to help me on my SOLs?”

The classroom I was observing was a Language Arts class, and the teacher decided that it would be fun to write and illustrate an alternate ending to the poem The Walrus and the Carpenter. The students were not enjoying the creative writing process even though they could use markers to illustrate their poem. Instead, they were too worried how this exercise was going to prompt them for the upcoming Standards of Learning standardized test. This state-mandated test is in direct response to No Child Left Behind—a controversial legislation passed in 2002 by former President George W. Bush.

By glancing at NCLB in my textbooks, I find it hard to see how it could be so controversial. Who wants to leave children behind? It strives for all students especially those at high risk environments to have quality education. Unfortunately, the legislation does not address the specialized needs of the gifted and talented students.

There are approximately three million students labeled as gifted in the United States who spend around 80% of their time in the regular classroom (The National Association of Gifted Children). By ignoring these students, we are indubitably ignoring the right of all students to receiving an education that meets their academic needs. We need to KNOW the child left behind, and in this case, know the gifted student who is able to pass the SOL, yet, is often bored in the classroom and unable to reach his full potential because the teacher has to stick to the curriculum and the demanding needs of the SOLs.

Mrs. Xavier (pseudonym) , a PWC teacher for 11 years, admits, “Because of the SOLs, I have not been able to teach as much as I used to. I used to do a lot of fun projects with my students, but since I have to inform administration of the SOL objectives I covered today, I am limited in what I can teach. Plus, the students completely tune out if they think I’m teaching them something that will not help them pass the SOL.” Since she knows I am a young, wide-eyed, aspiring drama teacher at heart, she added, “Forget about reading a play if you haven’t read all the fiction, non-fiction, and poetry sections. Administration just won’t let you do it.”
There are exactly 990 teaching hours in Virginia classrooms. Those hours are dedicated to meeting the high-stake SOL standards. Where my concern lies is with the curly haired student who wants to know why. She seems to have forgotten completely that learning English can be a creative process because the SOLs ask mere comprehension and basic knowledge questions.

I have taken more than a handful of Education courses in preparation to receiving my endorsement to teach Secondary education, and not one of those courses told me it was beneficial to teach to a test. In fact, I have been told it is counterproductive. Students learn in an environment that appeal to all their senses and where they can construct knowledge off of previously acquired knowledge. I am encouraged to teach reading and writing alongside one another. I am begged to use multi-cultural texts in the classrooms. I am required to get students to think critically. Then, I step into the real classroom and my mentor teacher says to forget it all because administration and parents just want their children to reach the next grade level by passing their test. School districts get their money, and parents get their children one step closer to graduation. What exactly though are we risking if this thought process continues? If NCLB remains as it is, gifted and talented students will be a thing of the past.

The gifted students’ full potential is limited and will regress when it comes to reducing the achievement gap. According to James J. Gallagher, a senior investigator at the Frank Porter Graham Child Development Institute, “the gap between low performing groups (economically disadvantaged, major racial and ethnic groups, students with disabilities, and English Language learners) and high performing groups are expected to be reduced over time”. In other words, low performing groups will progress while high performing groups either stay the same or regress. This phenomenon is known as the regression effect where students in gifted programs or even remedial programs will score as a group toward the mean average (Davis 300). This is because gifted and talented students are not challenged by the current classroom environment under the legislation. They cannot excel further when their teachers spend the large majority of their classroom time dedicated to students catching up to the standards.

Teachers focus on lower level of thinking skills present on Bloom’s Taxonomy: Knowledge, Comprehension, and Application. For example a 6th grade question in social studies is, “If someone really wants to conserve resources, one good way to do so is to:” and the following answers consist of “A. Leave lights on even if they are not needed. B. Wash small loads instead of large loads in the clothes washing machine. C. Write on both sides of a piece of paper. D. Place used newspapers in the garbage” (Popham). This question requires the student to define (Knowledge) the word conserve and then apply (Application) it to the choice of questions. The question is unchallenging to a gifted student because it ignores the higher order thinking skills of Analysis, Synthesis, and Evaluation. A higher level of thinking question might read something like, “Prepare (Synthesis) a list of ways in which to conserve resources.” This question would be more appropriate to gifted children because they would have to design a plan and think creatively.

The manner in which the tests are currently written, the scores absolutely cannot “indicate whether these students are being sufficiently challenged to maintain their academic interest, an issue of particular concern in high school” (Popham). Since the questions lack the higher-level of thinking skills, gifted students are not adequately challenged. Students then become unmotivated and bored. In paper-pencil tests, it is nearly impossible to assess creativity, a common characteristic of gifted students. Many stakeholders (local school board members) in program evaluations find that the only valid test is an objective one, and they refuse to question the validity of these tests. As a direct result of the types of questions asked on the tests, gifted students are left in classrooms that monotonously review information they already know.

Since NCLB, according to the National Association of Gifted Students, 25% of gifted and talented students have dropped out of school—and these are the students who are passing the standardized tests. This percentage nearly doubled since 2000. Why would they drop out of school if they are receiving passing scores on the state-mandated tests? Well, two statisticians Joseph Renzulli and Park Sunghee wanted to find out too, and they surveyed students who are classified as gifted and found out that 37.4% of gifted male drop-outs and 35.5% of gifted female drop-outs said that they did not like school. The excuse for not liking school was the number one reason for leaving for females (The National Association of Gifted Children).

But, wait, what about Bush’s Texas Miracle? Apparently, since Elementary and Middle schools in Houston began using state-mandated tests, drop-out rates significantly decreased and test scores soared! No Child Left Behind is a success, and these schools’ results were the catalyst for other states to begin using tests like Virginia’s SOLs.

However, the data gained from the Houston schools was inflated and illusory. There was a dramatic increase in students classified in “Special Education” and their tests were not counted toward the schools’ averages. Furthermore, students who dropped-out of school were not included in the averages, if they attended alternative programs (in other words, drop-out recovery programs).

Yet, No Child Left Behind supporters still claim that students have never been better—or simply admit there is simply no other cost effective way to make sure all students are obtaining basic level objectives. And, yes, No Child Left Behind sounds nice—who wants to leave someone behind, left alone a child? Still, since the creation of this legislation, there has been no correlation to an increase to test scores or decrease in drop-out rates (except for ones that are inflated—well, I guess everything is bigger in Texas).

When I was in Middle School, I do not remember the questions and answers to my multiple choice questions. I do not remember the character names in stories I read; I do not remember dates and facts and long teacher lectures. I remember dissecting a cow’s eye and watching the pupil bounce into the teacher’s gray and white hair. I remember performing A Mid Summer Night’s Dream in my drama group: Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,/While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,/And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,/And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. I remember writing a poem about a pineapple (that I still have saved to Microsoft Word). What are our students going to remember when they graduate from Elementary and Middle School if all their learning consists on multiple choice tests?

Feature Article: Know the Child Left Behind

As all teachers-in-training, I am required to observe local teachers in action, and this past week, at a Prince William County school, a curly haired 6th grader asked the question on all adolescents’ minds, “Why are we doing this?” However, it was not because she was bored, over-challenged, or simply being a snarky—she merely wanted to know, “How is this going to help me on my SOLs?”

The classroom I was observing was a Language Arts class, and the teacher decided that it would be fun to write and illustrate an alternate ending to the poem The Walrus and the Carpenter. Nonetheless, the students were too worried how this exercise was going to prompt them for the upcoming and impending Standards of Learning standardized test. This is a state-mandated achievement test in direct response to No Child Left Behind—a controversial education legislation passed in 2002 by former President George W. Bush.

Even though these state-mandated tests strive for all students especially those at high risk environments to have quality education, Mrs. Xavier (pseudonym) , a PWC teacher for 11 years, admits, “Because of the SOLs, I have not been able to teach as much as I used to. I used to do a lot of fun projects with my students, but since I have to inform administration of the SOL objectives I covered today, I am limited in what I can teach. Plus, the students completely tune out if they think I’m teaching them something that will not help them pass the SOL.” Since she knows I am a young, wide-eyed, aspiring drama teacher at heart, she added, “Forget about reading a play if you haven’t read all the fiction, non-fiction, and poetry sections. Administration just won’t let you do it.”

But, wait, Mrs. Xavier, what about Bush’s Texas Miracle? Apparently, since Elementary and Middle schools in Houston began using state-mandated tests, drop-out rates significantly decreased and test scores soared! No Child Left Behind is a success, and these schools’ results were the catalyst for other states to begin using tests like Virginia’s SOLs. However, unfortunately, the data gained from the Houston schools was inflated and illusory. There was a dramatic increase in students classified in “Special Education” and their tests were not counted toward the schools’ averages. Furthermore, students who dropped-out of school were not included in the averages, if they attended alternative programs (in other words, drop-out recovery programs).

Yet, No Child Left Behind supporters still claim that students have never been better—or simply admit there is simply no other cost effective way to make sure all students are obtaining basic level objectives. And, yes, No Child Left Behind sounds nice—who wants to leave someone behind, left alone a child? Still, since the creation of this legislation, there has been no correlation to an increase to test scores or decrease in drop-out rates (except for ones that are inflated—well, I guess everything is bigger in Texas).

In fact, since NCLB, according to the National Association of Gifted Students, 25% of gifted and talented students have dropped out of school—and these are the students who are passing the standardized tests. Why would they drop out of school if they are receiving passing scores on the state-mandated tests? Well, two statisticians Joseph Renzulli and Park Sunghee wanted to find out too, and they surveyed students who are classified as gifted and found out that 37.4% of gifted male drop-outs and 35.5% of gifted female drop-outs said that they did not like school. The excuse for not liking school was the number one reason for leaving for females (The National Association of Gifted Children).

There are exactly 990 teaching hours in Virginia classrooms. Those hours are dedicated to meeting the high-stake SOL standards. Where my concern lies is with the curly haired student who wants to know why. She seems to have forgotten completely that learning English can be a creative process because the SOLs ask mere comprehension and basic knowledge questions. Since NCLB claims to not let any child behind, I am left to wonder are gifted and talented students being overlooked merely because they can pass the test. Is that what education has come to?
There are approximately three million students labeled as gifted in the United States who spend around 80% of their time in the regular classroom (The National Association of Gifted Children). By ignoring these students, one is indubitably ignoring the right of all students to receiving an education that meets their academic needs. We need to KNOW the child left behind, and in this case, know the gifted student who is able to pass the SOL, yet, drops out because he is bored in the classroom.

There is currently a love—hate relationship concerning gifted and talented students. This love—hate relationship stems from the teachers’ and administrators’ admiration of the gifted students’ intelligence and motivation; however, American culture has a sense of egalitarianism, an innate belief that everyone should be equal. I say this because our Declaration of Independence says, “All men are created equal” and NCLB makes sure every student passes a standardized test—whether they are capable of more. Since no two students are the same cognitively, why promote tests that are homogenous, identical, and standardized?

The gifted students’ full potential is limited and will regress when it comes to reducing the achievement gap. According to James J. Gallagher, a senior investigator at the Frank Porter Graham Child Development Institute, “the gap between low performing groups (economically disadvantaged, major racial and ethnic groups, students with disabilities, and English Language learners) and high performing groups are expected to be reduced over time”. In other words, low performing groups will progress while high performing groups either stay the same or regress. This phenomenon is known as the regression effect where students in gifted programs or even remedial programs will score as a group toward the mean average (Davis 300). Gifted and talented students are not challenged by the current classroom environment under the legislation. They cannot excel further when their teachers spend the large majority of their classroom time dedicated to students catching up to the standards.

Teachers focus on lower level of thinking skills present on Bloom’s Taxonomy: Knowledge, Comprehension, and Application. For example a 6th grade question in social studies is, “If someone really wants to conserve resources, one good way to do so is to:” and the following answers consist of “A. Leave lights on even if they are not needed. B. Wash small loads instead of large loads in the clothes washing machine. C. Write on both sides of a piece of paper. D. Place used newspapers in the garbage” (Popham). This question requires the student to define (Knowledge) the word conserve and then apply (Application) it to the choice of questions. The question is unchallenging to a gifted student because it ignores the higher order thinking skills of Analysis, Synthesis, and Evaluation. A higher level of thinking question might read something like, “Prepare (Synthesis) a list of ways in which to conserve resources.” This question would be more appropriate to gifted children because they would have to design a plan and think creatively.

The manner in which the tests are currently written, the scores absolutely cannot “indicate whether these students are being sufficiently challenged to maintain their academic interest, an issue of particular concern in high school” (Popham). Since the questions lack the higher-level of thinking skills, gifted students are not adequately challenged which can lead to unmotivated and even bored students. In paper-pencil tests, it is nearly impossible to assess creativity, a common characteristic of gifted students. Many stakeholders in program evaluations find that the only valid test is an objective one, and they refuse to question the validity of these tests. As a direct result of the types of questions asked on the tests, gifted students are left in classrooms that monotonously review information they already know.

When I was in Middle School, I do not remember the questions and answers to my multiple choice questions. I do not remember the character names in stories I read; I do not remember dates and facts and long teacher lectures. I remember dissecting a cow’s eye and watching the pupil bounce into the teacher’s gray and white hair. I remember performing A Mid Summer Night’s Dream in my drama group: Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,/While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,/And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head,/And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. I remember writing a poem about a pineapple (that I still have saved to Microsoft Word). What are our students going to remember when they graduate from Elementary and Middle School if all their learning consists on multiple choice tests?

"The Shark and The Dolphin" REVISION

If you were wondering, there are twenty-six different types of shark tooth necklace straps at the Baltimore Aquarium gift shop. They vary in size, color, and material—some crafted of leather, others of beads, and still yet some of silver chains. Of those twenty-six different necklace straps, each shark tooth pendant is completely unique—each its own shade of cream.

The possibilities are endless—so why I convinced my boyfriend (who just so happens to tap his foot twice on the first step to a bus before taking the next step, and just so happens to sort through Q-tips to find the “right” ones and throw away the “bad” ones) to pick out the necklace he likes the most is now appearing on the next episode of Unsolved Mysteries. He had to carefully inspect each necklace by picking it up by the clasp, making sure it worked, and pinching the shark tooth in-between his thumb and pointer finger to see how it would score on the rock hardness scale. He had to see if the color had any flaws by bringing it within two inches of his eyes. If there was a speck— it was flawed. Next, he had to try it on, to make certain the length of the strap as well as the size of the tooth fit appropriately to his body type.

“Should I really go with the leather strap?” He quizzed me at least twenty times.

Even if he went with the leather strap, “Should I go with the light beige or deep brown or this one that looks like amber? Here, Liz, hold these.”

I was instructed to make three different piles: The “Yes,” “Maybe,” and “No” pile. In the “Yes” pile I held the ones that he wrapped around his neck and were approved by glancing at a nearby mirrored wall. As he gazed at his new look, he smiled then posed with varying facial expressions—seeing if this necklace would fit his many moods. I think once, though it may be my imagination, he actually smelled a shark tooth pendant. The scent must inevitably be an important factor for all your shopping needs. The “Maybe” pile consisted of the pendants that were too perfect to reject, but the strap was definitely the wrong shade of brown. The “No” pile did not even get the chance to go past the first step of inspection. The piles grew larger, and my hands grew heavy. The teenager behind the register thought we were buying necklaces for our 200 hundred children we left at home.

“Liz!” He spoke my name as if I was his mother. “Liz, did you see these!” He moved to the next wall—the next wall—that stood at least seven feet tall. From top to bottom, it was full of seashell and beaded necklaces. He ran his finger through the rainbow of tiny fragmented seashells on a string. The movement caused a sweet chiming noise, but to me, it sounded like the Jaws theme song. Dun-na. Dun-na. Dun-na. I had to do something before he attacked these innocent necklaces.

So, before he could slide a necklace off the racks, I pushed my way between him and the display.

“This one! This one! This one is so you,” I lied, and grabbed a multicolored puka shell necklace that was designed for a five year old girl. Just as I took it closer to the register, Keaton replied, “Oh, nevermind. Guys don’t really wear necklaces anymore. Let’s go look at the exhibits.”

And if you are wondering, there are exactly four sections in the Baltimore Aquarium. In those four sections, there are a total of 25 subsections consisting of exhibits, restaurants, galleries, an atrium to a dolphin show, and more gift shops. However, unbeknownst to me there is an order and time limitation assigned to each area which can be found in Keaton’s Top 10 Tips Visitor’s Guide located at the front desk.

After you pass the front desk, there are these large bubble tubes that connect the floor to the ceiling. They light up a bright cyan and leave cylinder shadows on the carpeted floor. While Keaton took a hold of the guidebook and began to map out our adventures, I danced through the maze of bubble tubes, weaving in and out of its massiveness.

“Lizzy Lou Lou, be careful, you don’t know who has touched those already.” I checked my purse to see if I brought my fingerprint test analysis kit with me, but instead I found my camera.

“Can I take a picture of us with the bubbles in the background?”

He walked over with his head down, and his eyes on his watch. “We need to hurry if we are going to be in time for the dolphin show. I suspect there will be a line; so, let’s get there early. Then, after that, the Immersion Theatre has a showing immediately afterword. We can catch that, then, we’ll have the rest of the time to visit the exhibits. You can pick where we go first…” I snapped a shot just as he was setting the timer on his wristwatch.

Of course I forgot I had the zoom to maximum on my camera, so I was instructed to take the picture until both of our faces were properly placed in the frame.

Just I finished, “Go! Go! Go!” I was a soldier in combat who must reach her destination before a fleet of bombs reached me from overhead. Keaton led the way with a march-like run. I followed behind in a clumsy gallop as I became too distracted by the all window wall that looked out into the Baltimore Harbor. A ship was sitting proud in the dock painted up as a shark like a child with face paint.



There was no line to get into the dolphin show. There was just a massive pool surrounded by nearly empty bleachers. We both stood without moving—each waiting for the other to pick a seat.

“There is no one in the Splash Zone Area…and we might get a little wet…” I spoke almost in a squeal excited about the possibility of water tickling my nose.

“I’m wearing Steve Madden’s.” Up until this day I always wondered why he was wearing a comedian’s shoes until I realized Steve Madden and Steve Martin are not the same person.

We eventually found our way to the row behind the Splash Zone seats. Then, seconds later sat one row behind that one…”just in case.” No one got wet who sat in the Splash Zone even as the dolphins sped past waving their flippers up and down—smacking the clear pool water. The dolphin trainer spoke long speeches about conservation and dolphin training and I forgot what, but I remember how Keaton’s hand find mine and how he let my flip flop rub up against his Steve Madden’s without worry if they were wet or dirty.

The dolphin show ended in great applause, and people from the bleachers lingered at their seats—chatting and laughing and eating pretzels they brought from home. But, as soon as the dolphin trainer said goodbye—Beep!—Keaton’s wristwatch let out a warning it was time to get moving.

He grabbed my hand tightly, and we took large leaps over the bleacher seats. There was no need to fight through a motionless crowd, but I think he liked taking the lead, and I let him. I let him weave in and out of lingering individuals as if we were the only ones who knew there was a fire and the Aquarium roof was going to fall in seconds.

But I had to eventually let go. When we reached the exit by going down a set of stairs (I think he tapped his foot twice before descending), I had to stop and look and the underwater tank of dolphins. He didn’t notice I stayed behind, and he already started going up another set of stairs to the Immersion Theatre.

A dolphin’s body slid past the glass, and I outreached my hand in hopes it would come back. I saw it twist its way around and around like a county fair ride that spins too fast. It was so free in that tank…but not as free as it could be in the ocean. I looked away and saw Keaton looking down at his watch, tapping his feet on the top of the stairs. He stood there like he was waiting for Godot. For a brief moment, I simply stayed below the stairs with my hand resting on the tank…watching my boyfriend calculate the minutes…the seconds…planning and re-planning and taking into account I was setting up a delay.

It took me until I was in Middle School to really know how to read a watch, but Keaton—that’s his life—a collection of watches—ranging from Chronographs, Seiko 5s, Citizens, Vintage watches, Diver watches, black, brown, orange watches. They are all neatly placed in a miniature trunk with a broken lock. His mind is on time. I do not think he’s ever been late to anywhere. He leaves a half an hour early to get to his job that he could walk to in 5 minutes. I think if he could he would wear five watches on each arm to double check the accuracy of them.

When he makes meals, he sets multiple timers. He’ll wear one watch, hold another, use the oven timer, and set an egg timer, so that all of his meal is done at the same exact moment.

“It’s efficient, Liz.”

Efficiency is his motto, and because of it, he was able to put up sale signs faster than his managers on his second day of job training.

Sometimes I forget the difference between the minute and hour hand, but there he was…on the aquarium stairs with his eyebrows tense—as he watched the minute hand move faster than his liking. He was legitimately worried, and his lower lip curled beneath his upper lip. His face as looked like this before…We were on a video conference on our laptops when he said, “Someone slept in my bed.”

“O.K. Papa Bear…did they eat your porridge too?”

“I’m being serious. Someone was in my bed.”

“How do you even know this?”

“I left Mario on my pillow. Now when I came home, he’s on my desk.”

“You’re making a conclusion like that because your stuffed Nintendo character moved locations? Maybe you forgot where you put him.”

Keaton forget? That was a silly allegation.

“My pillow smells differently.”

He was right, though. His roommate did let someone sleep in his bed when Keaton was gone. Keaton had to wash his pillow cases and sheets, and I don’t think he’s ever cuddled Mario quite the same ever since.

Maybe it’s in this last name. Case. He was born to be a detective and solve cases. Detective Keaton Case—undercover, solving crimes, collecting clues, paying attention to details, getting a Criminal Justice Degree at VCU. He tells me that he learns to analyze the life cycle of maggots, and to take pictures of crime scenes using different camera angles and zoom settings. I wonder if that’s where he learned to critique shark tooth necklaces…but how can he have that much attention to detail and overlook how beautiful a dolphin is in its aquatic wonderland?


“Come look at the dolphin swim?”

“We just saw the dolphins.”

I left the tank and walked up the stairs. I would rather swim in a pool than in the ocean too—as long as I don’t have to swim alone, I can dive in with the sharks.

“I love you.”

Up the stairs, we saw a sign: Shark Shop.

That night when we were home, Keaton proceeded to do goodnight rituals. Pick up one neatly folded pair of penguin pajama bottoms with gray shirt, head to the bathroom, take off his jeans first then his shirt second, put on his pajama bottoms, then his gray shirt, take out his contacts (right eye first), put on his glasses, use a Q-tip to clean his ears (right ear first), open the toothpaste bottle, brush his teeth, close tooth paste bottle, and come out of the bathroom and say, “Lizzy Lou Lou, it’s your turn.”

My turn for my goodnight rituals—pick up whatever and throw them on whenever. However that night after the Aquarium, after the shark tooth necklaces, after picking a seat to the dolphin show, after a timed schedule, when I went to brush my teeth, the toothpaste bottle was open. I closed it.

Feature Articles

“The Marrying Kind”
Lisa Belkin
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/28/magazine/28FOB-WWLN-t.html

Lisa Belkin is leaving Oscar Wilde with the question of who is an Ideal Husband and taking on her own inquiry about what makes a good wife. She begins her feature article by describing a personal narrative relating to her mother. Her mother, a several year widow, is moving in with her boyfriend, but refuses to marry him. She relates this antidote to the fact that there is a fast growing rate of cohabiting couples and many of these couples are the ones who previously ridiculed the idea during their youth.

Belkin continues her article by presenting justifications as why many senior citizens decide to move in with their boyfriend or girlfriend without marrying him or her: Social Security may be in jeopardy, life savings may go to medical bills, or bad memories of the previous marriage.

There is a new definition of what marriage is to these couples and the word “wife” may never have the same connotation as it did when women stayed at home baking apple pies and vacuuming while wearing pearls. I enjoyed that Belkin added a survey of British customers in a grocery chain. This survey proved that only a small percentage of contemporary women can do stereotypical housewife activities such as make their own bread or gravy from scratch. It gave a quantitative proof about her assertion wives are not the same as they used to be.

Belkin also did some research. The terms “bride” and “groom” are being replaced by “spouse” on marriage licenses since there has been legalization of same sex marriages in some states.

My favorite part of her article was the conclusion. She retouched on the story about her mother, and completed by saying that her mother’s boyfriend does all the cooking. It was a nice touch of humor that stayed within the tone of the piece—which was very personable.


“A Nope for Pope”
Maureen Dowd
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/28/opinion/28dowd.html

Mareen Dowd begins her article by a rhymed couplet: “Yup, we need a Nope. A nun who is pope.” This humorous assertion is then followed by unnerving details that Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger has been ignoring warnings that Rev. Lawrence C. Murphy has molested over 200 deaf boys.

She interviews The Times’s Laurie Goodstein who tells her that all victims gave similar stories of the priest pulling down their pants and touching them. One victim, Arthur Budzinski, was first molested twenty years ago, but even though there were complaints the priest was never defrocked.

I think it is important Dowd includes the interview in her article, or it may seem she is just another extremist against the church not allowing priest to marry. Her article could seem cliché, but the interview made it more distressing because the reader sees another point of view who gives details about the allegations.

Dowd keeps her article interesting and witty but incorporating religious diction such as “stained glass windows” and “flock.” However, she uses them in a mocking manner which is in conjunction with her opinion that the Catholic Church is hypocritical and looks the other way when concerning allegations of these sorts.

In her conclusion, Dowd mentions that nuns have “cleaned up messes from priests” but her proof is nonexistent. Since she makes the claim that the pope should be a nope, I would have liked to hear her make a claim for why a nun should be pope. Instead, she just informs the reader about what priests and cardinals have done wrong.


This May Burn a Little
Eric Hansen
http://outside.away.com/outside/culture/200804/mexico-tequila-trail-1.html

Eric Hansen started his article by formulating an adventure-like scenario where me, the reader, could come along with him and his friend Tim on the Tequila Trail around Central Mexico. This four day trip was consisted of tasting all sorts of tequila and meeting interesting locals, visitors, and tour guides.

Including the dialogue between him and other people he met along the trail was a lot of fun to read because I could get a portrayal of all the quirks the people had. For example, he met several local girls who let him try what they considered to be the best tequila. However, they said it was a secret tequila, and no one knew who made it. Yet, the girls kept changing their story and at one moment no one made, the next drug runners made it, and finally they pointed across the hills, saying it was made over there. Hansen was intrigued by their story as well as the taste of the tequila and went on a mission to see who made this “crazy good” tequila.

Hasen was very detailed in explaining the ingredients of what goes into the tequila. He also added the legend about how primitive tequila was made and how tequila is more accessible today and can range from $30 to $300.

Hasen has this very charming and friendly voice throughout the article. Even though he was talking about tequila and how some days he had a hangover, he never came across as a frat boy or obnoxious which was refreshing. Instead, he focused on describing the beautiful scenery of Mexico and the exotic flavors in the different types of tequila.

Dialogue Exercise

"Conveyor Belt Love"



I want to quit.

Congratulations! I’ll hire you.

You haven’t gotten paid in over two months.

My boss is out of town.

He was deported. There’s a difference.

He wasn’t deported.

Have you heard from him?

So, I'll start my own business.

What happened to your bar idea? Anyone with the last name Bartles needs to have their own bar.

I'm waiting for you to quit. Every bar needs a bartenderista.

Oh my God, so, to-day at lunch, she decides to go to Ledo’s Pizza. She orders a cheeseburger. She comes back, unwraps the cheeseburger, inspects the cheeseburger. And I quote, “The cheese is on the bottom! Who puts the cheese on the bottom?” And dutifully throws the entire thing away. Tell me this! Why don’t you flip the sandwich over? FLIP THE SANDWICH OVER and take it out of the trash and into your mouth.

Can you guys hear the music I play over there?

The Haunted. The Dead Eye. Yeah. She hates it. She says she’s going to call the cops.

Good. Do you think if I throw this brownie at the wall it will stay in the plastic or explode?

Depends on how hard you throw it.

I think it’ll explode.

I hope not. I don’t want to clean it up.

I bet she’ll think I’m punching the walls over here.

O.K.

Damn!

Oh shit. That looks like—

Yeah, it does.

I’m not going to clean it up.

Leave it.

O.K.

You want to smoke weed in the refrigerator?

Not really. You want to make out in the back?

Eh, not really. You want to sit on the roof?

I’m afraid of heights.

You get to see the stars.

We’re in Woodbridge, you can never see any stars.

You need to know where to look.

Up, you look, up. I haven’t been looking down for stars all my life.

You’re mad at me.

No, I’m not mad or I wouldn’t have come over here.

I don’t have a fiance.

Uh…

I told her I had a fiance so she wouldn’t think—

Don’t worry about it.

My girlfriend was a bitch.

Seriously? Dave, leave it.

No. She lost the kid. Stupid bitch went horseback riding.

Oh. Sorry?

No, I don’t want her kid. I want kids, but not hers. I can’t believe I bought her a ring. I was about to tattoo her name on my arm, but I spent the money for her to get a tramp stamp of a bleeding black heart. How appropriate in retrospect.

We don’t have to go on the roof to look for stars. I can point out Jupiter, if the sky is clear enough.

I really do want kids. I want him to be like my little brother. He saved my life you know. I wanted to blow my brains out. I locked my door, and held the gun in my hand. It was loaded, Liz. But, he got in my room somehow. I locked the door, but he got in. And he just looked at me. He wanted to play with the gun. But I just held him.

They tell me to hold ice.

They tell me to just breathe.

Conveyor belt your thoughts?

Yeah, but I still miss my brother. Some thoughts just keep coming back. I don’t want to live so far away anymore.

That’s why you give that guy and his kids three subs for a dollar?

That and all the food here is old.

And you can’t open your register.

He only gets to see his kids once a week. And, he takes them here.

I wonder if all Blimpees are like this.

I wonder if all PostNets are like yours.

Only when they’re connected to you.

I learned to spell your name in Kanji.

From that guy who works with you. He freaks me out.

First of all Kanji is Japanese, not Pakistani, and...I’ve been meaning to say I’m sorry about yesterday.

What was up with that?

I don’t know; but he threw the oldest ass condom at us. We’re not even like that.

Yeah, we’re not even like that.

We’re not even like that.

I know.

"Many Mansions" By Joan Didion

http://books.google.com/books?id=DMDjrDjBYZgC&pg=PA67&lpg=PA67&dq=joan+didion+many+mansions&source=bl&ots=HR3gqAa-IE&sig=md7ABJ6_cZ_1HOSjsX-Yr9j6eow&hl=en&ei=dTiqS6-9NoT6lweVsODfBA&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=5&ved=0CBIQ6AEwBA#v=onepage&q=&f=false



Above is a link to "Many Mansions" by Joan Didion.


This narrative begins with descriptive language about the structure and foundation --what went on to building it -- of the house. However, everything is "un"--it's unfurnished. It lacks. Through this subtext, we learn that Didion is associating this house with the bankruptcy of California during the time. It's a symbol for all that has faded.

Her narrative is also heavily sprinkled with real estate jargon--this jargon is used uniquely because she mocks the diction. It calls attention to what the house is not--therefore making it appear to be inauthentic. It claims Americana history--but there is more room in the Governor's house for booze than books.

However, Didion does know life with a soul--it is a house that has more human spaces, more charm, and more privacy.

"The Shark and The Dolphin"

If you were wondering, there are twenty-six different types of shark tooth necklace straps at the Baltimore Aquarium gift shop. They vary in size, color, and material—some crafted of leather, others of beads, and still yet some of silver chains. Of those twenty-six different necklace straps, each shark tooth pendant is completely unique—each its own shade of cream. The possibilities are endless—so why I convinced my boyfriend (who just so happens to tap his foot twice on the first step to a bus before taking the next step, and just so happens to sort through Q-tips to find the “right” ones and throw away the “bad” ones) to pick out the necklace he likes the most is now appearing on the next episode of Unsolved Mysteries. He had to carefully inspect each necklace by picking it up by the clasp, making sure it worked, and pinching the shark tooth in-between his thumb and pointer finger to see how it would score on the rock hardness scale. He had to see if the color had any flaws by bringing it within two inches of his eyes. If there was a speck— it was flawed. Next, he had to try it on, to make certain the length of the strap as well as the size of the tooth fit appropriately to his body type.

“Should I really go with the leather strap?” He quizzed me at least twenty times.

Even if he went with the leather strap, “Should I go with the light beige or deep brown or this one that looks like amber? Here, Liz, hold these.”

I was instructed to make three different piles: The “Yes,” “Maybe,” and “No” pile. In the “Yes” pile I held the ones that he wrapped around his neck and were approved by glancing at a nearby mirrored wall. As he gazed at his new look, he smiled then posed with varying facial expressions—seeing if this necklace would fit his many moods. I think once, though it may be my imagination, he actually smelled a shark tooth pendant. The scent must inevitably be an important factor for all your shopping needs. The “Maybe” pile consisted of the pendants that were too perfect to reject, but the strap was definitely the wrong shade of brown. The “No” pile did not even get the chance to go past the first step of inspection. The piles grew larger, and my hands grew heavy. The teenager behind the register thought we were buying necklaces for our 200 hundred children we left at home.

“Liz!” He spoke my name as if I was his mother. “Liz, did you see these!” He moved to the next wall—the next wall—that stood at least seven feet tall. From top to bottom, it was full of seashell and beaded necklaces. He ran his finger through the rainbow of tiny fragmented seashells on a string. The movement caused a sweet chiming noise, but to me, it sounded like the Jaws theme song. Dun-na. Dun-na. Dun-na. I had to do something before he attacked these innocent necklaces.

So, before he could slide a necklace off the racks, I pushed my way between him and the display.

“This one! This one! This one is so you,” I lied, and grabbed a multicolored puka shell necklace that was designed for a five year old girl. Just as I took it closer to the register, Keaton replied, “Oh, nevermind. Guys don’t really wear necklaces anymore. Let’s go look at the exhibits.”

And if you are wondering, there are exactly four sections in the Baltimore Aquarium. In those four sections, there are a total of 25 subsections consisting of exhibits, restaurants, galleries, an atrium to a dolphin show, and more gift shops. However, unbeknownst to me there is an order and time limitation assigned to each area which can be found in Keaton’s Top 10 Tips Visitor’s Guide located at the front desk.

After you pass the front desk, there are these large bubble tubes that connect the floor to the ceiling. They light up a bright cyan and leave cylinder shadows on the carpeted floor. While Keaton took a hold of the guidebook and began to map out our adventures, I danced through the maze of bubble tubes, weaving in and out of its massiveness.

“Lizzy Lou Lou, be careful, you don’t know who has touched those already.” I checked my purse to see if I brought my fingerprint test analysis kit with me, but instead I found my camera.

“Can I take a picture of us with the bubbles in the background?”

He walked over with his head down, and his eyes on his watch. “We need to hurry if we are going to be in time for the dolphin show. I suspect there will be a line; so, let’s get there early. Then, after that, the Immersion Theatre has a showing immediately afterword. We can catch that, then, we’ll have the rest of the time to visit the exhibits. You can pick where we go first…” I snapped a shot just as he was setting the timer on his wristwatch.

Of course I forgot I had the zoom to maximum on my camera, so I was instructed to take the picture until both of our faces were properly placed in the frame.

Just I finished, “Go! Go! Go!” I was a soldier in combat who must reach her destination before a fleet of bombs reached me from overhead. Keaton led the way with a march-like run. I followed behind in a clumsy gallop as I became too distracted by the all window wall that looked out into the Baltimore Harbor. A ship was sitting proud in the dock painted up as a shark like a child with face paint.

There was no line to get into the dolphin show. There was just a massive pool surrounded by nearly empty bleachers. We both stood without moving—each waiting for the other to pick a seat.

“There is no one in the Splash Zone Area…and we might get a little wet…” I spoke almost in a squeal excited about the possibility of water tickling my nose.

“I’m wearing Steve Madden’s.” Up until this day I always wondered why he was wearing a comedian’s shoes until I realized Steve Madden and Steve Martin are not the same person.

We eventually found our way to the row behind the Splash Zone seats. Then, seconds later sat one row behind that one…”just in case.” No one got wet who sat in the Splash Zone even as the dolphins sped past waving their flippers up and down—smacking the clear pool water. The dolphin trainer spoke long speeches about conservation and dolphin training and I forgot what, but I remember how Keaton’s hand find mine and how he let my flip flop rub up against his Steve Madden’s without worry if they were wet or dirty.

The dolphin show ended in great applause, and people from the bleachers lingered at their seats—chatting and laughing and eating pretzels they brought from home. But, as soon as the dolphin trainer said goodbye—Ding!—Keaton’s wristwatch let out a warning it was time to get moving.

He grabbed my hand tightly, and we took large leaps over the bleacher seats. There was no need to fight through a motionless crowd, but I think he liked taking the lead, and I let him. I let him weave in and out of lingering individuals as if we were the only ones who knew there was a fire and the Aquarium roof was going to fall in seconds.

But I had to eventually let go. When we reached the exit by going down a set of stairs (I think he tapped his foot twice before descending), I had to stop and look and the underwater tank of dolphins. He didn’t notice I strayed behind, and he already started going up another set of stairs to the Immersion Theatre.

A dolphin’s body slid past the glass, and I outreached my hand in hopes it would come back. I saw it twist its way around and around like a county fair ride that spins too fast. It was so free in that tank…but not as free as it could be in the ocean. I looked away and saw Keaton looking down at his watch, tapping his feet on the top of the stairs. He stood there like he was waiting for Godot. For a brief moment, I simply stayed below the stairs with my hand resting on the tank…watching my boyfriend calculate the minutes…the seconds…planning and re-planning and taking into account I was setting up a delay.

“Come look at the dolphin swim.”

“We just saw the dolphins.”

I left the tank and walked up the stairs. I would rather swim in a pool than in the ocean too.

“I love you.”

Up the stairs, we saw a sign: Shark Shop.

That night when we were home, Keaton proceeded to do goodnight rituals. Pick up one neatly folded pair of penguin pajama bottoms with gray shirt, head to the bathroom, take off his jeans first then his shirt second, put on his pajama bottoms, then his gray shirt, take out his contacts (right eye first), put on his glasses, use a Q-tip to clean his ears (right ear first), open the tooth paste bottle, brush his teeth, close tooth paste bottle, and come out of the bathroom and say, “Lizzy Lou Lou, it’s your turn.”

My turn for my goodnight rituals—pick up whatever and throw them on whenever. However that night after the Aquarium, after the shark tooth necklaces, after picking a seat to the dolphin show, after a timed schedule, when I went to brush my teeth, the toothpaste bottle was open. I closed it.