The brilliant satirist and performer Randy Rainbow explains the political events of the moment.
A hilarious spoof using a famous song from Fiddler on the Roof.
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Fred Smith, assessment expert (retired from the New York City Board of Education) and part-time poet, published this poem today in the New York Daily News.
The night before New Year’s: A Message from Your President!
By FRED SMITH
NEW YORK DAILY NEWS – DEC 31, 2020
‘Tis the eve of the new year and in his White House
Sits a lame duck-tailed bad man with unsmiling spouse.
“This may be my last chance before my thoughts drift
To give all those who miffed me one parting gift.
Whether I liked them or hated, they can’t escape blame,
They’re bound to be “Fired” in my blazing endgame:
To my faithless AG and once true legal goon,
I leave Barr to flame out in a hot air balloon.
As to Mitch, the traitor, who acknowledged Joe’s win,
Here’s a carton of face masks to smother his chin;
And for Rudolph, the red-faced, sputt’ring buffoon,
Nothing’s better to drown in than a pool-sized spittoon.
The prize for Pompeo requires some thinking,
Backtracking on hacking without even blinking;
As for Doctor Birx, as well as for Fauci,
A pox on both jerks for making me grouchy.
To my dearest friends, Pelosi and Schumer,
A set of false teeth and an unbenign tumor;
Bah, to Gorsuch, Kavanaugh and Coney Barrett;
I’ll defrock the three for not being my parrots.
To NBC cable’s O’Donnell and Maddow,
Go choke on your words, and sleep in the shadow;
Which goes for CNN cronies, Tapper and Blitzer,
Have Cheez Doodles washed down with a Clorox-laced spritzer.
The Judiciary Committee and Adam Schiff
Will ride a one-way train, heading straight off a cliff;
For Masha, Colonel Vindman and Fiona Hill,
You uttered the truth; here’s a poisonous pill.
This thing ‘bout the virus and how many have died?
QAnon swears that every one of them lied;
That proves there are 300,000 folks hidin’;
No goodies for the “dead” who voted for Biden.
Of course, can’t forget those phony Obamas,
Who I’d exile to starve on an isle full of llamas;
And I have to keep waiting until one week hence
To decide what determines the fate of Mike Pence.
At last, I’ll heap ashes upon mini-Mnuchin,
Whose stimulus deal was smaller than a capuchin;
When I told my pet monkey to get a bill signed,
This blind four-year flunky failed to read my mind.
Allegiance to me must remain undiminished;
One step out of line and you know you are finished,
‘Cept for Putin, who says I lost the election;
For some weird reason I can’t spurn his defection.
Yet still, there are more who have sorely peeved me,
Who think I’m a fool and those who have grieved me:
And that would include all the world’s foreign leaders
Who laughed at my power, those dumb bottom feeders.
I’ll give them all coal to stuff in their crotches;
And spoiled milk to SNL which nobody watches.
There’s a surprise in store for Stephen Colbert;
It’s something set for ticking under his chair.
Forget about pardons and exoneration,
I truly deserve an extended vacation
Where I won’t have to pretend to read even one book;
And I’ll have full time for golfing and being a crook.
Now it’s almost midnight on this dark New Year’s Eve,
And a terrible time to be taking my leave.
But I swear I’ll keep tweeting my message of cheer
To do more for America this coming year.”
Smith, who worked for the New York City Department of Education, writes occasional poems.
I’m used to hearing people say, “It’s all about the Benjamins,” referring to someone who has sold their principles for money. A Benjamin refers to $100 bills, which have the face of Benjamin Franklin.
So we refer to politicians who support positions we don’t like as having taken money to align with the lobbyists or the donor with a lot of Benjamins. Of course, these days we have documentary evidence drawn from campaign finance records.
But what do you call a bill worth $1,000? Does it even exist?
It did, but not any more. I asked my friend teacher-blogger Arthur Goldstein the question, and he found this article.
The $1,000 bill had the face of Grover Cleveland. I assume it was discontinued in 1969 because of the ubiquity of checks and credit cards. There just wasn’t much need or demand for the $1,000 bill. Meanwhile, my ATM spits out Benjamins.
So, next time a politician sells out, say, “It’s all about the Grovers.”
Unfortunately, no one will know what you are talking about.
Did you ever stop to think about the origins of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?
Probably not.
But it’s a true story with a happy ending.
It starts like this:
Rudolph came to life in 1939 when the Chicago-based Montgomery Ward company asked one of their copywriters, 34-year-old Robert L. May, to come up with a Christmas story they could give away in booklet form to shoppers as a promotional gimmick — the Montgomery Ward stores had been buying and distributing coloring books to customers at Christmastime every year, and May’s department head saw creating a giveaway booklet of their own as a way to save money. Robert May, who had a penchant for writing children’s stories and limericks, was tapped to create the booklet.
May, drawing in part on the tale of The Ugly Duckling and his own background (he was often taunted as a child for being shy, small, and slight), settled on the idea of an underdog ostracized by the reindeer community because of his physical abnormality: a glowing red nose. Looking for an alliterative name, May considered and rejected Rollo (too cheerful and carefree a name for the story of a misfit) and Reginald (too British) before deciding on Rudolph. He then proceeded to write Rudolph’s story in verse as a series of rhyming couplets, testing it out on his 4-year-old daughter, Barbara, as he went along. Although Barbara was thrilled with Rudolph’s story, May’s boss was worried that a story featuring a red nose — an image associated with drinking and drunkards — was unsuitable for a Christmas tale. May responded by taking Denver Gillen, a friend from Montgomery Ward’s art department, to the Lincoln Park Zoo to sketch some deer. Gillen’s illustrations of a red-nosed reindeer overcame the hesitancy of May’s superiors, and the Rudolph story was approved. Montgomery Ward distributed 2.4 million copies of the Rudolph booklet in 1939, and although wartime paper shortages curtailed printing for the next several years, a total of 6 million copies had been distributed by the end of 1946.
The post-war demand for licensing the Rudolph character was tremendous, but since May had created the story on a “work made for hire” basis as an employee of Montgomery Ward, that company held the copyright to Rudolph, and May received no royalties for his creation. Deeply in debt from the medical bills resulting from his wife’s terminal illness (she died about the time May created Rudolph), May persuaded Montgomery Ward’s corporate president, Sewell Avery, to turn the copyright over to him in January 1947, and with the rights to his creation in hand, May’s financial security was assured. (Unlike Santa Claus and other familiar Christmas figures of the time, the Rudolph character was a protected trademark that required licensing and the payment of royalties for commercial use.)
“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” was reprinted commercially beginning in 1947 and shown in theaters as a nine-minute cartoon the following year, but the Rudolph phenomenon really took off when May’s brother-in-law, songwriter Johnny Marks, developed the lyrics and melody for a Rudolph song. Marks’ musical version of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” (turned down by many in the music industry who didn’t want to meddle with the established Santa legend) was recorded by cowboy crooner Gene Autry in 1949, sold two million copies that year, and went on to become one of the best-selling songs of all time (second only to “White Christmas”). A stop-action television special about Rudolph produced by Rankin/Bass and narrated by Burl Ives was first aired in 1964 and remains a popular perennial holiday favorite in the U.S.
May quit his copywriting job in 1951 and spent seven years managing the Rudolph franchise his creation had spawned before returning to Montgomery Ward, where he worked until his retirement in 1971. May died in 1976, comfortable in the life his reindeer creation had provided for him.
The story of Rudolph is primarily known to us through the lyrics of Johnny Marks’ song (which provides only the barest outlines of Rudolph’s story) and the 1964 television special. The story Robert May wrote is substantially different from both of them in a number of ways.
Rudolph was neither one of Santa’s reindeer nor the offspring of one of Santa’s reindeer, and he did not live at the North Pole. Rudolph dwelled in an “ordinary” reindeer village elsewhere, and although he was taunted and laughed at for having a shiny red nose, he was not regarded by his parents as a shameful embarrassment; Rudolph was brought up in a loving household and was a responsible reindeer with a good self-image and sense of worth. Moreover, Rudolph also did not rise to fame when Santa picked him out from a reindeer herd because of his shiny nose; instead, Santa discovered the red-nosed reindeer quite by accident, when he noticed the glow emanating from Rudolph’s room while he was delivering presents to Rudolph’s house. Worried that the thickening fog that night (already the cause of several accidents and delays) would keep him from completing his Christmas Eve rounds, Santa tapped Rudolph to lead his team, which the young reindeer agreed to do, after first stopping to complete one last task: leaving behind a note for his mother and father.
As Ronald Lankford noted in his cultural history of American Christmas songs, Rudolph’s story was a classic reflection of American values during the 1940s and beyond:
Much like the modern Santa Claus song, Rudolph’s story is for children; more specifically, it is a children’s story about overcoming adversity and earning, by personal effort, respect in the adult world. As a young deer (child) with a handicap that turns out to be an unrecognized asset, Rudolph comes to the rescue of an adult (Santa) at the last minute (on Christmas Eve). When Rudolph saves the day, he gains respect from both his peers (the reindeer who refused to include him in games) and the adult world. The story of Rudolph, then, is the fantasy story made to order for American children: each child has the need to express and receive approval for his or her individuality and/or special qualities. Rudolph’s story embodies the American Dream for the child, written large because of the cultural significance of Christmas.
We have a pride of poets on this blog. The following was written by testing expert Fred Smith, who advised the New York City Board of Education back in the days before Testmania. Fred now advises opt out parent groups.
‘Twas the night before Christmas and in the Snow House
Sat a duck-assed old fat man with botoxic spouse.
This may be my last chance to go through the list,
And give gifts to people who’ve made me real pissed.
Whether I like them or hate, it’s ever the same, They’re bound to go down in my endless blame game:
To my faithless AG and once true legal goon, Yeah, Bill Barr you left me, so come kiss my moon.
As to Mitch, the traitor, who upped and caved in, Here’s a carton of face masks to cover your chin; And for Rudolph, the red-faced, sputt’ring buffoon, What would be more fitting than a golden spittoon;
The prize for Pompeo requires some thinking, Backtracking on hacking without even blinking; And as for that Birx, as well as for Fauci, A pox on both jerks for making me grouchy;
And to my dear friends, Pelosi and Schumer, A set of false teeth and an unbenign tumor;
Bah, to Gorsuch, Kavanaugh and Coney Barrett I’ll strip off their robes for not being my parrot;
To NBC cable, O’Donnell and Maddow,
Go choke on your words and walk in the shadow; Which goes for Jake Tapper and for Wolf Blitzer, Two cups of egg nog and a cyanide spritzer;
The Judiciary Committee and Adam Schiff A one-way train ride heading off of a cliff;
As for Masha, Vindman and Fiona Hill, You dared utter the truth; here’s a poisonous pill;
This thing ‘bout the virus and how many have died? Qanon swears that every one of them lied;
I now know there are 300,000 folks hidin’; No presents for the “dead” who voted for Biden;
Of course, can’t forget those phony Obamas, Who should be sent packing to some land full of llamas;
And I have to keep waiting until two weeks hence To decide what determines the fate of Mike Pence;
But there’s a place in my heart for Betsy DeVos; I’d love to spend a few minutes inside her clothes.
On Ivanka, on Kayleigh, on a Stormy day,On Kelly or any blond who’ll pull my sleigh.
Loyalty to me must be undiminished;
One step out of line and you know you are finished, ‘Cept for Putin, who says I lost the election;
For some weird reason I can’t spurn his defection.
But I digress, there are more who sorely peeved me, Who think I’m a fool and those who have grieved me:
Including all foreign leaders, ‘cause they are foreign, Save for Bibi and Britain’s Elizabeth Warren.
I’ll give them all coal to stuff in their crotches; And spoiled milk to SNL which nobody watches.
And let me see what I have for Stephen Colbert; Ah, it’s something set for ticking under his chair.
Forget about pardons and exoneration, Maybe I just need an extended vacation Where I won’t have to pretend to read any book, And I’ll have full time for golf and being a crook.
Now it’s almost midnight on this Xmas Eve, And it’s time for me to be taking my leave, But I’ll keep right on tweeting my message of cheer To see what more I can do in the new year.
– Fred Smith
Andy Borowitz, a humorist for The New Yorker, says that Betsy DeVos is worried that Biden might actually appoint an educator to run the U.S. Department of Education.
He begins:
WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—Calling the prospect a “nightmare scenario,” Betsy DeVos warned that President-elect Joe Biden will pick an Education Secretary with a background in education.
The outgoing Education Secretary warned that putting someone with a “pro-education bias” in her job would be like “naming a fox to be Secretary of Hens.”
“For the past four years, I have worked tirelessly to keep our schools free from education,” she said. “It deeply saddens me to think that all of my hard work will go to waste.”
Caroline Rose Guiliani offers thoughtful tips about self-care for those who acknowledge that TrumpWorld will no longer inhabit the White House. She clearly has her father Rudy and his client Donald Trump in mind in this article in Vanity Fair.
It is very funny.
Here are two of her excellent suggestions:
Adopt a stray. Please, just treat it better than Trump has treated his lapdogs: William Barr, Ted Cruz, and Lindsey Graham.
Engage with your surroundings. It’s time for a redesign! Demolish remaining Confederate statues and consider replacing them with busts of Dolly Parton and John Lewis. For outdoor architectural projects, I recommend Four Seasons Total Landscaping. (Get a jump on your holiday shopping at the literary establishment next door.) Sexual self-care is critical if you don’t want to end up in the crematorium across the street. This is not a sponsored ad. But it could be! Call me, Fantasy Island.
Read them all!
Matt Farmer, Chicago lawyer, friend of teachers, and occasional country-western singer and composer, has written a new song.
I remember Matt well from his days when he held a mock trial for billionaire Penny Pritzker. He conducted it at a meeting of the Chicago Teachers Union. Billionaire Penny Pritzker was named as Secretary of Commerce by President Obama. He also wrote a song for billionaire Republican Bruce Rauner when he ran for Governor of Illinois.
I recently had the pleasure of reading Kevin Welner’s terrific new Onion-like book, “Potential Grizzlies: Making the Nonsense Bearable.” In tweets, I described Kevin as the Stephen Colbert and Groucho Marx of American education. Kevin and I had fun discussing the book on a Zoom sponsored by the Network for Public Education. (WATCH: Diane Ravitch in Conversation with Kevin Welner). Kevin has pledged all royalties he earns to the Network for Public Education. I hope you will watch, then buy the book, which makes a great holiday gift! To give you a feel for the book, here’s a new piece Kevin just wrote.
Perilous De-DeVos-ing Cleanup Is Underway
The Biden education transition team today assured a worried public that it is carefully following established procedures for the clean-up of the U.S. Department of Education. “The de-DeVos-ing process is indeed grueling, but all necessary precautions are being taken to assure a safe and complete mission,” said spokesperson Darcy Wiggins.
Four years of policy contaminants are reported to have been strewn throughout the Department at a level that sources insist must have been either intentional or extraordinarily reckless. “In the Title IX area alone, we found a spill of transphobia and a release of toxic masculinity all over the sexual assault regulations. That latter one may take years to fully mop up.”
There are also said to be large vats of voucher policies piled up in storage closets, but they haven’t yet broken containment.
Additional dangers, however, remain. According to a member of the transition team we spoke with, an unknown amount of policy contaminants may have been transported a mile northeast, to the chambers of several Supreme Court justices who seem determined to release the policies on the general public at the earliest opportunity.
Here is a photograph of the Biden transition team in the midst of De-Vos-ing contents of the U.S. Department of Education.
SomeDAM Poet wrote these verses.
“The Billionaire and the Reformer” (after “The Walrus and the Carpenter,” by Lewis Carroll)
The pol was pining for a charter,
pining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The regulations sleight —
Which wasn’t hard, because the pol
Was charter acolyte
The public was pining sulkily,
Because they thought the pol
Had got no business to be there
After the charter stole —
“Incredible of him,” they said,
“To work for charter dole”
The money was tight as tight could be,
The coffers were bare as bare.
You could not see a dollar, cuz
No dollar was in there:
No Race was funding overhead —
There was no Race to fund.
The Billionaire and the Reformer
Were talking under bleachers;
They wept like anything to see
Such qualities of teachers:
If these were only cleared away,’
Our schools would be like peaches!’
If seven Chetty’s with seven VAMs
VAMmed for half a year,
Do you suppose,’the Billionaire said,
That they could get them clear?’
I doubt it,’ said the Reformer,
And shed a bitter tear.
O students, come and walk with us!’
The Billionaire did beseech.
A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
A better way to teach
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each.’
The eldest student looked at her
But never a word he said:
The eldest student winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head —
Meaning to say he did not choose
To go with Jobs, and fled
But four young students hurried up,
All eager for the fest:
Their hair was brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and best —
And this was odd, because, you know,
They’re going to a test.
Four other students followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more —
All hopping through the student waves
And scrambling to the door.
The Billionaire and the Reformer
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little students stood
And waited in a row.
The time has come,’ the Billionaire said,
To talk of many things:
Of Common Core — and standard tests — of passing score — and VAM—
And why the schools are failing [Not!] —
And whether pigs have wings.’
But wait a bit,’ the students cried,
Before we have our talk;
For some of us are out of breath,
And some of us can’t walk!’
No hurry!’ said the Reformer.
As patient as a hawk.
A lot of bread,’ the Billionaire said,
Is what we chiefly need:
Testing and Common Core besides
Are very good indeed —
Now if you’re ready, students dear,
We can begin to weed.’
But not with us!’ the students cried,
Turning a little blue.
After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!’
The day is fine,’ the Billionaire said.
Do you admire the view?
It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!’
The Reformer said nothing but
‘That cut score won’t suffice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf —
I’ve had to tell you twice!’
It seems a shame,’ the Billionaire said,
To play them such a trick,
After we’ve brought them out so far,
And made them test so quick!’
The Reformer said nothing but
The opt-out’s spread too thick!’
I weep for you,’ the Billionaire said:
I deeply sympathize.’
With sobs and tears he sorted out
The scores of lesser size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
O students,’ said the Reformer,
You’ve had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?’
But answer came there none —
And this was scarcely odd, because
They’d flunked out every one.”
Diane Ravitch's blog 