Principals Week Quotes

The Lottery, with its weekly pay-out of enormous prizes, was the one public event to which the proles paid serious attention. It was probable that there were some millions of proles for whom the Lottery was the principal if not the only reason for remaining alive. It was their delight, their folly, their anodyne, their intellectual stimulant. Where the Lottery was concerned, even people who could barely read and write seemed capable of intricate calculations and staggering feats of memory. There was a whole tribe of men who made their living simply by selling systems, forecasts, and lucky amulets. Winston had nothing to do with the Lottery, which was managed by the Ministry of Plenty, but he was aware (indeed everyone in the party was aware) that the prizes were largely imaginary. Only small sums were actually paid out, the winners of the big prizes being nonexistent persons.

I have not had so good of a week. Well, monday was a pretty good day, if you don't count Hamburger Surprise at lunch and Margaret's mother coming to get her. Or the stuff that happened in the principal's office when I got sent there to explain that Margaret's hair was not my fault and besides she looks okay without it, but I couldn't because Principal Rice was gone, trying to calm down Margaret's mother. Someone should tell you not to answer the phone in the principal's office, if that's a rule. Okay, fine, Monday was not so good of a day.

The Lottery, with its weekly pay-out of enormous prizes, was the one public event to which the proles paid serious attention. It was probable that there were millions of proles for whom the Lottery was the principal if not the only reason for remaining alive. It was their delight, their folly, their anodyne, their intellectual stimulant. Where the Lottery was concerned, even people who could barely read and write seemed capable of intricate calculations and staggering feats of memory.

Vespers In your extended absence, you permit me use of earth, anticipating some return on investment. I must report failure in my assignment, principally regarding the tomato plants. I think I should not be encouraged to grow tomatoes. Or, if I am, you should withhold the heavy rains, the cold nights that come so often here, while other regions get twelve weeks of summer. All this belongs to you: on the other hand, I planted the seeds, I watched the first shoots like wings tearing the soil, and it was my heart broken by the blight, the black spot so quickly multiplying in the rows. I doubt you have a heart, in our understanding of that term. You who do not discriminate between the dead and the living, who are, in consequence, immune to foreshadowing, you may not know how much terror we bear, the spotted leaf, the red leaves of the maple falling even in August, in early darkness: I am responsible for these vines.

It seems to me that there are three principal scales of time, the present moment, a human lifetime, and the eternal. The problem with modern man is not so much that he situates himself in the future of a human lifetime, since he fears death far too much to do that, but rather than he does not situate himself in any of these three scales of time. Instead, he is forever stuck somewhere in-between, this evening, tomorrow morning, next week, next Christmas, in five years’ time. As a result, he has neither the joy of the present moment, nor the satisfied accomplishments of a human lifetime, nor the perspective and immortality of the eternal.

Let me tell you about spirit.” The teacher comes alive, making eye contact with each of us as he speaks. “No one can command you to have spirit—not principals, governors, presidents, or even kings. There’s no spirit switch in your brain that can be flipped on or off. Spirit isn’t a week you can put on your calendar. It doesn’t come from posters, or streamers, or rallies, or funny hat days. And it definitely doesn’t come from making an ungodly racket with a cheap plastic instrument of torture that was invented purely for disturbing the peace!

it is the principal’s turn to laugh at our horrified faces. “You are fifth graders, so that shouldn’t be a problem. I want to see a personal story, and I will be able to tell if you have someone else write it for you. You have two weeks. If it is not

Church leader. I urge you to teach the whole counsel of God. Make sure your chief motive is feeding the sheep truth and genuinely reaching the lost with the full biblical message of salvation rather than building a big following. If your primary goal is to get those who attend to come back to next week’s service, ask the Holy Spirit to forgive you and refocus your principal strategy on shepherding the flock of God with truth. Stay relevant, fresh, and innovative in method but timeless in message. Believer

I gave 2s. 3d. a yard for my flannel, and I fancy it is not very good, but it is so disgraceful and contemptible an article in itself that its being comparatively good or bad is of little importance. I bought some Japan ink likewise, and next week shall begin my operations on my hat, on which you know my principal hopes of happiness depend.

Jenna walked in between desks and plonked herself down behind hers, noticing AGAIN that the teacher hadn’t graced the class with his zitty presence. She thought Mr. Kennan needed to get fired, which said a lot, because she rarely paid attention to ugly teachers. She’d discussed this with the principal two weeks back when she’d been sent to his office after getting caught sleeping. She’d told him that if he employed more hot teachers like Mr. Daniels then maybe she wouldn’t pass out from boredom. The principal gave her a week’s detention because of that comment, saying that she needed to take things more seriously. But she WAS being serious. Jenna Hamilton from Graffiti Heaven (Chapter 28).

We had to sit there for an hour doing nothing. After about three days of sitting there, I said, “Screw this. I’m going to West Monroe High.” I realized I wanted to be in town anyway, so I just transferred schools during the first week of school. After about a month, the principal from West Ouachita called our house. “Willie hasn’t been to school for twenty-seven days,” the principal told Phil. “Well, he leaves for school every morning,” Phil told him. “I don’t know where he’s going. I thought he was going to school.” When I got home that day, Phil asked me where I had been. “School,” I told him. “Uh-uh,” Phil said. “The school called and said you haven’t been there in a month.” “Oh, yeah,” I told him. “I transferred to West Monroe. I don’t go to that school anymore.” “Okay,” Phil said. “I figured something was up.” Korie: Can you imagine a tenth-grader transferring schools without even notifying his parents? Willie just showed up at West Monroe High School and said, “Hey, I’m here.” He didn’t even think about telling Kay and Phil about transferring.

In matters of affection, the rules of engagement at Empire High were detailed yet unambiguous, an extension of procedures established in junior high, a set of guidelines that couldn't have been clearer if they'd been posted on the schoolhouse door. If you were a girl and your heart inclined toward a particular boy, you had one of your girlfriends make inquiries from one of that boy's friends. Such contact represented the commencement of a series of complex negotiations, the opening rounds of which were handled by friends. Boy's friend A might report to Girl's friend B that the boy in question considered her a fox, or, if he felt particularly strongly, a major fox. Those experienced in these matters knew that it was wise to proceed cautiously, since too much ardor could delay things for weeks. The girl in question might be in negotiations with other parties, and no boy wanted to be on record as considering a girl a major fox only to discover that she considered him merely cool. Friends had to be instructed carefully about how much emotional currency they could spend, since rogue emotions led to inflation, lessening the value of everyone's feelings. Once a level of affection within the comfort zone of both parties was agreed upon, the principals could then meet for the exchange of mementos - rings, jackets, photos, key chains - to seal the deal, always assuming that seconds had properly represented the lovers to begin with.

I would walk round that beautiful, unspoilt little island, with its population of under a hundred and where there isn’t a single tarmac road, thinking about how he would truly sound. Perhaps the quietness of the island helped me do so. ‘Everybody thinks he’s French,’ I said to myself as I walked across the great stones that littered the beach at Rushy Bay, or stomped over the tussocky grass of Heathy Hill, with its famous dwarf pansies. ‘The only reason people think Poirot is French is because of his accent,’ I muttered. ‘But he’s Belgian, and I know that French-speaking Belgians don’t sound French, not a bit of it.’" "I also was well aware of Brian Eastman’s advice to me before I left for Bryher: ‘Don’t forget, he may have an accent, but the audience must be able to understand exactly what he’s saying.’ There was my problem in a nutshell." "To help me, I managed to get hold of a set of Belgian Walloon and French radio recordings from the BBC. Poirot came from Liège in Belgium and would have spoken Belgian French, the language of 30 per cent of the country’s population, rather than Walloon, which is very much closer to the ordinary French language. To these I added recordings of English-language stations broadcasting from Belgium, as well as English-language programmes from Paris. My principal concern was to give my Poirot a voice that would ring true, and which would also be the voice of the man I heard in my head when I read his stories. I listened for hours, and then gradually started mixing Walloon Belgian with French, while at the same time slowly relocating the sound of his voice in my body, moving it from my chest to my head, making it sound a little more high-pitched, and yes, a little more fastidious. After several weeks, I finally began to believe that I’d captured it: this was what Poirot would have sounded like if I’d met him in the flesh. This was how he would have spoken to me – with that characteristic little bow as we shook hands, and that little nod of the head to the left as he removed his perfectly brushed grey Homburg hat. The more I heard his voice in my head, and added to my own list of his personal characteristics, the more determined I became never to compromise in my portrayal of Poirot.

What is it?” “It’s a souvenir.” I frown, sitting back in my chair. “For what?” “I didn’t even wash it.” She laughs. “Tinsley, that better not be what I think it is.” I growl. She lifts her mother’s eyes and smiles at me. “You can’t take a knife to school.” She knows this. We just went over this last week. With me, her mother, the principal, and the police officer that were present for our mandatory meeting. “I’m going to mail it to him.” I run a hand down my face, holding in a sigh. I thought Carnage was going to be the death of me. But nope. It’s my teenage daughter.

Making money in the markets is tough. The brilliant trader and investor Bernard Baruch put it well when he said, “If you are ready to give up everything else and study the whole history and background of the market and all principal companies whose stocks are on the board as carefully as a medical student studies anatomy—if you can do all that and in addition you have the cool nerves of a gambler, the sixth sense of a clairvoyant and the courage of a lion, you have a ghost of a chance.” In retrospect, the mistakes that led to my crash seemed embarrassingly obvious. First, I had been wildly overconfident and had let my emotions get the better of me. I learned (again) that no matter how much I knew and how hard I worked, I could never be certain enough to proclaim things like what I’d said on Wall $ treet Week: “There’ll be no soft landing. I can say that with absolute certainty, because I know how markets work.” I am still shocked and embarrassed by how arrogant I was. Second, I again saw the value of studying history. What had happened, after all, was “another one of those.” I should have realized that debts denominated in one’s own currency can be successfully restructured with the government’s help, and that when central banks simultaneously provide stimulus (as they did in March 1932, at the low point of the Great Depression, and as they did again in 1982), inflation and deflation can be balanced against each other. As in 1971, I had failed to recognize the lessons of history. Realizing that led me to try to make sense of all movements in all major economies and markets going back a hundred years and to come up with carefully tested decision-making principles that are timeless and universal. Third, I was reminded of how difficult it is to time markets. My long-term estimates of equilibrium levels were not reliable enough to bet on; too many things could happen between the time I placed my bets and the time (if ever) that my estimates were reached. Staring at these failings, I realized that if I was going to move forward without a high likelihood of getting whacked again, I would have to look at myself objectively and change—starting by learning a better way of handling the natural aggressiveness I’ve always shown in going after what I wanted. Imagine that in order to have a great life you have to cross a dangerous jungle. You can stay safe where you are and have an ordinary life, or you can risk crossing the jungle to have a terrific life. How would you approach that choice? Take a moment to think about it because it is the sort of choice that, in one form or another, we all have to make.

And just as no adult is able to observe all those rules, it is also difficult for a child to observe all the rules. As the saying goes, if you brush someone, there is always dust. Children live from day to day committing innumerable petty offenses that correspond to adult breaches of the law or adult immorality. For not following the counsels or weekly instructions of the principal for not doing what the teacher said or what the student council had decided for not carrying the entreaties of parents or elders or for not observing what society considered to be acceptable behaviour-for these kinds of offenses, I became the object of the most rigid application of the regulations.

This had been a very productive morning, he thought. He had not accomplished so much in weeks. Looking at the Big Chief tablets that made a rug of Indian headdresses around the bed, Ignatius thought smugly that on their yellowed pages and wide-ruled lines were the seeds of a magnificent study in comparative history. Very disordered, of course. But one day he would assume the task of editing these fragments of his mentality into a jigsaw puzzle of a very grand design; the completed puzzle would show to literate men the disaster course that history had been taking for the past four centuries. In the five years that he had dedicated to this work, he had produced an average of only six paragraphs monthly. He could not even remember what he had written in some of the tablets, and he realized that several were filled principally with doodling. However, Ignatius thought calmly, Rome was not built in a day.

According to the man, who identified himself as Morton Thornton, the night got real long and by midnight, he was darn well wed to one of the lovelier inhabitants of the dish, a comely middle-aged amoeba of unknown parentage named Rita. When he was rescued on the morning of the following day, Morton plumb forgot about his single-celled nuptials and went back to his daytime job tasting the contents of open pop bottles for backwash and cigarette butts. Only sixteen years later, when a brilliant Sacajawea Junior High roving reporter—who shall remain nameless—discovered the product of this union lurking among us right here at Sac Junior High, was Morton’s long-held secret discovered. “This intrepid reporter was present three weeks into Dale Thornton’s third try at seventh grade, when the young Einstein bet this reporter and several other members of the class that he could keep a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth from the beginning of fifth period Social Studies until the bell. The dumb jerk only lasted twenty minutes, after which he sprinted from the room, not to be seen for the rest of the day. When he returned on the following morning, he told Mr. Getz he had suddenly become ill and had to go home, but without a written excuse (he probably didn’t have a rock big enough for his dad to chisel it on) he was sent to the office. The principal, whose intellectual capacities lie only fractions of an IQ point above Dale’s, believed his lame story, and Dale was readmitted to class. Our dauntless reporter, however, smelled a larger story, recognizing that for a person to attempt this in the first place, even his genes would have to be dumber than dirt. With a zeal rivaled only by Alex Haley’s relentless search for Kunta Kinte, he dived into Dale’s seamy background, where he discovered the above story to be absolutely true and correct. Further developments will appear in this newspaper as they unfold.

The year 1992 was the countdown year for the formation of the European single market, the regional economic entity—utopian for some, dystopian for others—now intended to recenter Europe in a global politics fragmented in the wake of the breakup of the Soviet Union....The year 1992 was also when the action adventure TV series Highlander first premiered—“the first European co-produced weekly hour to be sold into the US syndication market.” ...My own pleasure in Highlander began with the principal actor Adrian Paul’s eroticized image. I immediately (and somewhat idiosyncratically) “recognized” it as gay (the image, not necessarily the main story character Duncan MacLeod, or the actor Adrian Paul). It was in this “recognition” that I discovered my pleasure in the show. As a lesbian I was surprised: this was really the first TV show since my adolescence in which an eroticized male image seemed so powerfully attractive to me. Perhaps that is why I assumed it was somehow gay....

In Mrs. Dimble’s hands the task of airing the little house and making the bed for Ivy Maggs and her jailbird husband became something between a game and a ritual. It woke in Jane vague memories of helping at Christmas or Easter decorations in church when she had been a small child. But it also suggested to her literary memory all sorts of things out of sixteenth-century epithalamiums: age-old superstitions, jokes, and sentimentalities about bridal beds and marriage bowers, with omens at the threshold and fairies upon the hearth. It was an atmosphere extraordinarily alien to that in which she had grown up. A few weeks ago she would have disliked it. Was there not something absurd about that stiff, twinkling archaic world—the mixture of prudery and sensuality, the stylised ardours of the groom and the conventional bashfulness of the bride, the religious sanction, the permitted salacities of Fescennine song, and the suggestion that everyone except the principals might be expected to be rather tipsy? How had the human race ever come to imprison in such a ceremony the most unceremonious thing in the world? But she was no longer sure of her reaction.

The tyro knows nothing, and everybody, including himself, knows it. But the next, or second, grade thinks he knows a great deal and makes others feel that way too. He is the experienced sucker, who has studied not the market itself but a few remarks about the market made by a still higher grade of suckers. The second-grade sucker knows how to keep from losing his money in some of the ways that get the raw beginner. It is this semisucker rather than the 100 per cent article who is the real all-the-year-round support of the commission houses. He lasts about three and a half years on an average, as compared with a single season of from three to thirty weeks, which is the usual Wall Street life of a first offender. It is naturally the semisucker who is always quoting the famous trading aphorisms and the various rules of the game. He knows all the don'ts that ever fell from the oracular lips of the old stagers excepting the principal one, which is: Don't be a sucker! This semisucker is the type that thinks he has cut his wisdom teeth because he loves to buy on declines. He waits for them. He measures his bargains by the number of points it has sold off from the top. In big bull markets the plain unadulterated sucker, utterly ignorant of rules and precedents, buys blindly because he hopes blindly. He makes most of the money until one of the healthy reactions takes it away from him at one fell swoop. But the Careful Mike sucker does what I did when I thought I was playing the game intelligently according to the intelligence of others. I knew I needed to change my bucket-shop methods and I thought I was solving my problem with any change, particularly one that assayed high gold values according to the experienced traders among the customers.

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Thousands of husbands disappeared in those weeks. Sons as young as twelve. Brothers. Friends. What better way to remake society, my mother thought, than to eliminate the teachers and principals, the students, the lawyers and doctors—truly, anybody who had an opinion and a voice? Beyond the river, execution grounds, field after field irrigated with blood, waited to be discovered. Buildings would crush the bones.

The Lottery, with its weekly pay-out of enormous prizes, was the one public event to which the proles paid serious attention. It was probable that there were some millions of proles for whom the Lottery was the principal if not the only reason for remaining alive. It was their delight, their folly, their anodyne, their intellectual stimulant. Where the Lottery was concerned, even people who could barely read and write seemed capable of intricate calculations and staggering feats of memory. There

Sorry about the whole not-showingup-at-school-for-a-few-weeks thing, Chloe pictured herself saying to the principal. You see, I'm a cat person and had to hide with others of my kind in a gigantic mainson called Firebird that also houses a real estate firm while this ancient Masonic-like cult tried to hunt me down because they think I killed one of their assassins. Oh, also, I have nine lives and am apparently the spiritual leader of my people, who belive they were created by ancient Egyptian goddesses.

When the principal announced over the loudspeaker one morning that the coming week would be Great Ideas Week and that we were all invited to submit essays to a student competition, we felt a mix of excitement and alarm: excitement because we saw ourselves as champions of great ideas; alarm because apparently some people reserved only a week for this.

The next eleven floors held a single apartment per floor and belonged to the principals of hedge funds and private equity firms and one Argentine model and her soccer player boyfriend who spent no more than a week out of the year in New York.

The temporary separation attendant on my little journey, had its effect on the mind of both parties. It gave a space for the maturing of inclination. I believe that, during this interval, each furnished to the other the principal topic of solitary and daily contemplation. Absence bestows a refined and aërial delicacy upon affection, which it with difficulty acquires in any other way. It seems to resemble the communication of spirits, without the medium, or the impediment, of this earthly frame. When we met again, we met with new pleasure, and, I may add, with a more decisive preference for each other. It was however three weeks longer, before the sentiment which trembled upon the tongue, burst from the lips of either. There was, as I have already said, no period of throes and resolute explanation attendant on the tale. It was friendship melting into love. Previously to our mutual declaration, each felt half-assured, yet each felt a certain trembling anxiety to have assurance complete.

useless human beings, who formerly vegetated upon a soil that seemed barren of everything else.” The sheep were brought in by hundreds of thousands, and to some of the retreating population they became known as “the lairds’ four-footed clansmen.” Meanwhile, the clansmen themselves had three principal choices. They could move to the edge of the sea, which they hated, and live on fish, which most of them also hated. They could move to the Lowlands. Or they could emigrate to other continents. Into the middle of this tide went many of the original clansmen of Colonsay, some early, some later on, some after long stays on the mainland, others more directly from the island, some settling in the Lowlands, notably in Renfrewshire, others going to Australia, Canada, or the United States. Of those who left the Highlands as a result of the clearances, my own particular forebears were among the last. When my great-grandfather married a Lowland girl, in West Lothian, in 1858, he was in the middle of what proved to be a brief stopover between the bens and the glens and Ohio. He worked in a West Lothian coal mine, and the life underground apparently inspired him to keep moving. Serfdom in Scottish coal mines had been abolished in 1799, but Scottish miners of the mid-nineteenth century might as well have been serfs. They worked regular shifts of fifteen hours and sometimes finished their week with a twenty-four-hour day. Six-year-old girls in the mines did work that later, in times of relative enlightenment, was turned over to ponies. Wages were higher and hours a little shorter for mine work in the Mahoning Valley of Ohio, and my great-

EXERCISE Mindfulness of Body and Breath This is a basic exercise to introduce you to some of the principal elements of a mindfulness exercise. Your breath is an anchor that will be revisited often throughout the coming weeks. While there is some spiritual meaning to the breath (Holy Spirit, creation of the world, etc.), the most important thing about the breath for a mindfulness exercise is that it is always with you, and it is always fluctuating. It is generally easier to pay focused attention to things that are moving because they hold your interest a bit more than things that are static. You will develop the ability to focus on static points, but you will always be able to return to the breath.

When Bouchard’s twin-processing operation was in full swing, he amassed a staff of eighteen—psychologists, psychiatrists, ophthalmologists, cardiologists, pathologists, geneticists, even dentists. Several of his collaborators were highly distinguished: David Lykken was a widely recognized expert on personality, and Auke Tellegen, a Dutch psychologist on the Minnesota faculty, was an expert on personality measuring. In scheduling his twin-evaluations, Bouchard tried limiting the testing to one pair of twins at a time so that he and his colleagues could devote the entire week—with a grueling fifty hours of tests—to two genetically identical individuals. Because it is not a simple matter to determine zygosity—that is, whether twins are identical or fraternal—this was always the first item of business. It was done primarily by comparing blood samples, fingerprint ridge counts, electrocardiograms, and brain waves. As much background information as possible was collected from oral histories and, when possible, from interviews with relatives and spouses. I.Q. was tested with three different instruments: the Wechsler Adult Intelligence Scale, a Raven, Mill-Hill composite test, and the first principal components of two multiple abilities batteries. The Minnesota team also administered four personality inventories (lengthy questionnaires aimed at characterizing and measuring personality traits) and three tests of occupational interests. In all the many personality facets so laboriously measured, the Minnesota team was looking for degrees of concordance and degrees of difference between the separated twins. If there was no connection between the mean scores of all twins sets on a series of related tests—I.Q. tests, for instance—the concordance figure would be zero percent. If the scores of every twin matched his or her twin exactly, the concordance figure would be 100 percent. Statistically, any concordance above 30 percent was considered significant, or rather indicated the presence of some degree of genetic influence. As the week of testing progressed, the twins were wired with electrodes, X-rayed, run on treadmills, hooked up for twenty-four hours with monitoring devices. They were videotaped and a series of questionnaires and interviews elicited their family backgrounds, educations, sexual histories, major life events, and they were assessed for psychiatric problems such as phobias and anxieties. An effort was made to avoid adding questions to the tests once the program was under way because that meant tampering with someone else’s test; it also would necessitate returning to the twins already tested with more questions. But the researchers were tempted. In interviews, a few traits not on the tests appeared similar in enough twin pairs to raise suspicions of a genetic component. One of these was religiosity. The twins might follow different faiths, but if one was religious, his or her twin more often than not was religious as well. Conversely, when one was a nonbeliever, the other generally was too. Because this discovery was considered too intriguing to pass by, an entire additional test was added, an existing instrument that included questions relating to spiritual beliefs. Bouchard would later insist that while he and his colleagues had fully expected to find traits with a high degree of heritability, they also expected to find traits that had no genetic component. He was certain, he says, that they would find some traits that proved to be purely environmental. They were astonished when they did not. While the degree of heritability varied widely—from the low thirties to the high seventies— every trait they measured showed at least some degree of genetic influence. Many showed a lot.

Liberalism postulated the rational and 'progressive' evolutionary nature of the historical process. Besides success it upheld pragmatism, tolerance and compromise as the principal political virtues. At the core of the liberal outlook stood the 'idea of limits'. It abhorred excess and extremism; it believed that 'absolutist' thought of any sort assured at least failure if not perdition. All problems were seen as soluble with the application of reason; and reason, Liberals believed, ultimately did prevail. Reason, in fact, suffused all and was identified with reality.

The worst part of navigating divorced life is figuring out my new position as the single friend. I feel out of place even though I know I shouldn't. Not only do I have to learn to cope with a whole new parenting life of alternating weeks, but I also have to learn how I fit into spaces that were previously couples-centered.

We shot The Local Stigmatic for a few weeks in Atlanta, with David Wheeler as our director, and a principal cast of myself, Paul Guilfoyle, Joe Maher, and Michael Higgins. When it was finished, we showed the film around to people we admired. We had a great dinner gathering of artists and literati in London. People like Tom Stoppard and David Hare, who all sat at a long table. Harold Pinter had seen the film twice at this point; he sat at the head of the table, and when he wanted to speak to everyone, he rang a little bell and the group fell silent. “Every once in a while,” he said, “we see something different. We come into contact with art in film.” I just sat there stunned. Heathcote was in the room, fiddling with a coin and not looking up at anyone, playing the role of the shy genius. He’d been described as a protégé of Pinter’s, but to actually be in the same room as his literary idol, I guess it all was just too much for him. I ran the film once for Elaine May, the great actress and filmmaker, who told me, “I liked it very much. But don’t you ever show this to the public. You don’t know your fame. You don’t understand it, and you don’t understand how it registers. You must recognize it.” And she was right. You’re too well-known for this sort of thing. You have to be careful, because you’re going to startle people. Don’t put this in a theater. I showed it to Jonas Mekas, the independent-film impresario of downtown Manhattan, who ran The Local Stigmatic at his Anthology Film Archives and told me, somewhat optimistically, that I was going to win an Oscar for it. I kept calling Andrew Sarris, the film critic for The Village Voice, to come and see it. And he said, “Stop bothering me, Al. I’ve seen it three times already. I’ve told you what I think. Just show the thing already.” I was trying to get the confidence to screen it for wider audiences. I never did. I’ve come to realize that when I do my own things, nobody goes. Those avant-garde influences that I was brought up with never left my brain. When I’m left on my own, that’s just what seems to come out. It’s a drawback. People come in with expectations, and they leave angry. The Local Stigmatic is such a specific distillation of me and my take on this subject. It’s 150 proof, which can be a little strong for some people.

Principal

Shopping, or at least browsing, became a principal hobby. The average Chinese citizen was dedicating almost ten hours a week to shopping, while the average American spent less than four. That was partly because the process was less efficient in China—public transportation, cost comparisons—and partly because it was a novel form of entertainment.

Mrs. Holt, however, is grinning. “I have a wonderful announcement,” she says. “No practice test today!” Jimmy Russell shouts. “No tests at all!” Bobby Clifford shouts. Mrs. Holt’s grin gets a little tight and she says, “Be careful, boys, or I might decide to have two practice tests today.” Bobby and Jimmy cover their mouths with their hands. Lately school has been about as much fun as packing. That’s because statewide testing is in a few weeks. Mrs. Holt and our principal, Mr. Robinson, have made it clear that doing well on the statewide tests is REALLY IMPORTANT.

The curriculum is not, in practical terms, simply about knowledge being transmitted, but about how that knowledge is handled – or even how it is transcended – by teachers to enable understanding in their charges. The subject matter itself, the knowledge, while important, is less important than the opportunities it offers for the development of thinking. Knowledge, Stenhouse suggested, should principally be seen in the curriculum as a medium for thinking. His point is perhaps doubly true today, when knowledge pure and simple – facts, information – is so easily located. [...] what can now be found in seconds may have taken days or weeks to find, so the more that could be stored in the head, the better equipped a person was for life. The world of knowledge has been turned on its head in a period of only two decades or so by the Internet, and in our thinking about the curriculum we haven’t yet worked out the consequences.

Tuesday Today my parents took me to the “Drool and Gruel” diner to celebrate my A+ on my Scare exam. “Son, you never stop surprising us,” Dad said. “We talked to your teacher and she said that your reenactment of the Zombie Apocalypse was the best thing she had ever seen. You scared every villager in that town.” “Thanks Dad,” I said as I buried my sorrow in a Drool Shake. “Honey, tell him the surprise,” Mom said. “What surprise?” “Well, son, Ms. Bones was so impressed with your work that she spoke to the Principal. And the Principal agreed to sponsor you for an extra week of camp as a reward. Isn’t that amazing?!!” I threw up my Drool shake. “Look how excited he is, honey. He can’t even keep his Drool shake down,” Mom said. Life is so unfair.

Did you bring your books?” He shook his head. Danielle said, “We didn’t get to bring them. We only have two now. Arnie said they keep us from paying attention.” “No, they don’t,” Ellie said. “That’s not right. How upside down is that? A school principal who doesn’t want kids to read? Okay, here’s what we’ll do. When we get back to my new place and drop Noah off at his church, we’ll go to the bookstore at the mall in Eureka. We’ll buy books for you to keep at my house. And there’s a library in town—they have books for children. Every week I’ll get new ones for you to look at when you have Saturdays with me.” “I’m going with you,” Noah said. “Huh?” Ellie asked. “I’m going to take you and the kids to lunch, or early dinner, or whatever it is, then to the bookstore for books.” “You don’t have to do that, Noah,” she said. “We’ll manage.” But

Over the last few years, Greg Smith’s former company earned huge profits, first from the expansion of the American mortgage bubble and the European bubble of sovereign debt, and then again from the – almost simultaneous – bursting of these bubbles on either side of the Atlantic. Subsequently, Goldman Sachs proceeded to secure influence over some of the key political positions in the Italian, Greek and Spanish governments, in order to predate further on these countries after having driven them to the brink of disaster. The role of Goldman Sachs as one of the principal architects of the crisis in Greece was particularly remarkable. As was revealed in 2010, not only they had helped the Greek government to conceal the true state of the country’s finances, but at the same time they had also bet against Greece’s sovereign debt, hoping for its default. As a consequence, in a matter of weeks millions of Greek people saw their livelihoods utterly disintegrate, while the country sank into a state of widespread humanitarian emergency, as industries closed, hospitals ran out of medicine, and the suicide rate sky-rocketed.

We recommend that teacher input be solicited at least every three to four weeks. Participation from all site educators must be required. If even one teacher is permitted to be excused from the process, then the students who are assigned to this teacher are much less likely to receive additional time and support. Consequently, a school would not be able to tell parents that it does not matter which teacher their child has—because it would matter.

She thinks of Stanley's colored pencil drawings of theoretical businesses: a cafe, a bookshop, and, always, a grocery store. When she was ten and he was fourteen, he was already working as a bag boy at Publix, reading what their father called "hippie books." He talked about stuff like citrus canker, the Big Sugar mafia, and genetically modified foods and organisms. He got his store manager to order organic butter after Stanley'd read (in the 'Berkeley Wellness' newsletter) about the high concentration of pesticides in dairy. Then, for weeks, the expensive stuff (twice as much as regular) sat in the case, untouched. So Stanley used his own savings to buy the remaining inventory and stashed in his mother's cold storage. He took some butter to his school principal and spoke passionately about the health benefits of organic dairy: they bought a case for the cafeteria. He ordered more butter directly from the dairy co-operative and sold some to the Cuban-French bakery in the Gables, then sold some more from a big cooler at the Coconut Grove farmer's market. He started making a profit and people came back to him, asking for milk and ice cream. The experience changed Stanley- he was sometimes a little weird and pompous and intense before, but somehow, he began to seem cool and worldly.

I mean, he could blow old Capitalist-Stevie here away." Felice doesn't respond. She pulls the backs of her ankles in close to her butt and rests her chin on the flat of one her knees. She thinks of Stanley's colored pencil drawings of theoretical businesses: a cafe, a bookshop, and, always, a grocery store. When she was ten and he was fourteen, he was already working as a bag boy at Publix, reading what their father called "hippie books." He talked about stuff like citrus canker, the Big Sugar mafia, and genetically modified foods and organisms. He got his store manager to order organic butter after Stanley'd read (in the 'Berkeley Wellness' newsletter) about the high concentration of pesticides in dairy. Then, for weeks, the expensive stuff (twice as much as regular) sat in the case, untouched. So Stanley used his own savings to buy the remaining inventory and stashed in his mother's cold storage. He took some butter to his school principal and spoke passionately about the health benefits of organic dairy: they bought a case for the cafeteria. He ordered more butter directly from the dairy co-operative and sold some to the Cuban-French bakery in the Gables, then sold some more from a big cooler at the Coconut Grove farmer's market. He started making a profit and people came back to him, asking for milk and ice cream. The experience changed Stanley- he was sometimes a little weird and pompous and intense before, but somehow, he began to seem cool and worldly. Their mother, however, said she couldn't afford to use his ingredients in her business. They'd fought about it. Stanley said that Avis had never really supported him. Avis asked if it wasn't hypocritical of Stanley to talk about healthy eating while he was pushing butter. And Stanley replied that he'd learned from the master, that her entire business was based on the cultivation of expensive heart attacks.

It was too beautiful that day to have to sit in a boring class, so my boyfriend suggested we skip school altogether. The next thing I knew, he grabbed my hand in his and we jumped over the fence to freedom. It felt like I was just released from prison. It was the most exhilarating day spent on a boat, with the warmth of the sun on my skin. That is, until I made it home. The principal had already notified my parents of my absence. I was doomed for a week of detention.

On 2 November 1917, five weeks before Allenby walked through the Jaffa Gate, the government in London had issued a document that was to have a fateful and lasting impact on the Holy Land, the Middle East and the world. The foreign secretary, Lord Balfour, wrote to Lord Rothschild, representing the World Zionist Organization, to inform him that: His Majesty’s government view with favour the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavours to facilitate the achievement of this object, it being clearly understood that nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine, or the rights and political status enjoyed by Jews in any other country. The sixty-seven typewritten words of the Balfour Declaration combined considerations of imperial planning, wartime propaganda, biblical resonances and a colonial mindset, as well as evident sympathy for the Zionist idea. With them, as the writer Arthur Koestler was to quip memorably – neatly encapsulating the attendant and continuing controversy – ‘one nation solemnly promised to a second nation the country of a third’.8 Lloyd George highlighted sympathy for the Jews as his principal motivation. But the decisive calculations were political, primarily the wish to outsmart the French in post-war arrangements in the Levant9 and the impulse to use Palestine’s strategic location – its ‘fatal geography’ – to protect Egypt, the Suez Canal and the route to India.10 Other judgements have placed greater emphasis on the need to mobilize Jewish public opinion behind the then flagging Allied war effort. As Balfour told the war cabinet at its final discussion of the issue on 31 October: ‘If we could make a declaration favourable to such an ideal [Zionism], we should be able to carry on extremely useful propaganda both in Russia and in America.’11 Historians have spent decades debating the connections and contradictions between Balfour’s public pledge to the Zionists, the secret 1916 Sykes–Picot agreement between Britain, France and Russia about post-war spheres of influence in the Middle East, and pledges about Arab independence made by the British in 1915 to encourage Sharif Hussein of Mecca to launch his ‘revolt in the desert’ against the Turks. The truth, buried in imprecise definitions, misunderstandings and duplicity, remains elusive.

The results are astonishing. Over 70 percent of all dysfunctioning couples – where one or both have not had an orgasm in years – often achieve climax within two weeks after starting this Tantric program. The explanation, according to Dr. Masters, is that anxiety about orgasm is the principal cause of failure, and once the anxiety is removed, the natural happens by itself, spontaneously – tsu-jan, “of its own nature,” as a Taoist would say.

Tea, on the other hand, stimulated, refreshed and, heavily sugared, delivered much-needed calories to the undernourished working class. In the second quarter of the nineteenth century, improved water supplies and falling prices made tea Britain’s most popular beverage. Sugar had much to do with propelling it there. As British historian D. J. Oddy notes, “The principal change from the late eighteenth century was the growing use of sugar. By the mid-nineteenth century sugar consumption had reached half a pound (0.2 kg) per head per week.”90 That’s a fair amount of sugar, and over the decades it would increase until, by the end of the century, weekly per capita consumption exceeded one pound.91 But

the Principal said she called and that she’s coming back in a few weeks. He said something about Ms. Bones having a ball at the Soccer Championship in Mexico.

For all her boldness, Jade was good at citing risks, naming all the things that could sabotage a life. In the weeks after a homicide in the neighborhood, elementary school kids did worse on tests. Teenagers without fathers were more likely to wind up parents before graduation. Black boys got sent to the principal's office more.

that sounds – ninjas and cookies are two of the most awesome things on the planet. Of course they’d go great together! Wyatt sat by my side with a mouthful of cookie. He chewed it sloppily like a dog. “I’m thankful that you’ve chosen to become a member of my clan.” “Are there other clans?” I asked. “No,” Wyatt said. “Are you ready for the task we’ve specifically chosen for you?” I set my Oreos down on the little table. My first job as a ninja, and in a real ninja uniform – of course I was ready! “Yes, tell me what I must do.” Wyatt paused. “Are you sure? You wear the uniform now so you can’t reject any kind of duty you’re given.” For a second, I imagined he said “doodie,” and I laughed. “No, I won’t reject anything. Whatever you want from me, consider it done.” Wyatt nodded, and made a “tch tch” sound with his cheek. Immediately, one of the other members of the clan tossed a backpack to the ground in front of me. It was bright red with speckled straps. I studied it for a moment. I had seen a backpack like this before, but where? And then it hit me – I saw the same bag sitting by Zoe’s desk earlier in the week. This was Zoe’s backpack. “Why do you have that?” I asked. Wyatt shook his head. “Members of my clan don’t ask questions when they’re given a task, and yours is simple. All you have to do is take this bag to the front office.” “Sneak it in there? You want me to walk through the school wearing this ninja uniform?” “No,” Wyatt said. “That’s why it’ll be easy. After gym, you’ll change into your normal street clothes and simply take this bag to the front desk. You’ll deliver it to the principal, and tell them that you found it under a bush outside.” I looked at Zoe’s backpack. Could it have been a coincidence? Could this just be the same bag that she has? As I scanned the side of it, I saw

What is it?” “It’s a souvenir.” I frown, sitting back in my chair. “For what?” “I didn’t even wash it.” She laughs. “Tinsley, that better not be what I think it is.” I growl. She lifts her mother’s eyes and smiles at me. “You can’t take a knife to school.” She knows this. We just went over this last week. With me, her mother, the principal, and the police officer that were present for our mandatory meeting. “I’m going to mail it to him.” I run a hand down my face, holding in a sigh. I thought Carnage was going to be the death of me. But nope. It’s my teenage daughter.

one of the eighth-grade cliques had a falling-out, and one of the girls, to get back at the others, had stolen their burn book—a journal where they wrote down all the mean shit about other kids in the school—and made copies and distributed it to everybody in the cafeteria during lunch one day. It had become a huge deal; several of the students didn’t come to school for a week, and Principal Ackerman had eventually made us all sit through an assembly about the dangers of bullying.

Principal Hansberry came to each of our classrooms that afternoon to talk to us about discipline and wasting food and respecting the cafeteria workers. I was really worried that Danny would be suspended for starting the food fight. He’d only been helping me. If he got in trouble, I’d have to come clean and take his punishment instead. But the principal had decided that this was “first-week high spirits.” Instead of singling out anyone for punishment, she made the whole school use the last hour of the day to help clean up the cafeteria. That was the first time we’d been punished like that for a food fight. We all got to see what a huge gross mess we had left behind. Lots of kids complained that they hadn’t thrown any food, but Principal Hansberry said that since making the mess was a “group effort,” cleaning it up should be, too. Plus we all had to write a note to take home that said, “Dear Mom and Dad, I am sorry if I have ketchup or anything on my clothes today. We were involved in a food fight at lunch, and we feel very bad for causing so much trouble. Please accept my apology for the extra laundry.” Personally, I thought this was kind of a funny note. But we had to bring it back signed by our parents, so a lot of people didn’t think it was so funny. Luckily they weren’t mad at me or Danny, though. Except for Avery. He tried to get Danny in trouble by telling Principal Hansberry who’d started the fight. But she told him that wasn’t necessary. She said everyone was “responsible for the mob mentality we saw here today,” whatever that means. The most amazing part was that nobody said anything about Merlin. I guess a lot of people didn’t see him. But even the ones who did didn’t admit it. Vice Principal Taney came into our class and asked: “Did anyone here see a dog in the cafeteria before or during the food fight?” No one raised their hands. After a minute, Heidi said: “Maybe you imagined it, Mr. Taney,” in this really innocent voice. I was worried that Avery would tell, but later Hugo told me that nobody in Mr. Guare’s class answered Mr. Taney’s question either. I don’t know why Avery didn’t say anything. Maybe he already knew everyone was mad at him for snitching on Danny.

He studied by himself, starting with the eighteenth-century treatise on common law, Blackstone’s Commentaries on the Laws of England. “The more I read,” Lincoln wrote later, “the more intensely interested I became. Never in my whole life was my mind so thoroughly absorbed. I read until I devoured [the Commentaries].” When he finished Blackstone, Lincoln dug into other books. He became fixated on his studies. Lincoln the law student, a neighbor remembered, “would go day after day for weeks and sit under an oak tree on [a] hill . . . and read.” When the sun moved, the neighbor continued, Lincoln “moved round [the] tree to keep in [the] shade . . . [he] was so absorbed that people said he was crazy. Sometimes [he] did not notice people when he met them.” Years later, Lincoln advised a young man who was considering a legal career: If you are resolutely determined to make a lawyer of yourself, the thing is more than half done already. It is but a small matter whether you read with any body or not. I did not read with any one. Get the books, and read and study them till, you understand them in their principal features; and that is the main thing. It is of no consequence to be in a large town while you are reading. I read at New-Salem, which never had three hundred people living in it. The books, and your capacity for understanding them, are just the same in all places. . . . Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed, is more important than any other one thing.

If you have a traditional fixed-rate mortgage, all you have to do is make early principal payments over the life of the loan. Prepay your next month’s principal, and you could pay off a 30-year mortgage in 15 years in many cases! Does that mean double your monthly payments? No, not even close! Here’s the key: Money Power Principle 3. Cut your mortgage payments in half! The next time you write your monthly mortgage check, write a second check for the principal-only portion of next month’s payment. It’s money you’ll have to pay anyway the following month, so why not take it out of your pocket a couple of weeks early and enjoy some serious savings down the road? Fully 80% to 90%, and in some cases even more, of your early payments will be interest expense anyway. And on average, most Americans either move or refinance within five to seven years (and then start the insanity all over again with a new home mortgage). “It’s a pity,” mortgage expert Marc Eisenson, author of The Banker’s Secret, told the New York Times. “There are millions of people out there who faithfully make their regular mortgage payments because they don’t understand . . . the benefits of pocket-change prepayments.

LEVEL THREE VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S COMMENTS DITCHING ELVIN HISTORY According to a report from the gnomes, Keefe was found hiding in the Level Four wing during afternoon session. 3 out of 10 Warning issued. It’s the first day of sessions and Keefe is already causing trouble—and he can argue that his photographic memory should exempt him from “boring lectures that repeat what’s in the textbook” all he wants! Elvin History is a vital session, and I would’ve given him a week of detention if I could, but none of the Mentors are prepared to be supervising punishments yet. So, I let Keefe off with a warning (reminding him about expulsion!). I’m sure he’ll give everyone plenty of reasons to assign detention soon. This is going to be a very long year.… —Dame Alina VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S COMMENTS DISRESPECT FOR ACADEMY PROPERTY According to a report from Lady Galvin, Keefe took it upon himself to turn his alchemy table into solid silver. 5 out of 10 One week of detention assigned. Apparently Lady Galvin asked Keefe to impress her, and this is what happened. Clearly this is not what she meant. Though, I suppose it is rather impressive—not that I would give Keefe the satisfaction of knowing that! —Dame Alina VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S COMMENTS DITCHING PHYSICAL EDUCATION According to a report from the gnomes, Keefe was found hiding in his PE locker during session. 3 out of 10 One week of detention assigned. It’s highly likely that Keefe has used this hiding place before, since his absence could easily be overlooked in the chaos of the group session. Clearly procedures need to be implemented to ensure this behavior is prevented. —Dame Alina VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S

VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S COMMENTS DISRUPTING DETENTION According to a report from Lady Cadence, Keefe and Sophie Foster were repeatedly caught talking during detention and earned extra punishment. 2 out of 10 One additional detention assigned. I’m not a fan of Lady Cadence’s attitude toward her position as a Foxfire Mentor. But she’s volunteered to supervise the majority of the year’s detentions. And given the punishments she’s planning (I hear today’s involved curdleroots!), I think she may be able to curtail Keefe’s behavior. —Dame Alina VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S COMMENTS DISRUPTING STUDY HALL According to a report from Sir Rosings, Keefe was talking to Sophie Foster and Dex Dizznee—and when Sir Rosings warned them to stop, Keefe threatened to fill Sir Rosings’s desk with sparkly poop. Punishment was assigned to all three prodigies. 2 out of 10 One additional detention assigned. I suppose I should be concerned about how many detentions Keefe has accrued in his first week of sessions. But… I can’t bring myself to care. I think something is going on with Alden Vacker. His children have been absent all week and there was some sort of commotion at the Opening Ceremonies. But every time I’ve asked the Council for information, they’ve denied my request. —Dame Alina

VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S COMMENTS DISRESPECT FOR THE PRINCIPAL For the official report: Keefe took it upon himself to slip Sea See into my tea and turn my eyes teal. 10 out of 10 A month of detention assigned. Thankfully, Kesler Dizznee was able to give me an antidote before orientation, so no one saw my altered appearance. Keefe claims he turned my eyes “Vacker Teal” to help me celebrate Alden’s remarkable recovery—and while I am exceedingly grateful that Sophie Foster was able to heal him, such a tribute would be seen as highly inappropriate, given my history with Alden. I also can’t allow Keefe to think it’s okay to slip elixirs into my food/beverages. —Dame Alina VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S COMMENTS DISRUPTING DETENTION AND DISRESPECT FOR ACADEMY PROPERTY According to a report from Lady Cadence, both Keefe and Sophie Foster were caught placing effluxers wherever they wanted, rather than following her explicit instructions. 8 out of 10 One additional week of detention assigned. I’m sure Keefe was placing his effluxers in places where other prodigies would set them off (or maybe I was his target—I wouldn’t be surprised). So I’m glad Lady Cadence stopped this. But I can’t say I’m thrilled that she convinced the Council to add effluxers to the campus in the first place. I find it hard to believe we need protection from ogres! —Dame Alina VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S COMMENTS DISRUPTING DETENTION AND DISRESPECTING A MENTOR According to a report from Lady Cadence, Keefe and Sophie Foster were acting completely inappropriately during detention, and their behavior led to her getting sprayed in the face with musk-tang. 8 out of 10 Full Disciplinary Report given. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with this “Full Disciplinary Report” Lady Cadence gave me. I think she’s hoping I’ll start expulsion proceedings. But Sophie is far too vital to the Council, given her ability to heal minds—and I’m not in the mood to deal with Lord and Lady Sencen. So I’m just going to leave them to their current punishment. —Dame Alina Update: I can’t believe I’m writing these words, but… I’ve been elected to the Council! I NO LONGER HAVE TO DEAL WITH UNRULY PRODIGIES. The new principal will be Magnate Leto (the former Beacon of the Silver Tower). —Councillor Alina VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S

VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S COMMENTS Third Update: According to a report from Elwin, Mr. Sencen was involved in the recent destruction in the Healing Center—but apparently it happened during a skill lesson that went awry. For that reason, I’m simply noting the incident here, rather than creating a disciplinary report. It should also be noted that Mr. Sencen brought Miss Foster to the Mentors’ private cafeteria for butterblasts. —Magnate Leto VIOLATION SERIOUSNESS SENTENCE PRINCIPAL’S COMMENTS DISRUPTING LUNCHTIME According to a report from Lady Galvin, a number of prodigies began emitting unpleasant gaseous noises midway through the lunch break and had to race to various bathrooms. No proof has been recovered, but the general consensus is that Mr. Sencen slipped Gurgle Gut into their lunches. 5 out of 10 One week of detention assigned. As far as I can surmise, every prodigy affected by Mr. Sencen’s prank had recently been gossiping about (or hassling) Mr. and Miss Vacker about their eldest brother—which is why I’m limiting his detention to a week. I cannot allow such behavior to go unpunished. But I refuse to deny the motivation. —Magnate Leto Update: Foxfire has been placed on an extended hiatus after the traumatic events during the Celestial Festival. Sessions will resume as soon as the Council determines that it is safe to do so. —Magnate Leto

In a more consistent and sustained way, I think, intellectuals who are close to policy formulation and can control patronage of the kind that gives or withholds jobs, stipends, promotions tend to watch out for individuals who do not toe the line professionally and in the eyes of their superiors gradually come to exude an air of controversy and noncooperation. Understandably of course, if you want a job done—let us say that you and your team have to provide the State Department or Foreign Office with a policy paper on Bosnia by next week—you need to surround yourself with people who are loyal, share the same assumptions, speak the same language. I have always felt that for an intellectual who represents the kinds of things I have been discussing in these lectures, being in that sort of professional position, where you are principally serving and winning rewards from power, is not at all conducive to the exercise of that critical and relatively independent spirit of analysis and judgment that, from my point of view, ought to be the intellectual’s contribution. In other words, the intellectual, properly speaking, is not a functionary or an employee completely given up to the policy goals of a government or a large corporation, or even a guild of likeminded professionals. In such situations the temptations to turn off one’s moral sense, or to think entirely from within the specialty, or to curtail skepticism in favor of conformity are far too great to be trusted. Many intellectuals succumb completely to these temptations, and to some degree all of us do. No one is totally self-supporting, not even the greatest of free spirits.

In order for the companies to supply tea and sugar, imperial power was necessary, in India and China principally for tea, and in the Caribbean for sugar. Britain had dominion over both regions. Religion also played a part, with the Temperance movement and the Protestant work ethic driving beer and gin out of the workplace.19 And, for the working poor, tea held an important advantage over a cold glass of beer: ‘Two ounces of tea a week … made many a cold supper seem like a hot meal.

Rafe told everyone he was from Texas. That was bull. I’d dated a summer guy from Texas, and Rafe’s drawl was all wrong. His last name suggested he was Latino, and he kind of looked it, but his high cheekbones and amber eyes said Native to me. He was a little taller than Daniel, lean, with black hair that hung just past the collar of his leather jacket. Worn blue jeans and low motorcycle boots completed the image: American Teen Rebel. It was a look we didn’t see a lot at our school, and the other girls loved it. Not that Rafe needed the added cachet. Considering we’d had the same guys in our class since kindergarten, Rafe’s novelty factor alone would have had the girls tripping over themselves. He was the hottest ticket in town. And he knew it. When I bumped into him, I said a polite, “Hey,” and tried to get past. “Hey, yourself.” He grinned and, in spite of myself, I felt a little flip in my stomach. Rafe wasn’t gorgeous, but he had a sexy, crooked smile and eyes that looked at a girl like she was the first one he’d ever seen. When he stood close, I swore I could feel heat radiating off him. And Rafe always stood close. As I backed up, he hooked a thumb toward the conference room. “Barnes in there?” he asked, meaning the principal. I shook my head. “Haven’t seen him. Ms. Morales was around, though.” “Yeah, I talked to her. She says I need to talk to Barnes. Late once too often this week.” That grin sparked again, like being late for school earned him a place in the bad boy hall of fame.

Barnes in there?” he asked, meaning the principal. I shook my head. “Haven’t seen him. Ms. Morales was around, though.” “Yeah, I talked to her. She says I need to talk to Barnes. Late once too often this week.” That grin sparked again, like being late for school earned him a place in the bad boy hall of fame.

About the age of fourteen, he was sent to school every alternate week for the improvement of his writing. In the mean while, he was busily employed upon the operations of the farm; and, at the age of fifteen, was considered as the principal laborer upon it. About a year after this he gained three weeks of respite, which he spent with his old tutor, Murdoch, at Ayr, in revising the English grammar, and in studying the French language, in which he made uncommon progress. Ere his sixteenth year elapsed, he had considerably extended his reading. The vicinity of Mount Oliphant to Ayr afforded him facilities for gratifying what had now become a passion.

Sidney provides the commentary on the DVD, and he tells us that he wanted “a train song.” Warren and Mercer gave him much more than that, for “On the Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe” is really an “entire town song.” It starts in the saloon—an important location, as it will be at war with the restaurant the Harvey girls wait table in—then moves to the train’s passengers, engineers, and conductor as it pulls in and the locals look everyone over, especially the newly mustered Harveys themselves. Warren’s music has imitated the train’s chugging locomotion, but now comes a trio section not by Warren and Mercer (at “Hey there, did you ever see such pearly femininity … ”), and the girls give us some individual backstories—one claims to have been the Lillian Russell of a small town in Kansas, and principals Ray Bolger and Virginia O’Brien each get a solo, too. The number is not only thus detailed as a composition but gets the ultimate MGM treatment on a gigantic set with intricate interaction among the many soloists, choristers, and extras. But now it’s Garland’s turn to enter the number, disembark, and mix in with the crowd. According to Sidney, Garland executed everything perfectly on the first try—and it was all done in virtually a single shot. Fred Astaire would have insisted on rehearsing it for a week, but Garland was a natural. Once she understood the spirit of a number, the physics of it simply fell into place for her. In any other film of the era, the saloon would be the place where the music was made. And Angela Lansbury, queen of the plot’s rowdy element, does have a floor number, dressed in malevolent black and shocking pink topped by a matching Hippodrome hat. But every other number is a story number—“The Train Must Be Fed” (as the Harveys learn the art of waitressing); “It’s a Great Big World” for anxious Harveys Garland, O’Brien, and a dubbed Cyd Charisse; O’Brien’s comic lament, “The Wild, Wild West,” a forging song at Ray Bolger’s blacksmith shop; “Swing Your Partner Round and Round” at a social. Marjorie Main cues it up, telling one and all that this new dance is “all the rage way

I discovered something else, and that is that suckers differ among themselves according to the degree of experience. The tyro knows nothing, and everybody, including himself, knows it. But the next, or second, grade thinks he knows a great deal and makes others feel that way too. He is the experienced sucker, who has studied not the market itself but a few remarks about the market made by a still higher grade of suckers. The second-grade sucker knows how to keep from losing his money in some of the ways that get the raw beginner. It is this semisucker rather than the 100 per cent article who is the real all-the-year-round support of the commission houses. He lasts about three and a half years on an average, as compared with a single season of from three to thirty weeks, which is the usual Wall Street life of a first offender. It is naturally the semisucker who is always quoting the famous trading aphorisms and the various rules of the game. He knows all the don'ts that ever fell from the oracular lips of the old stagers excepting the principal one, which is: Don't be a sucker! This semisucker is the type that thinks he has cut his wisdom teeth because he loves to buy on declines. He waits for them. He measures his bargains by the number of points it has sold off from the top. In big bull markets the plain unadulterated sucker, utterly ignorant of rules and precedents, buys blindly because he hopes blindly. He makes most of the money until one of the healthy reactions takes it away from him at one fell swoop. But the Careful Mike sucker does what I did when I thought I was playing the game intelligently according to the intelligence of others. I knew I needed to change my bucket-shop methods and I thought I was solving my problem with any change, particularly one that assayed high gold values according to the experienced traders among the customers.

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