Here’s the latest, smoothest version of the classic lame excuse for the missing homework or late paper: the corrupted file. Yes folks, students can now purchase a file with conveniently garbled data, maybe even one that is unopenable. The purchaser can choose a corrupted Word, Excel, or Powerpoint file. Then she just renames it with correct identifying filename: say for example, Binky’s Term Paper. The header on the site
reads, “Keep it a secret.” Not for long, my little chickadees!
Archive for June, 2009
Digital version: the dog ate my homework
Saturday, June 27th, 2009United We Serve—Invitation from Michelle Obama: National Health Care Day of Service
Wednesday, June 24th, 2009
I received this notice from Michelle Obama, and wanted to share with all the readers of this blog. This Saturday, June 26, is the day!
Dear Friends,
National and community service has been a cornerstone of my life, as I know it has been for many Americans. And with the daily struggles now confronting so many families, it’s especially important for us to reach out to one another and offer a helping hand.
I’ve just launched United We Serve, a national initiative to tackle our toughest problems by working hand-in-hand in communities across the country. We aim to make a real difference right now and bring more and more Americans into a tradition of life-long service to make an even greater difference down the road.
I’d like to invite you to be a part of it by joining Organizing for America’s National Health Care Day of Service this weekend. You can join up with other local OFA supporters to help improve health care services in your community and make a difference as we work to reform America’s health care system.
There’s an old Thomas Edison quote I’ve always liked: “Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.” It’s no secret that our country faces some enormous challenges right now, and meeting them will take a lot of hard work. But in that work lies an equally great opportunity — a chance to serve. And I do believe the chance to serve is a precious gift indeed.
Service has played a transformative role in my life — bringing me tremendous joy and helping me find the path that led to where I am today. As a parent, I believe service is a great way to demonstrate values and to teach our children firsthand what it means to commit to a purpose beyond ourselves.
It should be a part of everyone’s life. From the moment someone can walk to the day they leave this planet, service should be a part of how we give back, how we say thank you, how we express our gratitude for the lives that we’ve been given.
So I’m deeply honored for this chance to support our United We Serve initiative and Organizing for America, and I hope you’ll be able to participate this weekend. Please sign up now to volunteer at a local event.
First Lady, Michelle Obama
A song for fathers of daughters
Sunday, June 21st, 2009Happy Father’s day
to all you lucky guys who have daughters. The relationship may start out with the nectar-like sweetness of “Daddy’s Little Girl,” but soon becomes more complex and multi-layered. You both have lots to teach other, and will throughout your lives. This poem is a little Father’s Day gift.
FATHER’S SONG
by Gregory Orr
Yesterday, against admonishment,
my daughter balanced on the couch back,
fell and cut her mouth.
Because I saw it happen I knew
she was not hurt, and yet
a child’s blood so red
it stops a father’s heart.
My daughter cried her tears;
I held some ice
against her lip.
That was the end of it.
Round and round: bow and kiss.
I try to teach her caution;
she tried to teach me risk.
June 12th, Anne Frank’s 80th birthday
Friday, June 12th, 2009
When I read Anne Frank’s diary as a young teen, like so many other girls my age, I wept at the injustice, the horror, the arbitrary cruelty of her death. Typhus was the last insult, the one that killed her at Bergen-Belsen after months at Auschwitz. That fact created a little doorway for me, from which I began to understand the enormity of the Holocaust.
We girls were enchanted by the diary of the vivacious, articulate, sometimes moody, often saucy Anne. And even while we fell in love with her bright spirit we knew in advance that her hopes had been crushed and her life extinguished, and that there was nothing we could do to change that fact.
Today, June 12th 2009, is her 80th birthday. If she were alive today (and she could have been, I keep telling myself — she’d be significantly younger than my own parents) perhaps we could honor her courage in a way that might be meaningful to her. I think of the shooting yesterday at the Holocaust Museum in D.C., and then, I have to think of other June 12ths — in the 1930s in Frankfurt or Amsterdam—when Anne would have had games, gifts, flowers and friends.
In honor of her 80th birthday, her diaries are being brought to the Anne Frank Museum — returned to the place they were written — the hiding place at 263 Prinsengracht in Amsterdam. Until today, the Anne Frank Diaries have been sealed in archives at the Netherlands Institute for War Documentation.
I place a pale pink peony, just breaking from the bud, in a water glass on my desk, and think of Anne Frank at age 13, climbing up for a glimpse of the horse chestnut tree in bloom, and the blue sky.
Become who you really are
Monday, June 8th, 2009
Recently Meg Moulton, Executive Director of the National Coalition of Girls’ Schools, gave the commencement address at St. Margaret’s School in the town of Tappahannock on the Rappahannock River in Essex County, Virginia. Invited by long time supporter of NCGS, board member, and former chairman of the board, Margaret Broad, Meg was delighted to speak. As she is retiring at the end of this month, it seems timely to share her “lessons learned” — this excerpt is from the close of her speech to the graduating girls.
. . . . LIFE LESSONS LEARNED
1) From Abitu, age 6, in South Africa I learned the importance of an outstretched hand and the selflessness of those who are often the neediest. I learned about hope and that even the toughest of times brings out the best in people. Abitu was one of six children. Her father is an unemployed and an alcoholic. Her mother has HIV. The only food she gets is a lunch of gruel and bread in school. Sometimes she is so hungry that she chews on her pencil. Her baby sister crawled away from the family’s tin roofed, one-room home. Abitu found her three days later about a half a mile away asleep under a porch. Despite all, Abitu always had a smile on her face, she let others eat before her. Before I left I made a peanut butter sandwich for her. She divided into six pieces and put the pieces in her pocket to share with her brothers and sisters and to hide from her mother for fear she we take it away and eat it herself.
2) From one of Australia’s Grand Dame, Dame Elisabeth, I learned that a positive attitude is infectious. Even at age 100, Dame Elisabeth still takes a swim at 6 each morning. From there she is busy almost every moment. In the evening she devours books and soaks up opera. Sleep she says is a waste of time. From her, I learned that the future is often more important than the past. When I asked her about her quite extraordinary past. She was quick to stop me. “I don’t think about the past, dear, she said, I focus on the future. Look to the young people in your life. They are the future.”
3) From my father, I learned the pleasures of simple things – watching the sunrise, eating carrots out of the garden with nature’s salt (soil) sprinkled on them, enjoying the climb as much as the mountain tops, and touching people through a single word, a thought, a deed.
4) From Ann Cotton, Director of Camfed and Social Entrepreneur, I learned the power of education to change lives. For instance,
~ An extra year of female education in Africa can reduce infant mortality by 5 to 10%
~ Mothers who receive 5 years of primary education are 40% less likely to be HIV positive
~ When a woman in a developing country receives 7 or more years of education, she marries later and has 2.2 fewer children who are better educated and healthier.
5) When girls and women with some education earn an income (and they’re more likely to do so), they reinvest 90% of it in their families compared to 30-40% for men
6) From our children, I learned that honesty is always the best policy, that stubbornness is a positive character trait, and that what goes around comes around.
7) From my husband, Peter, I learned that all things are possible given time and someone’s love providing a soft cushion and iron-like strength when it comes to tackling the bumps in the road.
8) From your head of school, Margaret Broad, I have learned steadfastness, dignity, the power of mindful leadership and a belief in the heart and soul of others and in an organization such as St. Margaret’s.
In closing, remember to hold tightly onto the 5 C’s you take from St. Margaret’s: collaboration, communication, curiosity, confidence and courage.
With regard to the latter and to the constancy of change in your lives, remember e.e. cummings wise words: “It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”
So congratulations, and here’s to your becoming who you really are!
A great cargo, a lucky passage
Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009
This poem by Richard Wilbur is an old favorite of mine. It startles me to realize how much this cherished simile: “the commotion of typewriter-keys/like a chain hauled over a gunwale” dates me. Whoa. Ancient history. I think of Jean McCrosky, who told me when I was 13, “You girls, you young girls, there are so many things you’ll never experience…the world is changing so much — you’ll never know what it’s like to try to put on a girdle in the upper berth of a train.”
The urgent sound of a big ol’ manual typewriter operated at top speed is something that today’s teens will probably never experience, either, except maybe a short burst in an old movie. But Wilbur’s poem is for the ages, speaking eloquently of the elation of the launch, when a girl’s life somehow takes flight. And poignantly, he addresses the helplessness parents and teachers feel when she suffers the ineluctable pains of growing and learning.
THE WRITER
In her room at the prow of the house
Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.
I pause in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.
Young as she is, the stuff
Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
I wish her a lucky passage.
But now it is she who pauses,
As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.
A stillness greatens, in which
The whole house seems to be thinking,
And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor
Of strokes, and again is silent.
I remember the dazed starling
Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;
How we stole in, lifted a sash
And retreated, not to affright it;
And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,
We watched the sleek, wild, dark
And iridescent creature
Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove
To the hard floor, or the desk-top,
And wait then, humped and bloody,
For the wits to try it again; and how our spirits
Rose when, suddenly sure,
It lifted off from a chair-back,
Beating a smooth course for the right window
And clearing the sill of the world.
It is always a matter, my darling,
Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wish
What I wished you before, but harder.
—Richard Wilbur