603-Unit Assessment Proposal

The unit of study that I plan on assessing will be a United States History (11th grade) unit on the Civil War. Including the causes and consequences of the war. The students will have received information through a number of differentiated lessons ranging from observing and reporting back on a popular film ("Glory") as well as interactive lessons using the Internet, field trips, and traditional lectures. The mode of assessment that I will be utilizing will be a multi-layered traditional assessment that will include multiple choice, short answer and essay questions. I will use either a thematic essay or a document based essay on the exam.

The ultimate goal will be to give students some grasp of the depth and significance of the events being discussed while preparing them for the U.S. Regents exam which will be of a similar type. Other variations of Assessment For Learning will be applied during the unit.

War Song

"War Song" by O.A.R. from IAVA Vimeo.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/paul-rieckhoff/rock-band-oar-asks-americ_b_336541.html

Medicare Part 'E'

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Call it whatever you want. We need this.

Avi had an ear infection last week. They tend to be very bad. No co-pay for the visit. No cost for the prescription. My 2-year old is happy and healthy and the only thing I had to pay was in gas to get to the doctors. Thank you Government Run Child Health Plus.

Keep up the good work Keith.

Thank You, People of Minnesota

I cannot picture Norm effing Coleman doing anything near this. Franken is aweosme.

Between him and Alan Greyson, finally we have some Democrats who are not afraid of their own shadows. We have 60% majorities in both houses, and we have the White House. Why then Senator Harry Reid, do you continue to act like we owe something to the opposition.

Grow a spine, or as Alan Greyson would say, Get out of the way.

You can lead, you can follow, or you can get out of the way.

Phillies-Yankees

Barring something crazy happening, like Alex Rodriguez remembering that he is Alex Rodriguez and not Lou Gehrig, we are going to have ourselves a Phillies-Yankees World Series.

Seeing as the Mets have been out of the hunt for the Championship since, oh I don't know, 2006...I have had plenty of time to think about which team I would like to see win it.

I typically root for underdogs. I think it is part of my Irish heritage. We are natural underdogs.

But the Phillies are the the reigning champions and the Yankees are the Yankees. There is no team to naturally cheer for.

I came into my Met fandom far too late for the Braves to be my mortal enemy. I loath the Marlins and everything about them. From the huge, empty stadium, to their business plan that has them groom top tier talent to win a championship, and then sell everyone off all while keeping their payroll under 20 million.

I hate the Phillies. I hate their fans. I hate their uniforms. I hate their mascot. I hate their slob of a manager.

I hate that the Mets are not more like them.

There, I said it.

The Phillies are everything that I wish the Mets were.

They have likable star players. How can anyone hate Jimmy Rollins, Ryan Howard, Raul Ibanez or Chase Utley.

Notice I didn't mention Frodo Victorino. I hate him still.

They have homegrown talent.

Their GM knows how to make impact trades (see Cliff Lee)

Their stadium is not a tribute to a team that resides 3000 miles away.

They have dominant starting pitching.

and perhaps most importantly, THEY PLAY TO WIN THE GAMES (thanks Herm)

They play freaking hard. They are cocky and arrogant and I love it. The Mets have never played like that as long as I have been watching.

I am jealous.

And I will be cheering for the Phills.

Speaking of Pixar

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

Toy Story 3

Pixar continues to strike gold with everything they release. No studio in the history of film has had a run like they have...











I am crazy for this stuff.

I have lived through this revolution and it has been incredible. The changes that my generation has witnessed, and been a part of, it sometimes is overwhelming.

My New Favorite Representative

Alan Greyson Kicks tons of Ass

Thank You Rachel

I watched this in silence last night.

Friday Morning Music

Because some A-hole disabled embedding, you'll have to click on the link.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xq-ZmAYLeB8

This is my song right now.

No One Had the Heart

Four-year-old Paige Bennethum really, really didn't want her daddy to go to Iraq.
So much so, that when Army Reservist Staff Sgt. Brett Bennethum lined up in formation at his deployment this July, she couldn't let go.
No one had the heart to pull her away.


Absolutely Heart Breaking. I had to take a minute or two to stop crying after a saw this. What would I do if this were Aviendha? I honestly don't know.

Special Comment

Keith did an hour long Special Comment last night on the Health Care debate.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3036677/#33217592


I recommend watching the whole thing. But this section hit closest to home for me:

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

I personally know someone who has been a part of this, who has been on the front-line of this war. Working tirelessly to help as many people as possible. To reduce the pain of those who are suffering. I know how hard she works. I know how much she cares. There are medical professionals out there who care.

603 Post-Performance Assessments

In my 12th grade English class we were assigned a long-term project as a form of Performance Assessment.

Our task was to collect works of writing, no matter the type, from all of our high school years. Once we had collected these, we put them together in a portfolio which we presented to our class. The goal of the project was two-fold. First we were to display our growth as writers throughout our years of high school. The second goal was to display an array of writing styles and our grasp of them. From short stories, poetry, book reports and essays, we as seniors were instructed to compile as many examples of our best work as possible.

We were graded on a rubric. The criteria for the grading scale was made availible to us prior to completing the assignment.

In my opinion long-term projects such as this can act as excellent indicators of learning and growth. Too often in Education we get caught up in what we, as teachers think is the most important content that students will take out of our classes. What gets lost far too frequently is how what a student is learning will translate to the real world. The essential question that needs to be asked is, what skills can I equip a young person with for their future, while at the same time, imparting on them the content knowledge that is also critical for graduation. These types of performance assessment translate to real world applications far easier than being able to answer a multiple choice test.

Having said that, performance assessments such as long-term projects are not applicable to all content areas or even all units within a content area. My goal as a teacher is going to be to find a balance between traditional assessments and authentic ones.

Playoff Baseball

This is why I watch baseball. Last night was awesome. I am not a full-time Twins fan by any stretch. But living in Rochester, it is easy to cheer for a team when you watched more than half their roster come through our AAA club. Guys I have watched in person were major contributors last night. The list includes, but is not limited to Alexi Casilla, Scott Baker, Michael Cuddyer, Jesse Crain, Matt Tolbert and many more.

This was an incredible game and was simply too much fun. I paid little to no attention in my class last night as I followed the game on my phone. Sorry Professor.

So now the Twins, who found themselves three games out of first with four games to play will now face off against the HATED NY Yankees at 6:00 pm today. Every rational measure of talent and advantage has the Yankees walking away with this thing.

The Twins went 0-7 against them this year.

I am not going to say that I think the Twins will win this thing. All I will say is if they can manage a split in NY and get back to Minnesota tied, it could get interesting. Sabathia is the only pitcher the Yanks have that I would declare as a hands down favorite to win. A.J. Burnett and Andy Petitte are in no way sure things this week.

I will say only this, The Twins have absolutely no pressure on them. They were supposed to be planning their vacations and cleaning out their lockers right now. Instead they are boarding a plane and getting ready to take on the most hated franchise in sports. They really Can't lose, no matter the outcome.

I have some thoughts on Twins Catcher, and general heart-throb (Terry's Man-Crush, or one of the many) Joe Mauer and his "Inevitable" transition to Pin Stripes, but I'll save it for later.

Right now, I am just ready to watch some baseball.

Epic Fail

The 2009 New York Mets were a failure of Epic Proportions. Two words define everything that this team was. Epic. Fail.

Look, I understand as a sports fan that your team is not going to win every game, every year. I get that.

If I were a Minnesota Twins fan, and trust me, I have had to do some serious soul searching as to whether that is a switch I should make, I would be be completely happy with a team that just competed. I would be thrilled that the Twins find themselves in a one game playoff today. Hell, I am thrilled. I can't wait to watch that game, but I digress.

The fact is, I am a New York Mets fan. I can't help but read Metsblog. I can't help but care what happens with this team.

It is this inability of mine to let go that led me to both read and watch what transpired yesterday.

And what transpired yesterday was a whole lot of nothing. I repeat...A Whole Lot of Nothing.

Jeff Wilpon, in his press conference yesterday characterized what happened this year as "Unacceptable"

And then to prove what, in the Bizzaro World that the New York Mets exist in, can be defined as Unacceptable, Wilpon and his father who played the role of Bernine Maddoff's doormat this summer, endorsed both Omar Minaya and Jerry Manuel for the 2010 season.

This is the same Omar Minaya who has botched this team's roster for three years. The same Omar Minaya who mistakenly believes that trading for Johan Santana and signing Carlos Beltran and Francisco Rodriguez some how makes up for the laundry list of EPIC FAILS that he is responsible for...a list that includes

Oliver Perez 3yrs/36 Million
Moises Alou
Luis Castillo

The Daniel Murphy can play Left Field experiment

The utter failure of the minor league system

Tony Bernazard

Heath Bell

Matt Lindsrom

And on and on and on...

Omar Minaya is a bumbling moron, which has nothing to do with the fact that he has a limited grasp of the English language. The dude could speak Portuguese and only Portuguese if he could compile a competitive roster.

And Jerry Manuel. Jerry Friggen Manuel.

Jerry, who I realize was forced to manage with one arm tied behind his back, thanks in no small part to what Omar Minaya considers a Major League roster (See Above).

But like David Wright, who failed EPICALLY to rise to the occasion and lead this team, Jerry Manuel wilted when the pressure was on. As players started to get hurt, and the team faced increasing adversity this season, instead of rallying his troops and playing hard, sound baseball, Jerry's boys played less disciplined, appeared to give up and not care what the outcome was.

From base running blunders, to dropped pop-ups. Blown leads and walk-off grand slams, the 2009 New York Mets found new and increasingly embarrassing ways to fail. Epically.

And as the pressure increased, where a good manager would have taken this burden upon himself, and demanded a higher level of baseball be played. Jerry laughed through post game pressers. He laid blame at other's feet. He said he had players who were not major league ready playing roles that were larger then they were ready for.

Guess what Jerry, that means two things.

1. Omar Minaya failed. Epically. To put together a major league roster.

2. You Jerry, failed to get the most out of these players. To get the absolute best of out all 25 men on your roster. You failed. And then you laughed about it. Then you were given another year to "fix" what is wrong.

The larger point is that there is no "Fix" for what is wrong with this team. You cannot fix the problem by giving the wheel to the same men who drove this bus off the cliff.

Jerry, Omar...




They only do it because they love me, Right? *He said with mascara tear stains running down his cheeks*

Mike Mikolaichic

It was a warm day for that time of the year. It was one of those fall days where summer refuses to let go its grip. It was a damp day. The turf squished under my cleats as I stepped from the ply wood pathway covering the all-weather track onto the grass for the first time. I began my pre-game routine, which included a suppositious series of running and stretching drills. I slowly worked my way through my routine, preparing myself to play the same way I had for years. I was completely oblivious of what lay before me. I had no idea that this game would be unlike any I had ever played. This day would be unlike any I had ever experienced.

I saw him from a distance. His familiar shape stood out from the other players wearing black and orange. He had gotten bigger in the years since high school, he was however, easily recognizable. He was warming up, throwing with another quarterback. He was near mid-field which made it easy for me to get close enough to greet him. He had his back to me, I saw him before he saw me. I slowly made my way towards the fifty- yard line. I was nervous, I did not know how he was going to receive me. It had been over a year since I had seen him last, and given our current circumstances I did not know what to expect. I hung around mid-field long enough for him to see me. He turned slowly towards me, tears streaming down his face. He looked at me with eyes I had seen for years, standing in a huddle, being told what play we were going to run, or what we were going to do to win this game or that. He had always had a quite confidence. He could step into a huddle, and make every other young man feel that we were going to succeed. Those eyes that were so familiar, were crying. He looked at me and said: “Matt died this morning”.

We were never in the same classes in Elementary School. A football field became the first context in which I defined Mike. We practiced on the fields next to our elementary school. I hated football at first. To say I disliked the contact would be an understatement. I wanted to quit after a week. My father refused to let me quit. My parents had made an exception, allowing me to play a year earlier than they had let my brother. What came so naturally to Mike was a struggle for me. He was the quarterback from as far back as I can remember. I bounced from position to position. Not athletic enough for the skill positions, not big enough for a lineman. Mike looked like he was born to be a quarterback. He was tall and lean, with a strong arm and the head to handle the responsibilities of the position.

I grew to like the contact, with time I learned to relish it. By our freshman year of high school Mike had spent years honing his skills at one position and I had finally settled into the role of a running back/fullback in what I pictured was the mold of former Tampa Bay Buccaneer, Mike Alstott. We had different core groups of friends in high school. We played different sports. Mike was an excellent basket ball and baseball player. I ran track in the spring, more to stay in shape than because I was particularly fast. The one thing that kept us united was football. Every summer we would work out at the school together, every August we would grind through double sessions. I bore witness as Mike developed into one of the best quarterbacks in the county.

I felt like the world had stopped spinning, the wind had stopped blowing, for I had stopped breathing. My words died in my chest. I looked into his eyes and felt his heartache. I stood, rooted on the spot. I have no memory of what happened then. My next recollection was back in the locker room. Our team would come together prior to taking the field. Our coach would give us a motivational talk followed by a prayer, and we would take the field. I did not hear a word he said. My head was swimming and I was a whirlwind of emotions. Football is a game that has to be played with a level of intensity not often found in other sports. To be able to throw your body at another human being as hard as one possibly can, you have to take yourself to a mental place that is not reached easily. I had spent the previous week visualizing myself hitting my friend as hard as I could. I had run through potential plays, and watched hours of video studying tendencies. I had spent the last nine years teaching myself to hate my opponents. I had trained my brain to forget logic and reason, to inflict as much punishment as possible, within the context of the game, on another player. Now I sat on one knee, tears streaming down my face, head in hands, forgetting all of that training, ignoring the honed instincts, all I wanted to do was hug my friend.

We took the field, went through our pre-game rituals and were ready for kick off. My dichotomy of emotions was overwhelming. At the time, Brockport had a very good team, and Buffalo State was no match physically. I watched with an increasingly heavy heart as my friend picked himself up off the turf, play after play. I bore witness as he would walk to the sideline series after unsuccessful series, sit on the bench crying until he had to go lead his offense back onto the field. The game quickly got out of hand. I begged my teammates, if they had to hit him, help the man back up. I had never in my life witnessed something so real, so brave, or so heart breaking. He would tell me later that he played because that is what he thought Matt would have wanted. I was speechless.

Our senior season ended disappointingly. We were not as good as either of us had hoped. I was injured in the first round of the playoffs, as was our starting fullback. Without his starting backfield, Mike did all he could, but it was not enough. In high school, we lived or died with the wins and losses, how little we knew. Mike and I both received All-County honors following the season. We were both asked to play in the Eddie Meath All-Star game. I was not surprised that Mike received this honor. I cannot say the same for myself. Mike and I lived around the corner from one another. We would drive to the practices together. We spent more time that week, just the two of us, than we ever had before. Mike and I had never been particularly close friends away from football. Our bond was forged on hot summer days, and wet and cold fall days. It was cemented on nights like the one our homecoming game was played on. Our field was being dedicated to the previous Athletic Director. In a freezing driving rain, Mike handed the ball to me thirty-six times, we did not mishandle one exchange.

Mike was the unrecognized star of the Eddie Meath game. Among the pomp and circumstance surrounding that wonderful event was lost the fact that every drive that Mike led ended in a touchdown. That fact was not lost on me. Playing only defense in the game, I was able to watch him play from the sidelines for the first time. His calm and controlled attitude was palpable even from my vantage point. That night would be the last time I would share a field with Mike for three years.

As I stood, speechless, conflicted, and confused, I remembered that day, at Fauver Stadium, watching him control the game. I stood, hurting for my friend, as the game wore on. When the final horn sounded, I looked for Mike and I could not find him. I waited impatiently as our coach gave his post game speech. I ran back across the field as soon as I could hoping to catch him before I had to get on our bus. I found his head coach and explained to him who I was. He told me that he had left as soon as the game had ended. I felt out of place, I wanted to share with my friend how sorry I was. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to cry with him. I wanted him to know that I was there for him, that what ever he needed I would provide.

I boarded our bus and we headed back east on the Thru Way. There was a car accident along the way, and I had a moment of shear panic, fearing that he had gotten into and accident rushing to get home to his family. I had never felt so useless in my life. He did not need me, he needed his family.

I stood to the side at the funeral. I do not know if he saw me there. I did not know how to act or what to say. I felt like I had intruded on a personal moment. I felt that by being on the field that day, watching him struggle through such a terrible time, that I had somehow violated his privacy, like I had seen something he did not want anyone to see. I had witnessed the rawest of human emotions that day. I had stood, fifty-yards away as another human being, one I called my friend, had suffered. I did not watch as Matt’s body was lowered into the ground. I watched my friend’s face. I watched as something broke inside of him. Matt was more than his little brother, Matt was his best friend.

After that day, it was years until I saw him again. I had kept up with him from a distance. I knew he had become the quarterback for the Rochester Raiders. I knew that he had hurt his foot so bad that the doctors feared for his ability to walk again, let alone play football. I knew that his desire to play drove him to get healthy, to get back onto the field. I saw him at a wedding last fall. I had become a father the week before, but all I could talk about was him. He was smiling again. It was a smile I was afraid I would not see again. Mike Mikolachik was smiling, he had found someone to share his life with. Someone who made him laugh. I am going to take my daughter to see him play this spring. I want her to see her dad’s hero, doing that which always brought him so much joy. Doing that which Matt would have wanted him to do.