Finally! Time to type

Finally, my travels are over! Let the panic about the upcoming quarter commence. But before we get to that, let me get you caught up on a few things.

1) My travels to a point east of here for a calculator training workshop. Being a math dork, I feel we should define our variables. If home base is called Pt. A, let's call my travel destination Pt. B, shall we? Now that we know what we're talking about, let's make it very clear that the next time the state senators from Pt. B and the surrounding counties come up with a resolution for secession from the state, they should be allowed to leave! They've already done it once. I say if this behavior becomes a habit, we take advantage of it and cut them loose. Oy, what a hole. Upon my return, I was asked if I saw the waterfront near the river. I can honestly say I saw no evidence of greenery or water in my stay in Pt. B. Ugh. I felt like I was in a version of Sin City. The calculator is quite cool, by the way. I need more time with it alone but I think we're going to get along just fine.
Anyhow, while trying to figure out how to navigate my way out of a part of town I should not have been in, number 2 occurred.

2) The T calls while I am cruising Pt. B looking for my workshop site and verifying that the car doors are locked and she reads to me from a lovely document sent from my former state of residence. Seems they want to garnish my taxes or something because I wasn't a good little doobie and return the state plates and registration tags when my vehicle was registered in my new state of residence. Since I didn't do so, they stuffed my file in a drawer for 2 years and then sent it to the state collection agency that tacked on an additional 17% to bring the grand total to over $1600. Need I mention that is more than the bluebook value of the car? So now I have to prove that the car was registered in the state of Pt. A. This supposed solution to the question what do you want from me besides $1600? was not easy to figure out. Every time I called the state to ask more information, I was told by the friendly automated voice, "There are 5 (or 2) callers ahead of you. Your call will be answered in the order in which it was received. Your call will be answered in approximately 2 (or 3) minutes." Well, I don't know what system of time that bureaucracy is running on but I lost 5 hours of my life, one hour at a time, on hold. The T was also calling and while she was on hold on her cell phone, she called from the landline. The message on the landline descended from there are 6 callers ahead of you, to 5 to 4, etc., until there was only 1 ahead of her. Since she was still on hold on the cell phone, shouldn't that have been the 1 person ahead of her on the landline?!?

Here's an added twist to the drama: I sold the car to a friend of mine who I met in the state in question. She later followed the trail I had blazed to Pt. A and is now returning to the state with the mind-numbing bureaucracy and stringent car registration and insurance laws. So she is going to try and register the vehicle in that state once again. I don't think she'll have a problem though, really. How can I say such a thing? Because that state had the wrong vehicle identification number (VIN) on record for the 7 years I lived there and I didn't find out until I could not register the car in this state! That's how I know! The title I held on the car was in no way related to the car in my driveway because some dweeb typed it in wrong. My proof of auto insurance and my car title had two different VIN and guess which one was wrong. Yup, the state. I'm not complaining, though, considering that this is the same group of folks who changed The T's sex on her license from the fairer sex to the less-fair sex when all she did was renew her license. Thank gaia the motor vehicle drones in Pt. A didn't notice that one, eh? "You would like to register your vehicle today and come out of the closet as a transsexual?"

3) While this adventure rolls along, The T and I went off to a conference/retreat focused on ... hmmm ... let's call it Johnny Can Add But We Haven't Figured Out How to Assess It Yet. Let's be very clear on one thing, folks: the kids can do the math. It is not a question of some can and some can't and that's OK because we can't all do everything. That's bullhockey. People can do math. No matter their age. It's the systems we have to work in as teachers and students and administrators that beats the drum and beats the beauty out of the field and beats the curiosity out of the individual and makes mathphobia an accepted social ailment.

The T was at this retreat in her guise as a educator wonk designing/working on a grant to address mathematics and science in middle and high schools. I was there in the role as a tertiary ed math prof who has agreed to be a partner on said grant. That was kind of fun, being able to work with The T in a professional way. If nothing else, I now understand what it is that she does for a living. And I have a better grasp of education initiatives out there that are trying to help folks who want to help those who are trying to learn the math. I say again, let's be clear on one thing: the kids can do the math. The folks teaching them need resources and support and need to know they are valued as part of the solution to solving issues in improving mathematics achievement. Those that contribute to perpetuating mathphobia because they themselves suffer from it (whether or not they know it) need resources and support so their teaching can improve.

OK, I'm getting down from the soapbox (how did I get up there anyway?). The retreat was great and—coming on the heels of my visit to Pt. B and my being bureaucratized by the man—it was just what I needed to feel good about being in the field of education.

More later, gang. I have to go mail off some paperwork to the wonks.