1. Miley Cyrus’s faux smooch. Please. Spare me the righteous indignation. Think about all the sexual crap we’re bombarded with every day on television, and tell me this little flap is more serious than all of that. If she’d kissed a boy dancer, it wouldn’t have even been mentioned. Get over it.

2. LeBron James’s “I Love Me” Tour. I’m done caring about this boy. He thinks he’s the savior of the entire league, but one who will only offer his services to the highest bidder — even though he’s never won anything except MVP (huh?). I mean, we’re going to lose him anyway one day, either to contract negs or injury or retirement, so let’s just get on with it. I agree with commish David Stern, who said the other day that players like LeBron should spend less time on self-aggrandizing marketing and more time watching the NBA finals, so they can see how championship teams play. I feel bad for the Cavaliers and the city of Cleveland. Ferry just resigned…seems like everyone’s jumping ship.

3. Spray-on tans gone wild. Honestly. I have no problem with a little color (even though I have none…think Bella Swan on her worst day, seriously), but come on, Kelly.

4. Thunderstorms on the day we’re keeping the Most Amazing Toddlers in the World for the weekend. Not fair.

5. Doorways. Remember yesterday, when I said I was going to ask the Thriller to switch out all the furniture? Yeah, well…he would have had to take apart the entire bed, because assembled, it won’t fit through the door. Innat great? (I wouldn’t let him do it, even though he did say he would, sweety that he is. Smoochy.)

And that is all for this day. The good part — Grammie’s boys arrive in 3 hours! Yippy and yay and I can’t wait.

Fink, blessed after all

So I have a shiny, new, fresh list of aversions this day. I haven’t hated since January, so I’m entitled. Behold:

I Hate…

1. late May. Our bosses tell us, “School is still going on; education still needs to happen,” but I think sometimes they forget what it was like to have 90% of your students mentally check out three weeks ago.
2. giving the annual award for my department, because there is always more than one worthy candidate. Splitting hairs: seems like it’s all I do lately, and I will do more tomorrow at auditions for next fall’s musical.
3. when I try to make a serious point to one of my choirs and end up saying something really stupid and inappropriate (I swear, it was an accident yesterday — it just came out really wrong).
4. taking my students’ actions personally.
5. politics — of all kinds.
6. having control of all facets of my life, except that one.
7. that LOST ended just when I was starting to get into it.
8. the twelve hours leading up to a performance.
9. knowing I’ve forgotten something, but not knowing what.
10. feeling there are things I did not accomplish this year.

But tomorrow’s list is going to include things I love, so no worries. Yin and yang are in balance; feng shui is preserved. The wish is granted. Long live Jambi.

Speaking of happy notes: there were none yesterday during my rehearsals. They were all sad, unfortunate, lonely, out-of-tune, uninspiring, boring, joyless, harmful and suspect notes, completely devoid of technique, passion, discipline and musicianship. Other than that, it was fantastic. We have one more rehearsal on Monday — that should clean up everything, ja?

Lil story here…

I was a beta tester for Gmail. I got an invitation back in 2004, when the users numbered in probably the hundreds of thousands, as opposed to the hundreds of millions today. Therefore, I got a great username: simply my first and last name together.

Now those of you who know my first and last name know that both are quite common. In fact, according to the last Census, there are 3,952 people in America who have my name. In the UK, there are 676 of me — and that makes only two of the 58 countries where English is the official language, or widely spoken. I’ll take a little leap here and say it’s likely that these ladies are mostly — if not all — adults, because of the general unpopularity of my first name nowadays. (It was, however, the third most popular name of the year I was born.)  So that’s a lot of people who want to include their name in an email address, making it basically unsurprising that I’ve received some weird emails over the last 6 years:

• Somebody once wrote to me on the assumption of my being the mayor of a city in Canada. So I did a search, and sure enough, there she was. Even the middle initial is the same — freakish.
• Probably twice a week, I get a notification from Gmail that someone is trying to reset my password.
• I got a mail (should’ve saved it, dangit) from a man who wanted to know if I’d be willing to give my username to his wife for her birthday. I said sure, and quoted him a six-figure sum. He never wrote back.
• I receive a ton of emails from the UK. Many of them are responses to requests for information, where the requestor has mistakenly given my address instead of including the numbers or extra words in her own username. I got this one this morning, from the “Over 55″ people. *sigh*
• Sometimes I receive mails of an extremely personal nature. Yikes. Then I don’t know what to do, because if I respond, they’ll know I read it…awwwwwkwaaaaaaard. Other times, I’ll read on and on about how Charles missed seeing James and me at the lawn bowling party or how much they’re looking forward to chatting with me at the next church lady get-together.
• I’ve received confirmations of purchases and reservations — mostly from the UK — for rental cars, bungalows at the beach, estimates on draperies, etc. Some have contained personal information that I wouldn’t want to have circulating around to strangers.

Many times, I’ll send a short note of correction, and almost every instance brings a response of thanks (especially from Britain, where politeness is more of a priority). But come on already. Most online forms make you enter your email address twice. What gives here? Folks can’t remember their addresses? Hmmm. Guess they just wants to be the Fink.

But what’s the good part to offset the rant?

1. My singers will do their best and be wonderful and sound glorious, and their parents will hopefully be proud.
2. I have only six more days of actual classes.
3. Today is Justin’s first birthday party. Yay!

Have a great Satlurday.

FO

WAIT – DON’T SAY THAT!

~

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.

Fink….quit whining.

OK.

*kicking stuff*

So why is the Fink hatin’ on things? I know not. Yet I still offer the list.

Still More Things I Hate (in addition to these and these)

1. That American Idol is one of the top-rated shows in America.
2. Bossy, controlling personalities, shielded behind the paper-thin veil of wanting to be “helpful.”
3. Being told to “relax,” or to “calm down.” I mean it. I will roll you up and smoke you like an old Laredo.
4. Not knowing.
5. Knowing, but not being able to do anything about it.
6. Politics, and the discussion of same at social gatherings, because A) it always seems to turn into a fight, which automatically ruins any magic, and B) minds are rarely changed.
7. That 5 a.m. turns to 6 a.m. so quickly every day.
8. My infuriating proclivity for procrastination where choreography is concerned.
9. My infuriating proclivity for freaking out before a freakout is warranted.
10. My infuriating proclivities in general.

Sounds to me like you’re due for a list yourself, if for no other reason than you pity me, and misery loves company. And I know that my life is great and I have a fantastic family and I love my job and my students and I am blessed with amazing fiends. But…yeah. We all got our days.

Glurge.

FO

Seems some people are braying like donkeys about Jasper Schuringa (the guy who saved a bunch of collective hind-ends on that Northwest flight from Amsterdam to Detroit on Christmas Day) wanting compensation for his interviews on the news networks.

Oh, get off it.

Pot-and-kettle-ism. Do the networks not cash in on freely-gotten news, and do the anchors not get paid handsomely for reading it off a Teleprompter? Why should Schuringa not get his for talking about the time he saved 300+ people from meeting their maker (a service for which, by the way, he does not seem to be charging the other passengers)? FOX, CNN, the Big 3…just shut up and pay up. He deserves it, fuh cripesake.

What they really should focus on is the fact that Abdulmutallab ever got on a plane in the first place with a bomb in his skivvies.

==============

Then some idiot stick tells Demi Moore she looks old. HAA. What I wouldn’t give to look that old, right? Although I will go to the mat against her denials of ever having plastic surgery. I mean, I remember watching her every day on General Hospital back in the early 80s, and she didn’t look as good at 23 as she does now at 47. Oh, get off it. Who cares, and why hide it? Sure, it’s nobody’s business, but not everyone is a dumb sheep. It’s nothing to be ashamed or secretive of, if for no other reason than people will be able to tell you’ve had something done. If/when the time comes, blepharoplasty is definitely in my future, and I won’t bat my baby grays at people who obviously know I’ve had a procedure as if I have no earthly clue what they could possibly be thinking.

My mother always said, “Ladies don’t tell their age.” I can agree with that to an extent; I don’t shout it from the mountaintops. But there is an explicit strangeness — a quiet taboo on that subject — in the education world. *gasp* Don’t tell your kids how old you are!!! Whatev. My students know I have a 29-year-old son and two grandchildren. Why should my age be such a mystery? I am who and what I am. I think I have my students’ respect; I don’t think I’ll lose it if they know I’m 50.

==============

I have no choreography done. But at least I get to spend some time with Jake & Justin this morning. A good day for sure.

Happy Tuesday, fiends.

Rather, I’m talking about professional sports in Cleveland. This article is disturbing. Yet another house-cleaning seems imminent for the Browns. I’m no doom-and-gloom Bratty McSourpuss (like SOME PEOPLE), but it seems that we’re on a collision course with another dismal waste of draft picks. How many do we get this time, eleven? Wonder how many will leave fans scratching and shaking their heads.

And so what if the Cavs are clinging to first place? Delonte West is doing his best to divert attention to his felonious behavior. A pro athlete in trouble with the law again. Who knew? Seriously, who needs to carry a gun and a 9-inch Bowie knife in his car? From which planet do these people come?

[this section of rant deleted in the interest of the common good] I’m fixin’ to cuss: Geezly Crow!

And so, what was going to be an excited, forward-looking post to opening night tonight has degenerated into so much acrimonious spew. Nice.

I think I need to retire. Or at least go get more coffee.

Fink, straightening skirt and hair

1. Why do people turn nouns into verbs? On Facebook this morning, I noticed someone was “homeworking,” which didn’t bother me, by the way. But it brought to mind a misdirected noun from my graduate work that does. It is the one word that the Rat Fink simply cannot bear to hear. PK knows. I can barely type it. OK, I will, just this once. Musicking — as in the act of making music. I plan to shoot the man who made it up. Music. Is. Not. A. Verb. I know there are those who don’t care about this, but…yeah. You know the drill.
2. Why does talking about critical pedagogy bother me? I really, really get itchy about it. It’s the poster child for the selfish, crybaby, “gimme what she has” generation of public education. *scratching head really fast* I dunno. I just hate it. Moving on.
3. Why does a person write a bomb threat note and leave it in the men’s room at school? (Especially when kids have to sign out to go to the rest room, and there are cameras in the hallways?) Hmmm. Anyway, it was a terrible way for everyone to spend most of their day: evacuated and locked up in the middle school gym.
4. Why does time fly when you’re having fun, and drag when you’re not?
5. Why are my keys always in the other pocket?
6. Why do people insist on self-destructive behaviors? (I myself am guilty of this at times.)
7. Why are some people unkind? I’ll never get it.

Answer me these questions…um, seven.

FO

I wish I could remember what I was reading yesterday morning. It was an interview with a military officer or university official or something…blah, I can’t recall. Anyway, I was reading through his comments, and stopped dead when I read, “And all the sudden…”

After that, I lost interest. Does that make me a bad person? I honestly don’t think I suffer from elitism here. I just mourn the death of our national grammatical conscience is all. Doesn’t anyone care anymore? Does no one care that horrible grammar makes one sound stupid? *sNiFfLE*

Then I had a thought (sometimes I do that). There are movements and causes everywhere. We are a nation of causes. Save the Whales. Save the Donkeys. Save the Butterflies. Save Route 66 (yay!).  Save the Old Jail downtown. Save the Outer Mongolian Tree Spider. TWITTER, fuh cripesake (aka Save the Random, Inconsequential Thoughts).

Well then, how about:

I mean, really. What defines a nation *first*? Its language; its primary form of communication. I know of no other language that is so routinely and indiscriminately mangled. Yes, yes, we’re a melting pot — a tossed salad — e pluribus unum, blah, blah. No excuse, sorry. Especially for native speakers. And I’m not talking about slang, or accents and regional idiosyncrasies (for instance, in Milwaukee, where I went to elementary and middle school, a water fountain was called a “bubbler”). Those are fine, and in many cases, interesting and fun.

RtB fiends know what I mean. I won’t go into it at 5:58 a.m. But listen. If we’re going to champion this cause (notice I’ve dragged you all into this), we need a way better slogan. I love the “Bad Grammar Destroys Nations” thing — but I can’t steal someone else’s gray matter.

So come on. What can fit on the front of a t-shirt? Certainly not the above logo, which I slapped together in 45 seconds. I promise to come up with something better. I’m willing to throw money at this, swear.

Sixth grade choir had better be fabulous first thing this morning…

Fink, in a mood

I suppose it could be that I’m on the fifth day of my gluten-free/sugar-free/dairy-free lifestyle and I’m still getting adjusted; I miss cheese and milk and cereal and bread and Milky Ways. I like how I feel, don’t get me A) wrong, or B) started on the problems that processed sugar and wheat cause for millions of people and they don’t even know it. [Do a search on gluten intolerance to see what I mean.] I guess, as the Thriller has said to me on occasion in the past: I “just wanna be mad.”

Speaking of mad…Mad Men last night was one of those “connecting” episodes. They’re setting up something big. I wish it were a 2-hour show.

Anyway, j’ever have one of those days, when you just wanted to be mad? Actually, I’ve never met anyone who hasn’t, so you’d be the first.

But I won’t dwell on it. There’s too much to do, and besides, there are plenty of other places to read incessant whining. That’s why God made political blog comment sections, and the forums at ClevelandBrowns.com. So cool it, Finkly.

*cricket*

*cricket*

*cricket*

OK I’m STILL MAD. But look on the bright side of life: school starts tomorrow. Yay! I’ma go drown my sorrows with a cherry-vanilla smoothie.

IrkedFink

PS – I guess my discontent could also be because….nah.

Image credit: Warner Bros.

This morning, while doing the obligatory phrase search (to avoid title clash; 518 posts in only 17 categories can stretch the originality a bit), I found a rant I posted three months ago. I laughed — did I really write all that craziness? A friend told me several weeks ago that he’d gone through RtB in its entirety over an extended period, and read every post. I’m not sure I’d want to do that myself, for fear of editing every post. Anyway.

It made me think about how different we all are, and in the funniest ways. For instance, waiting at a railroad crossing — even when I’m in a hurry — doesn’t bug me. Yet, I know people who will rant at the train as if the conductor planned to intersect their path at that particular moment. The Thriller doesn’t mind cruising in the left lane on the interstate, but it makes me want to squirm right out the window (he knows this, and, I’m convinced, derives some small-but-evil pleasure out of doing it on purpose).

So, what niggling issues (I love the word niggling) make you squirm? You know a lot of mine; let’s hear some-a yurrin. Still, I am beholden to my fiends to insert my list forthwith, though few will surprise:

Things That Bug Me

1. Posters or TV commercial graphics that say there are “1000′s of items” available. “One thousands” of items? And worse, “One thousand–apostrophe–s” of items? Yark.
2. Inserting the infuriating “and” when talking of numbers and dates. What year is it? Why, it’s two thousand and nine. NO, it isn’t. It’s two thousand nine. Say it. 2009. Two. Thousand. Nine. What, Americans can’t comprehend a complex number so we need to break it up into smaller chunks by saying and? Then there’s money. The dress was two hundred and fifty dollars. NO….it was two hundred fifty dollars. I swear we are the only culture on the planet that does this annoying thing. Some folks don’t care about it at all, but to me, it’s like chewin’ foil.
3. Unrinsed dishes in the sink. Arrrrrg! OCD! OCD! (Fortunately, that doesn’t happen at my house.)
4. People crying, “OCD! OCD!” at every little stupid thing, like putting dishes in the sink.
5. “All the sudden.” I mean it. Next puppy that crosses my path gets it.
6. Touching wood that is wet, like washing a wood-handled knife. Sets my choppers right on edge.
7. Always, always, always, always reaching into the wrong pocket.
8. Tripping over shoes left on the floor. (And they’re always mine.)
9. Calling the tech support line for a huge corporation and hearing, “our office is now closed…”

So share. Maybe I’ll discover other things that, if they don’t bug me now, will potentially bug me in the future because you implanted the suggestion.

Snark Fink

EDIT 10:04 a.m….

This is the coolest and most creative thing I have ever seen on YouTube.

1. I hate having a headache in the morning; don’t you? What a lousy thing.
2. I hate motorcycles with big fat ol’ loud crackly engines, whose drivers wait until they’re right in front of your house to open up the throttle and take off, bat-outta-Hades. It makes me mad. I want to chase them down and give them a piece of my mind. I just can’t spare one at the moment. *SigH*
3. What is the opposite of empathy? Initially, I’d say apathy. Antipathy, even. But bottom line, what we’ve got here is a failure to walk in another’s shoes or imagine what it would be like to be in somebody else’s situation:  egocentrism. I hate that. If I ever come across [because acrost is NOT A WORD] that way to you, flog me for it.
4. I hate it that, while watching the news during dinner last night, I saw two glaring spelling/usage errors; one in a commercial and the other in a weather forecast. Does no one care to proofread anymore? Are editors extinct? Don’t nobody give a rat nowaday? But just to prove I ain’t no grammar diva who thinks she’s perfect…
5. I hate it that I’ve gone along all these decades thinking that the word “err” is pronounced “air.” (It actually rhymes with the word “fur.” To err is human, I suppose, but it brings up interesting prospects for the word “error.” Ur-ur?)
6. I hate hospitals and stupid expensive tests.
7. I hate it that my key/phone/receipt/shopping list/money/Chapstick/whatever is always, always, always in the other pocket.
8. I hate that the summer has gone so fast (apologies to my nine-to-five fiends — I don’t expect you to feel sorry for me!).

But hey, why all the negative energy today? Let’s have us some good news as well.

Check out the dessert I had at the International Buffet inside Greektown Casino. A luscious, sugar-encrusted devil’s food mini-cupcake, filled with sweetened cream cheese and a cherry, and topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings:

Black Forest decadence. They were small, so of course I had to have two.

~

Then, when we got home, we couldn’t believe our eyes. My brother-in-law Ray had culled every single weed from every garden in my yard, front and back. Im ready for my fall bulb planting now. Is he great or what!?

So yeah. In spite of items 1-8, life is dandy indeed — even if it does feel like Monday.

FO

Instead, I shall pass judgment on something else entirely.

Last night, the Thriller and I were coming home from the pharmacy and we passed a Chinese restaurant. Its vile reek followed us for a quarter of a mile. I was completely offended.

To me, Chinese food smells like old, rancid cooking oil, used 50 times over, then used some more (which is probably closer to the truth than any of us would like to admit, and not just for Chinese cuisine). It’s cloying, but in a bitter way. Bottom line: it just smells filthy to me. And that red, slimy substance they schlep all over everything is just downright wretched.

When our daughters were going to college and living with us, they would sometimes bring the offensive victuals into the house. And while they took a huge running start from the sidewalk up to their bedrooms, no effort, no matter how valiant, could kill the despicable stench of the Red Muck Squeezed From the Leaking Bowels of a Dead Yak. I ended up slapping a moratorium on the foul stuff; they weren’t allowed to eat Chinese in the house anymore. (And I am certain the Chinese appreciated it.)

Oh well. That’s just me.

Other food smells that make me gag, scowl, or just mad:

• Cabbage (cooked)
• Brussels sprouts (in any form)
• Fish
• Broccoli (cooked)
• Every flavor of salad dressing except Caesar
• Olive oil

Through the years, there have been people who, when I shared with them my disdain for many foods, would stand with arms akimbo and scold, You don’t know what you’re missing, and How can you not like _____?

They’re not with us anymore.

So what food smells make you want to yark? Or does *everyone* in the known universe except me love every kind of food imaginable?

I used to hate pizza. Wish I still did.

Fink out.