There is hope yet for our mighty legal system! Many months ago, I posted about my run-in with the police over a broken headlight. It seemed at the time that I had two options: paying the fine (which was nearly $150) or fighting the ticket in court. Actually, there was a third route: writing a letter explaining the situation (that I had essentially been fined twice for the same offense)--this is what I did. I just got the reply in the mail and the second, more expensive charge was dropped. I still have to pay $47 for driving without a headlight, but in fact, I was driving without a headlight, so this was difficult to dispute without lying.

Hurrah! I fought the law and I won!

http://www.storyofstuff.com/

Nothing new, slightly depressing, but a very well put together presentation.

Made a trip up north and stopped at an old (as in ancient and no longer inhabited) fishing village along the way. It was windy.

Alright, alright. I know, I know. I used to post about politics and interesting things, and now it's all about the dog, but let's face it, my life at present revolves around geriatric mail-order catalogues, and being in the home, and as I see it, the dog is a lot more interesting, and photogenic, than orthopedic shoes with easy on/off velcro straps.

We don't really do Christmas here (or at least, Dad and I don't), and clearly, the dog was not impressed.

Two weeks ago, I did a very touristy thing: I took a very expensive helicopter ride over the southern part of the island. It was awesome.


It had been stormy much of that week, but instead of hampering the experience, the unusual weather created some very unique and very beautiful conditions. First of all, both Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa were covered in snow. This is Mauna Loa.


Then, because it was raining during the tour, the water hitting the hot lava created fine, wispy, white vapor that curled off the pitchy flow.

A lot of people come to Hawaii for sunshine and palm trees, but I really do think that some of the most elegant moments happen when the skies are grey and the atmosphere is cold and clear.
I almost didn't mind being here that day.

Thanks to those of you who wrote to express concern about our chocolate-devouring mongrel. Yes, she did get a bit sick, but it wasn't serious, or long-term.

The good news is she's back to normal, doing fine, and she still wants your cookie.

We have a dog. THIS dog. Or rather, my sister has the dog, and the rest of us like her, too. The dog, Ginger, or Little Girl, she responds to both, is the most spoiled creature I have ever seen. But, despite this, and being a tiny, fur-ball sort of lap dog, she is the most mild-mannered and agreeable dog out there. The stuff of Lassie lore. But she does have her own mind.

Last week, my mother came back from Las Vegas, and brought with her several boxes of See's chocolates for gifts. Very much to our surprise, while Mom was out and Ginger was left on her own, she found the plastic bag in which Mom stored the chocolates, pulled out a box and claimed it herself, got through the one layer of paper, a layer of plastic, another paper wrapper, cardboard, and then the last level of protection, a flimsy paper sheaf, and gorged herself of the expensive confection. Mom found her later, among chocolates strewn everywhere, looking quite proud of herself, with a face smeared in sticky, sweet brown.

Mom went off on another trip this past Friday, leaving the dog in my sister's care, and lo! she did it again! While my sister was at the gym, Ginger found a cache of Hawaiian Host Macadamia Nut chocolates, tore through a box, and scarfed down the goods. My sister came home to find the dog passed out next to her kill, unable to move. She said there were NINE chocolates missing. ("I can't even eat nine chocolates!" she said. And Ginger only weighs about 11 pounds.)

She's amazing.

An update on the ticket situation:

I must say I was very disappointed with reader participation in my last poll about whether I should fight my traffic ticket or not. There were six votes, one was my own, and two were from one person who voted one way first, and then, after a discussion with me, cast another vote in the other direction.

In any event, I have decided not go to court, and not to pay the fines either. I went the third route, which was to write a letter to the judge explaining the situation.

We shall see what comes of it...

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda
By THOMAS L. FRIEDMAN
Published: November 14, 2007

Two dates — two numbers. Read them and weep for what could have, and should have, been. On Sept. 11, 2001, the OPEC basket oil price was $25.50 a barrel. On Nov. 13, 2007, the OPEC basket price was around $90 a barrel.

In the wake of 9/11, some of us pleaded for a “patriot tax” on gasoline of $1 or more a gallon to diminish the transfers of wealth we were making to the very countries who were indirectly financing the ideologies of intolerance that were killing Americans and in order to spur innovation in energy efficiency by U.S. manufacturers.

But no, George Bush and Dick Cheney had a better idea. And the Democrats went along for the ride. They were all going to let the market work and not let our government shape that market — like OPEC does.

You’d think that one person, just one, running for Congress or the Senate would take a flier and say: “Oh, what the heck. I’m going to lose anyway. Why not tell the truth? I’ll support a gasoline tax.”

Not one. Everyone just runs away from the “T-word” and watches our wealth run away to Russia, Venezuela and Iran.

I can’t believe that someone could not win the following debate:

REPUBLICAN CANDIDATE: “My Democratic opponent, true to form, wants to raise your taxes. Yes, now he wants to raise your taxes at the gasoline pump by $1 a gallon. Another tax-and-spend liberal who wants to get into your pocket.”

DEMOCRATIC CANDIDATE: “Yes, my opponent is right. I do favor a gasoline tax phased in over 12 months. But let’s get one thing straight: My opponent and I are both for a tax. I just prefer that my taxes go to the U.S. Treasury, and he’s ready to see his go to the Russian, Venezuelan, Saudi and Iranian treasuries. His tax finances people who hate us. Mine would offset some of our payroll taxes, pay down our deficit, strengthen our dollar, stimulate energy efficiency and shore up Social Security. It’s called win-win-win-win-win for America. My opponent’s strategy is sit back, let the market work and watch America lose-lose-lose-lose-lose.” If you can’t win that debate, you don’t belong in politics.

“Think about it,” says Phil Verleger, an energy economist. “We could have replaced the current payroll tax with a gasoline tax. Middle-class consumers would have seen increased take-home pay of between six and nine percent, even though they would have had to pay more at the pump. A stronger foundation for future economic growth would have been laid by keeping more oil revenue home, and we might not now be facing a recession.”

As a higher gas tax discouraged oil consumption, the Harvard University economist and former Bush adviser N. Gregory Mankiw has argued: “the price of oil would fall in world markets. As a result, the price of gas to [U.S.] consumers would rise by less than the increase in the tax. Some of the tax would in effect be paid by Saudi Arabia and Venezuela.”

But U.S. consumers would have known that, with a higher gasoline tax locked in for good, pump prices would never be going back to the old days, adds Mr. Verleger, so they would have a much stronger incentive to switch to more fuel-efficient vehicles and Detroit would have had to make more hybrids to survive. This would have put Detroit five years ahead of where it is now. “It’s called the America wins program,” said Mr. Verleger, “instead of the petro-states win program.”

We simply cannot go on being as dumb as we wanna be. If you hate the war in Iraq, then you want a gasoline tax so you can argue that we can pull out of there without remaining dependent on an even more unstable region. If you want to see us negotiate with Iran, not bomb it, you want a gasoline tax that will give us some real leverage by helping to reduce the income of the ayatollahs.

If you’re a conservative and you believed that the Iraq war was necessary to drive reform in the Middle East, but the war has failed to do that and we need “Plan B” for the same objective, you want a gasoline tax that will reduce the flow of wealth to petrolist leaders who will never change if all they have to do is drill well holes rather than educate and empower their people.
If you want to see America thrive by becoming the most energy productive economy in the world — a title that now belongs to Japan, which doesn’t have a drop of oil in its soil — you want a gasoline tax, which will only spur U.S. innovation in energy efficiency.

President Bush squandered a historic opportunity to put America on a radically different energy course after 9/11. But considering how few Democrats or Republicans are ready to tell the people the truth on this issue, maybe we have the president we deserve. I refuse to believe that, but I’m starting to doubt myself.

For reasons I have already forgotten in the last five days, I have decided to get braces. Here they are. They hurt. That's all I have to say.

It is obviously that time of the month (quota time, that is).

I got stopped by the police this evening on my way home, just 125m from my front door. The apartment building where Dad and I live is at the end of a small road off the main street, and as made the turn off, I noticed two sets of flashing blue lights behind me. Seeing cop cars in my area is not all that unusual, and thinking not too much of it and not hearing a siren, I continued on my way, BUT the two cars followed me into the complex, then down the ramp as I entered the underground parking area. Realizing that I was their target, I stopped the car half-way in, got out, then asked, "Are you stopping ME?!"

Clearly, cops are not used to little geeky girls with grandma glasses and Louise Brooks hairdos approaching them with confused faces when they're trying to get on with their very important business of racking up traffic violations. "Get back into vehicle, Miss!" one of the two cops yelled. I did, then asked through the window, "What have I done wrong?" One of the cops came over and with a very serious tone said, "You have a headlight out. You are driving an unsafe vehicle." The other cop came out with a flash light and circled my car, looking in to inspect for who knows what. Then, the first cop demanded that I turn off the radio, asked what was in wagon part of the station wagon (it was my dad's wheel chair motorized ramp), and then for my license and registration. "Don't you think I should move my car so as not to block people trying to get either in or out of the parking lot?" I asked. "No, Miss, stay where you are!"

I sat in my car for some time, families with children passing by and looking concerned, and a neighbor yelling in the background "What happened?!" Cop number one came back, asked me a bunch of questions about my job ("I'm a public school teacher, but I only teach three days a week because I take care of my elderly father who has cancer." I explained trying my best to sound saintly), my residence, my social security number, then handed me a citation slip; I was nailed for TWO offenses: driving with a headlight out ($47)AND driving an unsafe vehicle ($97). I looked carefully at the slip and the cop said, "Your car is unsafe because the light is out, so that's two violations."

Generally speaking, I try to limit my dealings with policemen (and policewomen, for that matter), so I just signed the slip, tried to look helpless, and wished the officers a good evening. But when I got home, I was not happy. "Dad, that's double jeopardy!" I yelled. "Damned right, it is!" agreed my loyal, lawyer Daddy. "$150 is outrageous!" he declared, and then he told me to contest it in court.

Now, just to be sure about my understanding of the "double jeopardy" clause in the constitution, I went online and found this from the fifth amendment: "...nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb." Fining me twice for one offense does seem to be in violation of this fundamental constitutional right, though in fairness, I reckon that in this new and globalized hypercaptialism we find ourselves in today, the amendment should be ratified to include "pocketbook" with "life and limb". And, as constitutional rights deal with matters of the nation, and I think traffic violations are a something states or the local goverment handles, I do believe amendment 14 allows me to apply amendment 5 to my situation with "no State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges and immunities of citizens of the United States".

Hm.

Patient readers, what do you reckon? Should I fight this one in court in attempt to save $100 (I will definitely have to pay the first one as it cannot be denied that my headlight was out), or should I just save myself from the hassle by sending in a check?

I would appreciate any thoughts on this and do leave a vote on my poll to the right.

OK. So, I royally destroyed my old template in attempt to remove that annoying AdSense strip (I suppose I put up in the first place thinking I could make a bit of cash, but after more than three years, and at the cost of that huge gap on my blog, all I made was about $5.36) and to remedy that, I had to choose a new layout. What do you think?

I spent far more time than I will admit to trying to recover old links and page elements, and at the same time, I updated a few things, and added a couple of new buttons.

So there you have it. A new and improved (though I miss the ol' skool olive drab) Monkeyprints!

PS - I am generally disappointed with the lack of comments left on my site (does anyone else remember when I used to get a mighty 5 or 6 per entry?!), so it would make me very, very happy if you would participate in the poll on the sidebar. Please.

I go to check the mail today and find that this envelope had been stuffed into our very small box. That's right, owning a mail scale and using stamps is now officially suspicious behavior that might be precursor to acts of security threat to the nation.

Indeed, Dad was only sending the package a distance of a couple of miles, but one would think that if the post office had made the effort of receiving it, putting this annoying label on it, and then sending it back to us, surely someone there could have shaken it and held it up to the light long enough to realize that it wasn't explosive squibs of anthrax dust, but merely a hefty, though innocuous multi-page document (tax forms, actually, for one of his clients).

So now I have to take this damned thing back to the post office so they can shake it and hold it up to the light in front of me, perhaps at the same time analyzing my face for nervous twitches and breath holding, just so we can have it sent it up the road.

God, bless America!

I got a big box in the mail today and look at what it was!

I've just been published in Swindle Magazine!

A story I wrote about Joan Hinton, the American physicist who joined the Chinese Communist Revolution in 1948 after working on the Manhattan Project (she is 86 now), was included in the latest edition of the magazine, the "Death and Fame" issue.




And here is what the story looked like (if can get a copy of the magazine, the story is on page 58)!

Greg Basdevant, whom I met while doing some work for him at Colors Magazine, took the pictures. Rather unfortunately, they only used one of the many excellent photos he took on our trip to see Ms. Hinton.



The story was mostly interview, and much to my surprise, it ran the length of two pages.







And I already got the check in the mail! Woo hoo!

If you want to see more about the magazine, check out their Web site at http://www.swindlemagazine.com/.

Living with Dad is not easy. Or perhaps, living with me is not easy. Either way, Dad and I have finally found something of routine for living together. The most important part of this routine is getting his compression socks on in the morning, and then taking them off at night. Dad is mostly wheelchair-bound and with limited mobility on his left side, as the result of a stroke he suffered almost five years ago, it is next to impossible for him to put on socks or shoes. This is especially true in the case of his compression socks which are designed to minimize the effects of gravity by squeezing the legs tight enough to keep fluids from swelling in his feet. With two good hands, getting the damned things on him is a challenge for me, also.

So the other night, I was tired rather early, and noticing that Dad was going through his normal before bed routine, I announced my intention to also go to bed. "Good," he said, "me, too." I waited in the kitchen for him as his took his night-time pills. He looked at me. I said nothing. "What do you want?" he asked. "Nothing," I said, "I'm just waiting for you to go to bed so I can take off your socks." "Oh, I see." So, he swallowed his last pill, wheeled himself into his room and got himself into bed. I got his arms and legs situated (he has to really work at adjusting himself to get into bed properly), then I yanked off the socks and left them hanging over the foot of the bed.

"Do you need anything, Papa?" I asked, as I always do before turning off the light. "No, no, I'm fine." So, I said "good night", switched off the light, then went to bed myself.

Not long after I got into bed, but before I fell asleep, I heard the creak of Dad's bed (it's a motorized hospital bed). Then shuffling. Then the click of the light switch and the squeak of the wheelchair. This was all followed shortly by the sound of water running, a toilet flushing, teeth brushing and more water. Then a pause. Then wheelchair clicking, shuffling, squeaking, light switch, and settling. Then nothing.

My only explanation for this was that the old man didn't want to ask me to wait an extra 10 minutes so that he could finish his routine before getting into bed, possibly irritating me or preventing me from a few more minutes of sleep (not that I would have been annoyed). So instead of just telling me he wasn't ready for bed, he played along, went through the motions, then sat there in the dark waiting for me to fall asleep before getting himself back up to do what he had to do.

What nerve!

This is amazing. While most foreigners travelling through Asia must learn to cope with the squat toilet, here is a company in New Zealand bringing the discomfort home! You can learn more about this handy device, and the small fortune you would have to pay to have one of your own at http://lillipad.co.nz/.

(In fairness, the company argues that squatting allows for healthier evacuation, and after having lived in China for three and a half years, I wouldn't discount that there might be something to it.)

My first job in China was at the Dalian Institute of Light Industry; this was about four years ago. One of my responsibilities at the university was to give intensive spoken English lessons to a group of students preparing to go to the University of Swansea, in Wales. Of that group of 10 or so, just a couple actually made it to Swansea. Others however, went to Australia to pursue a masters program. I kept in touch with one of the students--he wound up near Sydney--and recently I have received word that he has just graduated!

Here he is!



At the risk of sounding schmaltzy, I am a very proud teacher!

My sister was lamenting life here in Kona (I think I have mentioned that she also quit her job in Los Angeles to come home to help Dad) the other day and she said, "All of my friends who are from here, and never left, have kids now."

She sighed and I thought about it. One of her friends already has four kids.

"Well, what about Rebecca (not her real name)?" I asked. Rebecca and my sister have known each other since grade school, and she's a really lovely, beautiful girl who, for the most part, has her life together.

Leilani thought about it. "True. She doesn't have kids. But she does have an STD."

That's Kona!

I've been spending a lot of time putzing about the Internet, looking for paid writing opportunities. I signed up with eHow--a site with a searchable catalogue of "How To" instructions--and already, I have written three articles: two about the pronunciation of particularly tricky Mandarin sounds, and one about using Chinese toilets. The one about the toilets has already earned me the magnificent sum of 12 cents!

Go take a look at http://www.ehow.com/how_2075957_use-chinese-toilet.html

Found this in the New York Times today. I'll write more about this and my recent experiences in education a bit later.
---

A Teacher Grows Disillusioned After a ‘Fail’ Becomes a ‘Pass’
By SAMUEL G. FREEDMAN
Published: August 1, 2007

Several weeks into his first year of teaching math at the High School of Arts and Technology in Manhattan, Austin Lampros received a copy of the school’s grading policy. He took particular note of the stipulation that a student who attended class even once during a semester, who did absolutely nothing else, was to be given 45 points on the 100-point scale, just 20 short of a passing mark.

Austin Lampros quit after a student he had failed was passed.
Mr. Lampros’s introduction to the high school’s academic standards proved a fitting preamble to a disastrous year. It reached its low point in late June, when Arts and Technology’s principal, Anne Geiger, overruled Mr. Lampros and passed a senior whom he had failed in a required math course.

That student, Indira Fernandez, had missed dozens of class sessions and failed to turn in numerous homework assignments, according to Mr. Lampros’s meticulous records, which he provided to The New York Times. She had not even shown up to take the final exam. She did, however, attend the senior prom.

Through the intercession of Ms. Geiger, Miss Fernandez was permitted to retake the final after receiving two days of personal tutoring from another math teacher. Even though her score of 66 still left her with a failing grade for the course as a whole by Mr. Lampros’s calculations, Ms. Geiger gave the student a passing mark, which allowed her to graduate.

Ms. Geiger declined to be interviewed for this column and said that federal law forbade her to speak about a specific student’s performance. But in a written reply to questions, she characterized her actions as part of a “standard procedure” of “encouraging teachers to support students’ efforts to achieve academic success.”

The issue here is not a violation of rules or regulations. Ms. Geiger acted within the bounds of the teachers’ union’s contract with the city, by providing written notice to Mr. Lampros of her decision.

No, the issue is more what this episode may say about the Department of Education’s vaunted increase in graduation rates. It is possible, of course, that the confrontation over Miss Fernandez was an aberration. It is possible, too, that Mr. Lampros is the rare teacher willing to speak on the record about the pressures from administrators to pass marginal students, pressures that countless colleagues throughout the city privately grumble about but ultimately cave in to, fearful of losing their jobs if they object.

Mr. Lampros has resigned and returned to his home state, Michigan. The principal and officials in the Department of Education say that he missed 24 school days during the last year for illness and personal reasons. He missed two of the three sets of parent-teacher conferences. He also had conflicts with an assistant principal, Antonio Arocho, over teaching styles. Mr. Lampros said all of this was true.

Still, Mr. Lampros received a satisfactory rating five of the six times administrators formally observed him. He has master’s degrees in both statistics and math education and has won awards for his teaching at the college level.

“It’s almost as if you stick to your morals and your ethics, you’ll end up without a job,” Mr. Lampros said in an interview. “I don’t think every school is like that. But in my case, it was.”

The written record, in the form of the minutely detailed charts Mr. Lampros maintained to determine student grades, supports his account. Colleagues of his from the school — a counselor, a programmer, several fellow teachers — corroborated key elements of his version of events. They also describe a principal worried that the 2006 graduation rate of 72.5 percent would fall closer to 50 or 60 percent unless teachers came up with ways to pass more students.

After having failed to graduate with her class in June 2006, Miss Fernandez, who, through her mother, declined to be interviewed, returned to Arts and Technology last September for a fifth year. She was enrolled in Mr. Lampros’s class in intermediate algebra. Absent for more than two-thirds of the days, she failed, and that grade was left intact by administrators.

When second semester began, Miss Fernandez again took the intermediate algebra class, which fulfilled one of her graduation requirements. According to Mr. Lampros’s records, she missed one-third of the classes, arrived late for 20 sessions, turned in half the required homework assignments, failed 11 of 14 tests and quizzes, and never took the final exam.

Two days after the June 12 final, Miss Fernandez told Mr. Lampros that she had a doctor’s note excusing her from school on the day of the exam, he said. On June 18, she asked him if she had failed the class, and he told her she had. The next day, the principal summoned Mr. Lampros to a meeting with Miss Fernandez and her mother. He was ordered, he said, to let her retake the final.

Mr. Arocho, the assistant principal, wrote in a letter to Mr. Lampros that Miss Fernandez had a doctor’s note, issued March 15, permitting her to miss school whenever necessary in the spring. Mr. Arocho did not respond to telephone and e-mail messages seeking comment.

There is such a note, issued by Dr. Jason Faller, but it excused absences “over the last three months” — that is, the period between mid-December and mid-March. In a recent interview, Dr. Faller said he saw Miss Fernandez only once, in March, and confirmed that his excuse note covered absences only before March 15.

For whatever reason, school administrators misinterpreted the note and told Mr. Lampros that Miss Fernandez would be allowed to retake the final — and to retake it after having two days of one-on-one tutoring by another math teacher, an advantage none of Mr. Lampros’s other students had, he said.

Mr. Lampros, disgusted, did not come to school the next two days. Miss Fernandez meanwhile took the test and scored a 66, which still left her far short of a 65 average for the semester. Nonetheless, Mr. Arocho tried to enter a passing mark for her. When he had to relent after objections by the teachers’ union representative, Mr. Lampros was allowed to put in the failing grade. Ms. Geiger promptly reversed it.

Samantha Fernandez, Indira’s mother, spoke on her behalf. “My daughter earned everything she got,” she said. Of Mr. Lampros, she said, “He needs to grow up and be a man.”

From Michigan, Mr. Lampros recalled one comment that Mrs. Fernandez made during their meeting about why it was important for Indira to graduate. She couldn’t afford to pay for her to attend another senior prom in another senior year.