Random Neuron Firings

So before I leave for Seamus and Hannah’s house to spend some quality time with Dusty, Willow and Oliver (their precious dogses), consider these:

I watched every episode of Mad Men and never once remembered that this guy is Tom Hanks’s son.

~~~~~

I am buying some of this today, so I can make these. Dandy.

~~~~~

Speaking of Tom Hanks, has anyone seen it yet? What did you think? I’m reading that it’s the best of the three.

~~~~~

I need to add something to the Schmenglish category. “Nuptuals” [sic]. If I hear one more TV news anchor pronounce it that way, I am going to … well, I don’t know what I’m going to do. But it will be serious. Don’t push me.

~~~~~

J’ever wonder what the guy playing Hi**er in all those YouTube “H**er Reacts to…” videos was really saying?

Heh.

Have a fantastic Saturday — I’m off to get stuff done before the raging thunderstorms hit.

FO

Well fiends, what do you think?

On a whim yesterday morning, I decided to remodel a bit. The paint was peeling in places, and the joint just needed some brightening up. The theme is called “Renegade,” so that appealed to me as well.

Some photos on the older posts, for some odd reason, aren’t rendering correctly, and there are some tiny customizations here and there that I haven’t gotten around to yet, but all in all I think I like the new look. Definitely a 180 from the original style. Yay for the change-up.

Different on the outside; same old me.

…you’re another day older. (That was for you, Stoney.)

At the end of the day yesterday, I was pretty much done in. Some amazing stuff happened; couple of awesome people came into my life. Emotionally crazy for Mavis and me, but fantastic. Someday I shall write about it here.

One of the best parts was getting to see my sis, my grandchildren and both of my sons, all on the same day. When’s that happen? Like, never. And we all live in the same town. As many of you know, Lars and Helen live only eight houses away, on the same street, and we see them the least often. Life is too bizzy, man.

Countdown to the Route 66 Odyssey: 35. Countdown to the Mad Men Season 4 premiere: 43.

Most important countdown this week: Fathers Day, 7. Make sure you tell your daddy how much he means to you.

Random Neuron Firings

~

It is hard to believe this is the face of a 23-year-old girl. That’s some hard living showing through. I read once (can’t remember where) that we end up with the face we’ve earned via the way we chose to live. It was mentioned in the caption of a picture of Ted Kennedy, during his hard-drinking years. Those words have stuck with me for a long time; I hope all my Dermitage, Olay Regenerist and honest attempts at clean livin’ will leave me in decent shape.

~~~~~

“Dissing” Facebook has become the thing to do amongst the Kool Kids of the Internets. Personally, I think it’s fantastic. Facebook, that is. I have connected with three of my cousins, whom I haven’t seen in over 30 years, a bunch of colleagues from out of town, and countless friends from high school and college. How else could I have done that, all with one application? (Right…you have to have a brain and watch your privacy settings. If you say “yes” to every application, then you’re going to let the baddies in. Hello.)

Still, there are things that grate on me….

1. Cryptic status messages. You know, talking in foreboding code. Please just say what you mean — aren’t we your friends, after all?
2. Endless, yammering, sprawling, meandering, take-up-every-available-character quotes of obscure poetry and ridiculous song lyrics. I mean, if you’re a poet, list your poem. Fine. But as your “status?” “Status,” as in “what I’m up to right now”?? I don’t git it.
3. Enough with the “like” pages already. For you non-Facebookers, “like” pages are statements with which you personally identify, such as “freaking out when I can’t feel my phone in my pocket.” A couple of days ago, I saw, “So-and-so likes ‘talking to myself in a foreign accent.'” Really? Come on, cripes. Most of my newsfeed is taken up with that garbage. Just a little over the top.
4. I still have no clue why people (mostly teenagers) typeee a bunchhh of extraaaa lettersssss atttt the endddd offffff their wordssssss, like “textttt itttt.” Makes me want to killll someoneeee.

I’ve said it before, and I think it bears repeating: Facebook is being hijacked by the 14-17-year-old user bracket. The cute little apps and games (although as I understand it, many of these games are played by adults as well) are a bit too much for me.

No matter, though. Whatever gets you through the night, it’s all right. I choose not to play along, but to those who do: rock on. I still love FB for the connection part.

~~~~~

Never thought I’d cheer for the Los Angeles Lakers.

~~~~~

Speaking of cheering: gotta go take care of Seamus’s dogs before going to Mansfield to meet Bando for breakfast. Yay!

I charge you with having a good Finkday. For some of you, it’s the end of the work week. For me, however….

Heh heh.

Someone understands me.

Behold Jim Fetzer, Milwaukee’s “Chocolate N@zi.” He’s an artist who requires that people treat his passion with the respect it deserves.

And he’s not always nice about it, either. Some of the more interesting quirks about Jim and his Northern Chocolate Company store:

1. If you’re wearing fur, you’re not allowed in.
2. You have to take off your shoes when you come inside on a snowy day, or you’ll be handed a towel and mop so you can clean up your mess.
3. Don’t expect free samples. Don’t even ask. And don’t ask for discounts for buying in bulk, either. You will be told you should have called ahead. Useless to inquire about a website; there isn’t one. (He’s a self-proclaimed Luddite.)
4. Handle the cellophane-wrapped molded chocolates in the display baskets with care. If you drop or mishandle one and it cracks or breaks, you bought it. In general, keep your mitts off and respect the choco-art. Treat the pieces as if they were on display at a museum.
5. Only eight people are allowed in the store at one time. There’s only one employee (the owner), and eight customers is all he feels comfortable handling. The door stays locked. If you’re customer #9 and it’s 5 degrees below zero outside, bring your parka, because you’re waiting on the sidewalk. No exceptions.
6. He will win every argument about his policies, because he knows his business and he doesn’t care what you think about how he runs it. He’s not there to kowtow to the public.

This is a delightful — if slightly dichotomous — oddity to me. I am often characterized as somewhat of a tyrant in the rehearsal room, and I bristle at this label because I deal with subject matter that is extremely open and inviting and personal and meaningful (choral music), and tyranny and artistic slavery really have no place in that scheme. However, other, more important issues prevail.

Like Mr. Fetzer, I offer a service (high school choir) of which people may choose to avail themselves, or not. In other words, it’s an elective course: like Fetzer’s chocolate-buying customers, singers choose me, not the other way around. And while there is always wiggle room for discussion and new idea submissions, choir rehearsal is unlike a literature or current events class, where open discourse is encouraged. Hence, I just might be justified (or at least not alone) in my borderline-authoritarian rules, which are not dissimilar to the Chocolate N@zi’s:

1. I do only one thing really well: this. That’s why you have to trust that I’m doing right by you. Don’t, as a 15-18-year-old, try to tell me my business. I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive.
2. If you don’t like the way I run the railroad, don’t sign up for the class. I know I’m not everyone’s favorite flavor.
3. No one argues. Ever. If I tell you to be quiet, then you will be quiet. If not, you can sacrifice your after-school practices and plans and come see me for an hour instead.
4. If you don’t like one of the pieces we’re rehearsing, fine — but I don’t want to hear you yammer on about it like a whining, mewling, diseased feral cat.
5. Give the music the respect it deserves. Or else walk.
6. This little world is not a democracy. When the student-teacher ratio is 90-1, there can be only one boss.

These rules occasionally cost me “sales.” Moreover, my singers, by-and-large, do not talk to me much; most can’t separate the dictator behind the piano  from the basically easygoing, nice (I hope) person who loves classic rock and jazz, and is somebody’s Grammie. So yeah, there’s a price to pay for my militant discipline policy. But it’s all right. My hope is that the students who do stick it out in my program are honest when many of them share with me that in spite of the strict rules, they had a great experience in choir, replete with memories that will last them a good long time. For other students, I’m sure they’re glad they jumped ship when they had the chance.

I’m also not saying that my way is the only way to run a successful program. I’m just saying it works for me, and my modus operandi is a continued risk I’m willing to take. I hold to the maxim of “respect the art, and you can participate in the decadent experience.” Don’t touch stuff. Don’t make a mess. Behave. Defer. Do all that, and the beauty will have an open stage for its grand entrance.

Otherwise, no chocolate for you!

FO