I subscribe to multiple newsletters and educational organizations in an effort to try and keep up in regards to what is going on in the educational world. My inbox today held an interesting article regarding parenting styles titled Parenting Styles and Adolescents.
I encourage you, even if you don't have children, to read the above article.
Behold I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all people!
Unto your TV set will be born a reality show that will bring peace and goodwill toward men. This will be a sign to you: you will find the show broadcasting on an NBC station, marked by the peacock logo. It’s called “Clash of the Choirs.” Based on a series from Scandinavia and produced by the BBC, this show sends musical superstars back to their hometowns to form amateur choirs. Lo, a great company of the heavenly host, including Michael Bolton, Patti LaBelle, Nick Lachey, Kelly Rowland and Blake Shelton, will descend on O Little Towns with cameras and producers and all the company of heaven to prepare a host of amateur singers to compete live in studio for the title of “America's best choir.”
"Today is the day when all of that changes - when we stop standing still and start moving forward once more." - Eliot Spitzer, Monday, January 1, 2007
A year and a day after Eliot Spitzer was sworn in as New York Governor, Jean Claude Brizard will take over as Rochester City School District Superintendent.
I was in Albany when Spitzer declared his first day on the job as one of "unbridled hope and possibility." I was there as he made his symbolic ascent to the top of the Capitol steps and - I kid you not - the thick clouds parted briefly for the sun to shine upon him. I was there to capture the optimism in the air.
But today, another gloomy Monday, the Siena Research Institute released a poll suggesting Spitzer's performance is falling far short of most expectations.
Several years ago, my friend Nina was walking into the art building at Houghton College when she noticed something lying on the ground. It was a clay head—sculpted, fired, and then, apparently, despised and rejected. Nina studied its flat features, twisted lips, and Medusa-like hair. She asked around. Nobody claimed it, and so she carried it home and planted a snake plant in the open cavity on the top of its head.
The plant thrived in its dirt brain for a couple of years until my friend accepted a new job teaching at Bowling Green University in Ohio. While we were packing up, she yanked out the plant and stuck the head in a heap of junk to throw away. I noticed it.
The RPO’s excellent Gershwin CD didn’t make the list of Grammy contenders announced today in Los Angeles. About pianist Jon Nakamatsu’s 2007 much-praised collaboration with the RPO, my colleague Mordecai Lipshutz said, “At least they’re selling well.”
"That's not right!" exclaimed my friend Carl Pultz when he heard the news that the RPO had been left off the list. Carl says this proves the nominating system is "corrupt."
The last time was Friday on my way to the Plum House, a Japanese restaurant on Monroe Avenue. I swung by his old house, curious to see if the new owners had ripped out the hulking evergreens blocking the front porch, the bay windows, and the lights within.
Before he died, composer David Diamond said he wanted his ashes to be spread between the graves of his parents in Mount Hope Cemetery. His long-time friend and former neighbor Sam Elliott did that for him, with some of the ashes. But Sam got an idea. He divided the remaining ashes into thirds and poured them into three 6-inch plastic vials with screw caps.
The stairs leading from WXXI’s lobby all the way up to our creative services department on the fifth floor offer a good view of the stands at Frontier Field.
Today they are full – of snow. But just about every time I catch a glimpse of that stadium, regardless of the season, nostalgia kicks in. Despite the thick glass and the busy street between me and the field, I can "hear" the clean crack of a bat and the organ rallying an exuberant crowd. I can "smell" the French fries and the Rohrbach’s. I can "see" my young son Ben’s amazement as a foul ball somehow drops in his lap. I can "feel" the sun going down and the warm evening breeze kick in.
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