No; Child Left Behind!

I can still remember those standardized tests we had to take back in elementary school.  Growing up in Iowa, every fall we had to endure the week-long Iowa Tests of Basic Skills. More memorable than the actual test-taking was the way that each year, the school's staff came to the backwards conclusion that the best way to avoid test-taking nervousness among the students was to make as big a production out of the event as humanly possible. As such, ITBS week always kicked off with a school-wide assembly, reminding us that the tests were "no big deal," complete with test-busting tips and some poor schmuck dressed up as an evil bubblesheet.

I never cared too much one way or the other about the tests.  Since they didn't count for anything, I couldn't care less what score I ended up with.  Not like that *%$@ GMAT and its potentially future-crushing implications.  These days, with useless initiatives like No Child Left Behind, standardized tests get more attention than they deserve, and based on one recent event, it's clear that teachers are taking them quite seriously...

Missouri's version of the ITBS is the MAP (Missouri Assessment Program). The standardized testing starts in third grade, but even Missouri kindergarteners take practice tests to prepare them for the real tests that come a few years later. Earlier this week, things got a little "messy" for one six year-old kindergarten student taking the test. The teacher gave the students a bathroom break before the test and warned them that they couldn't go during the practice test.  And that teacher wasn't joking around...

Mid-exam, nature called on the little test-taker.  She asked the teacher if she could go to the bathroom, but the teacher held firm and called her bluff...and found out the smelly way that the young girl was not bluffing.  The situation quickly turned from "No Child Left Behind" to "What's Leaving that Child's Behind?!"  But even as the mess spread, the teacher maintained an unwavering commitment to the decision and forced the girl to sit in her filth for the remainder of the test.  But don't be too quick to pass judgment--the teacher did provide the girl with a trash bag to cover herself.  And after the test, the girl's mom got the call to come to clean up the mess.  Here's video coverage of the breaking news:



There are an endless list of hilarious aspects to this story--I could write pages and pages about this.  But in the spirit of brevity, here are my own personal highlights, comments, and questions from the story and video:

• The parents were outraged because their daughter was embarrassed in front of her classmates (and presumably everyone else in the school, who undoubtedly heard about the mishap). So they did the logical thing and went on the news and made a huge deal out of the incident.  Now it's on YouTube, closing in on 250,000 views.  Articles are all over the internet.  I heard about it on the radio on yesterday morning.  And, of course, random, witty bloggers in Minnesota are writing about it. That should help limit the embarrassment for their little poopy-pants...

• I don't usually think of Missouri as the "Deep South," but this clip reminded me that I should.  Where else is the leading story on the six o'clock news, "local kindergartner craps pants at school"?  Best of all, the anchorwoman kick off the newscast by saying that they'll check in with their Washington reporter later, but first they have more pressing news from the local elementary school...

• The mother's quote 0:55 seconds into the clip is priceless: "She still had poop--diarrhea poop--coming out the back, up her front, down her legs."  You can really sense the hesitation before that sentence leaves her mouth.  I can almost see cartoon thought bubble above her head: "Am I really about to describe this on a TV interview?"  And I thoroughly appreciated her clarification on what type of poop they were dealing with--not regular poop, but diarrhea poop.  Clearly serious stuff.

• Ditto on dad's quote at the 2:00 mark.  Brilliant hesitation before he makes his bold statement, "Any parent, sent their kids to school with...uh...crappy pants...those parents would be facing criminal charges.

• The mother's last name is Skidmore.  Yes, Skidmore.  The irony is not lost on me.

• Maybe the results aren't available yet, but is anyone else wondering how the girl scored on the test?  Anyone can ace an exam when their pants are clean and dry; achieving even mediocre results with a full set of drawers would suggest that young Skidmore could be the next Einstein.

• Kudos to the KY3 news team for maintaining straight faces throughout the story.  The effort of field reporter Sara Forhetz is particularly praiseworthy--I'm willing to bet that when Ms. Forhetz earned that college degree in communication, she never pictured herself going on location to cover the story of a child crapping her pants at an elementary school.

• Everyone in this story is talking about the young girl and what her teacher forced her to endure.  But there were other victims who suffered every bit as much.  I've never tried it myself, but I highly doubt that taking a test in a room that smells like an outhouse lends itself to higher scores.  I'd also love to see how the other students did on their practice MAP tests...

Check out more about the story here:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/04/18/missouri-teacher-forced-6-year-old-to-sit-in-her-diarrhea.html

http://articles.ky3.com/2012-04-17/missouri-assessment-program_31357428

Salt, Meet Wound

Earlier this month, on April 4th, I "celebrated" the one year anniversary of my first encounter with the GMAT.  I've done everything I can to block that dreadful day out of my mind, but April 4th is one of those dates that's now permanently burned into my memory, the way that 9/11 will never again be just another day in September. 

And right around this time last year, after a brief, grief-filled break after the test, I decided it was time to refocus, buy myself some new study guides, and try to climb Mt. GMAT one more time.  I'd heard good things about the GMAT study guides from a company called Manhattan, so I went online and ordered Manhattan's complete "GMAT Math for Morons" package, which consists of five thick study guides, an even thicker math overview book, and a seventh book with a bunch of practice problems.

I still cringe and tear up when I think back on this time last year, as I spent every spare minute over the coming ten weeks with my face buried in books with painful, mind-numbing titles like Equations and Inequalities, Number Properties, Geometry, and Fractions, Decimals, & Percents.  Not to mention beautiful summer Friday afternoons spent taking four-hour practice tests...if heaven doesn't let me in, I imagine the afterlife will consist of eternal GMAT preparation.

The rest is history...I've already written at length about how that story ended.  On June 30th--another date now permanent etched into my memory--I tangled with the GMAT again.   We both walked away a little bloody and slightly wounded...I achieved slightly-better-than-mediocre results and put the study guides on the shelf for good, promising myself I would do everything I could to avoid drudging up those painful memories.  Then, out of nowhere, I received a letter in the mail last week with a familiar logo next to the return address:  Manhattan GMAT.  

 

Ugly memories came flooding back as I reluctantly tore open the envelope.  "Dear Manhattan Prep Customer..." (so impersonal...couldn't they at least use my name?) The letter went on to explain that Manhattan's website had been the victim of a security breach in late March.  Luckily, the hacker didn't get anything too important, just a few little nuggets of information like my name, address, date of birth, user name, password, phone number, and credit card information.  Fantastic, I really dodged a bullet there!

The whole GMAT process already took so much from me...but now this?  Why did Manhattan even have my credit card number on file for a one-time purchase? That *&#% test cost me hundreds of dollars, hours upon hours upon hours of study time, and it robbed me of a depressing chunk of summer in a state where summertime comes at a steep premium.  Now, on top of all that, potential identity theft?  Just when I thought I was on the verge of moving on, Manhattan and the GMAT reached through the mailbox and kicked me in the crotch one more time.  So far, no suspicious activity on the credit card, but we'll see how long that trend continues...

Manhattan GMAT: A new (low) standard for online security.

The Nexus of the Universe

As you may recall--or as you may be trying to forget--one week ago today I posted an entry on this blog highlighting an exciting new player in the footwear market with a unique logo: Gravity Defyer's now famous sperm shoes.  With some intense thought over the past seven days and the occurrence of an interesting event, I've decided that Gravity Defyer owes me big time.

On Saturday night I was preparing to publish my latest blog post.  I clicked the "Preview" button to give the post one final review to make sure it met my extremely high quality standards.  I got to the bottom of the post and confirmed that I had removed at least 30% of the typos...all systems go!  Just as I got ready to close the preview window and click "Publish," an advertisement caught my eye:

I find it interesting that Blogger displays non-clickable ads in preview mode, but whatever...it was an ad for Gravity Defyer, complete with images of the sperm shoes!  Worlds were colliding--Gravity Defyer was advertising right here on my blog!  I guess I shouldn't be all that surprised, since Google's AdSense program specifically targets ads to match the content of the website where the ad appears.  When I complain about taxes, H&R Block ads show up.  When I blogged about Tide thefts, laundry detergent ads showed up on the blog.  More than anything, I was surprised that Gravity Defyer was an AdSense customer.

That brings me to my main point: I'd say I deserve a huge ad revenue payout from Gravity Defyer.  Where else is the company going to get a more relevant site to post ads?  I really don't want to know what kinds of websites sperm shoe ads normally show up on, but here I am providing free, relevant content, talking up the shoes and predicting that Gravity Defyer takes control of the footwear world.  By posting such praise, I introduced at least three new potential customers to Gravity Defyer's product line.  This blog and those shoes are a match made in heaven!  As I child, I never would have never predicted that I'd spend part of adulthood indirectly peddling sperm shoes.  I'll admit, it feels satisfying and creepy all at the same time.

Found: The Elusive Dream Job

As the deadlines approach and as the pressure and stress continue to ratchet up at work, I find myself daydreaming about what the perfect career might look like, if such a thing truly exists.  For me, that career would be outdoors, involve little responsibility, and require minimal brainpower.  This weekend, I found it.  In fact, I drove right by it, and I even took a picture of it:

If you look closely, you'll notice that behind that giant K-Mart sign is a man holding up said K-Mart sign.  I think we found a winner!  Outdoors?  Check.  Minimal responsibility?  Just one: keep the sign upright--check.  Minimal brainpower?  If I can teach myself to sleep while standing up and balancing a sign on my shoulder, I could literally do this job in my sleep...as long as the breeze behaves itself.

If I were able to secure my dream job, I'd certainly want to make sure that I could keep it--job security would become supremely important.  In the case of this particular sign-holding man, the future doesn't look so promising.  If you read the sign, he's advertising a store closing sale for a local K-Mart.  Looks like he'll be forced to take his sign-holding talents to another employer.  But I'm pretty sure those specialized skills are remarkably transferable--this man the epitome of the phrase "highly employable."

Unfortunately, there are a few drawbacks with gems like this one.  First of all, you have to make sure you're located in a warm climate with a lot of sunny days, as the job's dreaminess drops off sharply with low temperatures and precipitation.  And I've found, too, that there's an inverse relationship between a job's easiness and the risk of being replaced in that job.  In this case, unemployment is only as far away as the two swings of a hammer that it would take to drive that post into the ground, rendering the sign-holder useless.  But the reward is worth the risk, because today this man is outside, he's earning money, he's stress-free, and it's entirely possible that he's also asleep on the job at the same time.  Even if it's only temporary, that sounds like perfection to me...


P.S.: I know next to nothing about women, but for the men reading this blog, let me advise against taking advantage of the 55-75% off K-Mart store-closing jewelry sale advertised at the top of that sign.  If word ever gets out that you picked up jewelry for your special lady at a K-Mart--at a deep discount, no less--your relationship (and potentially your life) are in serious jeopardy.

Don't Drink the Water...and Don't Trust the Post Office

I've been selling crap on eBay for a long time now--over ten years--and I've learned to read the subtle signs that indicate a customer might be unhappy.  Take, for example, the message I received recently from the winning bidder on one of my auctions a few weeks after I shipped the item he won:

"Why did you do this f*****???"

There a lot of things about eBay that I find extremely annoying, and that list seems to grow longer by the day.  But that's another story for another blog post...perhaps long enough to find it's way onto Passionately Apathetic. But one of the best and worst things about eBay is that it has a huge, worldwide base of users.  Which means that it's not uncommon to have international bidders bid on--and win--my auctions.

International bidders just complicate the whole selling process.  I don't want to exclude them from bidding (eBay has an option to do this) since their bids drive up the price, but I'm always disappointed when they actually win.  I don't have a scale at home and never package the stuff I'm selling before I list it on eBay, which makes estimating the appropriate amount of shipping and handling to charge a bit of a guessing game.  Guess low, and I lose money on shipping; guess high and I potentially upset the winning bidder.  And eBay now lets buyers rate sellers on a number of dimensions, including shipping costs...another item on my complaint list.

Earlier this year, I decided to sell one of those FM transmitters that lets you play an iPod wirelessly through the car stereo.  It's a handy gadget that I bought years ago, but never ended up using because I had to take my iPod out of the case every time I wanted to use it...which made it much less handy, especially when driving.  The transmitter had been sitting in my drawer unopened all this time so, in my ongoing effort to minimize the amount of stuff I own, I listed in on eBay.

A few days before the auction ended, I received a message from a potential bidder, asking if I shipped to Mexico.  I fumbled around on the U.S. Postal Service website, trying to guess how much the package would weigh after I got it ready to ship, then grudgingly told the guy I would ship to Mexico, but S&H would cost $15.  I just hoped he wouldn't actually win.  Minutes before the auction ended, he bid and won.

He sent the payment through PayPal, and when I took the package to the post office, it only ended up costing around $6 to ship.  Looks like I grossly overestimated the weight of the package--it ended up weighing less than a pound, which dropped the cost significantly.  Oops...I guess I'd take the hit on my rating for shipping costs.

Weeks went by and I didn't hear a thing from the winning bidder.  In the back of my mind, I thought I might get a message about the exorbitantly high shipping cost.  Sure enough, something showed up in my inbox, which brings us back to that message I mentioned earlier: "Why did you do this f*****???"

I wasn't sure how to respond, since the message didn't give me a lot to go on.  I've been domestically despised and even locally loathed from time to time over the years, but I've never pissed off anyone across international borders.  This was an uncomfortable situation, without at doubt.   Did the package get lost in the mail?  Did it arrive damaged?  Was he upset about the shipping cost?  Was the message sent to me by accident and intended for someone else entirely?  I decided I'd ignore it and see if I got another message.

A few days went by and then, sure enough, another message:  "What's the next step? You don't care?"  Well, apparently it wasn't an accident that he had contact me.  I thought for sure my spotless eBay selling record was in jeopardy.  I responded, asking for details.  We exchanged a few messages, and he finally told me that the package had arrived, but the box was filled only with paperclips.  I certainly hadn't seen that one coming.

I assured him that I did not ship paperclips, and I offered to email him scans of the shipping receipt and customs form that I'd filled out at the post office.  I pointed out that if I'd wanted to steal his money, a wiser tactic would have been to send nothing and claim the package got lost in the mail. Why would I take the time and spend the money to mail paperclips, which would let him know that I was blatantly committing eBay fraud?

I wanted to offer a refund, but at the same time, I knew I'd shipped the right item, and I didn't want to give back the money and essentially give away the item for free, wherever it might be.  Still, I thought my first ever negative feedback was in my not-too-distant future.  And I fully expected that he would file a fraud claim with eBay, and one with PayPal, and that this thing would drag on for weeks or months.

When he responded to my message, I was utterly surprised.  He said that after he looked at the package more closely, it looked like it had been opened in Mexico.  Apparently someone read on the customs form that the package contained an FM transmitter, opened it up, and swapped out the transmitter for some paperclips.

The guy said that he trusts Americans more than Mexicans, and he apologized for getting mad.  Even more shocking, he posted feedback on eBay--positive feedback!  Just like that, my story had an unexpectedly abrupt and happy ending.  My impeccable track record as an eBay seller remains intact, and I'm nobody's international eBay eNemy.

That's More Like It!

Apparently I need to complain about the weather more often.  After yesterday's cold, wet, disgusting mess, today was an absolute delight:

By mid-afternoon, it was a nearly perfect day, with temperatures in the low 70s, no wind, and hardly a cloud in the sky.  I decided it was time to bring out the roller blades for the first time this year.  Sure, roller blading isn't the manliest sport out there--every time I put them on, I remember a quote that a friend had on his Facebook wall for years: "Do you know what the hardest part is about about roller blading?  Telling your parents you're gay."  Regardless, I headed to Lake Calhoun, hoping to enjoy the afternoon and take a stand for straight guys all over Minneapolis who enjoy roller blading.

I wasn't the only one targeting an afternoon at the lake.  Don't let the picture of the briefly-empty path fool you--it was plenty crowded out there today.  Driving through uptown to get to Calhoun wasn't my wisest decision.  While it's theoretically the fastest route from Plymouth, the stoplights and hipster bikers and pedestrians slowed me down terribly.  By the time I finally made it to the lake, found a parking spot, and strapped on the roller blades, clouds had overtaken the sky:

Everything would have looked much better with some sunshine, but the temperature was still perfect, and the rain never showed up.  Once I got started, I just couldn't stop myself, despite the blisters I could feel forming on my feet.  It was hardly a surprise--that just goes with the territory.  I'm convinced that a blister-free roller blade simply does not exist.  Even the most comfortable pairs I've ever owned start to cause problems after a few miles.  Duct tape helps prevent some of the blistering, but it's far from perfect:

It's a sure sign that I enjoy being outside on a nice day, because pulling those strips of duct tape off my legs and feet brings with it a solid half-pound of hair.  I'm thrilled I had the opportunity to share this beautiful photo with the world.  But a few blisters, some patchy spots on the legs, and shins so criss-crossed with duct tape scratches that look they were pulled out of a bear trap are still worth it. 

I tried to enjoy the afternoon and the view as much as possible, because the weather man's words from last night are still ringing in my ears: "...and the possibility of snowfall in the forecast!"  Nothing was going to bring me down today.  I refuse to look at the forecast again until June.

Friday The 13th

I'd hardly call myself superstitious, so I normally don't give much thought to Friday the 13th. With a few hours left in this famously unlucky stop on the calendar, my day has been disaster-free.  But at the same time, it hasn't been without it's nuisances.  Were they caused by Friday the 13th?  We'll never know...

I woke up this morning after an incredibly comfortable night of sleep, fully convinced that it was Saturday and I could stay in bed as long as I wanted.  Then the alarm went off.  It could've been worse; having that experience on a Monday morning is one of the worst feelings in the world.

After I dragged myself out of bed and through the shower, I found that one of yesterday's little problems failed to resolve itself overnight.  When I returned home from taxes yesterday evening, I noticed that the color of my tap water was a little...off.  I like my water colorless, but colorless this was not:

The freaky tint had hardly faded when I turned on the faucet this morning.  I'm sure it was safe to drink, but nevertheless, I battled my way through breakfast sans water until I could get my mouth on some liquid that was a little more..."transparent" at the office.  As thirsty as I was, I just couldn't get excited about drinking a tall glass of urine-colored liquid with breakfast.  (Though, looking at the photo now, it would pass for a fine glass of white grape juice).

Work brought endless frustration, continuing the theme for the week.  The last few weeks leading up to this one had been eerily quiet; as I feared, it was the calm before the storm.  Just about everything that could go wrong did just that.  One of the critical inputs in our monthly estimate process was days late, and as the last stop on the finance train leading up to today's deadline, my group bore the brunt of the pain. 

And far more than I fear Friday the 13th, I tremble when I look ahead at the barrage of deadlines on the calendar in the next two weeks related to the annual planning process, which runs concurrently with the already-painful monthly estimate process.  Every time I tried to get answers to my questions about some of the steps in the needlessly complex planning process, I encountered more confusion and constant reminders that I know even less that I thought.  The next two weeks promise to be absolutely brutal.  I feel like the wild turkey walking onto the highway that I spotted on my way to taxes last night. Things are going okay at the moment, but everyone can see that something terrible is just around the bend...

I left work mentally exhausted, wanting nothing more than to drive straight home and enjoying the seniors' special: a late afternoon dinner and then directly to bed for the night.  Instead, I dragged myself to the gym and mustered the resolve to make it through a Friday night workout.  Then, leaving Lifetime, I was convinced that the Malibu had been stolen. When I walked to the spot where I was sure I'd parked hours earlier, the Malibu was nowhere to be found.  I did spot a Malibu, but it was white, not the fantastic shade of light sandrift metallic that covers the exterior of my Malibu. 

A Malibu theft would have absolutely shocked me, given that my car had to be the least valuable in the lot, coupled with the fact that starting the engine is always a challenging trick, even with the assistance of the ignition key.  While I'd normally welcome the prospect of having my car stolen, I didn't have the energy to walk home on this cold, damp night.  After wandering the lot for a bit I finally spotted my trusty, tan ride.  In my tired state of mind, I'd done a very poor job taking note where I parked.

Speaking of a cold, damp night, April has been quite the letdown in the weather department.  Overnight lows have been bottoming out in the low 20s.  While today was around 50°, the view out the patio door was depressing nonetheless:

Some of the trees may finally be springing to life, but the clouds and rain made it an evening worthy of Seattle or London.  Worst of all, a ten second preview for the 10PM news featured the weatherman and one god-awful phrase: "...and the possibility of snowfall in the forecast!"  Like I said, I'm not particularly superstitious, but I'm starting to become a believer in Friday the 13th...