In a speech about family values, the only woman in the GOP field doesn't bring up the personal values of a certain scandal-ridden rival
Michele Bachmann spoke about the importance of family values in Washington on Monday. The candidate currently occupying what was once her space in the Republican presidential primary has been accused of conduct you could call inconsistent with family values -- allegedly sexually harassing multiple women, one of whom was scheduled to come forward Monday afternoon.
An obvious opening, you might think -- even the most mild reference would be seized upon as a new development in the scandal enveloping Herman Cain. But Bachmann didn't get anywhere near the subject, and even seemed to back away from an earlier vague allusion to it.
"While this election season has been full of surprises, I can assure there will be no policy surprises with me," she said -- seeming to exclude personal surprises with the addition of the word "policy."
Eclipsed by other candidates and beset by campaign chaos, Bachmann now needs all the attention she can get. She's slipped to fourth in Iowa and sixth nationally according to recent polls. But she continues to carry on as if nothing has changed and didn't mention any of the other candidates by name in her Monday speech at the Family Research Council.
She noted that "some Republican candidates seem confused about what it means to be 100 percent pro-life," an apparent reference to Cain. She said, "It isn't heartless, it isn't cruel to cut these programs," which might have been directed at Rick Perry. She lamented that "too many Republicans" are merely "frugal socialists" compared to the "out-of-control socialist" in the White House. Romney, perhaps? All of them?
When a reporter asked who she meant by that last one, she smiled and said, "You see, that's part of the puzzle that you figure out." Politicians hate when reporters read between the lines of what they're saying, except when they demand it.
It's strange to see Bachmann being so skittish about attacking other candidates. In the run-up to the Ames straw poll in August, she effectively buried Tim Pawlenty with her brutal, direct salvos against him. She was a key part of the multi-candidate pile-on that torpedoed Perry's roll-out, memorably speaking of "innocent little 12-year-old girls ... forced to have a government injection," and proceeding to link the Gardasil vaccine to a charge of "crony capitalism."
This isn't about a media hungry for conflict between the candidates, the more brutal the better. It's about Bachmann's need to distinguish herself from her rivals in more than vague terms if she wants voters to consider her anew.
Bachmann's speech didn't go there, or really anywhere. Reading from a prepared text, she rushed through a series of points about history and the Constitution, touching on such hot-button topics as the space program and the U.N. charter. It was if she knew that the scattered, oblique attack lines would be picked up and isolated, and the rest was basically window dressing.
In a radio interview airing Monday, Bachmann reportedly was more explicit in her criticism, singling out Cain for being "inconsistent" on policy. But as the only woman in the field of candidates, and one who has made her status as wife an mother central to her appeal, she would seem to be uniquely situated to raise questions about Cain's alleged personal conduct. Plenty of Republicans -- women in particular -- have qualms about Cain's trustworthiness in the wake of the harassment revelations. Part of the reason Cain has so successfully framed the scandal as a battle between him and the media is that none of his rivals has sought to recast it as a question of character.
That includes Bachmann, apparently. Asked after the speech if she thought candidates' personal values ought also to be considered, she said, "Uh, that would be up to the voters, I guess, to decide. Sure."
For those who didn't go to prestigious schools, don't come from money, and aren't interested in sports and booze—it's near impossible to gain access to the best paying jobs.
As income inequality in the U.S. strikes historic highs, many people are starting to feel that the American dream is either dead or out of reach. Only 64 percent of Americans still believe that it’s possible to go from rags to riches, and, in another poll, 63 percent said they did not believe their children would be better off than they were. These days, the idea that anyone who works hard can become wealthy is at best a tough sell.
Along with the Nancy Drew series, almost all of the thrillers in the popular teenage franchise were produced by ghostwriters, thanks to a business model that proved to be prescient.
In the opening pages of a recent installment of the children’s book series The Hardy Boys, black smoke drifts though the ruined suburb of Bayport. The town's residents, dressed in tatters and smeared with ash, stumble past the local pharmacy and diner. Shards of glass litter the sidewalk. “Unreal,” says the mystery-solving teenager Joe Hardy—and he's right. Joe and his brother Frank are on a film set, and the people staggering through the scene are actors dressed as zombies. But as is always the case with Hardy Boysbooks, something still isn’t quite right: This time, malfunctioning sets nearly kill several actors, and the brothers find themselves in the middle of yet another mystery.
There are two types of people in the world: those with hundreds of unread messages, and those who can’t relax until their inboxes are cleared out.
For some, it’s a spider. For others, it’s an unexpected run-in with an ex. But for me, discomfort is a dot with a number in it: 1,328 unread-message notifications? I just can’t fathom how anyone lives like that.
How is it that some people remain calm as unread messages trickle into their inboxes and then roost there unattended, while others can’t sit still knowing that there are bolded-black emails and red-dotted Slack messages? I may operate toward the extreme end of compulsive notification-eliminators, but surveys suggest I’m not alone: One 2012 study found that 70 percent of work emails were attended to within six seconds of their arrival.
This has led me to a theory that there are two types of emailers in the world: Those who can comfortably ignore unread notifications, and those who feel the need to take action immediately.
The plight of non-tenured professors is widely known, but what about the impact they have on the students they’re hired to instruct?
Imagine meeting your English professor by the trunk of her car for office hours, where she doles out information like a taco vendor in a food truck. Or getting an e-mail error message when you write your former biology professor asking for a recommendation because she is no longer employed at the same college. Or attending an afternoon lecture in which your anthropology professor seems a little distracted because he doesn’t have enough money for bus fare. This is an increasingly widespread reality of college education.
Many students—and parents who foot the bills—may assume that all college professors are adequately compensated professionals with a distinct arrangement in which they have a job for life. In actuality those are just tenured professors, who represent less than a quarter of all college faculty. Odds are that students will be taught by professors with less job security and lower pay than those tenured employees, which research shows results in diminished services for students.
Soccer’s international governing body has long been suspected of mass corruption, but a 47-count U.S. indictment is one of the first real steps to accountability.
Imagine this: A shadowy multinational syndicate, sprawling across national borders but keeping its business quiet. Founded in the early 20th century, it has survived a tumultuous century, gradually expanding its power. It cuts deals with national governments and corporations alike, and has a hand in a range of businesses. Some are legitimate; others are suspected of beings little more than protection rackets or vehicles for kickbacks. Nepotism is rampant. Even though it’s been widely rumored to be a criminal enterprise for years, it has used its clout to cow the justice system into leaving it alone. It has branches spread across the globe, arranged in an elaborate hierarchical system. Its top official, both reviled and feared and demanding complete fealty, is sometimes referred to as the godfather.
In most states, where euthanasia is illegal, physicians can offer only hints and euphemisms for patients to interpret.
SAN FRANCISCO—Physician-assisted suicide is illegal in all but five states. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen in the rest. Sick patients sometimes ask for help in hastening their deaths, and some doctors will hint, vaguely, how to do it.
This leads to bizarre, veiled conversations between medical professionals and overwhelmed families. Doctors and nurses want to help but also want to avoid prosecution, so they speak carefully, parsing their words. Family members, in the midst of one of the most confusing and emotional times of their lives, are left to interpret euphemisms.
That’s what still frustrates Hope Arnold. She says throughout the 10 months her husband J.D. Falk was being treated for stomach cancer in 2011, no one would talk straight with them.
The Islamic State is no mere collection of psychopaths. It is a religious group with carefully considered beliefs, among them that it is a key agent of the coming apocalypse. Here’s what that means for its strategy—and for how to stop it.
What is the Islamic State?
Where did it come from, and what are its intentions? The simplicity of these questions can be deceiving, and few Western leaders seem to know the answers. In December, The New York Times published confidential comments by Major General Michael K. Nagata, the Special Operations commander for the United States in the Middle East, admitting that he had hardly begun figuring out the Islamic State’s appeal. “We have not defeated the idea,” he said. “We do not even understand the idea.” In the past year, President Obama has referred to the Islamic State, variously, as “not Islamic” and as al-Qaeda’s “jayvee team,” statements that reflected confusion about the group, and may have contributed to significant strategic errors.
New research confirms what they say about nice guys.
Smile at the customer. Bake cookies for your colleagues. Sing your subordinates’ praises. Share credit. Listen. Empathize. Don’t drive the last dollar out of a deal. Leave the last doughnut for someone else.
Sneer at the customer. Keep your colleagues on edge. Claim credit. Speak first. Put your feet on the table. Withhold approval. Instill fear. Interrupt. Ask for more. And by all means, take that last doughnut. You deserve it.
Follow one of those paths, the success literature tells us, and you’ll go far. Follow the other, and you’ll die powerless and broke. The only question is, which is which?
Of all the issues that preoccupy the modern mind—Nature or nurture? Is there life in outer space? Why can’t America field a decent soccer team?—it’s hard to think of one that has attracted so much water-cooler philosophizing yet so little scientific inquiry. Does it pay to be nice? Or is there an advantage to being a jerk?
In any case, people have probably heard the phrase in reference to something gone awry at work or in life. In either setting, when the shit does hit the fan, people will tend to look to the most competent person in the room to take over.
And too bad for that person. A new paper by a team of researchers from Duke University, University of Georgia, and University of Colorado looks at not only how extremely competent people are treated by their co-workers and peers, but how those people feel when, at crucial moments, everyone turns to them. They find that responsible employees are not terribly pleased about this dynamic either.
Getting experienced educators to work in the highest-need schools requires more than bonus pay.
Standing in front of my eighth-grade class, my heart palpitated to near-panic-attack speed as I watched second hand of the clock. Please bell—ring early, I prayed. It was my second day of teaching, and some of my middle-school male students were putting me to the test.
In a span of three minutes, the group in room 204 had morphed from contained to out of control. Two boys were shooting dice in the back of the room, and as I instructed them to put their crumpled dollar bills away, several others took off their shoes and began tossing them around like footballs. Before I could react, one boy broke into my supply closet. He snatched handfuls of No. 2 pencils and highlighters and sprinted out of the room, slamming the door behind him.