Here’s the biggest mistake many Cavs fans made: believing that James cares about them, and “HOME” (I saw the billboards in Cleveland the other day) and loyalty and bringing a pro sports championship of any kind to the state of Ohio. If he chooses to stay in Cleveland, it won’t be because of any of that. His behavior since February is proof positive of it, and this new insanity on ESPN drives the nail in for good. I mean really, since they’ve promised not to drag out the wait time for the announcement past ten minutes, how long will it take him to actually phonate where he’s going? Five seconds? How long does saying a city name like Cleveland, Chicago, Miami, East Rutherford or New York take?

The only ratings jump will be in the first ten minutes. After that, I’d bet that most of the fans in the aforementioned cities — with the exception of the one named by LeBron — will tune out. Idiotic.

LeBron James, his handlers and ESPN: BTTH. But this article — awesome. Haha. Yay for 20/20 perspective when needed.

=========

While flipping channels before bedtime last night, I came across this gem: Toddlers and Tiaras on TLC. In addition to illustrating the immeasurable lengths asinine maternal units will span in order to live vicariously through their poor daughters, this show reminded me of the old car accident saying: it’s horrifying, but you can’t look away.

Some of the cuter quotes I remember:

Mom #1, hissing in a whisper to her 4-year-old who didn’t want to wear a gargantuan wig onstage: “If you don’t wear the wig, you won’t win the Crown of Royalty!”

Mom #2, in an interview: “If Eden wins this, my $70,000 investment will have been worth it.”

Mom #3, in a startling moment of honesty: “I’m certain it’s more about what I want than what she wants.”

Fantastic. And there was so much more — not to mention the fact that people actually have pictures made of their 6-year-old daughters to look like this. No joke. That’s Regan — a real little girl. It’d be interesting to see how many pedophiles have these pageant sites bookmarked.

Child pageants, everyone who runs them, and especially the parents who exploit their kids in them: BTTH.

Children that age should be at the park, playing hide-and-seek in the big plastic tunnel.

Then KFC comes out with a new sandwich.

Today’s boot goes to the “Double Down” — what better way to complement the aforementioned healthy eating campaigns than to introduce “food” that’ll have microscopic beavers building dams in your major arteries faster’n you can say atherosclerosis?

I mean, listen. I’ll eat the occasional Fluffernutter, and I do like having a decadent treat once in awhile, or celebrating on a special day. But this is an affront to anyone who’s ever cared a minute about his or her health in the slightest. Who needs bread when ya got two pieces-a fried chicken you can slap together around bacon, cheese and goo? How delightfully American.

The numbers on KFC’s site look suspiciously low.

Anyway, BOOT to the head for them. Trying to eat healthy is hard enough on everyone. And don’t even get me started on the food in my school cafeteria…

FO

Thing is…you forgot something. All will suffer until I find you. And I will find you. Believe it. After about the 3rd straight week of standing for entire rehearsals, during which I will exhibit the disposition of a honey badger, someone will give you up. Take it to the bank. There are usually about 25 people standing near the door before dismissal — somebody saw you.

If it takes until June, I will find you. Now you just have a real good day.~

Sincerely,
Rat Fink, your humble choral director

All I really want to do right now is spend the night in a giant beagle. Instead, I’m getting ready to go to the emergency room.

Help, I’m stupid and I can’t see!®

Fink out.

~

Of course she did, dear.

And so it goes: another pro athlete arrested for stupid behavior that threatens an otherwise entitled and charmed life. Some people can’t see how fortunate they are. The man is blessed with tackling talent that eventually gives him an embarrassment of riches. After retirement from the NFL, he is paid handsomely to hang around the sidelines and give his opinion on stuff. Difficult job.

It’s a cruel statement, “You can take the boy out of the ghetto, but you can’t take the ghetto out of the boy.” Yet it’s been proven over and over again in pro sports — especially the NBA and NFL. Fortunately, these jokers seem to be in the minority; most pro athletes make it through their careers without spending a single night in jail. Imagine that.

And then there’s the ubiquitous shirking of any blame whatsoever. Why do they do this so consistently? Because they get away with it so frequently. Why take the blame when you can successfully point the finger at someone or something else? Sapp will plead innocent, even if they send him to jail (which they won’t). It’s *always* somebody else’s fault. And even though the truth — either hard or circumstantial — will stare the judges right in the face, they will slap little Warren with an earth-shattering punishment by fining him and sending him back to his “job” on the NFL network for seven figures, so, you know, we can repeat this scenario in five years or so and go through the same process with the same result.

And the sad part is, it’s not limited to pro sports. But don’t get me started on that. I’m actually in a good mood today.

Tonight, I’m leaving for Cincinnati to go to a music geek convention. Yesterday, after a particularly difficult day, I called the hotel down there to confirm, and I asked about WiFi. The nice gal said, “Yes, we do have internet access in the rooms — it’s $9.95 per night.”

“$9.95 per night!!??”, I shot back. “This is the Hyatt Flippin Regency fuh cripesake! Motel 6 and Super 8 will give you WiFi for FREE, but you are charging $150 per night for a room AND $10 to get on the web!??”

She apologized, then I apologized. I told her I knew it wasn’t her fault, but that somebody is getting rich off this and it ain’t the poor slobs who pay for the privilege of a bed and a shower. I know…I get reimbursed by the school for the expenses, but it’s the principle of the thing. Honestly. Find any little reason you can to rip folks off (sorry for the split infinitive; I’m honked).

*straightening hair and skirt*

Just saw these comments on a Toledo TV station news article about a woman who left her 3-year-old daughter on the side of a road:

Some things leave me speechless

~

Anyway. At least the day sucked and I had a really difficult tap rehearsal and got home at 9:30 and now every single school in the area is on a 2-hour snow delay — except mine. Ah, wait. Just got the call.

Time for more coffee…and time to pack! Happy Thursday, fiends. I will post to you tomorrow after paying $10 for the privilege.

Fink out.

Last night, as the Thriller watched one of these “SyFy” (synonymous with horrendously bad screenwriting and acting — and if you think ghostie shows aren’t totally scripted and craftily edited, you’re mistaken) gems, I transcribed what I heard. Brilliant stuff. Behold…

(Spoken with infernal, nonstop banging sound in the background)

“Hey, what was that?”

“Something just went FOOoOOOoOo!”

“I heard something behind me, bro.”

“Don’t show fear!”

“I just saw a shadow.”

“I saw a mist grab Nick’s leg!”

“Smell this. We are smelling sulfur, which is a bad thing.”

“It’s pandemonium right now.”

“I got eyeball pain really bad.”

(Calling out) “How many spirits are here with me right now?”

“Dude, that’s not good.”

Next: the country’s only haunted tattoo parlor. I cannot wait. Heh heh. Makes me laff. Maybe that’s the reaction they’re looking for.

Ghostie shows: closet comedy. Kind of like Pat Robertson’s recent boneheaded comments.

Cripes.

So yesterday morning, I allowed myself a little crowing space. By 12:30 in the afternoon, the wheels had fallen off (alongside the heads of most of my high school choir). Innat just the way? And when will I ever again post about what a boss choral director I think I am? Um, NEVER.

BOOT to the head. Finkleman, Finkleman. What a donkey.

But I’m looking forward to rehearsal today. Running Act I. Should be verrrry especial…

So what are you up to this fine Saturday? I’m going to go up and see if Jake’s ready to get up and have some breakfast.

FO

PS – I just saw this on Facebook. I have to tell you, it’s funny. *ducking and running*

*THE* Overrated University

I experienced  felonious thoughts last night, and I think I still have them this morning.

J’ever have someone say, “Here, have a cigar,” and when you lit it, it exploded in your face? J’ever have someone in a supervisory position tell you, “This is what I want,” and when you gave it to him, he said, “Oh, that’s not what I wanted.” Such is my life at my present university. And I don’t even smoke cigars.

BTTH for BU. One thing is for certain: the first of December will never, ever get here.

*straightening hair and skirt* OK, I’m over it now. (Not really.)

So how is everyone this fine, chilly morning? I am looking forward to rehearsal. Need to get some road behind us on several numbers. I did give up going to the zoo with Jake today, but…

Everyone likes company. Especially misery. So who do you think deserves a BTTH today (besides me, for being so snarky when I have a wonderful life)?

FO

Let’s see here. How shall I describe the latest felonious behavior of yet another in a long line of pro athletes who have too much cash and not enough gray matter? Hmmm. How about bizarre. Or you can come up with your own adjectives; I’m sure you will after reading the tale:

This is a Freightliner truck. Its cab is designed to hold four people. It was behind the wheel of this kind of truck that Miami Dolphins DE Randy Starks was found in Miami early Sunday morning, inching down Ocean Drive, in the company of not three other people (which would have maxed out the seating capacity), but thirteen — one of whom was sitting on Starks’s lap while he drove.

OK wait.

How do you cram 13 people in a truck cab designed for four? I’m still trying to wrap my reptilian brain around that little nugget, although according to the CNN report, police didn’t say whether or not Einstein was pulling a trailer. And furthermore – why a Freightliner truck?

Hey, I know. A party truck. Pull the trailer to a designated spot; park, party, binge/purge, repeat. Still doesn’t explain why the tags weren’t registered to that particular vehicle. Yikes.

Anyway, Starks was arrested because he refused to stop when police chased him down in bumper-to-bumper traffic on foot, banging on the windows and commanding him to get out. (I can only imagine what that looked like.) One officer almost got pancaked between the creepaway truck and another car. Delicious.

Starks posted the pocket-change bail ($10K) and walked. Now what do you want to bet: I say he gets the customary hand slap and sent back to the practice facility. A slick lawyer will show up in court and wave a wand and say a pretty speech, and brother will dance off, scot-free. Because just like Manny Ramirez had no earthly clue that he was taking female fertility drugs, I’m sure Mr. Starks’s defense attorney will argue that li’l Randy had no idea that police officers were hanging off — and banging on — his truck’s doors, yelling at him to stop, and besides, if some fool cop didn’t want to get smashed, he shoulda got the **** out the way. Sheesh.

Somewhere, Ray Lewis is laughing.

Fink out.

Image credit: TheAutoChannel.com; Miami Beach Police Department

Today’s BTTH goes to Skate Canada.

Seems SC wants to toughen up men’s figure skating. Because, you know, we can’t have all them girly-men doing pirouettes and wearing sequins. They must all be gay.

See, this infuriates me on several levels. What’s this all about anyway? I mean really? It’s about television ratings, fiends. Canadian dollars. The Skate Canada people say that fewer men are entering the field of competitive figure skating because of the stereotype attached to it (this is especially touchy for Canada, I’d imagine, given their national, manly sport of ice hockey). Well that’s too bad. Maybe Skate Canada should embark on a massive education initiative, instead of proposing what amounts to simple caving under pressure, or worse: chasing the dollar at any cost.

It seems like a real Pandora’s Box grand opening. So what happens now? If you’re a male skater and you don’t choose the “Tough” program, but rather, you choose the pairs skating or more “artistic” side of the sport — what, you’re a nancy boy now? What happens then? I mean, really. If you want to add another dimension to your sport, then add it. But do it for the right reasons; not because you’re being called “sissy.”

*sigh*

<digression>

But listen. I ain’t no Mother Teresa. Everybody got a stereotype or two in their closet. I do, I admit it. My worst one: men and earrings. I hate earrings on men, in any form, single or double, small or large, hoop or cross or stud. Period. Why? Not because of sexual orientation connections, but because I equate the earring-clad male with a late-1970s lounge lizard.

Yes, I confess. I believe that every man who wears an earring is Nick Winters.

</digression>

Bottom line, I mean, who cares anyway? I think it is positively laughable that people to whom this matters would flock to the symphony hall to listen to Tchaikovsky, Bernstein or Copland (and many others) and not know or think a thing about it. It makes me laugh at all the tough guys who watched — and identified with — Rock Hudson’s and Van Johnson’s movies back in the day and didn’t know.

Regardless of your personal/religious/moral views, fiends: it just doesn’t matter. I know gay people who are amazing musicians. I also know gay bankers, teachers, coaches (*GASP*), attorneys, cost accountants, corporate training execs and project managers, whose work is indistinguishable from that of their hetero counterparts. Why does everything have to be about orientation?

Hey, I have an idea. Let’s make everything about how nice you are. If you’re a schmuck — *bANg*. You’re out. If you have fun at other people’s expense because it makes you feel superior — *bANg*. Boot to the head. If you constantly drag down the people around you with your horrible attitude — *bANg*. We shun you. If you don’t treat others as you want to be treated — *bANg*. We stereotype you, look down on you, and invalidate you.

Heh. I’m fulla good ideas. Happy Saturday! I hate weekends.

Fink out.

Three different actors played the bored-to-death fix-it men. Nowadays, there’s a new one altogether.

Anyway, get to the point.

Seems there’s a Maytag repair guy out in Reno who got a little too bored. From the NY Times:

By using serial numbers he copied from washers and dryers at local retail outlets such as Lowe’s and Fry’s Electronics, he submitted … false claims for repairs and travel expenses to the company…”

Now that’s some nerve. And not only did he rack up bogus repair bills, he racked them up to the tune of over $300,000. In 2006 alone, he submitted claims for over 3,000 repairs. (No wonder Maytag noticed.)

The guy, of course, denies all charges. Now really, luv. Did we expect anything less?

*ding ding* BOOT to the head.

Happy Finkday!

Photo credit: Whirlpool Corp.

I try to be nice. I try to be open-minded. I make it my business to stop and consider a divergent opinion before deciding to agree or disagree. I have even paused before passing any kind of judgment on spoiled-brat, selfish, filthy rich athletes (I am sorry, but nobody is worth $25M a year to swing a ball bat) who wear entitlement like a big fat badge.

But I am now officially at the end of my tether.

**cue weepy Yann Tiersen piano music**

“When I arrived in Texas in 2001, I felt an enormous amount of pressure. I felt like I had all the weight of the world on top of me and I needed to perform, and perform at a high level every day…”

Mm-hm. Yep. And your point?

This is getting ridiculous. Remember back in the early 80s, when there was an absolute bank-run on the insanity defense in American courts? Seemed like every ax murderer and rapist out there either said, “The devil made me do it,” or gave Academy Award performances on the witness stand in attempts to channel Charlie Manson.

Well, I’m starting to see the same trend. I call it the “Young and Stupid” defense.

When have so many gotten so caught and had so few legitimate excuses? What to do then? Ah…look as meek as possible and say, “I’m ashamed. I was under pressure. I was Young and Stupid.”

Tell it to the judge, Alex. You weren’t Young and Stupid. You were Arrogant and Greedy. Sorry, fiends, but I believe (and I’m not alone) that had the news of A-Rod’s steroid use not come to light, he would have never ever ever in his long-legged life admitted to it. I mean, maybe I wouldn’t have, either. But like my mother always said, “A lie will follow you around, and one day, the truth will probably come out.”

Oh, but then I could plead Young & Stupid. Hmmm…..

I want a donut. A stop by Hawkins Bakery this morning, mayhap? I think so.

Fink out (and late!).

Photo credit: John Munson, the Star-Ledger

So I was sitting at the box last night, catching up on some emails. The Thriller came up from his office and asked, “Will it bother you if I turn on the TV?”

“Of course not, go right ahead,” says I.

Big mistake. Of course he turns on a spook show. (What was I thinking?) Enter three very serious-looking thirty-somethings; self-proclaimed “investigators” of the existence of the supernatural: stars of the new show with the brilliantly creative title, Ghost Adventures.

Digression: Does anyone else find it amusing (and, in my case, tiring) that many of these shows feature apparent “skeptics” of the paranormal, purporting to go out and disprove the existence of ghosties, only to find that, “Ooh, they really DO exist!” ? Hey, let’s tell people we don’t believe in ghosts, then flip out when we feel that blast of cool air in the dungeon… *sigh* Truly. It’s like a Sci-Fi Channel original movie script — the type that would make Ed Wood proud. [And if you've ever seen a Sci-Fi Channel original movie, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.] Anyway…

For the next hour, I was treated to the audio of the show, since I cannot see the TV screen from the parlor. I’ll try to paraphrase the more entertaining bits:

We’re measuring for EMFs — that’s electromagnetic field — which some believe can detect the presence of paranormal entities.”

“Dude, I felt something.”

“OK, Mr. Boots, I hear that you don’t like people invading your space. Well I’m here to tell you that I am invading your space, and if you don’t want me here, you need to come out and tell me.”

“Man, I don’t feel too good.”

“$^#%! Something just touched my hair!”

“Aaaah! Aaaaah! You guys, c’mere!”

“Lower the camera, lower the camera, lower the camera, lower the camera!”

“It’s lowered.”

Right. So. How do you think the spooOoOOky episode ended? Well, in this case, it appears that our pesky poltergeist Mr. Boots caused quite a stir. It seems, according to a blog I read this morning about it, that one of the final shots was of the tour guide having a conversation with the lead investigator, Zak. There was, according to this blogger who watched the show, a noticeable “blur” around Zak, but the tour guide appeared totally clear. Creepy.

And, of course, nobody ever edits film footage or adds production effects. I mean, that would be an attempt to scare or fool people. TV producers would never do that…

Hey, we finally have photographic proof of Mr. Boots’s existence. This from a Flickr account:

I’ve said before that if you watch this stuff purely to laugh at it, or to see great locales on TV, fabulous. But seriously, we all know people who get all buggy-eyed and whispery when they talk about these shows. I want to hug them; console them, make them hot cocoa.

I have a better idea, though. Wanna feel a little creepy? Read The Mysteries of Harris Burdick. [Note to Michael: Mark-Elliot is the perfect age to read this if he hasn't already.] That’ll get your imagination going.

Have a great weekend, my fiends.

Fink, hitting the books