Wherefore art thou, Unfunded Man Date? A Halloween romantic horror story in four acts.

Happy Halloween, everyone. Tragic romance defines this year’s costume.

I’m an “Unfunded Man Date,” aching for some loving legislator or governor or educrat to take my rose and take me to dinner (or at least give me an adequate budget for anything — like pay that keeps people in the teaching profession, school security, ESE, or even compulsory education as a concept.)

Come follow this Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy through the stages of rejection. We start here.

Hope and expectation

I’m a good idea, and surely some special lawmaker wants to fund me. Right?


It’s committee week; and all my Tallahassee crushes turn their wandering eyes to the pretty boys, like Kelli Stargel’s $500 million tax break for beer companies. Wherefore art I a mere lowly child development and protection public expenditure?

Passionate desperation

As the session is closing, I’m raising my John Cusack boom box one last time to make them love me.

But my box isn’t as big and doesn’t boom as loud. It’s just about kids and humanity. That’s no match for beer company billions.

Tragic resignation

All that talk about “year of the teacher…” Just sweet whispers. Just another notch on another player’s belt.

Will this Unfunded Man Date ever find love? Or at least some nice governor I can settle for? (PS: Call me Richard. I’ll always take you back. I know you like the classics. We can quote Romeo and Juliet to each other — under a tree.)