It's Not What You Know

One of the key lessons my Dad taught me as I was growing up was that the connections I made to other people over my life would be more important to me than the information I accumulated in my brain. Put simply, he said, "It's not what you know, it's who you know." Over the years, I've managed to develop ties to top scientists in multiple fields, comedians, multiple theatre companies, and an impressive collection of professors, professionals, managers and important government workers as my friends have moved up from entry-level jobs to positions of more authority. Oh, and I also know some ne'er-do-well reprobates. Oddly enough, few of these connections have been especially helpful in my current career in education.

Yet, it seems that the person who recently has been the source of the most useful connections has been the man who imparted that wisdom to me in the first place, Old NoHips McRugbyWounds, pictured here (back right) enjoying a hockey game with some of his friends. See, now that he's in charge of an entire university, he's seriously big. And not just because he gets to go to dinner and a hockey game with Wyatt Earp and Private Benjamin. No, Alabama's connections do not end at Hollywood. It was brought to my attention some time ago that Dad was also in contact with the family of a certain member of the New York Giants. Once they found out that I lived in the city, they instructed my Dad to inform them if I "ever wanted Giants tickets." Since it's a.) nearly impossible and b.) prohibitively expensive to obtain Giants tickets, I was interested. There was even the possibility of meeting some of the players after the game!

"Is there any game in particular you'd like to see?" asked Dad. My Pennsylvania heritage got the better of me and I opted for the matchup between the Giants and Eagles. So this afternoon, SecondLaw and I bundled up (reeeeeeeally bundled) and headed for the Meadowlands. I was actually amazed at the ease with which we were able to get from Queens to New Jersey. NJ Transit runs a continuous series of buses from the Port Authority bus terminal to Giants Stadium on game days. It's remarkably efficient. Our total time from arrival at the bus terminal to purchasing tickets to getting on a bus and departing was less than ten minutes.

Neither of us had ever been to the stadium before and we also had no idea where we were sitting. We picked up the tickets at Will Call and found our appropriate entrance. After the obligatory fondling from security we went to the top of the 300 level to find our seats. Even though we were high up, we had a clear view of the whole field and had no trouble discerning what was taking place during the game. We even confidently disagreed with calls made by referees standing 1/100th of our distance from the play.

The game itself was a great matchup. There was no score for some time as both teams battled the wind and cold and struggled to establish a running game. When the Eagles finally broke through, the Giants looked like they were dead in the water until blocking a last-second field goal at the end of the first half and running it all the way back for a touchdown.

Say, I just thought of something. Am I disseminating an account or description of this game without expressed written consent right now? Maybe I should just say that it was a...um...good game and we both had a...uh...good time. Oh, and I should add that the halftime show was a bunch of kids playing drums who were really entertaining and in the third quarter our (likely unknowing) patron suffered a knee injury and did not return to the game. Anyhow, the Giants lost in the end (I don't think that constitutes an account or description) and we left the game with SecondLaw being one of the only happy people in the stadium. We also left the game with little feeling in our extremities. Despite my long-johns, sweatshirt, vest, overcoat, hat, two pairs of gloves and scarf, I was cold. SecondLaw's five--yes, five!--layers of clothing were insufficient as well. Let that be a warning to any of you who should find yourselves headed for the upper deck of the Meadowlands any time soon. Even so, we had far too much fun to let chilly toes drag us down.

We returned home after a great afternoon to discover that the friend of my father who'd arranged all this had emailed me saying how very sorry he was that we hadn't gotten a chance to meet the players and that he promised to arrange it for "next time." Well, gee golly, I suppose that means we'll have to do this again! I always look forward to the chance to meet new people. Especially new famous people. Because after all, it's not what you know...

Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray...

Once again, it’s been far too long since I’ve updated. So sue me. In any case, it suffices to say that my life in school and with SecondLaw at home has settled into a nice groove. The students at school are good enough that I haven’t had to bust out Mr. Angry Eyes more than once or twice and SecondLaw and I are now so domestic that we actually spent last Saturday night book shopping around Union Square. Seriously.

But finally, something happened today that was truly worthy of a blog entry. It all started just before noon, when the 10th grade was in Advisory period. Now, Advisory is a 50 minute block just before lunch on Wednesdays, when all my advisees sit in my room and we get a chance to chat about whatever’s happening in their lives, gossip about other students, discuss music and/or movies, and generally waste time getting to know each other.

Some of my advisees had been roaming around the halls, posting flyers for the candy cane fundraiser they organized to raise money for St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. (I mean it: they thought it up, voted on the charity the money would go to, designed the flyers and organized the candy cane donation and distribution. Sometimes I get a little teary-eyed just thinking about it.) Anyway, a group of them came back into my room saying that there was a weird smell down the end of the corridor that smelled like smoke. Not cigarette smoke, mind you, but smoke smoke. Like a campfire. “It’s probably nothing,” I said. Then two security guards came running down to the spot where the students had said the smell originated. The students began leaning and tiptoeing towards the door to look down the hallway. Though I calmly bade them to return to their seats, I couldn’t help being just a little curious myself. Okay, and just a little worried too.

A couple minutes later, the word leaked out across the school. Everything’s fine, it’s just welders downstairs working on the stairwell. That’s what the funny smell is. The building’s fire system clicked on, announcing that there was a “smoke situation” in Stairwell A and that it was nothing to worry about. The students started to calm down and things got back to normal. Not two minutes later, the announcement came over the loudspeakers that we were to evacuate the building.

For all the fire drills that we’ve done over the years, you’d think the students would be good at exiting the building in a calm, quiet, timely manner. Then again, you’d be wrong. The noise as we evacuated was deafening. Teachers and administrators alike tried to maintain order, but it was largely in vain. Our principal finally managed to restore some semblance of calm by handing out suspensions like Halloween candy as the students exited the building.

I was among the last people out of the building, joining a group of teachers who were shepherding students down from the third floor and keeping them moving through the cafeteria and out the front stairs. When I emerged onto 22nd St., a crowd of people from the upper floors of our building had already joined our 400 students in effectively blocking the sidewalk from our front door all the way out to 6th Ave. Students of the Culinary Institute from the floors above us were milling about in their chef’s whites. Office workers were lighting up cigarettes and bemoaning the weather. Oh, that’s right. Did I mention that this whole affair took place on the coldest day of the year so far?

So began the waiting game, with our entire school standing in the freezing cold, many students without coats since they had been rushed out of the school without being able to go to their lockers. I lent my scarf to a student who was braving the 30-degree weather with little more than a button-down shirt. Students attempted to find warmth in Best Buy, but we had to get them out before hundreds of them start to inundate the consumer electronics store.

Twenty minutes of frigid hell and it was eventually decided to simply let the kids go out to lunch. Frankly, I was ready to go to a bar. Everyone dispersed to the various restaurants, bodegas and fast-food places within walking distance. By some miraculous chance, every last one of the little angels returned on time at 1:10 to go to the gym, so we had two full buses of kids nice and riled up just in time to let them run around like maniacs.

So in the end, the school didn’t burn down and there wasn’t even any damage to the building. We just stood outside for long enough to freeze our toes, ate lunch, and came back inside. What’s really weird is that in all my years of being a student in school, I didn’t see so much as a flaming garbage can. But it only took four years of teaching to get my first actual fire.

I Will Not Root for the Rays

OK, I know it's been a long time since I managed to post something, but aside from the phenomenal collapse of the U.S. economy thanks to our absent (-minded) president, the Cubs thanks to an epic fail, and my social life thanks to the beginning of school, I haven't had much to report. But I can't let this go by without comment. You see, the Rays are going to the World Series after spending last year (and pretty much every year before that) as the laughing stock of the entirety of Major League Baseball, making even the Royals and Pirates look not so completely ridiculous. They've been held up as Exhibit A for the case against expansion teams, they've played games for fewer fans than most minor league teams, and they spent a long-suffering decade bearing the name of Satan himself. Now, no longer bedeviled by their mascot, they've achieved what every club hopes for at this point in the year: they're still playing.

My main problem with this is that their fans in no way deserve to see them in the World Series. I know I've just invoked the ire of the entire state of Florida, but I'm willing to take that risk. See, if you look at the attendance numbers from this year and compare them to last year, you'll see that the difference in season-long fan attendance in Tampa Bay was 391,760. Yes, in a year where they went from worst to first, they saw a magnificent 28% spike in attendance, rocketing them to 26th place in overall attendance and pushing their average attendance to just over 50% of their stadium's capacity. The Rays, who held the best record in the majors for much of the season, continued to play most of their home games in an empty stadium.

Meanwhile, the teams with the largest attendance numbers have largely come up empty this postseason. No New Yorker needs to be reminded of the astounding collapse of the Mets and the ineptitude of the Yankees this year. LA is dealing with two clubs who made earlier-than-expected exits. We Cubs fans are so numbed by a century of failure that to be swept in the first round of the playoffs barely registers as a disappointment. The Red Sox mounted one of the most amazing single-game comebacks in postseason history only to fall two runs short in the deciding Game 7. The only team remaining to oppose the Rays are the long-suffering Phillies, who hail from a city that's been waiting for a major sports championship since just after I was born. No, arena football in no way counts as major.

As a team, the Rays haven't even entered their teenage years. There are no adults who have grown up as Rays fans. Hell, there aren't even any children who've grown up Rays fans. No one can name the "great" Rays players of the past. This is a team without a history, without tradition, without even a decent mascot.

Don't get me wrong, the Rays have fielded quite a team this year and have had great success. But much of that success (43 wins, to be exact) came at the expense of an Eastern Division that seemed unable to put together any kind of game against them. They enter the World Series at a time when most of the country would be hard pressed to name two of their players. They proudly flaunt their ugly haircuts. They're young. They'll have their chances. They deserve to be disappointed.

So, much as it pains me to do so, I'll be cheering on the Phillies in this World Series. This is likely to make life with SecondLaw slightly unbearable, but I'll deal with it. At least the Phillies have a proud history that's been grounded in futility and championship drought. They've been waiting. They've earned their place in the Series.

As one grammatically-challenged fan asked, "Why can't us?"

Debate Over! Evolution Wins!

Apparently, the Creationists have caved. It turns out that evolution is responsible for Noah's ability to pack animals onto the Ark. Wait, stay with me here. I swear, this makes some sort of twisted sense in the end. So, over at Kent Hovind's website, there's a wonderful little video that explains the pesky problem that sane people pose to the interesting folks who believe that every last literal word of the Bible is true: How did Noah fit two of every single species (that's 40,000 vertebrates, 4-6 million arthropods, not to mention completely inestimable numbers of bacteria and a whole lot of food for all those critters) on Earth into one boat? Here, they'll tell you:

OK, if you can't bear to listen to that for the full three and a half minutes (you're not alone), I'll just give you the general gist of what they're saying. Apparently, Noah didn't load two of every species, he loaded two of every kind of animal. I suppose that makes sense since Linnaeus didn't formulate the concept of a species till a few thousand years after Noah's mythical voyage. They go on to actually use evidence from Richard Dawkins to support the idea that "kinds" can change over time [sic] into separate species.

See, Creationists have always argued that small changes can occur --microevolution within a species population-- but that there's no way to make new species from old ones. Now, apparently they've moved the bar up to "kinds," which is sufficiently vague enough that it could encompass genera or families. I'm really not sure what this means for the effectiveness of their everything-came-into-being-within-144-hours idea, but apparently God just created a few nondescript "mammals," "insects," and other groups and everything else evolved from them. In other words, the reason Noah could fit every animal in the Ark is that there were fewer types of animals back then. In their own words, the Creationists say:

So rather than differentiating between twenty-seven different species of fox, perhaps Noah only took two foxes on board, which later produced the many species of fox we see today. Then again, perhaps he only took two of the dog-like kind aboard. There is certainly no reason to believe that the many varieties of dogs in the world (including the fox species, wolves, and coyotes) could not have come from just two of the dog kind.

Once again, please spread the word. Creationists now acknowledge that different species can evolve from a single species. In time, we may be able to convince them that the other artificial classifications which humans have imposed upon the natural world are just as mutable.

Why Copy Editors are Necessary

I'll continue with my tale of space exploration momentarily, but I wanted to draw attention to this little tidbit. See, SecondLaw is currently trying to find a job here in the city after leaving a certain major Philadelphia newspaper where she was employed in the thankless, long-hour, never-get-a-weekend-off position of copy editor for many years. The trend in newspapers today is towards fewer editorial staff members, meaning that less people actually take a look at what is published before it's published. It's even worse online, where everyone wants to be the first to break a story, and speed trumps accuracy. Often, that means that what is published hasn't been checked enough and glaring errors can appear. Every now and then, they're just funny.

For instance, I saw this printed in the New York Times online today. Sad news to be sure. It seems Robert Novak has a tumor and will no longer be writing his regular screed for the Chicago Sun-Times and instead has an imminent appointment with death. But it seems the New York Times wasn't willing to let him go without a parting shot, which I caught hiding almost out of sight in the next to last sentence.

I for one wish him the best of luck with his new brain. Perhaps it will serve him better than his old one, which tends to forget things like who told him about Valerie Plame.

Spaced Out

Yesterday I breathed my first New York air in two weeks. It's strange, but I missed the smell. I arrived in a plane, took a bus from Newark, then rode the N train from Port Authority. I'm finally back among people, with all the sounds and sights that such proximity implies. I read my book in between glances out the window on the bus. I finish the book just as we cross from Jersey into Manhattan. Trying to maneuver two wheeled bags through the Times Square area forces me back into my New York walk: head down and silently encouraging people to get out of my way or be run over. It's good to be home.

I left the City two weeks ago for Huntsville. However, this wasn't a standard go-down-and-see-the-folks vacation. Instead, I was utilizing my family's new location to fulfill a childhood dream and secure the educational futures of my students. That's right; I went to Space Camp.

My arrival at Space Camp was fairly uneventful. After a couple days of relaxing with the 'rents, I got dropped off and entered a college dorm on UAH's campus, where I was to be staying with just over two dozen other educators, all in Huntsville for Space Camp. A couple of them had already arrived, and I ended up going out with some of them for dinner. Once the introductions were through, it was clear that I was the youngest person around the table, I was the only one without kids, and the only unmarried one. Regardless, we all got along famously, and even though we were to be split up into two teams the following day, it seemed that there was going to be a lot of positive interaction between the teams even if we were supposed to be competing. For the record, Team Unity was infinitely superior to Team Destiny.

Day One of Space Camp for Educators started out with a breakfast and the splitting of our group into the aforementioned teams. Team Destiny went off and did their own thing while Team Unity and I got a quick tour of the US Space and Rocket Center followed by some team-building exercises. First, some name-remembering games. Fifteen minutes of that, and I had everyone's name down, except for the people who went after me. Now that we knew how to address each other, it was clearly time to get physically close to one another. We tied a human knot.

No, we didn't just tie a human knot, we made a knot that would make Gordius cringe. Linked hand-in-hand, we struggled to free ourselves, complimented each other's deodorant, and finally managed to get ourselves out 44 minutes later. Oh, and we did this while standing in the middle of a public museum, under a Saturn V rocket. After a few minutes of this, the tourists were taking more pictures of us than of the rocket.

We broke for lunch soon after untying ourselves and then went back to the museum for our group picture, for which we all had to don our flight suits. Then we went to our first lecture, which dealt with the various parts of the shuttle and how it all works, seeing as our missions that week were going to involve the shuttle heavily. So now I know the difference between the SSMEs and the SRBs, I know when Max-Q and MECO occur during ascent, and I know how the OMS are used in descent. I also know that if the ECLSS fails on our mission, we're all screwed.

We had a brief overview of what our missions would entail and what the various positions would be, then we got to put in our requests for where we wanted to be on the missions. We could be in the Space Station, in the Orbiter, or in Mission Control. I was most interested in being in Mission Control or the Orbiter. My top choice was CAPCOM, or Capsule Communications, the one person on the ground who talks to the crew of the Orbiter. I think I was really looking forward to being able to say, "Sorry, but we really don't know how to help you. Best of luck."

Our last activity that day was designing our team mission patch. This was a really interesting idea that ended up focusing our whole team on what we wanted to accomplish, what we valued, and how we saw ourselves getting through the week to come. It's the kind of thing I really want to try with my students in the fall.

One day into our collective adventure, I already knew that there were some really special teachers in our little band. As teams, and as a whole group, we all seemed to get along well, despite barely knowing each other. It's amazing what a little knot tying will do to bring a group of strangers together.

How to Plan the Perfect Birthday for Your Girlfriend

Since JimmyLuke moved out to his own place (which he in no way shares with HungarianPhrasebook unless it be in an utterly platonic and separate-sleeping-arrangement way) and SecondLaw moved in with me (a decidedly less platonic arrangement), things have been kind of hectic around here, despite the fact that I'm not currently working. We're still trying to sort through our respective crap and decide whose possessions belong where in our collective space. My possessions do have a certain amount of inertia, already being strewn about the place haphazardly, but SecondLaw has managed to defy her nickname on numerous occasions and I frequently find my belongings in places other than where they'd normally be, i.e. on the floor. She may make me a clean person after all.

In honor of her valiant attempts to change me, her indomitable spirit in putting up with me, and the anniversary of her birth, I declared that I would do something special for her birthday, which was last week. Without further ado therefore, here is the step-by-step procedure I hinted at in the title.

1. Plan Something Incredible

You may feel a tad disappointed that this is step one, but it is. I can't tell you what would constitute "incredible" for your girlfriend, but I know what it was for mine. After weeks of moving, building Ikea furniture, and driving between Philly and NYC, she was pooped. So I booked us a luxury corner suite in the Waldorf-Astoria so that she could relax. Maybe your girlfriend is more of the week-in-Vegas type. Or perhaps she's more a backstage-passes-to-Radiohead girl. The clincher of all, of course, would be proposing to her on her birthday, but let's not jump the gun here. Whatever it is, it doesn't really change Step One. Just find something ridiculously expensive and unlikely and book it pronto.

2. Don't Tell Her What You're Planning

This is perhaps the most important step. She will pester you and bug you, but as long as you've successfully completed Step One, there's very little chance of her guessing as high as you've aimed. Just tell her you've planned something, give her the appropriate amount of time that must be blocked off in her schedule for such an event (one evening, two days, a week) and leave it at that. Since women are adamant about knowing what to wear for every given occasion, she will then start to ask you questions along those lines, hoping to glean the nature of the event by your answers. Then it is time for Step Three.

3. Give Her Misleading and Contradictory Information

I had the most fun with this. For weeks leading up to our stay, she'd pepper me with questions, trying to get any kind of information she could. I answered truthfully, but in the most confusing way possible.
"What will I need to wear?"
"Nice clothes."
"Evening gown nice?"
"Casual nice. But you may also want to bring gym clothes."
"What?"
"You know, just in case."

Then there was the precise nature of the whereabouts of the event.
"Will we be taking the subway?"
"We can probably take a cab."
"So it's in Manhattan?"
"Well, we can't really catch a train from Astoria, can we?"
"So we're taking a train?"
"Well, a cab to Newark would be really expensive?"
"Wait, we're not flying anywhere, are we?!?!"
"You're right, it'd probably be easier to fly out of LaGuardia."
"But...haven't you booked everything already?"
"Don't worry, everything's taken care of."
"Grrr...."

4. Tell None of Her Female Friends
You might think you can score points with her friends by letting them in on the secret plans for your girlfriend's birthday, but this will only end up ruining Step Two. She will ask them. They will tell her. It's just the way these things work.

5. Drop Ridiculous Hints In Casual Conversation
Make sure these are the kinds of things that can only be picked up on later. At one point we were discussing plans for her parents' upcoming trip to Virginia.
"Is $149 a night good for a three-star hotel?"
"Well, where is it?"
"Downtown, and they charged me more for an extra person in the room."
"Oh yeah, hotels do that all the time...Have you ever stayed in a five-star hotel?"
"I stayed in a four-star once, but never a five-star."
"Huh..."

You're free to think up your own: "Oh man, I loved In Rainbows and Radiohead's coming to town next week. Bob tried to get tickets but said they were totally sold out. I bet that concert's gonna kick ass..."

6. Tell Her What's Happening Right Before It Happens, As Off-Handedly As Possible
For me, it was while packing the night before.
"Hey, what do you think the best place to stay in New York would be?" I asked her.
"The Plaza"
"Alright, what do you think the second best place would be?"
"The Waldorf-Astoria"
"Well, that's where we're staying."
[stunned silence, gaping eventually morphing into smiling and hugs]

7. Drop Money Like It's Nothing
When booking the room, I didn't want to go for the tiny single room, even if it was at the Waldorf. I wanted something memorable, so I got a 36th-floor room overlooking Fifth Avenue, with separate bath and shower, crystal chandelier, two TVs, separate bedroom and sitting room, and luxury appointments everywhere. There is a dress code at the Waldorf, and when the time came I made sure to dress more like a young executive out for a regular evening rather than a schoolteacher splurging on his girlfriend. Free mineral water (still and sparkling) was brought to our room, along with an assortment of chocolates. We had the fluffiest towels and bathrobes ever created by the hand of man. The bed was so comfortable that SecondLaw literally couldn't sit on it for more than five minutes without falling asleep. It's the first time I've seen furniture-induced narcolepsy. Other than with NoHips, of course.

We did indeed partake of the fitness center at the hotel --which was the most luxurious gym in the world-- so the part about possibly needing gym clothes was actually true.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, it was off to the lobby for drinks at the Peacock Bar, where the scotch is old and plentiful, then down to the Bull & Bear, where I would have to recommend the 12oz filet, with one of their numerous, wizened bottles of red wine.

Now, I'd love to be able to say that we capped this amazing day off with a time of tender, sensual, kinky lovin', but you're forgetting the aforementioned characteristic of our room's bed.

8. At Some Point, Get Someone to Take Your Picture

This serves two purposes. First, it is a tangible reminder of that wonderful occasion made possible only by the brilliant planning and deft execution of the best boyfriend ever. Second, the wistful memory of that one glorious day is a handy insurance policy for any occasion in the coming year in which said boyfriend screws up in some way.