Could you please, please PLEASE not vote for candidates who spend your money like the thieves that they are and then flaunt in your faces? How much more does this woman and her family have to rip off from the Gary Community School Corp. before people become horrified that their tax dollars are going toward expensive vacations that have nothing to do with the students? And ESL as a second language, my ass. The native tongue of Creole, or Pidgin English, doesn’t necessitate ESL.

Taxpayers on hook for trip to Hawaii

January 11, 2008


By Sharlonda L. Waterhouse and Carole Carlson
Post-Tribune staff writers

Gary School Board member Andrea Ledbetter defended her trip to the Hawaii International Conference on Education earlier this week saying Hawaii shares many of the same urban ills as Gary. She termed the state a “tropical Gary.”

While Ledbetter declined to say if the cash-strapped school district paid for the trip, she said she planned to turn in expenses for reimbursement. Sources confirmed the school district would receive the bill that Ledbetter estimated at about $1,500.

Ledbetter flew to Hawaii and stayed at the Waikiki Beach Resort and Spa, operated by Marriott. She was joined by her father, Andrew Ledbetter, who she said attended the conference also but paid his own way.

In 2005, Ledbetter took a $3,144 school-paid trip to Okinawa, Japan. She said the visit was for educational and professional enlightenment. The district ordered her to repay trip expenses she placed on her school district credit card.

Ledbetter said she submitted a proposal to participate in the Hawaii conference and she plans to share insight gleaned there with board members.

She said she gained “perspective on what the school district needs.”

Ledbetter criticized the newspaper for writing about her trip. “You always try to make something negative out of it,” she said.

The Ledbetters stayed past the Jan. 5 to 8 conference dates.

On Jan. 9, Ledbetter’s father, Andrew, answered a call to the family hotel room but hung up when asked about the trip.

Upon returning to Gary on Thursday, Ledbetter discussed the trip, but declined to say how she paid for it: “Ask public information,” she said.

The public information office is awaiting the receipt of official credit card statements.

School Board President Nellie Moore, who ran for office under the pledge of ensuring greater financial accountability for the district, did not return numerous calls or respond to a request for information on how the trip was paid for.

According to the official conference site, registration was $440. The room cost was $205 to $245 per night, for a minimum of three nights. Airfare was estimated at $1,500.

Ledbetter, however, said the trip was not that expensive—only $1,500 total. She said she bought discounted first-class tickets and walked most places.

Superintendent Mary Steele-Agee was scheduled to present at the conference, according to a brochure listing her as a chairwoman for a workshop titled: “Turning Around a Failing District: Setting a Course for High Achievement.”

That was scheduled for Sunday, Jan. 6. Steele-Agee did not attend, however.

“What I saw down there is that school districts from all over the country invite the youngest teachers, bringing new perspective. Hawaii suffers from a lot of issues that we have ... . English as second language classes was the biggest topic,” Ledbetter said.

Ledbetter is up for re-election this year and is expected to be challenged by educator and businessman Marion Williams.


Contact Sharlonda L. Waterhouse at 648-3085 or swaterhouse@post-trib.com

Aw. HELL. NAW:

By John Byrne
Post-Tribune Staff Writer

INDIANAPOLIS—Pharmacists who refuse to dispense certain contraceptives would get protection from termination under a bill a Senate committee supported Wednesday.

The Senate Health and Provider Services Committee voted 6-5 to pass Senate Bill 3, which would protect pharmacists who refused to dispense drugs that “cause an abortion” or “destroy an unborn child.”
Sen. Jeff Drozda, R-Westfield, said his bill was not meant to address contraceptives such as birth control pills or so-called “Plan B” drugs.

Drozda said he was simply adopting the language used in states which have already enacted such protections.

But he acknowledged he believes contraceptives would be covered by the bill.

Under current state law, pharmacists are not required to dispense such drugs if they have a moral objection to the products. But they can then be fired from their jobs for the refusal.

Before voting against the measure, Sen. Earline Rogers, D-Gary, said Drozda should include a list of the drugs he means to protect pharmacists from having to dispense.

Contact John Byrne at (317) 631-7400 or jbyrne@post-trib.com

from scintillating and fun to absolute crap in the span of six, seven, maybe 10 minutes? For me, it’s picking up the phone when Mother calls for the second or third time and then reading this afterward: Lookit.

Jon articulates so, so well the minefield that is loving someone with chronic mental illness that that alone was enough to reduce me to tears. What he doesn’t cover, though, is the tremendous guilt that comes with needing that person to fulfill your needs as well. Not because he hasn’t felt it, because you can’t not feel like a total asshole for needing at least some of the time and be human. (You know, even if it’s just the whole “All the starving/war-ravaged/homeless/abused people in the world, and I’m fucked up over an unreturned gesture” kind of thing.) But Jon is with someone who recognizes that her illness can be all-consuming and therefore works just as hard as he does to give back. What do you do when the person can’t even fathom that you even have needs outside of food or money? Tell the person you need XYZ? You’ve already done that a thousand times. Set boundaries? You’ve tried that, too—it works until things are tolerable before it reverts back, usually worse than it was before. Cut the person off completely? You’ve done it with other people, achingly hard though it was. But with this person, others already beat you to it, so if you joined them, the person would be left with no one and, because they’re ill and can’t take care of themselves, their “hitting bottom” would in all likelihood be death.

What do you do? And how do you get through the day knowing full well that compromise such as Heather’s and Jon’s can happen because, as someone who’s sick yourself, you for the most part keep yourself from falling down the k-hole of self-absorption and despair for that very reason?

If you’re me, you shut down, becoming incredibly nasty toward someone who loves you and wincing every time the phone rings because you know that whatever she’s going to say is going to be ridiculous, but there’s also the remote possibility it won’t be, so you can’t completely ignore it even though you’d rather just hide under the bed. I suspect that’s not the best way to go, since the guilt is staggering.

I promise not to drink up all the Hennessy you got on your shelf.

Whoever put it in my head that I really wanted to have lots and lots of family needs to go screw themselves, because with all the planning and this person can’t be around that person so we have to have separate celebrations and FUUUUUUUUUCK THAAAAAAAAT. Jesus. And I don’t even have kids, so I can’t even imagine how much of a suckfest THAT is. Seriously, I’m about ready to scrape whatever pennies I have and just get the hell out of dodge.

In other business, yes, we were pounded hard with snow, and some asshole gave me some sort of upper respiratory crap, so I’m drowning in my own sputum. How you like me now?

Because I’m nothing if not a 12 year-old boy, did you know such a thing exists!?? NO, I didn’t look at it, but is that not the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard of!?? Goes to show that Rule 34 knows no boundaries. (I wonder if there’s some meta thing on Rule 34 in and of itself. Let’s ponder, shall we?)

So last weekend was the end of everyone’s favorite cover band, Bite the Lime, and Anna (who shall now be known as “Girlie” because that’s what she wants) and I braved the ass-bad weather to toast our men farewell as they kill a perfectly popular, awesome band, but whatever pursue other interests. It was awesome drinking on the band’s tab, though, and I think we’re going to have to do that more often. Even caught a fight on video, for which I’m going to have to host a video night to see the footage. (Or maybe not, since watching me get in the camera and slurring, “You know wha? You SHUCK, Truman, becuhz yer breakiiing up the ban!” two or three different times might not be as compelling as I thought it was at the time. But you know what’s really good? Pineapple Upside-down shots.)

You know what I can’t discuss without wanting to get completely stabby on a bitch? Herpes. That’s right: herpes. Oral, genital, wrestler, zoster, shingles, you name it, and it will not fail that I’m going to want to kill someone. Know why? Because there are too many people who’re still completely retarded about it. Yes, I know it sucks. Yes, I know it can be very, very painful for some people. Yes, I know that people shouldn’t actively pursue getting it, and I know that infected people have a sworn duty to tell their partners that they’re infected (preferably beFORE sex ever transpires). But Jeezy Creezy, could y’all stop treating it like your sexual innards are going to fall out your bodies if you even get near someone with it!?? Because they won’t. Seriously.

And another thing while I’m on a tirade: Guys (and gals too), if you break up with someone, it does NOT become the dumpee’s responsibility to enforce the breakup. It’s YOURS, because the DUMPEE does not want to break up in the first place and therefore may allow you to take advantage of their feelings, which may be great for you and your sub-par ego but really sucks for them and also makes you a giant unworthy ASS. So I don’t want to hear “Well, I TOLD him (or her) that it was over, but they wouldn’t listen. What was I supposed to do?” Once you put it down, don’t pick it back up. ‘k!??


[No, I’m actually in a very FINE mood; work’s been busy, I’m kinda sorta interested in someone, I’ve been shopping ... aside from Mother, things are really good. I’m just spouting off about some things that stick in my craw, is all. And reading a LOT of Jezebel, which you should be, too, if you’re not.]

Mother called this morning in Defcon 5 panic because after the wicked storm we had last night, the power’s out in much of the town, and she has no air conditioning. She’s now staying at Chez Broad.

Please send either help or extra prayers that I don’t end up popping a cap in this woman’s ass.

You know, I really don’t give a flying fart who’s doing it—the war, the conservatives, the liberals, the Al-Quesadillas, Big Oil, whatever. You CAN STOP ANY TIME NOW.

during the rather substantial thunderstorm between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. last night: There’s a special place in hell for you, my friend. Leaving a poor, defenseless animal outside to bark, shriek and cry like that ...

Next time, I’m calling the cops on you for animal endangerment.

(An epic about the sad little people who take precious oxygen from the rest of us)

Of course, that was before my experience with a guy who shall heretofore be known as “The Ghoul” and how said experience is testing my resolve at engaging (not engaging?) with crazy people. Because Lawd hep me, this guy is asking for a purple nurple of the nth degree. (Yes, my doctor did ply me full of samples to stave off what would’ve been my 19th nervous breakdown, thanks for asking.)

How I got hooked up with this jackass is irrelevant for our purposes, but the jist is I did a story on him and his fledgling company. If only I’d listened to my instincts about him, I may have been able to avert the following nonsense: You know how a person generally discovers all they need to know about someone else within the first 15 minutes of meeting them? The Ghoul, who’d placed dead last in a business competition—no doubt because of his sparkling personality, as you’ll see—was “pulling an Oscar” or whatever the term is for people who have to pretend they’ve lost gracefully. The fact that he looks like this except with mottled olive skin, mousy brown hair, no beard and both of his jug ears didn’t help his cause; think crypt keeper in a moderately priced suit, and you get the idea. Anyway, I spent about an hour with The Ghoul at a local chain bookstore listening to his shtick; he bought me a coffee and we went on our way, but not before he asked me if he can see the story before it’s published. Now, any self-respecting reporter knows that any legitimate publication doesn’t allow a subject’s prior approval on a story, but because the guy was sooooo freakin’ uptight, I told him I would send him the story after I filed it and then I would make changes only if there were factual errors.

Well, a few weeks pass between the interview and the story running, and in that time, The Ghoul must’ve called me at least once a week to find out when the story was running, which, you know, fine, but don’t expect me to pick up every time you call only to tell you that no, I don’t know when the fucking pub date is going to be, all right? But I file the story and then send it to him as promised. Of course he was all sunshine and puppies—his exact words were, “It’s real good”—but he of course had some changes, which he put in red for me in a return copy. One of those changes was to take out the name of the company that makes the product he’s trying to license. I didn’t understand why that would be an issue because the company does indeed make the product, so I left it in.

After the jump, you’ll see how it all goes terribly, terribly wrong.

I’m going to preface this by saying that all that needed to happen was for The Ghoul to say that there had been a mistake in the article, and a correction would be run. That IS in fact what happened. But this is how The Ghoul took matters into his own hands:

Broad,

I am dissatisfied with your inability to contact me regarding the minor changes. [Product maker] somehow got the article before I actually did. They called me today and asked why they were mentioned as having an agreement with [Ghoul’s company].

I never ever said this to you! I mentioned that the product was a [product maker] creation. You misunderstood what was said. I explained to you that I was in the process of securing other distribution, licensing, direct-sales and joint-venture agreements to bring [the crux of Ghoul’s business] to [target market]. This would include the [product] as well. It must be noted that [Ghoul’s company’s] focus is on the [product] for [target market]. We are going to test the chemistry with permission from [product] and [another company].

At no time did I say specifically that I had an agreement with [product maker]! I did mention that I had an agreement with [another company] for aftercare applications using [product]. I never even said that I had an agreement with [product] either. You obviously took things out of context and misquoted me.

Please forward this to your legal department.[emphasis mine] If I ever ended up in court, I am confident that these email communications to you and the word attachment would show that I made an effort to correct the problem well before the publishing of the article. I even left voice mail for you to contact me about minor corrections. I was aware of the fact that no big changes would be allowed for fear of compromising the article’s tone. But, I did ask you to remove [product maker] from the article on February 28th 2006 via email. Please see attachments.

Ghoul

P.S. It seems unlikely that legal action will be taken, but, be advised that Dow Corning is a big company with a great legal team. I am just making you aware of the situation.

See, now as I’ve said a million times before, I have no problem admitting when I’m wrong, especially when it comes to my stories; I tell subjects CONSTANTLY to give me feedback and let me know when I’ve misunderstood something. But like all things, the tone in your delivery is important, and bringing up legal action for a simple correction is a surefire way to get me to come out with barrels. Put another way, Ghoul didn’t get the apology he was waiting for:

Ghoul:

I’ve already spoken to [redacted], the editor you called about this, and she said that a correction will be run based on what I’ve highlighted in red below. If what I have highlighted is incorrect, you’ll need to take it up with either her or [redacted].

In the meantime, what I told you about your seeing the story prior to print is that [the paper] DOES NOT allow it, but that as a courtesy—one that I distinctly remember telling you I’m not supposed to give—I would send it to you only after I filed it with my editor and that I would change only facts that were incorrect. Well, [product] being [made by product maker] is NOT incorrect, so in my mind, there was no reason for me to remove any reference to it. As for misinterpreting what you said about the licensing, you DID NOT specify any misinterpretation; all you said in your e-mail was, “Please remove [product maker] also,” and I’ll be happy to forward those e-mails to my editors as well if they’d care to see them. But had you been specific, I would’ve been more than happy to correct it.

Going forward, I respectfully offer that if you want complete control over anything published about [Ghoul’s company] in [the paper] or any other publication in the known universe, you need to purchase an ad.

Best,
Broad

Unhappy with my response, Ghoul kicked his ire up a notch:

This was in the first attachment in red and is what was said originally: Then in February 2004, he formed [Ghoul’s company] as well as secured distribution, licensing direct-sales and joint-venture agreements to bring [product] to [target market]. Attached is the document that you received Thu, 1 Mar 2007 08:09:58 -0800 (PST).

If you answered your email, or bothered to answer your phone, this all could have been easily communicated. I tried professionally to convey my minor concerns. Just because you feel that you are doing me a favor, does not mean that you should ignore my requests. I was grateful for your time. But, you did not look at the attachment that was sent on March 1st.  I am correct in that I asked you to omit [product maker] with regard to an agreement, not about the [product] being a [product maker] creation. I have proof that I sent minor corrections with those being posted in red. You did mention that I could change something if it did not compromise the article as a whole. Sorry, but, you are wrong.[ED: And YOU can’t punctuate your way out of paper bag.]

The bottom line is that you do not care, nor did you care about doing things right. I communicated nicely to you and showed professionalism. My email today was an attempt to show you want [sic] I was trying to say at borders and my disappointment.

Going forward, I respectfully offer that if you want to be a better interviewer, you need to listen and write verbatim what is being said. You came to me, I did not go to you!

So I looked at the attachment he sent and compared it with my original, and lo and behold, they didn’t look any different to me. My response:

I have the originals you sent, too, and I stand by my actions.

Best,
Broad

At this point, you’d think that The Ghoul, regardless of who was right, would get it that the correction was being made and all would be well. And you’d be wrong.

My final comment:

You know that I what I asked you to change was in red and was sent to you in a word attachment before the article was published. You had plenty of time to have those very minor changes made prior to print. All you had to do was re-send the new word document with those red highlighted words to your editor. If she saw the very minor changes, she could have made a 1 minute alteration before print. Anyway, you better hope that [product maker] makes no big deal of it. Legally I am protected and I have already talked with [product maker].

On another note, after re-reading your article, I have concluded that it is not very good after all.

No, that last e-mail, sent this morning, didn’t contain a “Nanny nanny boo boo” or “Yo mama!” remarkably enough.



Naturally, it is taking every ounce of my willpower to not respond with either “You got mad picked on in school, didn’t you?” or “You’re not going to start stalking me now, are you!??”

Oh, whatEVER.

Just got off the phone with the Patient Assistance Program trying to find out when my meds are going to arrive: I was told that oh, they’re on back order and we have no idea when they won’t be on backorder, but we’ll send them out when we get them. This after the new (on) crack team reception people at my doctor’s office forgot to put the scrip in the SASE I provided for them FOUR WEEKS AGO. I had a month’s worth of meds when I started the refill process; I now have four pills left.

After fighting with the paper over getting paid on time and getting some mad-horrifying news about someone I still kinda sortaused to love, the last thing I needed to hear was that I’m now going to have to shell out $130 I don’t have because of someone else’s incompetence. I can’t even begin to tell you how defeated I feel right now*.

Or I need a good screwing, because between almost blowing off an assignment that didn’t end up being mine after all, hearing Mother complain that I was late picking her up because she’d been stuck in the house for more than 24 hours (it’s my responsibility to keep her entertained, you see) and getting the suspicion that my NYE plans are shot to hell, I’m in a fairly rotten mood these last couple days. I mean, like chewing metal nails rotten. Not even Tara’s Spawn Shower could wipe away the ick entirely, and it was pretty damn cute. (I told y’all Tara’s knocked up, right? Due in March. And Pop DID evenutally burst: A baby girl, 15 days late (yes, you may collectively groan). For our purposes, we shall call her Squeelie, and she’s perfect in every way. She farts flowers even, forealz.) Being broke until Friday doesn’t exactly help, either, and my gas door was frozen shut, so hope it warms up tomorrow or I don’t have to go anywhere for work, because I have no gas.

Also been dreaming about Dad a lot in the last few days, and it’s revolved around money. Wonder what the underlying issue is and why he’s coming to visit.