Aaaaand here we go again.

Wrap your brain around this little drama:

Back in August, I wrote an arrangement of a beautiful song, as I could not find an existing arrangement of it. Through one miracle or another, the chart sounds pretty good. So, I figured I’d better get permission to use it on a concert before I got too heavy into rehearsals.

Located the two composers, contacted their people for permission to perform. It took me a week of bothering them to get them to tell me who owned the print rights. It’s like it was classified information on a national security scale. (???) Once I jimmied that info out of them, I appealed to the Daddy of All School Publishing Companies for permission to arrange the song and for it to be (hopefully) published for sale for school and church use.

Two weeks later, they issue me a Permission to Arrange contract. Wait a minute, though…it’s not for print publishing. It’s just so I can make copies of my own arrangement to use for my choir alone. And to use my own chart, I get to pay $40 upfront, then pay these people $1 for every copy I make for rehearsal.

*blink*

OK, that’s not what I asked. So I emailed the gal back, and asked her to give me the what-what on the printing rights. She wrote back and told me exactly what was on the contract she just sent me. Ooo, hey, guess what? I CAN READ. So I wrote her back and clarified — calmly and politely, but to the letter, and as if I had to make a 10-year-old understand it — exactly what information I was after.

No response.

BOOT.

I have no idea why the doors slam shut when I get to this one issue. I mean, almost nobody takes unsolicited works anyway, so I’m likely screwed regardless, but I honestly want to get to the bottom of this.

I emailed my friend Jerry in Georgia, who is a published arranger (many, many times over), and he wrote back and said he has over 30 of these kinds of things in print, and has never run into this.

I’m beginning to think I’m cursed.

So, I’m putting a call into the Great White School Music Throne today. Any wagers on how many desk droids I’ll have to wade through to be connected with someone who knows jack about this? Cripes.

Oh, and Honorable Mention today goes to CitiMortgage, for sending me a statement with the wrong amount on it for the fourth time. Thumbs up, yeah!

What do you think would happen if I just decided that I didn’t want to take care of business? For instance, how about if I didn’t show up for a concert? Or if I blew off going to a gig to accompany a student and left him hanging with nothing? I’d never get away with it, that’s what. Yet, people apparently do just that on a regular basis.

I trusted one “professional” person to make sure the escrow account on my mortgage is overfunded (and of course, I pay extra to make it so), and for the second straight tax billing period, I look at my statement to see huge late fees because I didn’t have a sufficient balance to make my escrow payment. So I call them. AGAIN. I say, politely, “Um, remember the last two times we dealt with this? Could you check your records and see where I paid extra so this would be taken care of?”

Then I get the “Oh, yes. I see that here. Well, we have to charge the penalty this time, but we’ll be sure to adjust it for next time.” The double-talk, the end-runs around me, the quoting of rules and guidelines that make no sense: they love to lay it on in hopes that if they baffle you with enough BS, you’ll just say OK and go away. That’s about when I lost it last night. Dragging home at 9 p.m. after a decidedly less-than-stellar rehearsal which followed a day full of bad news on one front or another, only to find this familiar friend staring me in the face — it was about all I could take. Mama Fink went on the warpath. And I have the 3.5 hours of sleep to show for it.

The absolute bottom line is this: they don’t listen. You can explain your issue to them as if they were toddlers, after which they puke out hollow epithets like, “Yes, I’ll notate that in your account,” and “It’s all taken care of!” — then they forget they ever heard of you.

Someday, I am going to just let stuff like this go. Meh, it’s just inefficient people. No biggy…

Welp, today is not that day. BOOT to the head.

This morning I happened on a site that seems to be run by a young gal who asks people to submit quotes to her, after which she puts them on interesting pictures and offers them as graphics for your website, Facebook page, MySpace profile, cubicle, desk, bedroom wall, etc.

Is it just me, or does anyone else find these incredibly heavy, deep sayings a trifle annoying? A little over-dramatic, mayhap? Heaven knows we’re all (even I, gasp!) given to histrionics and lengthy rantings now and then, and even the occasional lofty discourse, right? I generally try to avoid all three. But sometimes the situation becomes untenable, and I have to, well, tetch. It’s Snark Week, after all.

I mean, look at these. Seriously?

How about we elect this guy to the school board.

a n d then i ran o u t of meth

Um...

Shut up, hippie.

I am cloaked in failure.

Don't get me started.

The only thing worse than quoting Jerry Maguire is quoting Olivia Newton-John.

And outer Mongolia leads to China.

OK OK. I’ll quit. Actually, I’m not feeling that surly anymore. Writing to you has cured me. Besides, today is a good day; I’m going to get a lot done this morning after getting lots done last night. Then, this afternoon, the Js come for a sleepover, and there’s a Browns game on tonight. A good Saturday indeed. Hope yours is fab!

“The part’s not in yet.”

Ya know………………………….

1. Why is major change so hard to embrace?
2. Why do professional people think it’s acceptable to not return phone calls and emails?
3. Why is it that I’ve used a “Certificate of Live Birth” all my life to get everything from a passport to a Social Security number, and it’s not OK for Obama to use the same document to prove he was born in Hawaii? (I was told on the phone the other day that my original birth certificate was likely destroyed after my adoption.) All who know me know I hate politics and abhor nutjobs on both sides of the aisle, so this isn’t a partisan rant (cuz I don’t have a party, except in my mind every day). It’s just common sense, which apparently isn’t too common anymore…

Only then may you cross the Bridge of Death.

Fink, about to plunge headlong into the Gorge of Peril <dramatic music>

“I’m going to go to bed an hour early. I’m exhausted.”

So what happens at 4:00 this morning, like the tides and the sunset and taxes? Criminetly. Let’s enjoy that 18-hour day today.

No matter. Tonight will be fun (I hope). Pit will be there for the first time, and the cast are improving on their energy, wardrobe changes, and in general, not wanting to run away screaming. This will be worth their aggravation. This will be worth their aggravation. This will be worth…

But as for me? BOOT to the head.

Now, going back to bed? I could get started on that! Happy Thurfsday anyhow. Hugs and good wishes go out to our fiend and regular RtB offender RD, who has a heart catheterization today. Thinking of you, pal!

One person complained, so the Kewaunee School District in Wisconsin changed their mascot name from the Indians to the Storm. Rather than risk an expensive lawsuit, they capitulated. What’s the country coming to, luvs? I am of Irish and Scottish descent. Shall I take on Notre Dame and the College of Wooster? Surely a shillelagh-brandishing leprechaun or a man in a kilt holding a shield and swinging a sword in a murderous fashion would offend someone, somewhere.

I’d be more offended by these mascot names.

While showing some restraint due to my circumstances, I will go out on a limb and state that Americans are becoming a nation of tattle-tales and boo-hooers. Did it never occur to the woman in Wisconsin who complained about the “Indians” name that the moniker might be a tribute and not a slight? According to Jacqueline Johnson, of the National Congress of American Indians, the problem lies in the complete inaccuracy of most representations by sports teams:

“You’ll see icons or pictures that are not reflective of the people or cultures,” she says. “They become caricatures, and that’s offensive in itself, as it would be to any other race if they were caricatured.”

So, what she’s saying is that most Americans are apparently too shallow and ignorant to see a caricature as a caricature. (Definition of caricature: A representation in which the subject’s distinctive features are deliberately exaggerated to produce a comic effect.) Welp, if caricatures are Big Bads, that takes out the mascot for the Providence Friars, the Pittsburgh Steelers, the Purdue Boilermakers, and countless other icons that, while not depicting race  per se, definitely signify personal identity.

Florida State Seminoles

Does the Notre Dame mascot caricature offend me, an Irish American descendant? Heck no. I can see it for what it is. No one is making a hateful statement about a persecuted race. (And don’t tell me that the Irish were not disenfranchised in America years ago.)

I guess I’m personally offended because I consider myself extremely attuned to the past and present plight of the Native Americans. And I’ll go you one further (and this may make me a pariah in some circles): some of the same people who take offense to Chief Wahoo have no problem at all with defacing, burning and even urinating on the American flag, the quintessential symbol of American freedom for which many died, labeling it “art.” But anyone who opposes that behavior is called out as a bigot or nutjob or enemy of personal freedom of expression.

BOOT to the head.

On a completely unrelated, but important, note — John Lennon would have been 70 today. Wow…

Happy weekend, fiends! Alas, I’m off to rehearsal all the live-long day.

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.