Monthly Archives: June 2012

Stuff You Need to Know…

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…If You Have Teenagers On Your Facebook Friend List

  1. You will read every sad, angry, bizarre and hopelessly obscure song lyric on the planet. Lyrics will be posted at random, and will often have nothing whatsoever to do with the mood the teenager is in at the moment. If asked, “Whyd you post that if your not mad”, the response will often be, “idk i was just listening to it lol.”
  2. lms = like my status (and you’ll get a prize — read on)
  3. tbh = “To be honest.” This is the game where you “like” a friend’s status, and that friend posts a statement or two on your wall, beginning with the words, “To be honest…” Most often, the “To be honest” is followed by something along the lines of, “We don’t hang out much anymore but we need to,” and “We used to be really close and your really pretty,” and “I don’t know you really well but your my cousin’s girlfriend.”
  4. lms for a rate – I am not making this up. Care to have someone judge you on a scale of 1-10 on your overall worth as a human? Smash that little thumbs-up icon. Admittedly, the lowest score I’ve seen a person give someone is 8 7, but still. Seriously? Rating people on a numeric scale in a public forum? Only in the 13-17 age demographic…
  5. The cryptic, melodramatic status. Now we’ve all likely done some flavor of that from time to time, but teenagers are the undisputed world champeens. “Why do I even try anymore?” “Some people are totally fake!” “I know you lied to me.” “I hate my life.” They beg for response; for questions. Then when some unsuspecting fool writes, “hey wut happened,” the retort is either A) more cryptic prose, or B) “nothing its ok.”

Of course, with the exception of #5, these are all in good fun for the most part, and I don’t mind them at all. (Not all of my students take part in them, either.) I enjoy having my students on my Facebook friend list because I am completely non-controversial. I don’t broadcast my innermost personal turmoil on social networking sites, and I refrain — as I do here at RtB — from writing things that people (like my bosses, two of whom are also on my FB friend list) might find morally objectionable. In other words, I have nothing to hide, and that which I might need to hide stays hidden. It’s not like I’d behave differently if my students were not able to see my posts. I’m pretty boring in real life, actually. I don’t “party.” I’m just a Grammie with an attitude. A Rattitude. :P

And how’d you like the fact that I used “your” in the wrong context and omitted apostrophes from contractions —  and lived to tell the tale? Haha. Livin’ on the edge, lemmetellya. That’s my MO.

Rock on, Wayne.

Just deserts

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And by “deserts,” I don’t mean “an arid expanse of sand-covered land”; nor am I referring to strawberry pies (which, btw, would be spelled “desserts”). Rather, I’m talking about somebody getting what he deserves: his just (righteous and fair) deSERTS (punishments or rewards).

Isn’t English ridiculous? Right, I’m straying off topic. As Holmes and Watson said in the movie the other night: Let’s crack on…

He’s nobody’s love slave.

Jer Bear is in serious trouble, that is for sure. Even if he’s found not guilty, he will suffer repercussions for the rest of his life. There are those who would wish (and have done so, publicly and repeatedly) terrible circumstances on him if he goes to prison — of the “being made someone’s concubine” variety. How many times have you seen something to that effect when reading about the conviction and sentencing of a child predator? I hope he gets put in a cell with a psychopathic lifer named Bruno, who…

Many folks want to see the same suffering exacted on the perp as he or she visited upon the children. It’s true that child molesters are vilified more than any other criminal in prisons — which is precisely why Sandusky, if convicted and sentenced, will also be carefully protected. That was an a-ha moment for me, because my first gut reaction was why should he be spared?

According to The Daily Beast, that’s not the way things run, and after reading the article last night, I must say I’m in agreement. Columnist Mansfield Frazier says:

[S]ince prison officials know that sex offenders would be subjected to brutal treatment at the hands of other prisoners if placed in the general population, for years now those inmates have been segregated. For their own safety, they’re placed in correctional institutions with other sex offenders, the aged, and the disabled. Sandusky, if sentenced to prison, would spend all his time . . .with prisoners who perhaps were convicted of crimes even more despicable than those he’s being accused of.

Moreover, regardless of the less-than-stellar reputation that prison wardens are saddled with (primarily due to exaggerations in the movies), most subscribe to the following maxim where their charges are concerned: You are here as punishment, not for punishment. If you ruminate on that, you’ll see the sense in it. What could be worse than going to prison and having one’s most basic freedoms yanked away — in some cases, for a long, long time? Sure, there’s the argument that you get three squares a day, free TV/internet, and free education at taxpayer expense, but really: for someone like Sandusky (and countless others who have families and grandchildren and who enjoy the comforts of a free existence), it’s tantamount to a death sentence.

Of course there are people with no hope, no family, no conscience, or highly dysfunctional lives — or all of the above — who would see prison as a joyride. Every society has those, I reckon. But for otherwise “regular” people who want to do things like go to the store or the casino or the library or church or out for a boat ride with the family? They are miserable, punished and desperate in prison as it is. No need for piling on.

Additionally, there is a legal angle (isn’t there always?) of which prison wardens have to be wary:

Beginning in the early 1990s, prisoners around the country started filing (and in many cases, winning) class-action lawsuits against departments of corrections, directors, and wardens over the conditions of their confinement. And gradually, things behind bars changed. The fact that prison authorities have a duty to protect prisoners is now well established, and no state wants to risk paying out huge sums or having to tie up legal staffers defending such actions.

So, as Frazier states, no warden or prison official in his right mind is going to fail to perform his duty to protect such a notorious prisoner as Sandusky would be. It’s far easier to just do the job by the books, and leave the judging to the judges.

Wise words. And so my mind is changed.

Hey, it’s Monkday — time to visit the school house, where the sound equipment guy is going to come to my classroom and install my new PreSonus StudioLive Digital Mixer. Yaaaaah HOO! A good day to all my wunnerful fiends.

:-)

Review: Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows

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This one took the bromance cake. Of course, I’m one of those shallow girlz who will gladly watch — and on some level, enjoy — anything Robert Downey, Jr. is in, so it wouldn’t matter what cake was up for the taking. I’d like it. :-)

Still, there were holes. I know about the expectation that a viewer suspend disbelief and instead just immerse him/herself in the story. I get that. But Guy Ritchie makes the work awfully challenging. Just a few examples:

  • A high-tech (even by, say, Viet Nam era standards) weapons factory exists in the Swiss wilderness, complete with a football-stadium-sized warehouse, which Holmes illuminates by flipping a single light switch, instantaneously activating enormous overhead lights (the film takes place in 1891).
  • Holmes throws Watson’s wife off a speeding train, sending her plummeting at 50 MPH into a river, from which she emerges, unscathed, muttering sarcastically about how this was shaping up to be the best night of her life.
  • With regards to the train: there’s only so much smart-aleck, joke-around-in-the-face-of-certain-death chicanery I can take. Again, expectations for suspension of disbelief were too high. That, and the fact that Watson took far too easily the news that his friend just chucked his wife into the river on their honeymoon night. Head-scratcher.
  • There’s a completely cheesy twist put on the final (and by this time, tedious) slo-mo fight sequence. I actually did a tongue click.

The fight scenes (too many for my taste) bordered on the useless. And the evil henchman/assassin working for Moriarty? Hardly a scary individual. He looked like a cost accountant, late for a train. (My apologies to all tardy cost accountants.) It just didn’t add up; it was like Ritchie was trying to cover all bases for everyone, and missing the mark altogether in places. The way Holmes was directed to react to the death of someone close to him (and it wasn’t even confirmed in the movie, at least to my satisfaction) was pretty shallow. Big question mark there.

There were definite bright spots, however. I mean, it’s RDJ — need I say more? :P Jude Law was also adorable, and Jared Harris (Lane Pryce in Mad Men) did the understated arch-villain Moriarty proud. Stephen Fry, half of the old comedy team Fry and (Hugh) Laurie, was delightful as Holmes’s quirky brother Mycroft. He called Downing “Sherly” — haha.

As for the women in the film…um, were there any women in the film? Huh…can’t recall.

Still, it was a borderline fun movie for a quiet Saturday night. If you don’t mind being nibbled to death by anachronistic ducks, give it a try. “Sherly” is, after all, pretty easy on the eyes.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows:
 

For your consideration…

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…I present the following, you know, in case you’re wondering.

  1. Jim Henson invented the term “muppet” as a combination of the word “marionette” and “puppet.” I had absolutely no idea until this morning. Seriously. Never put that together.
  2. The glue on Israeli postage stamps is certified kosher.
  3. WikiHow has everything.
  4. I just report the news, fiends.
  5. Hey, now.
  6. Cryptophasia: the bizarre phenomenon of the language spoken by twins, that only the two of them can understand.
  7. Last night’s gig was great, and the perfect way to bring to a close the 35 years of joy singing jazz has brought me.
  8. Thirteen days to Odyssey blastoff. My dining room will soon turn into a preflight staging area.
  9. It’s the weekend.

Late to the party

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Hey, it’s 8:30 a.m. and I haven’t checked in with my 160-member worldwide readership yet. :P

Y’know…

I’ve never really spoken these exact words in public before…but I think my performing days are over, and I’m glad to see them go.

Time was, I couldn’t imagine myself in a position where I would not want to be onstage. The thought never entered my mind. In fact, I’ve always told my students that when they are performing onstage, I am living out my continuing dream through them. Anymore? Not so much. Case in point:

Tonight, I am performing with a group of guys (loosely named the Jazz All-Stars) up on Lake Erie. Great musicians all, and I was beyond flattered to be asked to sing. I’m doing two tunes, so no big deal, but I’ve experienced no small amount of trepidation about the whole thing for the past two months. Will the voice hold out? Can I keep company with all these hot players? Do I still have it? It’s all getting to be too much; I am, in fact, dreading it, now that the day has finally arrived. In past years, I couldn’t wait to do a gig like this. Now I’m looking past it and living for 10 p.m.

Why is this? I’ve thought a lot about it recently, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s all right. It’s all right to move on. My priorities are different now: grandchildren, travel, family and friends. I said to Mavis the other day, “I don’t care about jazz ed. anymore.” That’s not really true; I care about the style that’s become second nature to me over the decades. I care about its proliferation and its importance to America’s musical heritage. It’s the only truly American musical form, and we need to protect it like any other national treasure. I love jazz (and the blues and R & B and rock and roll) and what it’s meant to me. I guess I just don’t care to perform it any longer. In fact, I don’t think I really want to perform at all anymore. (Obvious exceptions: 1. Playing in a band with my sons; 2. Sitting in with BoomR; 3. Playing Mrs. Lovett onstage in Sweeney Todd.)

My career as a music educator is approaching its twilight hours, and I definitely do not want to be one of those choral directors who just mark time, waiting to collect the retirement pay. That attitude will always seep into the music your groups sing. I want to be involved and current and motivated till the final minute, but I think I might be drifting in another direction — away from jazz and into musical theater. Am I mental? Is this allowed? Do I not care enough? Is the world truly going to end in six months and it won’t matter anyway?

Meh. Regardless, it will be a nice evening (I hope) for the audience, and the Thriller and I will have a relaxing dinner somewhere in Port Clinton, and we will all likely survive the gig and it will be a pleasant ride home. Then we can begin pre-launch preparations for the Odyssey. (Yippy!)

Wow — a 500-word, rambling treatise on nothing in particular.  Wouldn’t be RtB otherwise, now would it?   :grin:

It’s Finkday, YaAAaaay