Hardcore Fail

After my work is done I'm going to start an awards show that gives awards to other awards shows for the things they do well. It'll be great to recognize the way that positive reinforcement and publicity can help spur creativity, innovation and growth in almost any field.

One awards show I'll have a hard time recognizing might be the Washington Area Music Awards. What could I recognize about their 2012 ballot? Maybe I could give them an award for Most Bourgeois? Most Noise-Free? Most Generic?

How else do you honor an awards show dedicated to music in Washington D.C. that doesn't mention punk? In last fifty years, DC has been on the national music map for two things: hardcore punk rock, which developed its straight edge movement in DC and gogo, which was invented entirely in DC.

Yes, it's great that the ballot has two categories devoted to a capella music, and that these categories gave Sweet Honey in the Rock their due. Yes, it's marvellous that there are still three categories devoted to big band jazz, in case Duke Ellington should rise from the grave, but for some reason I can't help wondering if nominee "Natty Beaux" isn't even from D.C. at all...

It's good that there are four different awards given to bluegrass musicians in the area because, as much as no one here listens to or plays bluegrass music, people really don't listen to or play bluegrass anywhere else. This is cultural preservation at work. And that's great, even if the culture comes from Appalachia.

But while we're at it, let's preserve the culture for which DC is internationally known and respected. Let's recognize that there's more to the local rock scene is not actually divided into "modern rock," "pop rock," and "roots rock." The last time I saw any of those LA-generic terms in a local concert review was... well... never.

The reason we need a local awards show isn't to show how everything in DC is just like everything in LA, only not half as plentiful, popular, organized or publicized. The reason for a local awards show should be to show what's unique about a location.

Thankfully, although I had to scroll down almost the entire ballot to find it, there is a GOGO section, with awards for the best talker, group and instrumentalist in the genre. The fact that the ballot goes to the trouble of saying "talker" instead of "vocalist" is an example of exactly how an awards show should go about understanding the mess it seeks to categorize.

I'm happy to see some old friends and acquaintances nominated for awards--and am certainly excited to vote for Lucky Dub, Justin Trawick, Flo Anito, Niki Barr, Bio Ritmo, Edie Sedgwick, and Gabin Assouramou--but I'm also perplexed because, while these are all terrific musicians who contribute to the multicultural patchwork of the D.C. scene, none of them really sums up what D.C. music means to people in and outside of D.C.

For that you need to recognize not just Go Go, but also Hardcore. Bad Brains put this town on the map. Fugazi put this town on the map. There's still a scene today, all over town, and that's recognized with Dischord Records' nomination as Washington Area Record Company of the year.

But who am I telling? You know all of this stuff, Wammies. It's all in your history of the DC Music scene. In fact, in the late nineties, you even gave out awards in a lumped together category called "hardcore/punk/underground." Yes, that's fifteen years after the rest of the world started to associate DC with, as you correctly put it, harDCore, but still, better late then never.

But since then, Wammies, what's happened to you? Your rock awards are so vague and arbitrary that they don't seem to mean anything. They certainly don't rock.

Once you put together a few hardcore categories (Best Band; Best Singer, Intelligible; Best Singer, Unintelligible), it might be time to add a few nods to the avant garde scene and then, if you're feeling really brave, you might even update some of the other rock categories. Interview some rock bands. Talk to some club owners. I would bet that there are more "post-punk" bands and "indie" bands in DC right now than self-described "pop rock" bands in the entire country. I know the word "pop" is short for popular, but among rock musicians it's rather short on popularity.

Still, everybody wants an award. Nobody's going to say no to a Wammie just because it says "pop rock." If I were to one day win a wammie in "pop rock," I would do my best to feel proud and be happy I had it, and not spend the rest of my life envying Ian Svenonious for winning a real one. But seriously, by that same inconsiderate logic, Wammies, you should be proud of all the awards I've offered you above. Please comment to let me know where I can send the certificates.

Valuing Education

This month one of America's largest school districts emailed all of its thousands of substitute teachers a link to a great opportunity. They could get raises of $2.07 per hour, regular hours and great new benefits including health insurance, sick leave a retirement account if chosen for this promotion. The title of this exciting new position: bus driver.

Upon reading this I called up my favorite scholar of health-care inequalities in a controlled outrage. "Does this really mean," I simmered, "that for all those times I got pulled over for speeding on the way to college classes, I was hurting my career both ways?"

"You're not missing out," she told me. "All the studies of bus drivers' health data show they have a very short life expectancy and lots of heart trouble due to all the stress."

"Well that's just it," I said. "There are studies of data about bus drivers, because they have insurance. The insurance company has hard-drives full of data about how unhealthy bus drivers are, and how stressed they tell their doctors they are every time they drop by just to take off their shirt for another check-up. Nobody studies substitute teachers because we don't have health insurance and we don't visit doctors. No data exist."

And upon that analysis, I decided not to grade chemistry quizzes over the weekend this weekend, saving them instead for my paid planning time on Monday. Last weekend I was so excited by the opportunity to teach something interesting that I was grading in my downtime at my other job. After reading what the Human Resources department thinks of me, though, I think I need a couple days off. My favorite scholar was right about one thing, though: no matter how hard my job is, I really am glad I don't have to do it in traffic.

They Can But They Don't*

After my work is done I'm going to write a book about why Capitalism doesn't feed everybody. There seems to be a consensus among my Republican friends that if we just eliminate all social welfare programs designed to keep human beings from starving to death in the streets, everybody will suddenly find great jobs and thank us for taking away all of the handouts that had been keeping them from achieving their full earning potential.

Obviously it's easy to criticize the people at the bottom, themselves, and to point out that many of our homeless, unemployed and elderly are not in great shape to work. Many of our poorest are pretty out of touch with reality and do indeed have a hard time with many simple, basic tasks. I don't think this explains everything, though, because whenever I see interviews with CEOs, they have their fair share of weaknesses as well.

I could try from the outset to explain the math of how capitalism works in individual cases to help individuals collect money from others. I could try to compare capitalism as it's currently played in the US to a game of checkers, where once you get a king the rest is just cleanup. I could try to find statistics on the number of successful capitalists who start nonprofits that feed people vs. the number of successful capitalists who start nonprofits to increase the profitability of their for-profit corporations. But ultimately, these approaches would only show why I think capitalism isn't intended to feed everybody.

There are plenty of people who still believe Ronald Reagan's trite rallying cry that a fully de-regulated capitalism should provide everything for everybody at the best possible price. So I'd like to interview them and find out what they're doing, through capitalism, to create opportunities. I'd like to find out what CEOs believe they are doing to help create jobs each day and meet needs for those who have the least. I'd like to find out how small business owners are leveraging their savings to uplift their communities and promote equal opportunities.

Now, to be fair, I am not a communist. Communists come from poor countries and don't respect democracy or competition. I love competition, because it lets me show how smart America has made me. I just think that the American way, as it has succeeded since the Great Depression, is still the best way to keep this country the greatest in the world. I believe that we should keep providing opportunity for all our children if we want them to grow up to provide prosperity for us.

But that's all been said. What I'd like to write are just the stories of CEOs about how pure capitalism is supposed to provide an alternative means to the unprecedented success of the mixture of capitalist competition and socialist safeguards that has made us the greatest superpower in the history of mankind.

*"They Can But They Don't" is also the title of a book about teaching students with learning disabilities. I would like to reuse that title, because I think the comparison is appropriate. Given extra time, a dyselxic child is entirely capable of reading Moby Dick. But they need special attention, incentives, encouragement and supervision. Similarly, given extra money, Warren Buffett is capable of feeding us all. His heart is in the right place. He'd like to help. That's just not what he does on his own, so he'd rather work together with everybody else, through the government to get it done.

Faster, Higher, Stronger

After my work is done I'm going to start a blog about success. Not how to get it, but about what it is. I think the American dreamer is too focused on how to find success to know it when he's got it. Take my Grandfather--God did.

Grandpa Resnick was a Jewish cavalry doctor in the US Army. He rode horses with a small bag of surgical supplies to fight Nazis. That's pretty much success, right there. Am I right? What could be more awesome for a Jewish kid from a poor immigrant family than not only becoming a doctor but becoming a cavalry doctor fighting Nazis with the best fighting force in the history of the world?

I'll tell you what: becoming a doctor who fought Nazis on skis in the greatest fighting force in the world. So, the American Dream being the uncatchable, impish sprite that it is, Grandpa Resnick did that too. And was he happy?

Of course not! Americans are never satisfied with who we are. If we are computer scientists at Harvard or MIT, we want to drop out and start Microsoft. If we are astrophysicists who discover new stars, we want to get arrested in solidarity with teacher's unions. If we are the first Black President, we want to provide health care for all Americans, solve the immigration dilemma, end two unnecessary wars, start and finish two more and keep our approval ratings up. Of course Grandpa Resnick wasn't satisfied with being a skiing, horseback-riding, gun-toting, Nazi-fighting, Jewish doctor in the U.S. Army.

And what's cooler than all that? Obviously, a ski-jumping, spying one.

Grandpa didn't like to talk about the war. But when I was three and I asked him about it, he didn't tell me that. He didn't say, "I don't like to talk about that." He didn't say, "who wants to bring up a fight I'm lucky to have survived two generations ago." He didn't even say, "war is complicated. I've been more of a hero by saving lives at home than taking them abroad."

Instead, probably because he knew that I was three, and that I wouldn't stop asking until I got an answer, or maybe just as much because I was three and I would believe anything, but probably never remember it, Grandpa told me, "the war was exciting. We used to ski through the alps, spying on the Germans to find out where they were. One day we saw a whole company of them up ahead, in a valley, and we were going so fast that we couldn't stop. The only thing we could do was jump over them. But the Sergeant was worried that if we jumped over forwards, they might shoot us in the back, so he made us ski-jump the valley going backwards. When I was in the air, I heard the German commander say, 'don't shoot. Save your bullets. They'll kill themselves just trying to land.'"

From the age of three until about twelve, that was what war meant to me. A quick, death-defying, impossible acrobatic feat, coupled with mutual understanding and mutual respect between nations. Yes, I knew that at other times in a war, soldiers on different sides shot at each other. But they didn't shoot each other in the middle of a backwards ski-jump. Even in a war, some things were still sacred.

When I was twelve I told the story to my father, who looked at me for a long time, and probably thought about why my grandfather had told it to me that way. He thought about a father who never talked about the war, and had a hard time talking about anything else emotional. He thought about a father whose accomplishments he had struggled to live up to. He realized for maybe the first time that his own father must have felt some of the same inadequacies, in spite of being, by all appearances, incredibly great at everything. He didn't want to fight the perfected image of a man he knew was closer to perfection than anybody had any business being anyway.

I think as soon as he heard that story, he loved it even more than he loved his own memories of his father, because it was a rare chance to see his father as Grandpa wished he could be. So my father didn't point out that Grandpa only skied in basic training, and probably not enough to jump at all, or that Grandpa didn't speak German and couldn't possibly have understood a German commander, even if he could have heard him with the wind rushing through his ears in the middle of what would have had to have been a sixty mile per hour ski jump to clear an entire German force. My dad just said, "Wow. He never told me that story."

A lot of people tell me I'm lucky to have the family I have, and know that I can grow up to be anything. But I know the truth. I know that I'm American, and that I am blessed and cursed to spend my life pulling upwards, white-knuckled on my own bootstraps. I know that whatever I accomplish in this world, I will always wish I could have achieved it faster, backwards and on skis.

Educational Reform

After my work is done I'm going to start a blog about educational reform. Politicians on both sides of the aisle talk about the need for an educational system that truly prepares kids for the workplace.

Delusionally and embarrassingly, they all tend to agree that this means giving kids more tests of their ability to analyze logical statements, solve math problems and bubble in circles with a number two pencil.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Intertubules, I have been to the work-place, and they did not ask me to solve any calculus problems. What they did ask me were a lot of banal questions about the weather, about my weekend, about how long I had been working there, not counting today....

Having a job doesn't start with a timed test in a crowded room and no talking. Having a job starts with a hand-shake and a conversation. You sit down with someone who already has a job and you make friends with them. If they like you, then you get to have a job, too.

Then you spend some time making friends with the other people who have that job, and vaguely, while you're at it, doing something you all agree is "work." If you don't do the work very well, the other people tell you how you're supposed to do it. This is okay. If you stop being friendly, though, and start being mean to everybody there, you won't have a job.

So when I reform our education system, I'm going to help our kids spend more time hanging out. They're going to practice smiling through boring, meaningless meetings. They'll practice answering questions in ways that couldn't possibly offend anybody. They may even go out for pageants.

The students of my reformed educational system won't cure cancer. They won't go to space. Heck, they won't even know how to unclog a drain. But they will know how to succeed in the American workplace. And isn't that our goal?

Clothes make the man.

After my work is done I'm going to start a blog about the role that context plays in human relationships. Today I attended my big sister's dissertation defense at a major research university. She did really well and I was really proud of her. Naturally, as a proud little brother, I wore a fancy jacket and tie to go see her.

I've been really down on myself lately, feeling old and unattractive, so it kind of cheered me up when some young lady smiled at me in the hall. And then another one did, peering out of a classroom. And another. And then it stopped cheering me up, and just depressed me.

Because these were the looks I'd be getting if I were the sort of person who had to wear a tie every day as part of his role at a major research university. Which is always the sort of life I expected for myself.

But instead I substitute teach, and coworkers don't look at me twice, not flirtily, not friendlily, not acquantancially (is that a word? has anyone ever needed it before?) and not even to invite me to that happy hour I know they all go to every week just to be polite. Because I couldn't possibly know anything worth talking about. Because the sticker that says "substitute teacher" on my shirt also says "idiot," much more clearly.

But at a major research university, where no one is a substitute teacher, I could not possibly be an idiot, so if my shoes are tied correctly and my tie is on relatively straight, I must be among the World's Greatest Men.

We had a brief luncheon with cake and one of my sister's friends gave me the same flirty look I had been getting all through the building. I should clarify at this point in the story that I am not available, so my reader will understand why I didn't just stop and talk to any of the other five million women trolling the halls of this building. I was somewhat worried that I wouldn't be able to successfully give the eye contact or body language or magic look that says, "thanks, but I'm in a good relationship. Can we be friends," and it seemed like I might not have a lot of time to, because she seemed totally excited to meet me.

But then a professor stepped in and asked me about what I do.

And the room got silent.

And they all moved away from me.

When that girl left, early, I said, "nice to meet you."

It seemed like the thing to say.

She didn't answer.

I love my sister and I'm really proud of her.

She's earned her way into a very exclusive world.

Very, very exclusive.

Young, Rich, Single Women

After my work is done, I'm going to start a blog about young, single, rich women. I'll probably have to set up a lot of interviews to keep providing appropriate content. And what's the etiquette when interviewing someone? You can't invite yourself over, but you certainly can't invite them over to your place. They'd get the wrong idea. Obviously you have to meet in a cafe or restaurant. Is it appropriate to buy their drinks?

It's not like anything would happen, studies now show:

Young, Single Women Earn More Than Male Peers - WSJ.com: "- Sent using Google Toolbar"

Last night some hopeless academic named Dougherty trumpeted America's feminist gains among single people, celebrating the fact that single American women now earn more money than our single men. While this certainly represents a step toward overall wage equality, I'm not sure whether it's more disturbing that married women still earn less than married men or that lower-income, less-college-educated men are apparently not marriage-eligible. Or maybe it means that higher-income women can't overlook their patriarchal assumptions and find happiness in the economic dependence of someone kind of hopeless but kind of hopelessly good looking, like higher income men used to (and apparently still) do.

Dougherty suggests that one reason for the income discrepancy is that more women than men now attend college. It doesn't look at why that is. In my experience as a student, dropout, grad-student and teacher, students stay with school as long as they receive consistent positive reinforcement from at least one of their teachers. Is there any reason why teachers should positively reinforce young women over young men?

Well, one possibility is that there are many more female teachers than male teachers, especially in the younger grades, where students form lasting impressions of the educational apparatus and of themselves as students or, if their teachers describe them otherwise, non-students.

An elementary educator recently told me that overwhelmingly more boys are dyslexic than girls. A more experienced colleague corrected her. She said there simply aren't numbers on who has more trouble decoding visual stimuli, but that boys are overwhelmingly more often diagnosed because they aren't taught the same academic coping skills that might help dyslexic young women slide by.

I think another obvious piece is that teachers, for all of their educational theories and training, are still human. Human beings empathize most strongly with the children who remind them most strongly of themselves as children. This is why we all like babies even more than kittens. The same principle can extend to gender differences as long as we as a society view those differences as constructive elements of identity.

If our young children have mostly female teachers, and all of our teachers are still growing up in an overtly gendered society, then young women are more likely than young men to receive approval from their teachers. These young women are then more likely to stay in school, more likely to finish college and more likely to let fond memories of school guide them into careers as educators, themselves.

Should men go out and blame feminists for this discrepancy? No. Men should get over their ingrained patriarchal assumptions that teaching is women's work. Men, go back to college. Men, go get a degree in education. It can be physical education or math education if you need to still keep the world divided. Or if you want to really do something novel, go get a degree in how to teach kindergarten. Learn how to teach Spanish. Teach Home Economics. You'll be a precious resource for schools that recognize their need for diversity. You might save the next Emeril Legace from dropping out.

When a few million single American men go back to school and get teaching degrees, they won't just even out the statistics on college degrees among American singles. They won't even just even out the statistics on income among American singles. If my knee-jerk interpretation of the above data is correct, they'll actually stop being a part of that statistical category of "singles," entirely.

And maybe they'll help us reach toward a state of equality. That's not a numerical achievement like equity. Equality is a state of fairness. Equality means that instead of saying "boys need more money so they can feed girls," or "girls need more money so they don't have to depend on boys," we recognize that everybody needs money (or, really, farmland) to feed themselves. Equality means that instead of assuming that young men, whatever struggles they may face, will eventually put on a shiny suit and become successful businesspeople with horses and castles, we all will have to do our best at whatever we're best at to earn our wages.

Equality means that instead of asking teachers to tell us which of our kids are "good" and which ones are "bad," and then taking them at their word regardless of how many female educators keep telling us that our "boys are gross and they can't sit still," we'll have to start asking all teachers what our kids are good at, and developing those talents. Let the grossest among us become comedians and artists. Let the rest find love for themselves, that they may someday find it for others. We don't need everybody to learn to be good officepeople. I'm not even sure we all need offices.

If more of our young women work in offices, this should not be a surprise. Offices are designed for women. An office, in the traditional, patriarchal construction, is a place where you show up at a certain time to sit still and read and write all day long. Whether by nature or nurture, more American young women learn how to sit still than American young men. American young women get more practice reading than our young men. They also get more books written and published specifically for them, even when literary values would dictate otherwise (*twilight*). American young women get more practice being on time than young men. It is tremendously ironic that our economic patriarchy has so scrupilously maintained an arbitrary system of merits by which to ensure its own dissolution.

Of course I say maintained and not established because it was established by a woman. The Virgin Queen of England, finding herself in charge of a number of men distinguished for their feats in equitation and brutality, held contests among them in poetry. All it took was one woman in authority to change gender roles as we still think we know them in spite of four hundred years of evidence to the contrary. One woman in charge, and there was never again hope for patriarchy.

But I have trouble with the concept of a modern patriarchy. I don't think it's dissolving. I think it's so long gone it's as if it never existed. The idea belongs to a world of talking heads on the TV and other relics of an incomprehensible past. I can't even conceptualize anyone I have ever met seriously claiming to belong to such a group as a patriarchy--the men who own the world. None of us can own the world. Not singly or in any number. We can only borrow this world from our great grandchildren and try to get it ready for them, whatever gender or non-gendered futuristic identity-construct they may be.