Health Care Reform Fantods

Remember when Holden Caulfield got the fantods? Or did he accuse others of having them? Anyway, I'm pretty sure I had a case yesterday morning when Jane Hamsher of Firedoglake sent me an e-mail urging me to phone Congress asking that they scuttle the Senate Health Care bill.

I admire Jane Hamsher. Writer, film producer, breast cancer survivor and burr under the status quo's saddle, she has ridden health care hard. Her blog Firedoglake is reliably smart and irreverent and often hilarious. She makes me want to do her bidding. This morning I couldn't, ergo the fantods.

Thank heaven for Twitter. Within half an hour a handful more smart people posted charts and links that calmed the roiling sea in my head. One of the few Twitter friends I have whom I've met in real life, Bumblebums, called Hamsher "a gadfly" and reminded me that less shrill voices are out there.

Some of those include Jon Cohn, senior editor at the National Review, and Dan Roam of BackoftheNapkin.com fame. May the gods and goddesses of political discourse bless Chris Bowers, too. His consistently thoughtful voice over at OpenLeft.com is like kryptonite to politically engendered anxiety.

All of these writers kept me from fretting. They made my work for SEIU and Change That Works seem right minded and good, not the naive waste of time my lesser angels had begun to hiss in my ear.

So, we traded health care reform for health insurance reform. So, it's only a modicum of reform. Click on Jon Cohn's piece and look carefully at his chart. He makes it clear that this reform is significantly better than the scalpel in the eye we have been experiencing for decades.

Update, 0940 23.Dec.09: Apparently other lefty liberals are feeling the same about Hamsher.

Lousy, Lazy Journalism: Mine

In fact, what I'm about to commit here can hardly be called journalism at all. I cannot tell this story properly because I do not have the witness's permission to use his name and I have not taken the time to do the necessary investigative reporting to make the story interesting or informative. Nevertheless, the story wants telling. Maine's forests depend on it.

Here is what I know.

A lifelong Maine logger has become so dejected and demoralized by the recent degradation of woodcutting practices in the state that he is moving to upstate New York to work in a more sustainable industry. This logger, about 50, had been living north of Orono for nearly 30 years. I met him this fall, a few weeks after he had sold his home and just before he and his wife set out for New York.

This Grizzly Adams of a man loomed over us. Even Stan, who at six foot three inches is a bit of a loomer himself, had to lift his chin a hair to meet the man's gaze. The logger's long blond curls hung in tendrils past his clean plaid flannel shirt collars. He told us his story in poignant tones. Though he did not appear to be a man accustomed to sharing emotion with strangers, more than once his voice caught and his hands opened as if invoking cosmic help for the sad state of Maine's north woods.

He told us that even before the state's fiscal situation deteriorated to its current abyss, standards and practices in Maine's woods had begun to drift. He said a huge investment company called GMO had recently purchased land formerly owned by paper companies and that since that exchange logging in Maine had changed dramatically.

The logger spoke of GMO in almost mystical terms. He alluded to the company's size and power without really explaining what kind of company it was. Only when I got home to Google did I see that it is a multi-national investment firm with investment interests running the gamut from forestry to algorithmic trading. The head of acquisitions for the forestry division is Bob Saul.

"We never left land looking like they do now," said the logger, as he described the new wood harvesting order. "They're just chewing it up." He said no one is watching anymore. Or if there is supervision it is of the least ethical kind. "GMO has power over them somehow," he surmised.

The sorrow and anxiety in this hard working man's face was clear. The prospects of moving his household at a time when most men begin to plan their retirement showed.

If anyone knows anything about GMO or Bob Saul, I'd appreciate the help. Because of laziness, disorganization and general distraction, I've given up illuminating this story beyond a man's heartbreak at having to leave the sweet home in the woods he had made. The story, if there is any truth to this sweet man's tale, deserves much more attention.

Military Effectively Bans Abortion for Female Soldiers

Unable to get an abortion during a tour of duty in Iraq a soldier is left with no option but to do it herself—a humiliating but not uncommon story. Women in the military are forced to obtain a leave to get the care they need; but if they’re honest about why, they put their military career in jeopardy. If they’re not, they put their career in jeopardy.

One woman's response devastated her career. The article's by Kathryn Joyce, who exposed the power of the Christian Right's influence on families in "Quiverful: Inside the Christian Patriarchy Movement."

I found this story thanks to reporter @sarahposner.

Facebook Moves Beyond the Pale

The expression "beyond the pale" has to do with boundaries, as in out of bounds, off the reservation, beyond our control, over the edge, et al. One of the reasons Facebook seemed fun and interesting initially is that it had boundaries. Users could relatively easily control what they saw and what others saw of their cyber-lives.

In a recent move, the powers that be at FB have made two grave errors in judgment. What it will mean remains to be seen, but the changes have to be viewed as wrong and wrong by anyone who values boundaries of any kind. (Yes, for to some of my friends this seems an odd stance for me to take. Let's just say Facebook raised my boundary consciousness.)

First, they have decided to index all content for search engines in order to drive page view traffic. All content they have access to, that is. And they are working hard to make sure that is a great deal of content.

Second, in a supposed move to make privacy better, default settings have been changed so that unless one is careful, everything in a profile, album, listing or page is available to everyone in the world.

This does not even take into account the recent third party astroturfing, where health insurers' trade groups offered gaming cash, for games like Mafia Wars and FarmVille, in exchange for a few clicks. These clicks eventually led to the gamers unwittingly lending their names to anti-health care reform letters. This is not a way to warm the cockles of my heart.

I am deleting my long inactive account tonight.

Dana Perino is No Ainsley Hayes

In late November former Bush Press Secretary Dana Perino made headlines with career moves, then a World's Worst Person nomination. First former Clinton administration PR guy Mark Penn hired her for his DC firm Burson-Marsteller where she joins the likes of Bush pal Karen Hughes and Clinton speechwriter Josh Gottheimer.

Within the week the Obama administration nominated Perino for the federal Broadcasting Board of Governors. According to the Hill the board:

...governs all government sponsored, non-military international broadcasting outlets, such as Radio Free Europe, Radio Free Asia, and Alhurra. The BBG is a nine member, bipartisan panel.

Next thing we know, Perino, as part of a regular gig on Fox News describes the recent Fort Hood nightmare as a domestic terrorist attack and appears to forget Sept. 11, 2001 when she claims there were no such attacks during President George W. Bush's watch. This goof garnered her a World's Worst Person award from MSNBC's Keith Olbermann.

Fresh off a wonderful West Wing jag with S, I cannot help but be struck by the stark difference between Perino and the fictional blonde Republican whom WW's President Bartlett hires as White House counsel because, as his Chief of Staff Leo McGarry says, "he likes smart people who disagree with him." Early in season two, Ainsley Hayes catches a vaguely smug smartypants Sam Seaborn flatfooted on a live television show and proceeds to demonstrate intelligence and charming nerdiness enough to fit in with the rest of the WW crew.

Here in real life, Dana Perino forgot who was president when the World Trade Center was attacked in 2001, so I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have known whether Gilbert and Sullivan's "He is an Englishman" was in Pinafore or Penzance. Both Hayes and Seaborn knew it was Pinafore.

Maine's Charter Schools

So, I'm on holiday in Florida, headed to the beach any minute, and my @AugustaInsider Twitter feed points out some editorials and recent columns about how our esteemed governor's refusal to allow charter schools in the state has kept us from receiving federal Race to the Top dollars and will keep other monies and advantages from Maine schools. This makes no sense to me, since we have the oldest charter schools in the country. We call them New England Academies.

When the legislaure began the charter school dust-up several months ago, I e-mailed some reporter friends and asked them to write a story and help me, and I'm sure other, to understand why Maine's handful of "private schools in the public interest" don't count as charter schools. Though I never saw a story, I figured there had to be an answer.

Now that I understand the consequences of the lack of charter school designation, I want that answer.

Seems to me that the "New England Academy" model represents precisely what charter schools are when they are run as they are supposed to be run. They typically have no unions and the best academic results in their areas. (Please note, these two facts are not necessarily consequent.)

Though I cannot find the reference in the Byzantine Maine.gov Department of Education website, I know that Maine law supports the private school systems that existed before the public system was instituted and allows them to maintain private boards, more autonomy in acceptance and expulsion policies, and administrative freedom unlike any public school in the country. Also, in towns without schools students may attend nearby schools, regardless of public, private or quasi-private status at the town's expense as long as the school is not religiously affiliated.

More on this later. If anyone has a clue before I get home to do more research, please help me out.

Lincoln Academy Schedule Means Success

Block schedules blanketed the American high school landscape about 20 years ago. Practically overnight, classes went from 28-35 minutes to 60-80 minutes in duration. Teachers simultaneously rejoiced in the extra time to impart their wisdom and grieved the loss of the quick-hit, fly-by-seat-of-pants class, where a game of Grammar Jeopardy would kill three-quarters of the period.

Periods doubled in duration meant that most schools reduced the number of times students sat in a given class by about half, meeting every other day. Not Newcastle, Maine's Lincoln Academy. Instead of maintaining a student's "seat time" like most schools adopting block schedules, Lincoln's then principal Chris Frost decided to boost all students' time in front of their teachers. At LA, all but one period meets two days on, one day off. (A single period meets Monday through Thursday each week, with Friday's short period reserved for an all school meeting, during which students might hear an inspiring story, compete in trivia contests for local prizes, perform on the bagpipes or play a dodge ball final.)

At first, this two on, one off schedule mashed into a five-day week feels like teaching and learning in a washing machine. Throw in holidays, vacations and snow days and the schedule gets truly Byzantine. Proof that humans are remarkably adaptable, LA's students and teachers have marched through this semi-rhythmic routine in lockstep for better than 17 years, and for good reason. Students remember more and therefore learn more.

It looks like the key is the two days on. All memory studies say the secret to learning is review. Review after 10 minutes; review after 24 hours (possibly the most important one); review after a week, a month and six months. The other byproduct of the two days in a row is simple accumulation of time in a class. In most block schedule schools, students see a teacher two or three days out of five. At LA, students see their teachers three or four days out of five.

Yes, teachers work harder at LA. They have less time to prepare and more class time to prepare for. By rights they should be paid more, too, but I won't go down that road. The facts of the school's success can be seen in their SAT scores, Maine Educational Assessment scores, graduation rates and college acceptance rates as they outperform by a long shot other schools in the Midcoast. [Note: this is a rabbit hole website. If you're like me, you will now spend the next 90 minutes checking every area school for its performance. Locally, Knox County is a particularly sad story.]

Lincoln Academy's feeder schools are better than many others too. (I know, the rabbit hole, again.) Also, because of its superior drama and music programs, Lincoln Academy draws imaginative, motivated pupils. Lincoln, a "private school in the public interest" was formed in 1801 and was allowed to keep it semi-private status in the early 20th century when the public school system was created. Like a charter school, LA is not limited to a single district. Students from anywhere can attend. And they do.

Cross-posted at Maine in the Headlines and Dirigo Blue.

Not Remotely Petty

The Wall Street Journal asks this morning whether Tom Petty is a rock god or mere mortal. All I can say is, what a thoroughly rhetorical question John Jurgensen, then be grateful that Petty is getting play in an international newspaper.
[Update: 21.Nov.09--It does my heart good to open up my blog and see Tom Petty smiling out at me. Just sayin'.]

The Most Important Questions

Yet another Maine woman allegedly died at the hand of her husband this week. In Old Orchard Beach, according to MPBN, a man despondent over his crumbling marriage shot his wife, then himself.

Journalists' lack of understanding of battering and abuse is evident in the fact that in none of the three online news accounts of this all too common tragedy is the question, "Was the alleged murderer under a Protection From Abuse order?," answered. Come on reporters, do us a favor, ask the question. Call the sheriff's department.

It's like reporting on a nasty car accident and failing to ask whether victims were wearing seat belts. Not to say that PFAs are as useful as seat belts, in fact, it may be that they are totally useless. It would be helpful to know, however.

Domestic violence is pretty much the only way women end up murdered in this state. We don't have much stranger danger, almost no crack murders or gang violence. Nevertheless, the tools we use to keep women safe seem not to be working all that well.

Also, how about always including what number murder this is for domestic violence in the state?

A Dark and Bright Morning

My long dormant yoga mat came in handy dark and early this morning on the frosty grass. No, I wasn't doing downward dog in the dark. Not that ambitious. The purple foam rectangle made a perfect Leonid meteor shower viewing station.

My penchant for wishing notwithstanding--I also like birthday candles, spilled salt, and fountains--I love meteor showers, and in a quest to inhabit my soul, as opposed to my tenacious head and body, abandoning flannel and down for quiet sparkling dark seemed the perfect way to start a day.

To lie in the still chill and contemplate the incomprehensible space and matter in all directions felt both expansive and grounding. As I live in a giant field on top of an esker, my horizon is big and I could almost feel the earth's crust under me bulging into the sky. An owl hooted in the in the same time signature as the meteors flying across the sky, keeping a sweet ostinato.

The struggle to keep my stubborn intellect out of my quest continues. At every turn I want to know more about physics, as if that would give me useful language, images, and, of course, control. Honestly, I'm so attached to being, or at least appearing, smart, it makes me stupid. Since I only know about physics what Omni Magazine taught me in the 1970s and 80s, plus a ton of reading on string theory and dimensions I did for a dance project in college, I'm pretty sure I have barely the vaguest notion of the science.

Regardless, I am grateful to have seen the meteors this morning as they left their trails across the sky. Twice I thought I could hear the hiss of their fiery demise.