A plea for help made of gifs from 'Fight Club' and one from 'Grease'

A few days ago I appealed for help for my daughters' school but apparently no one heard me. So now, you leave me no choice but to re-tell my story and plea for funds using jerky moving pictures and movie captions.

Apparently the first rule of fundraising is YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT FUNDRAISING.

Let me break it down for you.

A few months ago the kids had to watch their beloved performing arts department get wiped out. 

It hasn't been an easy year. Everyone is carrying on but we know how they feel inside.

Now, because of a lack of funding, it's looking like the Senior Class of 2014 will be the first class in the high school's history NOT to graduate at the Hollywood Bowl.

GO AHEAD, KICK US WHEN WE'RE DOWN, UNIVERSE.

It doesn't feel good. It fact it hurts like a mutha.

Now everyone is stressing out trying to figure out how to come up with the down payment.

All of our appeals are falling on deaf ears. It's like we're the Amway salesman of high schools.

If we don't come up with the balance of the down payment, the kids won't get to graduate at the Hollywood Bowl, something they've been looking forward to for FOUR YEARS.

I KNOW I KNOW THERE ARE BIGGER PROBLEMS TO WORRY ABOUT.

But these kids have been through a lot this year, and man, you don't know how happy they would be with a great sendoff on their last day of school. 

If you or someone you know would like to help sponsor the Hollywood High Class of 2013, please leave your contact info here or email me at marsha_tm@yahoo.com.

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We all won when Hollywood High took the prize for Best High School Musical

You probably have heard me talking about 'In The Heights,' the annual spring musical at my girls' high school. You may have seen me mention it on Facebook, or on Twitter, or on Instagram – or maybe I walked up to you at Costco, rammed your cart and ordered you to come to the show. If that was you I'm really sorry I made you drop your baby.

But the show was really that good, and I wanted people to see how talented these kids are, how hard they work and what an incredibly professional production the school put on. It's not your average high school show – and believe me I know. Back when my high school put on The Wiz, the backdrop consisted of a huge piece of butcher paper that the freshman art class stenciled with poster paint. I remember Dorothy was wearing a blue apron over a tube top and kept reaching behind her to adjust her gym shorts.

So you can see why I wanted everyone to see the caliber of the show Hollywood High put on. And apparently other people thought this show was pretty awesome too, because Sunday night the show won Best High School Musical at the Jerry Herman Awards at the Pantages Theater. 

'In The Heights' beat out 22 other productions from high schools all over Southern California to take the top prize, and it was presented by Kenny Ortega, the producer/director/choreographer of the mothership of high school theater - Disney's High School Musical movies. It was like having Spock escort you into a Star Trek screening.

I know everyone always says, "I had no idea I was going to win," whenever they accept a prize, but in this case we really, truly had no idea we were going to win. Because did I mention we had no idea the show was even nominated? All along we'd thought that because 'In The Heights' took place so late in the year that the show wasn't included in the judging. Hollywood High wasn't even mentioned in the video montage that opened up the night's festivities that features all the participating schools.

(I totally compared it to the feeling you get when you're watching that TLC show about women who don't know they're pregnant and then give birth. You know what I'm talking about. One minute they're standing in line at Starbucks and in the next scene they're walking out of the bathroom with a baby and you're screaming at the TV, "Holy crap you were just ordering a Frappuccino and NOW YOU'VE GIVEN LIFE.")

The award is so fantastic, of course, and so very much deserved. But even more satisfying is seeing the school and these kids get the recognition they've had coming for a long time. So many negative things have been said about public schools – especially those like ours that don't have the wealthy demographic or resources that other schools have.

Another win? A chance to see these kids showing such a positive side of teenagers – that much maligned segment of the population. This group of talented students have been working non-stop for the past few weeks - after school and into the night and even on weekends - while still keeping up with their regular classes (all performers must keep up their GPAs in order to participate in the production.) Like the sets you see in the picture above? They were all built by the kids. That's right – my daughter learned how to use a power saw after geometry, people.

But don't take my word for it – come on out and see one of their productions one day. Not only will you be supporting Hollywood High, but you'll be encouraging public schools everywhere to support their teachers and nurture their arts programs and most important of all – show some faith in our teenagers.

Don't make me come over there and ram your cart. 

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Blick Art Room Aid: Saving art in our schools!

A couple of weeks ago I told you about the important role art has played in my life, and those around me. Then I made an off-color joke and I confessed to eating an eraser, two things that are the basis of around 99% of my blog posts.

But wait, there's more.

I also mentioned Art Room Aid from Blick Art Materials, a program that helps teachers by enlisting the help of parents, families, friends, and other art advocates to fund art projects to keep art alive and well in their classrooms and in the lives of their students.

With budgets for the arts being cut in our school district at an alarming rate, teachers are often forced to pay for supplies out of their own pockets, or forgo art altogether. I don't know about you, but I don't want my kids – or anyone's kids – to grow up not having art in their curriculum. This concern is multiplied for kids in inner-city schools, who might not have the opportunities to gain exposure to the arts outside of their classroom.

As some great philosopher once said (Or maybe I heard it on Family Guy) "Man does not live by math, science and freshman English 101 alone." Whoever said it it's absolutely true, and why a program like Art Room Aid is so important – and why I'm so excited to be a part of it.

Another reason? I have the opportunity to partner with my sister – who has been a teacher in an inner-city school in the Los Angeles Unified School District for 37 years – to help her see her own project come to fruition with the help of Art Room Aid. (That's right – thirty-seven years. Don't complain about being at your Forever 21 cashier job for two months.)

She's embarking on a project with her 2nd grade class called Creating Young Artists for Upcycling, and we're hoping to get all of her supplies covered. Here's what she has to say about the project:

"The title of our current literacy unit is: 'Let's Create!' We've read some articles and stories about people who have used the process of repurposing materials to create works of art, and so in our classroom discussions, I've asked my students to consider what items and/materials they might utilize from their home environments to create their own works of art.

I'm excited to see what they will produce"

I'm thrilled to be able to help out my sister's class, and to be supporting this project for kids who might not have many opportunities to be exposed to the arts. And you can help if you like – check out our wish list here, and you can donate any amount you can. My sister - and her entire class of budding artists – will greatly appreciate it.

Here's a look at their project and their materials they're requesting:

Blick Art Room Aid is a fantastic way for art educators and parents to share projects and get the word out about much-needed supplies, and a way for communities to support our teachers and our children. You can start your own project (it's free!) or search for other projects to aid by going to the Blick Art Rooom Aid home page.

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I am participating in this project via The Motherhood, who will be donating some funding to our project. This is also a compensated post, but all opinions and off-color remarks are 100% mine. 

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Got Art? Most kids don't.

How important is art to my family? Let me count the ways. It's how I made a living for most of my life. It's how Rigel and I met. It's how we've supported our family, and it's how my uncle, aunt and cousin have made their livings, too. Not to mention the fact that I'm 99% sure it's how my girls will support themselves in the future as well. (Insert smartass Asian stereotype joke here about there being a shortage of dry cleaners, mathematicians and manicurists.)

So the fact that schools across the country have had (and will continue to have) cuts to their art programs has affected me deeply. I grew up when schools had classes dedicated solely to art, or at least time set aside everyday for some sort of creative endeavor. Supplies were plentiful, and I'm not just talking about frames made out of macaroni or vases made out of soup cans – I remember having clay for making pottery and creating beautiful landscapes with watercolors and charcoal.

(Totally unrelated: Did you hear about the time I ate an eraser on a dare? So wasteful.)

Now you can see why I'm so excited to be a part of this important program – Art Room Aid from Blick Art Materials. Here's the basic idea: Teachers across the country can make a wishlist of supplies via Art Room Aid, and then enlist the help of parents, families, friends, and other art advocates to fund their art projects to keep art alive and well in their classrooms and in the lives of their students.

Here's how you can learn more: Join this Twitter Party to find out ways that you can support art education and spread the word about Art Room Aid. We'll also be discussing projects you can do with your own kids (no encouraging of eating erasers, I promise.)

When: Wednesday, Jan. 16, 2 p.m. ET

Where: We’ll be on Twitter – follow the #BlickARA hashtag to track the conversation. See this Twtvite for more info and to RSVP: http://twtvite.com/BlickARA

Hashtag: #BlickARA

Prizes: We will give away five total prizes - two $25 Blick gift coupons, two $50 Blick gift coupons, and one $75 Blick gift coupon.

Hosts: @theMotherhood, @CooperMunroe, @EmilyMcKhann

Art Room Aid: http://www.dickblick.com/ara

Blick Art Materials: http://www.dickblick.com/

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Who says teenagers don't have their priorities straight?

Ah, October. The anticipation of fall is in the air, and the excitement of the upcoming holidays start to buzz around. Then there's Costco, busy as bees setting up their Valentine's Day display.

It's also homecoming time at the high school, and my girls were getting ready. They were both performing at the game and going to the dance the next day. To quote Katy Perry, they were livin' a teenage dream! To add to our festive mood, we received an invitation to check out HalloweenTime at Disneyland, which kicks off their holiday season in the park. But guess what – it happened to be on the very same day of the dance. If there was an emoticon to symbolize feelings of teenage conflict and angst, I'd insert it here.

Actually Kiyomi was pretty relieved – she'd been waffling about going for awhile, and finally reluctantly decided to go with a group of friends. This may have been because I sort of 'strongly suggested' she go in order to have a true 'high school experience.' I get like that a lot, trying to force my teenage memories on my kids. Someday I'll tell you about the time I made her get a perm, put on leg warmers and get disappointed by a cute boy. It was epic.

She wasted no time in cancelling her homecoming plans and whipping out the face paint. Something tells me she wasn't planning on going to that dance in the first place.

But Kira on the other hand was in full homecoming mode. Ironically, their theme was Disney, and she and some of her friends were going together and basing their outfits on Disney Princesses.

I need to just pause right here and address all of you out there with young girls who are hoping their daughters will someday outgrow their 'princess phase,' who might be dreaming of a time when you can stop buying those candy-colored puffy dresses: Sorry, but that day may never come, you'll just have to start buying them in bigger sizes and with lower necklines.

Kira found a billowy yellow dress, a pair of yellow shoes and some accessories shaped like red roses to put together her Belle-derivative outfit. (It all came from Forever 21, which is somewhere you know the Disney princesses would shop if they lived near a mall and had a fondness for knockoff dresses and dollar nail-polish.)

She was looking forward to an evening of mild-debauchery with her friends sullying the Disney Princess image, so you can imagine the conflict when I told her we'd been invited to Disneyland on the same day as the dance. Honestly, I thought she would have a flicker of disappointment, wish us a fun time and then go back to pondering lip glosses. She is 16, after all, and what could be more important than the homecoming soiree?

But apparently a trip to the Magic Kingdom is just more magical than a night in an overheated gymnasium pretending you're in the Magic Kingdom, and after a quick query with her friends on Facebook (who almost unanimously said, "Are you crazy, DISNEYLAND OF COURSE") she decided to blow off the dance. Anyone who thinks that teens have outgrown Disney would be mistaken – within hours of her decision she had sold her ticket and replaced her tiara with a pair of mouse ears.

But she's nothing if not resourceful – she wore her homecoming dress to Disneyland that day.

Find out more about HalloweenTime and our day at the park here.

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You had to be there

When Kiyomi was in elementary school she had a love-hate relationship with a girl I'll call E. They'd known each other since first grade, and went from intensely hating each other to being best buddies who couldn't wait to get together on the weekends for a playdate. While E could be sweet, she could also get aggressive and I know at least a couple of moms who had discouraged their daughters from hanging around her too much. She did have a bad habit of digging her little 9-year-old fingernails firmly into other kids' wrists.

Her parents weren't the most involved parents, but they weren't the worst, either. I knew them casually and thought they were friendly enough, and E seemed like a pretty happy kid in spite of always craving attention. But don't they all? Rigel and I often remarked that she was one of those kids you just wanted to like – that little button nose and bobbed hair and she was super polite, in an Eddie Haskell-ish kind of way.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago - Kiyomi was getting a 'Student Of The Month' Award along with a few other kids and there was a small ceremony in the auditorium towards the end of the school day. I definitely wanted to be there since she's graduating this year and I figured it might be the last of these types of ceremonies where I could get all teary-eyed and embarrass the hell out of her. But I promised I wouldn't clap too loudly and I left my big foam hand at home, the one that has, "#1 Girl" silkscreened on its pointer finger.

I took a seat and a few minutes later someone ran up and hugged me. It was E. She and Kiyomi hadn't hung around much since they started middle school three years ago, and I had only seen her a handful of times on campus. She said she was getting an award, too, and I told her how tall she'd gotten and how pretty she looked. Then I asked her where her mom or dad were, so I could say a quick hello before the ceremony started.

After I asked, I immediately wanted to take my words back because she looked so uncomfortable. "Um, they aren't here. They're too busy." Her words trailed off, and I tried my best to change the subject by asking her about her hat. Because I'm smooth like that.

The ceremony got under way, and the teacher who was leading the whole thing started off by telling all the kids to go sit with their parents. A reasonable request, but I knew there were at least a few kids in the audience who didn't have anyone from their family there and it made me cringe. (Only the first of things this teacher did that made me cringe, but that's a topic for another time.)

All these kids are a supportive bunch, so there was no shortage of clapping and shout-outs when the kids went up to accept their awards, whether their families were there or not. But then the teacher had to start talking about how grateful all the kids should be to their parents, who were so supportive and had taken time out from their busy days to be at the ceremony, and how they needed to give their parents a big hug. NOW.

Hugs from teenagers are hard to come by these days, so I gladly took mine from Kiyomi, but still couldn't help but feel badly for E and the other kids who were there alone. Then someone tapped me on the shoulder, and it was E standing in front of me.

"Can I give you a hug?"

My heart just about broke into a million pieces. I gave her a big hug, and then I talked her into taking a couple of silly pictures with Kiyomi.

I'm willing to give the parents the benefit of the doubt. We're all busy, maybe her parents just absolutely couldn't get away from work, maybe E didn't let on how much she wanted them there. There are a mind-boggling number of events that parents are expected to attend throughout the school year and there's no way we can make it to all of them. I even skipped Back-To-School night this year and I didn't even have a really good reason, except that I was exhausted, although I was ready with a carefully thought-out "Sinkhole ate our house" excuse in case any of the teachers inquired.

But this was kind of a big deal. There are over two thousand kids in this school, so for a handful to be singled out is an honor, one that doesn't happen every day and from what I've seen they pretty much stop with the awards once high school starts. After all of the hand-wringing and worrying about our kids doing well in school I can't imagine not being there when all their hard work is recognized.

I regret that the teacher didn't choose his words more carefully and wish he hadn't put so much emphasis on the parents physically being there. I wish he'd had the sensitivity to say something comforting to the kids who were there alone. I'm kind of kicking myself that I didn't ask E to come sit with us earlier in the ceremony. I wish middle school and being 13 wasn't so damn awkward and hard already without some sad moment getting magnified and maybe hurting more than it should. But most of all I really wish someone had shown up for E.

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The Internship I Wish I Had

I don't usually post 'Help Wanted' ads, but this came through my mailbox and seemed too good not to pass on. Broadway/LA is looking for an intern at the Pantages Theatre.

I used to work at an ad agency right above the Pantages, and we worked for some of the best music venues in town, including the Greek Theater. Working in a theater environment is one of the most exciting experiences I've ever had. But that's a story for another time, those tales of me hanging out in the green room with David Byrne and those nights sipping cocktails with Kool & The Gang. Oh, low-paying, super-awesome jobs how I miss thee.

This is an unpaid internship, but for anyone interested in theater or entertainment, or even for anyone NOT interested in theater or entertainment it's a great opportunity and would certainly be a fun, creative environment. It sure beats sharpening pencils at your dad's office.

Here's the official release from Broadway/L.A. If you're interested, send your resume and cover letter directly to media@broadwayla.org (not to me.) Good luck!

MARKETING INTERN:

Broadway/L.A., located at the historic Pantages Theatre in Hollywood is looking for upbeat, energetic people who are interested in an active learning and working internship with the marketing office assisting with publicity and promotions activities during the 2011-2012 Season.

Ideal candidates for this internship will possess excellent organizational skills combined with positive energy and a willingness to learn and express some creativity. Basic knowledge of Broadway theatrical product in general is encouraged, but not required.

Responsibilities will include, but are not limited to, maintaining and updating contact lists, coordination of collateral materials, making follow-up and cold calls to prospective media and retail outlets, as well as basic filing, packing and shipping tasks. Interns will also assist with long and short term projects and help staff press and promotional events and appearances.

Parking provided.  Monthly transportation stipend will be provided.  College credit may be provided where necessary*.

How to Apply:

Interested Applicants, please e-mail resume and cover letter to media@broadwayla.org. Please place “Internship” in the subject line.

*I asked Broadway/LA about the college credit clause, and they described it this way: It is up to the applicant to get verification from their school that this particular internship qualifies as college credit. Thereafter, Broadway/LA is willing to sign off on any documentation that has been approved by the university, thereby granting them the credit. 

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This is a teacher

This is a story about a teacher, one of 5045 educators that received a layoff notice from the LAUSD. I wish I could write about the other 5044, too, but I'll be busy telling my elected officials what a horrible decision they've made in a series of angry letters I'm planning to write. With lots of exclamation points. And swear words.

Last Saturday Kira was auditioning for a competition put on the by the local Rotary Club. The auditions happened to be taking place at her high school, and while we were waiting for her turn I sat outside and talked to her choir teacher, Mr. Sacks, who was there to play the piano accompaniment for one of Kira's classmates who was also auditioning. What else did this teacher do on a Saturday? Picked up all of the costumes from the dry cleaners that the kids used in their last performance (a fantastic Moulin Rouge, I might add) and delivered them back to the studio that lent them to the school. Then no doubt he spent most of the rest of the weekend preparing for the kids' next big show. (Luckily he didn't ask about my plans for the weekend, a carefully laid-out schedule of naps and coffee breaks.)

While we were talking, I asked him about Moulin Rouge, because it was the first time it was ever performed on stage and I knew that he had done the arranging himself. He told me a crazy story about what he went through trying to get the rights to use the sheet music from the movie and after he jumped through a bunch of hoops they still turned him down. So, he said matter-of-factly, he put on a pair of headphones, sat down at the piano and re-wrote all of the music himself, working eight hours a day all the way through every day of winter break, even on Christmas day. And his birthday. (Are you listening, school board members?)

(Seriously, I was so enthralled by his story I forgot to wish Kira good luck when she went in, but she seemed almost grateful to escape my usual hug and awkward fist-bump.)

Mr. Sacks is the reason Kira is going to the school she's attending, the reason we make the forty-minute drive every morning into Hollywood. The school was one of the last ones we had toured after an exhaustive few weeks of checking out every performing arts campus in the city. Kira had a mediocre response to all of them up to that point, and just as Rigel and I were about to pull out the, 'It's our choice, not yours, young lady' card, we were invited to a series of workshops at the school. We sat in on one of Mr. Sacks' classes and the rapport that he has with the kids is so evident, and by the end of a rousing rendition of "Aint No Mountain High Enough", Kira was convinced. She turned to me and said, "I love this place. THIS IS IT." She's was ecstatic that she had found a home, and I was happy we didn't have to tour those other schools left on our list.

And here's where I shake my fist at those who have decided to cut funding to education – Mr. Sacks is one of the teachers that has gotten a layoff notice from the school district. I'm sure I speak for a lot of the kids and the parents when I say that the department and the school will suffer greatly if he leaves. Kira is dreading the thought of him not being around, and she and her classmates are wondering what will become of their musical education there without him at the helm. Have you ever witnessed the rare phenomenon of a child actually wanting to go to school? I have, and it's usually on days she knows she has an after-school rehearsal.

There are many teachers that have gotten layoff notices in the past few weeks and this is just one story. I wish the people making these insane decisions could get to know every one of the teachers they're planning on letting go. More importantly, I wish they could hear the stories of every one of the kids whose lives these teachers have touched, and hear about the negative impact these layoffs will have on them.

If you have a story to tell about a teacher, please send me a link and I'll post it here. I'd love to send it to our elected officials so they could put some faces to even a few of those 5045 pink slips.

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This just doesn't add up

I originally wrote this post for the LA Moms Blog, part of the Silicon Valley Moms blog collective that consisted of fourteen sites from around the country and Canada. Sadly, the site will be closing this month – I'm going to miss the network of amazing writers I had the privilege of working with there. I've decided to republish my posts from the site here on my personal blog as a way of preserving them once they take the site down permanently, and also because that's one less original blog post I have to write. Some may call that lazy, cheap and repetitive, but I just call it resourceful. And maybe lazy.

As I child, I puzzled my teachers.  My inability to add six columns of numbers in my head or multiply fractions in nanoseconds confounded them.  Why couldn’t I figure out the circumference of all the circles in the diagram and calculate how many of them it would take to fill up the Pentagon? What could be so hard about averaging the number of miles Janie and Mike traveled in a day in their Chrysler that got 50 miles per gallon?

After all, they assumed, I’m Asian.  I should be good at math.

I hated this stereotype.  Why couldn’t it be something more glamorous, like assuming that I could wield a killer Samurai sword, or even something with some ick-factor, like thinking that I ate sushi made from live fish every night for dinner. That would at least have given me some mystique on the playground.  I could see it now, packing away a goldfish in my lunchbox when my parents weren’t looking and then later sitting down in the cafeteria, a small crowd gathered around me as I carefully laid out small sheets of seaweed on my cardboard tray. They’d cover their eyes as I pretended to slurp the little critter down with my carton of milk. 

Even worse, I couldn’t live up to this pathetic stereotype.  Other kids would try to copy off my paper, thinking that surely my Asian ancestry would help me multiply those fractions correctly and I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I’d just copied the answers off of Andrew, the kid next to me picking his nose and scraping scabs off his arm.  I think I even brought an abacus to school once just so I wouldn’t disappoint them.  I bent over the board and my fingers furiously flew over the beads as the teacher recited numbers.  When I had supposedly come up with the answer, I banged a gong, bowed deeply and burned some incense at my desk.

Really, it wasn’t until college that a math teacher finally realized that I wasn’t a math whiz and actually didn’t have dreams of working for IBM and becoming the world’s greatest accountant. “You don’t say?  You’re not good at math?  This isn’t some cagey act to get out of joining the Calculus Team?  Now let me get this straight – you really did think 'square root' was some sort of gardening term?”

It’s hard to say whether my two daughters will have an equally heavy cross to bear.  Though bi-racial, they look more Asian than anything else and I’m already suspicious of the motives of their teachers and counselors.  After twice declining, my older daughter was moved up to an algebra class instead of the pre-algebra course that we had requested and that most seventh graders are enrolled in.  I made an appointment with the counselor, armed with my ammo in case any hint of the Asian Math Myth reared it’s ugly head, and was surprised when he informed me that she had been moved into an advanced class because she had scored high on a pre-entry exam. 

I was totally taken aback.  Seriously?  You mean she actually did figure out what x + y was equal to?

Well, there goes another myth out the window.  Because everyone knows – this family, we suck at math.

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The Devil Wears Uggs

It must be the art director in me, but sometimes before I start writing a post I come up with an image first. For example, if I'm writing a post about summer I might think about a beach scene or a margarita, or if I'm writing about a particularly annoying parent at the school I might come up with an image of a snarling pitbull covered in flies and driving a minivan. Hey, you have your method for getting inspired and I have mine.

So when I started writing a post on online safety for this month's Yahoo Motherboard, I immediately started seeing images of sweaty guys in trenchcoats, or glassy-eyed dudes sitting in front of their computer screen eating nachos and slurping on a Bud Light. So much for going through pictures of my ex-boyfriends! But then something surprising happened -- once I started thinking of who really posed an immediate threat to my kids online, I came up with an entirely different visual altogether, and these villains were wearing cute boots and jumpers from Forever 21.

Because in my opinion, the more urgent threat, the one that I've already encountered with both of my girls, is the one that comes from the frenemy sitting behind them in algebra or the ex-best friend now going to a school on the other side of town who can't let go of a grudge. That's right, I'm talking girl-on-girl offenses, and not the kind you've seen on Showtime at 3am, either.

I'm not sure if you've heard, but tween and teen girls can be vicious. Not only mean, but conniving, clever, merciless and secretive. Oh, and possessed with stamina like you wouldn't believe -- I've seen Facebook fights go on for days at a time at a level that would leave hardened criminals begging to be un-friended. 

We've been lucky in that the most harassment our girls have had to endure has consisted of some name calling and a couple of online spats, but cyberbullying is on the rise and I'm keeping my eyes and ears open for any signs of trouble. I try to monitor their online contacts carefully, and spy on their Facebook pages regularly. This in itself is a painful experience -- you think you're raising them right and then come to find they've used valuable wall space to tag their friends on a Pokemon poster according to their 'traits.' And spelled 'huggable' wrong.

I'm not denying the dangers of the online world -- I know that predators are out there and that the possibility of strangers threatening my kids is real. But I think that the more tangible, immediate threat to my tween and teen daughters is probably not the pervert in Germany inviting them to a Skype underwear dance party, but is more likely the ex-bff who decides that she's going to start a rumor 'just for fun' or the friend who thinks that IM'ing their crush's name to the entire 7th grade is hi-larious.

And then there's the bigger threat -- I hear that hell hath no fury like the angry classmate who decides that she didn't like being tagged 'Hugable Pikachu.' There's no task force for that, and we should be afraid, very afraid.

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tags: online safety | cyberbullying | yahoo motherboard

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My Tax Dollars Hard at Work

Kira came home from school today, totally upset because two of her favorite classes had been changed. I don't know how I can stress what a big deal this is, seeing as it is SIX WHOLE WEEKS into the school year, and the two classes that were changed happened to be ones that she really enjoyed. What are the odds of your kid actually liking one of her middle school classes, let alone two? I suspected the teachers were handing out free iPods, or letting them text message their friends and eat Oreos in class. But I went to Back-to-School night a couple of weeks ago and met the teachers and saw why Kira liked them: they were engaging and inventive and had a real rapport with the kids. Kind of like me and Rigel, only younger and way smarter and with better hair.

But then the school administration had a great idea: let's pull her out of an environment where she's happy, and doing well and actually enjoying school, and totally stress her out by throwing her into a couple of other classes where she has to start over from scratch. What's next on their to-do list? Leave mean notes in her locker and then pants her after gym class?

Wait! I've got it: It's actually supposed to be called No Child Left Behind Where They're Thriving.

I decided to call Kira's grade-level counselor to find out what the deal was, but he basically threw up his hands and passed the buck on to the head counselor. And this is where it gets ugly, since apparently this head counselor, we'll call her Ms. Head, doesn't like parents calling her to inquire about their children. What kind of crazy parent interrupts the head counselor's afternoon with legitimate questions regarding school policy? Obviously Ms. Head feels that parents should be seen and not heard, and by 'seen' I mean only showing up when they need someone to help at the book fair, or sell pizza at Open House, or serve soda at the faculty luncheon.

Who are you freakish people with your concerns about your kid's happiness? Can't you see being head counselor requires lots of strenuous finger-pointing and nonsensical double-talk and insulting of tax-paying parents?

I could tell she was immediately on the defensive when I started asking about the class changes, and gave me some lame answer that Kira was chosen because she “seemed to be someone who the change would be least disruptive to.” When I asked her how that was determined she answered, and I quote with her own words:

“What?! So you think we’re picking on your child, is that it?”

After digesting this bit of hostility and wondering how I could slap her over the phone, I answered that in fact, she had said herself that Kira had been singled out. Then she launched inte a rambling explanation on school district protocol, and hours of time spent analyzing schedules and careful selecting of unfortunate students. I'm not sure, but she also might have thrown in something about the time-space continuum, where Jimmy Hoffa was buried and unicorns, but this I'm absolutely certain of: She didn't ask one single fucking time what she could do to help my child.

The conversation went no where, and I could imagine her on the other end of the line, rolling her eyes and waving her bony hand in the air to pretend she was swatting me away. I suspect she had more important things to do, like catch up on her Sudoku puzzles or blow off some other parents so that she could make it to her waxing appointment on time.

I tried again, this time calling a different counselor who was a little more sympathetic but lost me when she said that one of the reasons Kira got her classes changed? Was just because "she was unlucky." I was too busy putting my fist through the wall at this point to answer that the true meaning of 'unlucky' was getting two counselors on the phone within the span of ten minutes who didn't give a flying crap about my daughter.

I spend a lot of time supporting my public school system. I've volunteered hundreds of hours serving pizza to neurotic tweens, selling snacks to impatient grade schoolers and spent countless hours riding on stifling hot, bumpy as hell school busses while chaperoning field trips. I've cut out hundreds of construction paper circles, baked untold numbers of cupcakes for class parties and mopped floors in preparation for school staff luncheons. I've cornered strangers in my neighborhood to shore up support for our local neighborhood school, and talked too loudly at parties about the importance of standing behind our local administrators. But at times like this? It makes me understand why people knock the system, and decry public education. And move to France.

I've fired off a letter to the school principal and I'm going to leave it in his mailbox in the morning. If that doesn't work, I'm going to take it to the local superintendent. I'm not sure what I'll do after I've gone all the way up to Oval Office and even ol' Dubya refuses to change Kira's schedule back to the way it was. But I'll handle the situation calmy and maturely, and explain to my daughter that her mom did the best she could to right the injustice in a fair and rational manner.

And then I'm going to give that head counselor a wedgie during passing period.

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tags: lausd | los angeles unified school district | middle school | no child left behind | tweens

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Brainetics Can Make You Smarter and Fun At Parties

I was recently asked to review a product called Brainetics, a DVD learning system designed to help children in grades 4 through 7 master math and language skills. Seeing as my kids spend about 90% of their waking hours in front of the TV, I was hoping for something besides a DVD to sharpen their math chops - something more low-tech, like an abacus or a stone tablet with carved roman numerals. But I found the program to be pretty effective, and I may have even learned a thing or two...Read More...



tags: brainetics | mike byster | brainetics review | math games

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I Still Won't Let Them Eat The Burritos, But I'll Consider a Fish Stick

Hey - remember that little tirade I went on last week, about the sick cows and the bad people that cut them up and fed them to our schoolchildren? I mentioned that I had already sent an email to our superintendent voicing my concerns and essentially demanding to know precisely what cow part was in which box of meat and exactly which school's freezer that cheeseburger was sitting in. I wanted to know how soon I needed to break into my local pharmacy and steal all of their anti-salmonella serum.

I'm happy to say that I got a prompt response, and it didn't say "Go away" or "Stop bothering me" like most of my emails do. Instead he acknowledged my concern, thanked me for my support and promised to forward my note to the head of food services for the entire district.

And guess what? He did, and I received a phone call from the deputy food services director that same day, who stayed on the phone with me for a good half hour going over exactly what the district was doing in light of the controversy. He explained that the USDA had put a hold on all food items that were suspected to have come from Westland Meat Co., and that until the hold was lifted all individual school districts couldn't touch any of the products to do individual testing or to begin the process of tracing the meat.

He did assure me though, that the district has it's very own state-of-the-art testing lab (who knew?) and that rigorous testing is done on a sampling of school cafeteria food every day. Since nothing unusual had ever come up in any of Westland's products in the past, it was highly unlikely that contaminated meat was being passed on to our kids. But he assured me that all meat products were being pulled from school menus and that all contracts with Westland had been suspended indefinitely. Unfortunately I didn't get a chance to ask him why some of the cafeteria ladies wear hair nets and some wear shower caps, but it didn't seem too urgent at the time.

While I'm sure there's a certain amount of spin involved in his information, I did feel better after talking to him and not so ready to check my kids into the local ER for a full-body scan. And I do give the school administration some props for responding to my inquiry, and not just forwarding my number to the LAPD for a background check and a psych evaluation request.

But I'm still not letting my kids eat in the cafeteria, at least not until the hold is lifted and I see some test results. Okay, maybe a fish stick. But wait a minute - ARE THOSE DOLPHIN SAFE AND MERCURY-FREE?

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tags: meat recall | ground beef recall | westland/hallmark meat company | usda beef recall

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Don't Eat The Burritos

A few nights ago I was watching the evening news, and sandwiched in between the stories about Britney Spears' current meltdown and the latest fad diet (it's tea!) was a hidden-camera report about a California slaughterhouse being investigated for using inhumane methods to get sick cattle past inspectors. (Aside from being carriers of E. coli and salmonella, downed cattle may signal the presence of bovine spongiform encephalopathy, commonly known as mad cow disease.) The footage was horrible to watch: electric prods being used to get ailing animals on their feet, cattle being pulled by chains and being poked and dragged by forklifts.

But the part of the story that freaked me out the most was the little snippet at the end that said the operation under investigation, Westland Meat Co., was a major supplier of meat to school cafeterias across the country.

Who knew it would take a story on the 11 o'clock news to get me off my lazy behind and vow to make my kids lunches everyday for here on out?

I've confessed before about my aversion to the tedium that is the brown bag lunch. The making of the sandwiches! The filling of the snack bags with grapes and pretzels! Add to that the careful consideration of the protein/carb balance, that daily dilemma of whether or not to include fruit along with a juice box, and do Cheez-Its count as a serving of dairy?

For only a dollar, the lure of the school lunch is just too good to pass up, not to mention the extra twelve minutes of sleep it buys me in the morning.

But now? I have forbid my girls from buying any food items from the school cafeteria, unless it's so highly processed and artificial that it couldn't possibly contain any actual food substance from Westland Meat Co. Which means the only times they're allowed to buy anything is if the cafeteria is serving Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, which everyone knows is made out of styrofoam and orange crayons.

The thing that I find slightly alarming is that no formal announcement has been made by our school district or by the U.S. Dept of Education about the crisis, or what the risk is to our children. What toxins were lurking in that cup of spaghetti? And along with being completely dried-out and tasteless, could that hamburger my kid ate last week make her sick?

Seeing as my girls have probably eaten their weight in corn dogs from the school cafeteria, you can understand my concern.

Aside from three short paragraphs on the state education department's website, I haven't seen a statement from our local superintendent of schools or any flyers or brochures distributed to parents addressing the subject. It also seems to have slipped under the parent-grapevine radar, which is interesting considering that a head lice infestation in a single child usually triggers a panic in every school within a twenty-mile radius.

The alert issued from the California Department of Education says they "recommend that agencies not use any processed end-products containing beef pending further instructions." It doesn't mention how much of the meat they believe was from these "downer" cows, or exactly which school menu items may have been affected.

Although, oddly enough, an article in the L.A. Times reveals that the ban doesn't include breakfast burritos.

Because as we all know, wrapping infected meat inside a tortilla makes it totally safe to eat.

So, this is what I'm doing. I've already fired off a letter to my local superintendent asking for some answers. But I'm also going to send a letter to Margaret Spellings, the U.S. Secretary of Education and I'm going to cc it to some other appropriate education officials. I'd like them to take a break from "No Child Left Behind" and move on to "No Meatball Left Unturned."

I'm trying to add as many names of concerned parents as I can to the letter, so if you want to be a part of it, please leave your name and whether you're a parent, teacher or administrator, along with your school district in the comments. If you don't want to leave it there, then email me here. There's strength in numbers, and maybe it'll get us some answers. Because I'm tired of laying awake at night wondering, "Where's The Beef?"

And in the meantime? Don't let them eat the burritos.

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tags: meat recall | ground beef recall | westland/hallmark meat company | usda beef recall

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Pepperoni or Cheese? Simple Question For Some; Vexing, Mind-Blowing, Life-Altering Decision For Others

A couple of weeks ago I was asked to help out at Back-To-School night at Kira's middle school. This is a chance for the parents to meet the teachers, and the PTA and booster clubs at most schools use it as a fundraising opportunity to sell food and drinks beforehand. While the idea of putting on a pair of plastic gloves and dishing out five hundred pieces of pizza sounded daunting, I hadn't had a chance to volunteer at Kira's new school, so I agreed. Besides, knowing how tight money is in the system these days, one slice of pizza sold could mean the difference between my kid having paper towels in the girls bathroom or having to wipe her hands on her shirt like we make her do at home.

By the time I arrived the other parents had already set up a row of tables on which sat eighty pizzas in insulated carriers. My job was to stand at the first table and offer a choice of either cheese or pepperoni; I would hand out the cheese slices and send the pepperoni requests to the next table, and then to the next for salad and drinks. Easy enough, thank god, since I was anxious to make a good impression on my first middle-school volunteering assignment. I'd hate to screw up and have one of the other senior moms give me a wedgie and shove me into a locker.

Everyone was cooperative and the line moved swiftly. And why not? The decision to have pepperoni or cheese pizza isn't exactly a hard one. (Not like trying to decide whether to have your cappuccino dry or semi dry - sometimes I ponder that one for a good ten minutes.) I got into a rhythm, and soon was calling out "pepperoniorcheese" like it was one word, like the really cool pizza guys do. Why, I was beginning to see a future for myself in food services and was dreaming of what I would look like in a stylish hair net, barking out orders for my fry cooks to "Load up another rasher of bacon!"

But my nirvana was cut short right at at the busiest time, in the form of a sixth grade girl and her mother. I could tell there was going to be trouble as soon as I asked "Pepperoni or Cheese?" and the girl furrowed her brows, put her hands on her hips and tried to peer into the box. "What kind of pizza is it?" she asked, oblivious to the bright blue and red Dominos logo on the lid - perhaps she thought I had drawn it on all the boxes myself with a Sharpie. When I stated the obvious, she whispered something to her mother who then asked if her daughter could see the pizza. Sure, I said, and opened the box. I glanced at the forty people behind them in line and shrugged, giving them my "Aren't people just wacky?" look.

More whispering followed, and then the mother asked if she could see another pizza. I paused, but obligingly opened the lid of another box, hoping they'd both suddenly realize they were lactose intolerant and transfer to another school. And then? Even more whispering.

And the mother asked to see a third pizza.

Sure! I answered. But why stop there? Just step around the tables here and let me open up all eighty pizzas, so that you can carefully examine each and every one. Take your time! Find the one, perfect slice out of all six hundred pieces, and once you find the one you want, I'll pick it up with my platinum spatula, have it blessed by the Pope and then serve it up to you on this diamond-encrusted plate.

Actually, I refused. I pointed to the line behind them, now fifty people long, and told them they'd have to choose a piece out of the twenty pieces before them. I pointed out that they were all the same, and if she wasn't sure maybe a nice plate of salad and a bottled water would make a lovely meal for the two them this evening. After some heavy sighing by the girl and a dirty look thrown my way from her mother, they finally pointed to two pieces of cheese pizza. I had to seriously hold myself back from licking each piece and rubbing them on my butt before handing them over.

What the hell is wrong with this mother? Okay, your kid's a picky eater - I get it. I'm sure she spends hours at home just trying to find something her kid will eat, running herself ragged trying to make sure her pizza is just the right shade of orange, and her spaghetti noodles are arranged in a pleasing counter-clockwise pattern on her plate. But when you're in a public place, holding up a line, isn't it time to say enough already?

I want to warn the poor guy who takes this girl out on a dinner date in ten years. She'll be the one who has to inspect the kitchen first, grills the waiter about every ingredient in every dish on the menu before she finally settles on the vegetable soup, and then asks to have them remove every speck of parsley, serve the potatoes on the side and have the carrots cut into the shapes of the silhouettes of the last ten presidents.

And whatever you do, don't take her out for pizza.

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tags: middle school | pizza | all the slices looked the same to me

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