Friday, December 12, 2008

Bare

My remaining strength is inadequate.
I hold on, brown knuckles white from exhaustion.
The air is so cold,
so mind-numbingly cold,
that my translucent veins feel the same.
My changing feet dangle far above
an inevitable fate.
I braved the sweltering sun,
pelting rain,
droughts without ends in sight.
I now add the occasional flurry to my life story,
debating whether it's one worth telling.
I risk losing focus to peer at the ground
but immediately wish I hadn't.
All of my family, all of my friends --
fallen.
Their waxy green sheens now turned
to hues of sun,
their resilience now brittle
and lives now lost.
I take a final breath
and join them.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

"The Best-hidden Government Secret from New York's Public"

So I was listening to "This American Life," my favorite podcast, last night on my iPod. It's a radio show that picks a theme and stories within the theme to tell. They're true stories told by the people who experienced them. Last night's episode was called "Human Resources," and one of the segment's stories caught my attention. It's titled "The Rubber Room."

New York City Public Schools educate more students than the combined population of 8 US states. The teachers who teach in those schools, like in any other school system, are suspended for unacceptable behavior when need be. When teachers are suspended in NYC, they are told to report to the Redistribution Center for further instructions. What the teachers don't know, is that the place they're directed to has no idea when the teachers will be teaching again. The teachers are sent indefinitely to a center they call The Rubber Room.

There are 5 of these centers in NYC. They hold an estimated 900 teachers on any given day. The teachers report to these centers from 8-4 like they would any other work day. Once they're there, however, they realize something completely outside of what they expected. In The Rubber Rooms, there is nothing to do.

Nothing. The teachers sit in chairs, reading or playing cards, making friends and sometimes enemies over the course of weeks. Months. Years. The Rubber Room, effectively, is a detention center for teachers. Some call it "teacher jail." But they stay -- and receive a salary.

30 million dollars go to Rubber Room teachers every year, courtesy of the taxpayers. Some find it a scandal, while others find it a worthy method of putting teachers in their place. The teachers' offenses range anywhere from having 'creative differences' with their principals to screaming, cursing, or throwing chairs at students. Most teachers don't even know their charges. And though they're paid, "not one teacher considers themselves lucky."

Not every teacher is angry. One teacher pointed out that "if you hate teaching and love playing cards, this isn't bad at all." Most though, after long bouts of denial, feel "demoralized" and "robbed of their dignity." The Rubber Room's social aspects speak of high school's. Teachers are cliquey, gossipy, and territorial. Going away parties are thrown for teachers leaving to teach again, while some teachers never do. One was fired after 2 Rubber Room years.

Want to know more? Go, like I did, to www.rubberroommovie.com. Yep. There's a movie. The site features Rubber Room facts, myths debunked, and the movie trailer itself. And when you're done with that, subscribe to "This American Life" on iTunes for free.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Ode to Humanity

Complaining about what you cannot change is a waste of your time.

Complaining about what you can change is lazy.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

I know giving is hard right now, but

1) $25 a month will put a child through elementary school with food; there are approximately 600 elementary age children in the Mount Barclay area our partners are seeking sponsors for; 2) a $500 one-time gift will support a girl transitioning out of the prostitution industry for one year, providing education, vocational training and counseling. To go to our official Child Sponsorship site, click here.

Through Imago Dei Community, Portland.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Missed Connections

I couldn't help but expand these audiences. Enjoy. (from www.craigslist.com) P.S. In case this post has confused you, I did not write these. I found them on Craigslist under a category called Missed Connections -- people write anonymously to others they wish to regain contact with, hoping that the subject finds it at some point. Here are some I thought you'd like:

to the girl with the broken hand
You are rad. You complimented me on my (the Jam) shirt and I was delighted by the way your face lit up as you began rambling about mod bands. I hope you read this, but if you don't I will be back to see you soon.

I Hate You
So what gives, after four years you decide to grow a backbone? You could at least give me a reason, you could at least open that beautiful mouth and tell me why, instead of leaving me to guess and speculate. I'd like to think that I deserve better than that, after everything. I know that I made mistakes along the way, but I always did my best to be there for you, I never batted an eye at coming to your aide, regardless of the cost or sacrifice involved. And you know what? Even after all of this, I still wouldn't, and that's the damnable misery of it. I don't know how long it will take for this to wear off, if ever. It's new and fresh every day. I miss you something terrible.

Green eyes in the office at school
I saw you this morning at the elementary school, you were wearing a black Wake Forest University sweatshirt. I am unable to describe your beautiful eyes. I know I was staring, you smiled brilliantly. What a vision to take in. I could gaze at you all day. Thank you doesn't even cover it. I noticed your PTA tag. I will be sure to attend all events!

we made out in your dorm a few years ago
i felt something then. and every time i see you, it comes back. i think about you more often than i should. i can't help it, really. i doubt if you'll see this and that's okay. you're awesome and unforgettable.

Happy Birthday My Love
This will be the first year of many years to come without being able to say Happy Birthday to you. You'll never read this and if you do you'll never realize its me, but I wanted to be able to still say it anyways.

So Happy Birthday My Love. My Birthday wish for you is that you never know another sad day in your life, that you never have to cry yourself to sleep, that you find the love of your life, and that you have nothing but good health and happiness for the rest of your life.

Always,
Me

To My Wife
I received the divorce papers. I am shamed. I am sick with grief that I have done this to you. My beautiful wife. I love you. I love our children. What have I done? I do not deserve you. I have failed you greatly. You have asked so little of me. I couldn't even pull that off. How sad and lonely you must feel. I have thrown your life away with mine. My children. I cannot express the grief I feel at this moment. Not that it matters. Yours by far is greater.

Your creativity amazes me. You asked for nothing. You asked for not one posession, not a single dime. You merely asked me to open my eyes and learn from this great mistake. To seek out help. To seek guidance to be a better father, husband, friend. To seek understanding and forgiveness.

I know you read these posts, since we have talked about them long ago, yes, remember when we actually spoke to one another? I have thought greatly of all the things I miss of you, and they are numerous.

I have many things to make amends with you about. I have no idea if you will choose to accept me back. I know it is your choice.

I am flying back in the morning, instead of Saturday. I hope to find you there. I've texted you three times and called twice. Perhaps the silence is my answer.


Even after everything
I still want to help you write your book. No matter how it ends

Friday, November 7, 2008

Sorry Charlie

Charlie loved Anna from far away.
He saw her once on the tube
and vowed to tour where she lived
worked laughed cried ate walked loved
he vowed to give her new reason to love
(Charlie thinks he's the hero,
but he needs more love than he has to give.)

Anna wears business suits.
Houndstooth, when she can get away with it.
She never wears green.
Anna already loved,
lied, and lost.
She vowed to never return love blindly.
If her love was a response to devotion,
he would be hurt.
He would love her too much.

No shows sold out
and most of the seats were radio prizes
but poor Englishmen, Charlie figures,
are like poor American men
but speak in accent.
"Would you like to 'ave tea wif me, Ahna?
Oh, blahst. Do you 'ave any cahsh?"
Yes. She would love his empty, British pockets.

Anna loves her job.
She presents cold fronts and storm threats
on a daily basis
and says things like "Back to you, Don."
They love her there,
even though her big, red curls cover Iowa sometimes.
She eats in the station lounge
where a stranger finds her.
A stranger named Charlie.

"Ello, Ahna."
"Um. Hello."
"Oi'm Chahlie. Oi, uh, get the Weathuh Channel
in my apahtment back home. Oi saw you."
"Yes, well. That's where most people do."
"Oi've come to see you. Heah, in real loife.
Oi fink oi luf you."
"--Do you now. I'm flattered. And, quite frankly,
a bit amazed. But I'm sorry, Charlie. I can't love you back."

"Yes, yes, but oi 'oped you could...try."
"What do you drink, Charlie? Tea?"
"Shuh. Blahck."
"Let's get some. My treat. For your trouble.

I want you to know, I can only love you first.
I can't love you because you love me."
"Thaht's okay, Ahna. Oi wouldn't wahnt you to.

Ahna?"
"Yeah."
"Oi like yoh suit."
"Thanks.
I like your accent."

Monday, November 3, 2008

"I Appreciate You Being My Guardian Angel"

http://stevooo.blogspot.com/2008/11/shake-dust_03.html

^copy and paste the link/read the post/view luxury and faith, if possible, differently.



See you soon, Stephen Baker