REBLOG: An Open Letter to Campbell Brown from a Teacher on Leave

If I had written this, it would likely include more profanity and personal attacks. So I’m glad Bailey Shawley is a more civilized person than I am.

baileyshawley's avatarLife Under the Ponytail

Dear Ms. Brown,

I saw your interview with Stephen Colbert. I wish I could have been one of those protesters outside the studio. You see, I don’t support people who are not educational experts attempting to reform or really even discuss education in such a public forum. That may be because I am a teacher.

I am certified by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania to teach Secondary English for 99 years; in other words, I have earned my permanent certification. I have a Master of Education plus sixty additional graduate credits. I have been in the trenches for eleven years. In those eleven years, I taught English and reading and remedial reading to students in grades seven, eight, nine, ten, and eleven. I also tutored students who were performing below grade level and who were not proficient on our standardized state assessments. I was considered a teacher leader in my building…

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Reblog: Ducks and Horses

This was too awesome not to reblog.  Original version here, at Giant Flightless Birds.

Ducks and Horses

A certain amount of nonsense has been written about duck-sized horses and horse-sized ducks, and it’s time to set the record straight.

In an online Q&A session back in August, President Obama was asked, “Would you rather fight 100 duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck?” The Atlantic wrote a cheerful article about Obama’s choice (horse-sized duck), but the biologists they hastily recruited as fact-checkers were obviously operating outside their specialty. I feel it’s rather a shame Obama staffers neglected to consult me, as that question was, in essence, my PhD topic; I could have given the President better advice, and explained why his intuition—that a single giant duck would be an easier fight—is wrong, wrong, wrong.

The Fight

Ground rules: in the immortal tradition of Flash Gordon or Star Trek, the President finds himself alone in an arena, armed only with what he can improvise (“Your drones will not help you now, Mr President”). He’s faced with two doors: behind each are the opponent(s) he must defeat in order to, I don’t know, save the Earth. Which should he choose?

Horse-Sized Duck

A good-sized horse weighs 500 kg, or half a metric ton. What would a half-tonne duck look like, exactly? The problem is most people aren’t thinking of the biological scaling laws, known as allometry, that come into play when you make animals larger or smaller. While I’m sure John Eadie, the conservation ecologist quoted by The Atlantic, knows his field, he’s just wrong to imagine a giant duck would be dealing terrible blows with its enormous wings. It would be flightless, and its wings would be reduced to tiny stubs or have vanished altogether.

obamadromornis

The closest thing to half-tonne ducks we have in the fossil record are Gastornis, sometimes known as Diatryma, from Europe and North America, and the dromornithids of Australia. Both were gigantic moa-sized birds, related to ducks and geese, with huge sturdy legs and gigantic sharp beaks. They’re sometimes thought to be scavengers or fruit-eaters, but were likely predators similar to the better-known but unrelated phorusrachids of South America. Dromornis stirtoni, one of the largest birds ever, approached 500 kg and has even been nicknamed “the demon duck of doom” by Australian paleontologists, in their playful way.

Duck-Sized Horses

What’s a typical duck? I had to measure many, many duck bones to come up with a model for estimating body mass from femur diameter. There are over 100 species of ducks, and they range from less than 300 g (10 ounces) to about 4 kg (9 lbs); the “average duck” weighs about 700 g, the same as a guinea pig. That’s smaller than you would think, but more of a bird’s volume is made up of feathers than most people realise, now that we no longer pluck our own game.

What would a duck-sized horse look like? The smallest horse that springs to mind for most people is the ancestral Eohippus, famously “fox-terrier” sized, but actually about 30 kg according to more recent models (such as MacFadden’s in his 1994 book on fossil horses), so about 40 times too large for our purposes. When we scale animals up and down in size, allometry—the laws of physics—has far more effect on their appearance than their ancestry does. A dog-sized horse has body proportions about that of a dog; a guinea-pig sized horse would look pretty much like a guinea pig.

eohippusguineapig

Wouldn’t about 100 of them be fairly formidable, though? The herding behaviour of horses and other large herbivores lets them spot predators and defend themselves if necessary, but that only works if predators are roughly the same size as them. For a predator 100 times your size, the only response is not to try and swarm it, but to flee in terror.

Conclusion

President Obama weighs about 80 kg. Should he try to take down a 500 kg bird, with its powerful kick and huge razor-sharp beak, using just his bare hands? Or should he rather face 70 kg of terrified guinea pigs, which would require nothing but stout footwear? If the Earth’s fate is in the balance, the choice is clear, and it’s a specific instance of a general law I once came up with: nothing in evolution (or imaginary arena combat) makes sense except in the light of allometry.

 

Deviled eggs should be breakfast every day

And today, they were.

First, this, and lemme make sure it’s clear: I did not write it. But it’s right enough and well-written enough that I feel stupid rewriting what are basically the exact same sentiments only with less poetry and more swearing. There will be an actual post from me a bit later, I think– possibly with swearing and definitely without poetic language– but first check Bax out:

Thanksgiving is one of those crossroads in my brain.

One path leads here:

The other is exemplified by my niece, the Fiend, who as a child loved the holiday so much the following week was spent wishing everyone who got near her “HAPPY NANXGIVING!” and asking why we couldn’t have it every day.

It seems an appropriate holiday for America, celebrating the right of bigger, stronger, better armed folk to get away with whatever the hell they please, reaping a gluttonous bounty and then making up a self-serving story about it. It’s the time when wealthy famous people who spend the rest of their year ardently avoiding taxes hit the soup kitchens for a photo op demonstrating their filial love for the unfortunates.

Then, it’s also my niece, burning with the uncomplicated ecstasy of family in the midst of bounty, a day off to spend together with nothing more on the agenda than cooking and eating and love. Whatever its foundation, it’s evolved. As someone with a dire childhood can become a fine (if complicated) adult, Thanksgiving can be its own thing apart from the beautifully embroidered myth draped over all the skeletons.

Avoiding disaster requires acknowledging the skeletons, inviting the shadow to the feast lest it lash out like the witch at Sleeping Beauty’s christening. The bounty isn’t just the time with loved ones or the table groaning beneath the feast, the bounty is everything which was taken from someone else to make it possible.

As a nation we love the simple and obvious, we’re fond of leaving well enough alone, we mistrust turning over stones and investigating basements. And then we wonder at the shambling, dragging footsteps on the front porch, the eerie scratching at the door, and crank up the teevee to drown it out.

Me, I’ll be thanking the native Americans who we jacked for the land, and the Africans who we enslaved to spruce the joint up, and people being forced to work at big chain stores who spout NEIGHBORHOOD and FAMILY while exploiting their workers, and those homeless people hopefully getting a full meal for once, and my family, and the turkey, and everything else.

It isn’t simple, and I’m cool with that.