Waiting for the rest of the movie: Why Waiting for Superman was an unfinished film at best

It’s really a bummer when a film you’ve looked forward to seeing for months turns out to be a huge disappointment. but that was the case for me when I saw Waiting for Superman. The documentary seeks to highlight the increasing ineffectiveness of public school systems throughout the United States, and to illustrate the harm these failing schools are doing to our kids–and by extension to our society as a whole, which suffers the effects of a poorly-educated populace: higher crime rates, entrenched poverty, and–according to the film–not enough skilled workers to fill the professional jobs of the future.

I was excited to see Waiting for Superman because I, too, am worried about the current state of education in this country, and I was especially thrilled that the timing of the release landed the movie in theaters just as the public consciousness of problems plaguing our schools has been raised, via articles in the Los Angeles Times, The New York Times, NPR, and a variety of other outlets.   I would love to see this national discussion we’re having–fractured though it may be–gain in momentum so that we may begin to address the problems that currently plague school districts throughout the country.

Unfortunately, though, Waiting for Superman adds nothing to this national discussion because all the movie offers is an incredibly simplistic look at a very complex problem.  If Davis Guggenheim, who directed the film, is to be believed, our educational system has deteriorated solely because tenure and teachers unions have kept horrible teachers in the classroom for far too long. Continue reading

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Schooled by the L.A. Times: The good, the bad, and the ugly of ‘Who’s teaching L.A.’s Kids?’

Fidelibus is a ‘no b.s.’ type of person.

That’s how one student described me in my most recent set of student evaluations–assessments from those enrolled in my ENG 214 (Sophomore Composition) class at San Francisco State this past spring–my last, in fact, as I am leaving teaching.

I begin this post with those words because they tell you something about me–as a person and as a teacher.  It is true that I hate b.s.–I hate hearing it, and I refuse to spout it to other people.  That is partly why I had a reputation of being a “hard grader” among my students: I insisted that any work earning a C grade in my class was truly competent, and any grade earning higher than a C was indeed quite strong, or–in the case of an A–truly excellent.

I taught writing at SF State for nine years, and during that time, I also taught a semester at Lowell High School and a year at Berkeley High.  Before I came to San Francisco, I was a teacher’s assistant in two public high schools in San Diego. I have spent nearly all of my adult life thus far working in education–and that is to say nothing of the 23 full years I spent as a student–from elementary school through graduate school and a year spent earning my teaching credential for secondary ed.

As you might expect, all of this time spent in schools has led me to form some opinions about education–about what works and why and what doesn’t.  So when the Los Angeles Times published a story on Sunday titled, “Who’s teaching L.A.’s kids?”, I read it with a good deal of interest. Continue reading

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Scenes from the Fort Mason Community Garden

 

 

After Off the Grid this past Friday, we found ourselves in the Fort Mason Community Garden.  I had never been there before, and I could have stayed for hours wandering between each of the lovingly-tended gardens.  I couldn’t help taking pictures of the many beautiful flowers there (especially dahlias, which are a favorite of mine); I also loved the various items people placed in their plots as garden ornaments.  The whole place is gorgeous and peaceful; definitely stop by for a visit next time you’re in the area.

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Emily Bazelon tries to explain ‘What really happened to Phoebe Prince,’ but finds many readers don’t trust her account

Emily Bazelon’s recent series of articles for Slate seeks to answer the question: “What really happened to Phoebe Prince?”.  In her series, Bazelon offers readers a far more nuanced look at Phoebe Prince and the students who bullied her than readers got from most of the other media outlets that covered the story of Prince’s suicide.  Readers learn from the first article in Bazelon’s series that Phoebe had been troubled long before she was bullied by classmates at South Hadley High–long before, in fact, she had even left Ireland, the country where she was born and raised.

The more complicated, more nuanced, and ultimately more human Phoebe that emerges from Bazelon’s reporting on the case is one whose suicide was perhaps more the result of a deeper mental illness and less the product of verbal attacks–in person and online–from classmates who did not like her.

While Bazelon is to be commended for providing far more information and far more depth in her articles than many in the media provided in theirs, her series is not without its problems.  Continue reading

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Imperfect Pitch: Men, Women, and the Art of Selling Ourselves

This morning, Choire Sicha at  The Awl wrote a post titled, How Men and Women Pitch Stories: A Disturbing Sampling, in which he illustrates with examples how men and women differ in their pitches to The Awl.  In one “Inquiry letter from a man” that Sicha quotes in his piece, the sender writes, “Do you take pitches? Should I just write something and send it? Do I have to tickle the balls? I want to write for the awl, dammit.”  Sicha then compares this letter to a sample “Inquiry letter from a woman” who says, “As [a] long-time admirer of your site (and non-too-frequent registered commenter), I’ve been too shy to pitch as I’ve never felt like my work measured up to your fine standards.”

So the male quoted here has a sense of entitlement (“I want to write for the awl, dammit.”), while the female seems almost embarrassed to be offering her pitch (“I’ve never felt like my work measured up to your fine standards.”)

Sicha notes that it probably is “not bad that many people [in this case, the women] are polite and self-deprecating!” and says he understands where that’s coming from, confessing (hilariously) that even he has “a tendency to file stories to editors with the preface ‘HERE IS MY GARBAGE, SORRY.’ ” Continue reading

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When D-Bags Attack: The Citibank ‘Hot Girl’ Firing

This past Tuesday, the Village Voice asked, “Is This Woman Too Hot to Be a Banker?” The article tells the story of Debrahlee Lorenzana, a woman who alleges that Citibank fired her for her being too sexxy hott.

I don’t have much to say about this actual case in which–based on my read of the situation as the Voice presents it–Citibank appears to be pretty clearly at fault (among some of the most damning evidence that Citibank fired her for no legitimate reason is the fact the only documentation of alleged problems with Ms. Lorenzana’s work is a letter that scolded her for being late on two days that the bank wasn’t even open).  But what I do find fascinating is the way the Voice, Ms. Lorenzana’s lawyer, and Ms. Lorenzana herself seek to tell her side of the story. Continue reading

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‘The Poetry of Nobody Home’: Craigslist’s Missed Connections

Photo by Jen Maiser

A student and I were talking in my office right before the semester ended, chatting about books and Facebook and the Internet, when he asked me if I had ever read the “Missed Connections” section of Craigslist.  My student was especially fascinated by the long posts that people sometimes write there; though he didn’t use the word “journal,” he remarked how strange and sort of interesting it was that people would be chronicling their feelings for someone else, journal-like, in this impersonal, electronic forum for anyone to read.

I think most everyone has checked “Missed Connections” at least once or twice–if for no other reason than to see what it’s about.  I’m a more frequent visitor to that section than most; though I don’t check it every day, I read it regularly–not to see if anyone’s posted a message for me, but because I like the messages on their own for the kind of artifacts they are: snapshots of a fantasy in progress, a printed record of an encounter so striking that the writer has imbued it with a cosmic significance. Continue reading

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Like George Costanza, I’m Trying to End on a High Note

Much of my year of teaching at a large urban high school is now just a blur of half-remembered chaos, but there are a few moments which have stuck in my mind with a sharpness and clarity that make me suspect they will remain with me forever.  One of those moments involved my student DeeDee coming up to my desk and saying in a loud voice for everyone to hear, “Um.  I put my tampon in REALLY far this morning, and now I can’t get it out.”  She pretended to try to stifle her laughter, while the other students shouted, “Ew!” or laughed hysterically.

At the time, it was a challenge, a way of hazing the new teacher, testing the mettle of the short, nerdy, glasses-wearing white girl who was in way over her head.  It was a daily game between my students and me, one they might have named, “Let’s see if she calls me on my shit.”  The game lasted several rounds and many months, but I guess I must have won somehow: Months later, during a break from school, I ran into DeeDee downtown when we were both out shopping.  When she spotted me, she ran up to me yelling, “Miss Fidelly!  Miss Fidelly!” (her own variation on my last name), her arms spread wide to give me a hug.  It was like that there, with the kids–one minute they’re doing their best to keep you at a distance; the next they’re embracing you with genuine warmth on a drizzly San Francisco street corner. Continue reading

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San Francisco Spring: The Raw & the Cultivated

Spring has arrived in San Francisco, an explosion of color interrupted at times by rainstorms and gray skies.  This slideshow is a celebration of both sides of spring: pre-storm clouds along the rugged, expansive coastline and the bright, sunlit flowers of the Strybing Arboretum and the Japanese Tea Garden.  The Tea Garden may, to most San Franciscans, be a place for tourists, but I love it there; even when crowded with visitors, it manages to offer a sense of seclusion, a communion with blossoms and beauty–a welcome respite from days spent navigating the city’s crowded, busy streets.

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I refuse to see Alaska from my house.

If the information available in my Facebook Home feed is any indication of the cultural zeitgeist (and who am I to argue that that it isn’t?), then I must conclude that what people are most panicked about lately is the news that Sarah Palin will have her own reality show on TLC (The Learning Channel).  Because we now protest things by “fanning” certain slogans or joining groups on Facebook, activists were quick to note their disapproval of TLC’s decision by joining, “I Will Boycott Any Company that Sponsors the TLC Show, Sarah Palin’s Alaska.”

As of yet, I am not a member of this group because, unless Straus Family Creamery and Nordstrom decide to advertise during “Sarah Palin’s Alaska,” it is unlikely that I will have any companies to boycott in the first place (because, you know, I subsist entirely off of quality yogurt and expensive jeans).  There is one show on TLC that I watch regularly: “What not to Wear;” but I never buy anything advertised during that show, despite the fact that the advertising is clearly geared toward someone like me–a woman between the ages of eighteen and fifty. (Read: lots of ads for makeup, tampons, and Kohl’s Department Stores.)

My guess is that those buying time during “Sarah Palin’s Alaska” will likely be companies like Wal-Mart–companies whose products I am already accustomed to not buying.  Am I saying that people who shop at Wal-Mart also like Sarah Palin?  No.  Am I saying Wal-Mart thinks that people who shop at Wal-Mart also like Sarah Palin?  Absolutely. Continue reading

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