Essential Workers: A Public Letter in Response to David Reynaldo (College Zoom) and Yahoo!


Earlier this week, Yahoo! published some of the worst advice for parents and for young adults regarding education and employment that I’ve seen in years (here: http://education.yahoo.net/articles/beware_these_five_majors.htm?kid=1O0V3). It isn’t just bad advice with worse information. It betrays a mercenary, simple view of life and the nature of happiness itself.

I responded viscerally, in the best 21st century fashion: twitter.

But, I am an essential worker.

*Bad* advice in this article. Absolutely sad.

Don’t Let Your Kids Study These Majors http://education.yahoo.net/articles/beware_these_five_majors.htm …

David Reynaldo, the gentleman quoted in the article, who founded CollegeZoom.us, responded to my tweet with a link to a blog post he wrote prior to the Yahoo article.

(Here: http://www.collegezoom.us/strategy/top-7-reasons-students-choose-wrong-major/)

It’s a very good list with sound advice.

The Yahoo! journalist edited Reynaldo’s views apparently to create (I assume) a more sensational article which would drive traffic on the site. My theories about the author, her editor, and the intention of the quotes are entirely subjective. I can say, however, that Reynaldo himself was dismayed.

(See his response here: http://talk.collegeconfidential.com/parents-forum/1504970-hey-parents.html)

David asked me what I think given his earlier blog post and his response in the discussion thread.

I think a number of things, but I’ll try to keep it somewhat brief.

~~

Dear David,

I appreciate your post on collegezoom.us regarding the Yahoo article’s advice for choosing a major in college. I find it difficult to comment on the article because the assertions it makes are both professionally inaccurate and, worse, morally vapid. Please note, I do not say that I believe your comments were ill-informed or shallow. The author of the article, however, certainly spun the meaning she wanted to attain the most catchy headline.

Sadly, for so many of us, it probably worked.

To begin with the easy stuff -

Her promises of high paying jobs from bachelors of arts in finance, accounting, or business administration are empty. Any position with real authority, and therefore, real earning power, in those departments will be staffed with someone who has a Masters of Business Administration. Business people, myself included, find BAs in Business Administration even funnier than Basket Weaving. If you want to learn how business works, get a job, almost any job will do. Start at the bottom – like everyone else – and figure out what makes work work.

Degrees in Elementary Education are similarly empty, but for very different and more sinister reasons. The legal environment in which teachers work today makes it almost impossible for a teacher to create their own lesson plans or their own motivational tactics. Unless one works for a private school (which pays far less, and probably has fewer benefits), the school district will tell you what you will teach, what materials you will use, and how you will use incentives. A teacher has very little opportunity to teach anymore. A degree in this field helps one pass the tests to become credentialed in one’s state, but little more. Incidentally, the degree does not guarantee you will pass these tests, nor is the degree in education required to take these tests.

As for health care industry jobs, there are a plethora of technical schools to fulfill the requirements  for these positions.  A four year degree is not necessary, and is very expensive. If one wants to continue into hospital administration, one will likely need an MBA, and possibly a law or medical degree as well.

The fundamental assumptions and assertions made in the article are naive.

The truly horrifying component of the piece, however, is more insidious.

The implication is that one only goes to school to be able to make more money, and that the only path to success and happiness is paved with wads of cash. Despite many studies and generations of folklore to the contrary, many people still fall for the more money = more happiness illusion. People fall for it every day.

The disdain in the article for the arts and humanities demonstrated by the author reveals a lack of humanity. For what is it that we live, if not for the very things we require art and histories to discuss? Money can pay your mortgage – and your student loans – but it can never buy you honor, respect, sincere affection, gratitude, or peace.

The arts and humanities may or (more often) may not pay well in cash, but one only goes into those fields professionally for money if one is a true narcissist — in which case, one probably chooses the route of YouTube, reality TV, or politics to gain fame.

An education in the liberal arts feeds the mind and soul, and teaches one how to continue feeding one’s self long after graduation.

Not to mention, it’s much more interesting to talk to a history major than an accountant.

My college advice, for whatever its worth, to parents would be this:

Urge your son or daughter to postpone enrollment in college of any kind until she is certain of her passion or interest.

Provide her with realistic information about the potential risks and benefits of the course of study.

And then -

Back off.

Let your child become the individual he or she wants to be, regardless of your fears.

Thank you for your consideration, and,

Best Regards,

Shannon Christensen

The Art Of Bravery: An Interview With Salman Rushdie


Los Angeles Review of Books – The Art Of Bravery: An Interview With Salman Rushdie.

This interview in the LA Review of Books appeared last week. Please note, I was not the interviewer. By following the link above, you may find proper credit and a brilliant man’s thoughts regarding art, courage, and resistance to oppression.

Rushdie is the author of, among others, Midnight’s Children and The Satanic Verses.

Publicity: The Black Song Inside by Carlyle Clark


Readers of this blog will recall that I reviewed Carlyle Clarks’ Redemption’s Lament a few months ago. (Here: http://wp.me/p262AS-mc)

Clark has agreed to an interview for this blog. We will be discussing his uniquely American style of writing and its influences.

In the meantime, here is a preview of his recent crime thriller, The Black Song Inside. A more detailed review will follow along with his interview – but, in short, it’s an exciting twist to the conspiracy theory whodunnit cowboys and Indians genre. Three and three-quarters stars out of five. Stay tuned. :)

The
Black Song Inside
by Carlyle Clark
Author Bio:
Carlyle Clark was raised in Poway, a city just north of San Diego, but is now a proud Chicagolander working in the field of Corporate Security and writing crime fiction and fantasy. He has flailed ineffectually at performing the writers’ requisite myriad of random jobs: pizza deliverer, curb address painter, sweatshop laborer, day laborer, night laborer, twilight laborer (of the fang-less variety), security guard, campus police, Gallup pollster, medical courier, vehicle procurer, and signature-for-petitions-getter.
He is a happily married man with two cats and a dog. He is also a martial arts enthusiast and a CrossFit endurer who enjoys fishing, sports, movies, TV series with continuing storylines, and of course, reading. Most inconsequentially, he holds the unrecognized distinction of being one of the few people in the world who have been paid to watch concrete dry in the dark. Tragically, that is a true statement.
Author Links:

Title: The Black Song Inside

Genre: Mystery Thriller

Publisher: Make Luck Press

Release Date: November 14th, 2012

Amazon

Synopsis:

Shortlisted for the2012 Faulkner-Wisdom Award


Newly engaged private investigators Atticus Wynn and Rosemary Sanchez have seen the dark and violent side of life. Atticus’s dry wit is born of a traumatic childhood that’s left him emotionally scarred and estranged from his homicide detective sister. The medals Rosemary earned during her tour of duty in Iraq are little reward for returning home to San Diego missing a leg and tormented by PTSD and her continuing failure to save her younger brother from his own violent nature. Still, nothing they’ve been through has prepared them for an explosive murder investigation that tests the couple’s trust as they struggle to solve a case where the best result leaves them in prison or dead.

Atticus’s manipulative and gorgeous ex-girlfriend, Claire, bursts back into their lives wielding a secret about Rosemary’s family that she exploits to force the couple into investigating the execution-style slaying of her lover. The case thrusts Atticus and Rosemary headlong into the world of human trafficking and drug smuggling as well as rendering them pawns in Tijuana Cartel captain Armando Villanueva’s bloody bid to take over the Cartel. Villanueva Machiavellian scheme sends one of his minions, Rosemary’s own gangsta brother, after Atticus, and as if that weren’t bad enough, Villanueva dispatches “The Priest”, a former child soldier for a Colombian rebel group who is now a messianic mercenary whose religious psychosis has launched him on a trajectory that can only end in mayhem.

The Black Song Inside is a vivid crime thriller rife with the murder and madness, melded with gallows humor and the heroism of two flawed protagonists who, in struggling to unravel a skein of human suffering, learn the nature of redemption and the ability to forgive others and themselves.

Excerpt:

Meadows shoved the door open and marched in with a man he introduced as Detective Morales, his partner. Morales stood behind Meadows, thumbs hooked in his belt, and smiled vaguely at Atticus. He seemed to be trying for harmless, but stocky and clad in a bright-banded shirt, his dark-skinned face spattered with nodules and pockmarked, black-pebble eyes measuringly cold, and a bald head, he looked like a Gila monster eyeing a wounded rabbit.

Meadows sat at the head of the table and plunked down a tape recorder. “We’re going to play a 911 call. Please tell us if you recognize the voice of the caller or have any idea what she’s talking about.”

Atticus nodded, suspecting the real reason they wanted to play it for him without a hint of what it was about was to keep him from having the chance to guard his reaction. That didn’t worry him. His childhood had trained him to hide his feelings well. The question was how was he going to glean more information than he gave?

9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher said.

There’s a girl,” a woman said, choking back tears. “She needs help.”

Is she there with you?”

No, no, oh God help me. I left her out there.”

Left her where, ma’am?”

In the desert. She was dying and I…I just left her there. You have to understand! She was already dying. There was nothing I could have done. It was hours ago. She’s dead by now anyway.”

Meadows leaned toward Atticus. Morales seemed to stop breathing, but who can tell with a Gila monster?

Then came the sound of five quick thwacks that sounded like the receiver was being banged against something while the woman repeated, “fuck” over and over.

Listen, ma’am,” the dispatcher said, “you need to calm down and tell me who you are, where you are, and where the girl is. We can send people to give you whatever help you need.”

The woman was suddenly back, her voice tight and venomous. “You can send me whatever help I need? That’s so wonderful. Can you send someone who can tell me how to get my soul back?”

Ma’am, I—”

It’s a very simple fucking question! Can you send me someone who can help me get my fucking soul back, or can’t you?”

Ma’am, you need to calm—”

GOD HELP ME!” the woman shrieked.

There was banging again, but this sounded different, not something hard against something hard, but soft against hard. The woman’s crying grew fainter, along with the sound of footsteps walking away, and then came the roar of a car engine and the squeal of tires. The tape ended.

What was that at the end there?” Atticus asked. He hadn’t recognized the voice or had a clue what was going on, which was good, for him at least. For that woman and that girl, the moon was closer than good.

Morales and Meadows glanced at each other. Morales shrugged. Meadows said, “She was calling from one of those three-quarter phone booths. We’ve got a witness who said she went crazy at the end, banging the plastic with her fists, palms, elbows, her head, everything. Then she staggered away crying, got into a car, and drove away.”

Was she alone?”

Yes.”

Do you know what girl she was talking about?”

The question is, Atticus, do you?”

Not a clue.”

When was the last time you saw Clarice Rousseau?”

Atticus blinked, paused, blurted too late, “About two hours ago.”

Morales tilted his head, his brow furrowing, a caricature of confusion.

Meadows leaned forward and said, “Took you awhile to remember. Weird, isn’t it?”

So much for not giving anything away, Atticus thought.

Man-Love, Baseball, and Unfettered ___-jectivity


A showcase of baseball as metaphor, sport as art, the use of the “everyday” to discuss the “permanent” and, most delightfully for me personally, one of many reasons why I love my husband. No one else I know would “get it” – and my sense of humor – as well as he does. The snippet below (from him, describing a thread he was reading on SOSH)  is gorgeous not only because it is obscure and hyperbolic, but also because it is beautiful and right. It’s excellent.

 

aside: the context: The Sons of Sam Horn (SOSH) is an overly erudite self-aware (self-important, too ;P ) Red Sox super-fan site. The except below is from a conversation online about the stellar Jackie Bradley Jr. 

JBJ ManLove