Things I Can’t Resist

1. The smell of bread toasting. Every time the Thriller has some, I have to go make some, too. I’m such a pathetic weakling.
2. Kissing my dog.
3. Rinsing off the spoon after stirring my coffee. Bizarre.
4. Jake.
5. Making sure every hair is in place. (Thanks, Mother.)
6. Rinsing off the dishes in hot water before leaving them in the sink or on the counter or putting them in somebody else’s dishwasher (I don’t have one of those fancical dancical machines).
7. Milky Ways. Ok, I’ve been resisting them lately, but there was a time…

What about you? List a couple. Reveal your inner cravings, OCD tendencies, and general freakishness.

Lance gets married this weekend. And just as I did before Sean’s wedding in 2003, I’m sitting here on a quiet Sunday morning with my memories, amazed at how fast little boys grow up.

Lance Philip was a silly, happy, loud, creative child. (He is now a silly, happy, loud, creative man.)

He walked at 9 months, and his first word was “hot.” Over the first 8 years of his life, he had more stitches, head wounds and accidents than any other child I have ever seen, met, heard of, read about or imagined in my wildest nightmares. I still think the emergency room staff suspected me…

Lance was and is my “free spirit.” Sean was introspective and conversational; obedient and quiet, never wanting to upset things or make waves. Lance lived to make waves. He *was* a wave; an endless wave of energy, creativity, laughter and mischief. (And it got him in trouble a few times, didn’t it Lancey???)

In other words, he was just like his mother. *sigh*

And now he’s all grown up. I love this picture of him (one of his high school graduation photos). I know he’d rather I didn’t post it, but seein’ as how Lance and I are very much alike…I don’t care. HA

Seriously, though. Lance has grown up to be a wonderful, caring person, and I am thrilled to “hand him over” to the beautiful woman he will marry on Saturday. I know I’m not losing a son; I’m just losing my grip on his childhood, which went by way, way too fast.

So this is my blog-flavored sonnet to Lance, who will always — even when he’s 49 — be my baby boy.

*sNifFLe*

I was wrong.

Right now, Mavis and I are reading the Anita Blake series by Laurell K. Hamilton (come on, a girl’s got to have some reading material that does not involve research methodologies). I love all things vampiric; always have, ever since picking up Interview With the Vampire after seeing the movie back in the 90s. Her stories are great, and there’s always an unexpected deus ex machina moment, designed to assure the reader that the stories will continue. Total fun.

Anyway, while reading the first book, Guilty Pleasures, I noticed a couple of errors. You know, minor things, like transposed letters or a missing word in a sentence. I thought, that’s all right, just a typo. No problem.

However, with each successive book in the series, the mistakes began to pile up. Things like “I was loosing the battle,” and “He was smarter then that,” started to irritate me — a lot.

Hamilton’s rampant use of alright is bothersome, too, although the word has been so overused that it’s now a basically accepted part of the American lexicon. Still, why wasn’t it caught and corrected? It makes the word nerd in me absolutely howl.

Then there’s this, over and over and over:

“‘Oh, really?’ She made it a question.”

“‘You knew about this?’ I made it a question.”

“‘Are you in love with him?’ He made it a question.”

What does that mean? Of COURSE it’s a question. So, you’re asking a question, then telling the reader that you phrased the question as a question…STOP IT. I am going mental.

While I love the story lines, and Hamilton’s style is hip and smart-aleck, I can’t get past the myriad mistakes in usage and spelling, and her bewildering phraseology (not to mention an annoying penchant for committing paragraph after paragraph to describing what a character is wearing). Does that make me a bad person? I make this a question.

I went to LKH’s MySpace page the other day, and read that she doesn’t maintain it herself. But the site assures that she does read it. It also unfortunately says that Laurell “definately is enjoying MySpace.” Arg. More points off. Her own website — laurellkhamilton.org — is equally amateurish. **FAIL.**

Who knows…maybe Penguin Books thinks people who buy mass-market paperbacks won’t know the diff. But if I were a #1 New York Times Bestseller List author, I’d for dang sure make certain that everything going out to the public under my name was at least grammatically correct.

Hey Laurell — fire your editor and HIRE THE FINK!

Looks like one nightmare is over for the troubled, now ex-mayor of Detroit, with another one waiting in the wings; namely, jail time, disbarment, probation from seeking elected office for five years, and making restitution to the tune of a cool $1M.

It’s been interesting over the past few months to watch this story develop (and degenerate). I mean, people fall down sometimes. I have no rocks to throw or ax to sharpen. But the proof was in the text messages. How do you fight that? He maintained his innocence for such a long time — and now, to come clean when it was clear he had no other options simply makes him look silly. And don’t forget guilty.

Personally, I chalk it up to a flaw that trips up the best of us: the obligatory pride which goeth before a fall. Hubris. I-can’t-get-caught-ism.

The Thriller has a saying that really makes sense, and I plagiarize him on it all the time: People will ride the gravy train until it stops running. That’s what Kwame did. The action was great and the perks were many. He was drunk on his power, which clouded his better judgment. I don’t think he’s a bad man; rather, I just think he took a gargantuan detour to Stupidville because he (apparently) believed there was no one watching him as he ultimately painted himself into a corner. That gets ‘em every time.

For real…how many Kwames are there out there in public life? Many are nice guys (and girls) who simply believe they are above reproach or censure, so they throw caution (and common sense) to the four winds and behave as if life’s a big frat party. Fun while it lasts, but, as Yours Truly is wont to say to her students: Ya makes yer choices and ya lives with the consequences. And Kwame is reaping his harvest right now. (Unfortunately, so is this person.)

The outcome reminds me a little of the quiz show controversy of the 1950s. What Charles Van Doren did (fooled the TV public by getting the quiz answers ahead of time) was not illegal, but lying about it to a federal grand jury….

The crazy things we do.

That’s enough spewing of gray matter for one morning.

Former teen star Mackenzie Phillips was nailed again for dope last night. I talked about her costar, Valerie Bertinelli, a couple of weeks ago. They were both on the 70s sitcom, One Day at a Time. Mackenzie was eventually fired from the show for repeated drug use. Some habits really do die hard…

She is the daughter of the late John Phillips of The Mamas & the Papas fame, who, unfortunately, was also a career druggie. But he was a talented songwriter, too, having written one of my all-time faves of the 60s, “San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair).” Absolutely great song.

Anyway, Mackenzie is reportedly going back to rehab. I hate that word, rehab. Talk about overused — and for increasingly wackier reasons (can you say David Duchovny?). But honestly, those of us in the real world can’t go to rehab. We deal with it. Who could take six weeks off work at the drop of a hat to “go to the spa and get your health back?”

Truly though, we all have our demons to fight. I wish her the best. But can rehab be addictive?

Photo credit: eonline.com

I usually have no trouble putting my thoughts into words. But eBay “support” has bested me. I cannot even begin to sufficiently explain my level of utter disgust, anger and unmitigated exasperation. I have never in my life been treated this way.

After the most recent absolutely idiotic and unbelievably lame response, I could stand no more…

This is the most asinine, ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I cannot convey to you my complete disgust at the treatment I have received after 8 years of buying and selling on eBay. I’m not talking about the [auction listing in question]; I’m talking about being summarily ignored, then spoken to with stupid canned responses, as if I know nothing.

You have all positioned yourselves to be consummately unreachable; you no longer function as a community, but rather as a corporate steamroller. Your faithful customers are the last of your concerns.

I know you are a simple CS droid and have no power. If I could get the email or phone number of someone higher up, I would. But I was told by someone in your miserable excuse for “Live Help” that her supervisor’s contact information was “confidential.” Terrific. Customer Service that you can’t reach. Am I the only one who sees anything wrong with this picture?

My God. No wonder you’re worried about Amazon. You should be. People are jumping the eBay/PayPal pirate ship in droves. A simple Google search on “unfair ebay practices” reveals that.

You (that is, your company, not you personally, as your place on the power grid is only slightly above mine) may enjoy the monopoly now, but your time is waning. I hope you all get what’s coming to you.

And now I feel better.

Nothing will change, though. Good, honest, faithful eBay sellers will still be openly and willingly sacrificed (doing the aforementioned web search will reveal plenty about that). In the big scheme of life, I guess it’s not a big deal. But it sure was this afternoon for awhile…heh.

Fink out.

]]> http://finkweb.org/evilbay/feed/ http://finkweb.org/the-beginning-of-the-end/ http://finkweb.org/the-beginning-of-the-end/#comments Tue, 02 Sep 2008 09:38:03 +0000 Rat Fink http://finkweb.org/?p=1327 ….followed by another beginning.

Today marks the beginning of my last doctoral class. It’s been a long haul: eleven courses in all, 44 semester hours, nonstop through weekends, musical and dinner theater rehearsals and performances, weddings and the birth of a grandchild, holidays and summer break, since January of 2007. I’m glad this is the last one, but by no means is it the end. And I’m not talking about writing the dissertation (which I’m actually looking forward to).

Unlike many degree programs, this doctorate doesn’t end by way of completing classes and graduating. If only…

Rather, it ends with my taking three huge exams. If I pass, I collect (or, more likely, pay) my $200 and advance to the residency stage, where I will defend my dissertation proposal to a panel of professors. If I don’t pass, I can test again for a total of three times. If I don’t pass after the third round, it’s sayonara. Do a curriculum project and we’ll give you a second masters degree. Nice knowing you. Have a nice life. Thanks for the fifty grand, and please go away now.

That’s a bit unnerving for me. My family and friends, who are wonderful and very supportive, have all assured me that I will pass the Qualifying Exams I will take in the spring. But, as I’ve told them, other (and very smart) people have tried and failed. It’s an exceptionally difficult program to get through. Out of the last group of 70 students who took the QEs, only 7 passed. That’s an eight percent pass rate.

Things don’t look good for the home team.

I’m not trying to be all doom-and-gloom and woe-is-me, but I am trying to be realistic. If a Tanglewood scholar can’t pass, what are the chances for a jazz and rock and roll singer? I have no answers. I don’t know…it’s good for me to “verbalize” my fears, I suppose. Maybe the planets will align properly on testing day and I’ll be magnificent. Maybe I’ll go down in flames. No way to tell. I can only prepare and do my best.

But if the worst does happen, I’m not going to just fall on my sword. I will keep fighting the fight (although what that means, I’m not entirely sure). I know that there are many more important things in life than having “Dr.” in front of your name. And I’ve learned a ton of great stuff in this journey. It will undoubtedly help me in the future, whatever that will be, no matter what the test grades are.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Fink out.

But I digress. Back to the subject.

After the kids left, I checked weather.com for the latest on Gustav. I ended up a half an hour later on several sites on the history of hurricanes in the US over the last century or so. Time and again, the hurricane that obliterated Galveston, Texas in 1900 was mentioned.

I’d seen a special on the Weather Channel about it a few years ago; the storm still holds the record for the highest casualties of any weather-related disaster in US history. And much of it can be chalked up to plain, old-fashioned human hubris.

The town weather man, Isaac Cline, told residents who insisted a seawall be built to protect Galveston from hurricanes that there was pretty much no way a storm could destroy the city, or even disable it. He dismissed the idea as rubbish, and since he was the resident weather scientist, folks took him at his word.

It would be their undoing.

On 8 September, 1900, Galveston was indeed destroyed by “The Great Storm.” And, as is the case with all hurricanes that make landfall, it wasn’t the wind and rain that did the deed — it was the storm surge. Most of the US cities on the Atlantic coastline are less than 10 feet above sea level, which makes them sitting ducks.

Remember the tsunami back in 2004 that hit Banda Aceh, Indonesia and Phuket, Thailand? A tsunami is a big ol’ storm surge. Check out this home video if you want to see what a few big waves can do to a city:

You can also see some incredible before-and-after pictures of storm surge damage here.

At least there are early warning systems nowadays that make it almost a certainty that people can evacuate to higher ground and escape the worst.

It is difficult to imagine doing what the citizens of Galveston had to do after their tragedy. With as many as 8,000 dead, cemeteries (which were also flooded, most likely) were out of the question. They ended up gathering up the dead in wagons, putting them on a barge, sailing out a ways, and dumping them in the ocean.

Let’s hope it’s not that bad today, anywhere. Ick.

Photo credits: abcnews.com, noaa.gov

…for Labor Day Weekend.

1. I hope I look this good when I’m 50, but the skeleton arms are a bit scary. At least she has sense enough to cover all the other parts people don’t want to see on a 50-year-old woman.
2. Who says over 40 can’t be gorgeous when they clean up like this?
3. I’m really worried about the people on the Gulf Coast. If you are of the praying ilk, please do so.
4. I love it when a friend writes and says wonderful things. Send me a nice email. I will love you even more.
5. Early this morning, I went through my dresser and found nine pairs of jeans and slacks I can’t wear anymore. They’re going up on eVil eBay today. Yippy.
6. Speaking of…I still have yet to receive a response from eBay “Help” regarding my situation. They know they’re dead wrong.
7. Thirteen more days until the wedding! Heidi, if you’re reading this, sorry to make you barf.
8. This is a well-written article. I have to get that book.
9. I got next to nothing done yesterday, but I had a nice time not doing it.
10. I get to see Jakey today! He is Grammie’s boy.

Happy Long Weekend — send positive thoughts to New Orleans.

If you live there and survived Katrina, you have got to be feeling extremely anxious right now, because truthfully, as this CNN raw video of Gustav arriving in Jamaica shows, nothing can stop the sea. Those retaining walls are holding back that water because the water wishes it.

Here’s hoping that the damage is minimal.

This morning might be a good time to revisit some truly shocking numbers and facts. The Hurricane Katrina FAQ has a lot of information. It seems that the government has learned its lesson as well; both the mayor of New Orleans and the governor of Louisiana have been given lots of face time on television, telling folks to prepare. But, like they both stated in various news conferences I’ve seen, it’s up to the citizens to save their own hides.

I saw one clip of a couple on their way to a Saints game. The guy’s comment: “We’ll make our decision tomorrow.” I hope that gives them enough time.

Fink out (watchin’ the weather radar).

Fifteen pounds gone. Fifteen more to go. Fifteen years in, fifteen years to retirement. (Not that I’m all about retirement, mind. I will probably never completely retire; I’d drive my family stark-raving mad. Pretty sure I’d end up sleeping with the fishes.)

Sometimes I regret not having started teaching when other people my age did. Those folks are now looking at only three more years until retirement. But then I think back on what I did while my contemporaries were going to college — raising my sons and being a stay-at-home mom during the day and a working musician at night — and it was actually very rewarding. I’m glad I did it that way. So it’s all good.

Speaking of good, I had my first rehearsals with most of the choirs yesterday. My vocal jazz ensemble shows real promise, as does my high school choir (only 83 this time — a much more workable number). Sixty-seven in 7th/8th choir, and ninety in 5th/6th. Lots of music to do this year, as well as the fourteen thereafter…

Enjoy your Finkday. Weekend’s almost here.

No joke. I read it here. I think it’s great, actually. At 62, and even with a hundred plastic surgeries to her credit, she still looks good, and I think she’ll pull off nicely what the director envisions as Catwoman in her “twilight years.” Girlfriend can be snarky, that’s for sure. Remember how she used to insult Sonny on their variety show back in the 70s? I always loved Sonny. What a tragedy.

I liked Cher in Silkwood, Mermaids, and The Witches of Eastwick, among others. Can she do this? Meh. I think so.

Check out this photo — looks like she’s had some more work done. Cheek and jaw implants maybe (either that, or she’s gained some weight, which is not a bad thing for her, either).

I’ve read a lot of nasty comments about how she shouldn’t be playing Catwoman. People havin’ hissy fits about it. “Catwoman should be hot!”

Whatever. I say more power to her. If I have that kind of energy at 62 to keep my look together, I’ll be grateful.

I’ll go to the movie just to see how she plays the character. Ok, that, and to see Johnny play the Riddler.

Fink out.

Photo credits: top, cherworld.com; bottom, Reuters.com

Remember Mark Paul Gosselaar from Saved By the Bell ? He is the lead in the series, playing a cynical, disillusioned public defender named Jerry, who no longer believes in the legal system. This role is a fur piece from playing hunky “Zack.” And aside from the guy going, “You are the most amazing lawyer in the world” or whatever he said, the script sounds pretty good; I’ma give it a looksee.

Have a dandy Wednesday.

Fink out.

PS - the Tribe won their 9th in a row last night, putting them in 3rd place in the division. Now all they have to do is win the next 11 while Chicago and Minnesota lose the next 11, and they might have a shot…

When your airplane engine stalls, you fall from the sky and die. Or, if you’re lucky, you land in a tree and escape with your life.

I know, I know. The conventional defense is delivered eloquently at epicdisasters.com:

While airline disasters are spectacular and often cause tragically large losses of life, it’s worth noting that airline travel remains among the safest modes of travel. In a statistical sense, airplanes are far safer than cars. Each day, three million people fly. In 2000, commercial airliners carried 1.09 billion people on 18 million flights, while suffering only 20 fatal accidents. On the other hand, automobile accidents kill more than 40,000 each year in the United States alone.”

I hear it, I read it, I see it, I understand it. But it’s the “tragically large loss of life” I struggle with, feel me? I suppose there are those who say, “Oh well…when it’s my time to go, it’s my time to go.” Agreed. But I’d rather not go that way, if it’s all the same to you. As many car accidents as there are, I would think that the majority of them do not end in a ball of flame with the passengers trapped inside — if not dying from incineration, dying from smoke inhalation (although I’ll concede that there are plenty of nasty ways to die in a car, too, and on a boat and at a football game and in the grocery).

But there can be minor car accidents. Fender-benders. You can survive a massive heart attack. Is there such thing as a “minor plane crash?” If I’m making up percentages, I’d say 98% of the time, no. Even at an altitude of, say, 200 feet, when you ram a 182-ton aircraft even gently into the ground, bad things are probably going to happen to the jet fuel and you’re going to hurt people. In a car, mechanical failure often means you’re stranded at worst. In a plane, you’re stranded, and on fire. No thanks.

Years ago, on a flight from Cleveland to Denver, I had the good fortune (???) to sit beside a commercial airline pilot, who was snagging a ride home to Colorado. We struck up a conversation while waiting to taxi to the runway, and exchanged what we did for a living. I was quick to tell him, “I’m terrified of this experience, and it doesn’t get any better with time and repetition.” He was kind and encouraging, and only slipped up once, when he told me, “The most dangerous times are taking off and landing. You burn that much jet fuel at high speeds and it can be lethal.” Right. Thanks for that.

Yesterday’s news didn’t help me process my paralyzing fear of airplanes. Gotta keep trying. But for now, I choose not to fly.

In other news — it’s the first day of school. Yay!

Rat Fink, aviation weenie

Photo credits: Associated Press

So I guess the adage “you’re as young as you feel” applies here. Either that, or I’m just delusional. Either way, it’s all good.

Off to the school house with my bad self.