… just for good measure.

Sometimes, when my high school choir has exasperated me to the point of utter despair, I tell them, “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you. Please tell me you’re doing this to me on purpose.” I get blank stares, revealing nothing. And life goes on, inside my little Hitchcock movie.

Since high school students are on exam schedules this week, I don’t see them. But hey, I still have grades 5-8. They have apparently assured the high school students that they’ve got the insanity quotient covered in their absence. They are on my everlast nerve.

What is it about “Bring a pencil to choir every day” that makes kids give me a worried look and a non-answer when I ask about it? In a class with no homework, no tests, and no midterm or final exams, they can’t quite wrap their brains around the “bring a pencil” concept. And these are smart kids, fiends. As most music teachers know, secondary performance ensembles usually get a large section of the more successful, “together” students. They can solve multi-level math problems, write research papers, and spew the scientific names for every muscle and tendon on a dead cat’s butt — yet they can’t circle a half rest when I ask them to. What gives? Am I mental for expecting more than this?

At first glance, it’s a little thing. Multiplied by 250 kids — not so little. And to be fair, not everyone forgets a pencil or chooses not to engage his/her brain. It just seems like the ones who do forget disengage the loudest.

This is usually the place in a rant post where I say, “But I have lots of good things happening in my life, too…” Mehhhhh I’m not sayin’ it. Although I do not plan to take out my anger on anyone today, sometimes it’s good to feel the burn in your brain, ya know? Exercise the “get fired up” muscle. That’s gotta be good for something.

And the guy who keeps sending emails out with the signature line, “You win with people.” — Woody Hayes, gets a boot to the head. What does that even mean? It’s bad enough that Woody Hayes said it, but cripes…

Personally, I’d rather win with pickle beets. Or perhaps blast furnaces, rocker arms, hoary bats, or knights who say Ni.

*kA-BLaM*

…and the Scrooges.

Take a hundred-fifty 10- through 14-year-olds and put on a fun, uplifting and (if I do say so myself) quite musical performance, and all some folks can do is complain.

I felt bad for my superintendent last night. He couldn’t even watch the first choir because he was trapped out in the hallway, cornered by people who thought 7 p.m. was a great time to jaw about the lack of seating space in our phony little excuse for a theater. (Look up the word “cafetorium” or “auditeria.”)

“Why can’t she do concerts in the gym?”

Because, dear fiends, of little things like the repeated schlepping of sound and lighting equipment, the need for an acoustical shell to be set up/torn down every time, scheduling conflicts with athletics (because I’m not allowed to do concerts on Sundays), and a couple of other reasons. Ain’t nobody gettin’ paid enough for that noise. So there you have it. I’m going all diva and saying the unsayable: My students deserve better, and until they get it, we can just deal with things the way they are. I’m not above adjusting concert times and the like (though I am convinced you cannot please everyone, and the super will get even more phone calls and impromptu meetings in the hallway), but moving the venue? Uh-uh.

Of course, the opinions expressed above are that of Rat Fink, and not necessarily of anyone in my school district. So, um…please don’t call my superintendent. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear about the choirs for awhile.

But here’s a fun thing: the concerts went well and I’m DONE for another Christmas. Today, we start on spring music.

They love me, hahahaha

FO

That is the sound of someone enabling his asinine and completely irksome and useless car alarm, followed by me visiting the hood of the vehicle with a 16-pound sledge hammer.

Bang. It’s dead.

Few things annoy me more than car alarms. (Can you tell?) And I got my reasons. Behold:

1. They’re loud. Have you ever been in a parking lot when someone clickety-clicks the remote and the horn blasts right in your face when you’re not expecting it? Now I’m not a violent person, but believe me when I tell you that when it happens to me, I see red. I have to resist the knee-jerk urge to exact immediate revenge. Maybe get one of those cans of air-horn and sneak up behind Miss Clickety-Click. Zing! Like in the old cartoons, when someone scares the snot out of a cat and it ends up hanging from the ceiling by its claws. That’ll do the deed for ya.

2. They’re trigger-happy. Car alarms have cried “Wolf” so many times, they’re considered by many to be little more than noise polluters that go on tirades every time a bird flies overhead. Honestly, if you’re in a store or church or the bank and you hear a car alarm, do you run out and see whose automobile might be getting stolen — even if it might be YOURS? No. Everybody knows the blaring, hair-trigger alarms go off all the time without reason. It’s ridiculous to be at a concert or other public venue and watch a dozen people fumble for their key fobs when the stupid things go off.

3. They don’t deter theft. From an article about a study done by New York-based public transit advocate Transportation Alternatives: “Organized professionals now account for 80% of stolen cars, and alarms don’t deter them at all.” In fact, a 1997 study of 73 million auto theft insurance claims revealed that cars with alarms showed “no overall reduction in theft losses” than those without. GM and Ford have begun to phase them out of factory installation altogether.

I do apologize to my fiends who adore their chirp-chirp-beep devices. Different strokes and all that. But why can’t people just press the power lock when they get out of the car (if you’re lucky enough to have power locks)? Then the doors will be locked, and your garden variety thief will be deterred. Case in point: I never used to lock my car doors when I’d park in my garage for the night. [I live in a 94-year-old house, whose stand-alone garage was built in 1937. It’s not a secure building by any means.] I came out one morning to go to school and discovered that a thief had tried to remove my CD player. Apparently, something spooked him off (maybe a barking dog or a neighbor who’d heard something) and my CD unit was left dangling from its cubby hole. That learned me right quick. Now I lock my car doors, and nothing’s ever been stolen.

The bottom line: if a pro thief wants your car, he’ll probably get it. And all the screaming, yammering honking in the world won’t deter him. It will, however,  make your neighbors want to choke the life out of you.

It’s been awhile. I usually leave consistent ranting to others, but there’s been a buildup lately. And no, I’m not trying to be Debbie Downer or little black cloud here, but honestly. I’ve had about enough.

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

More and more things to hate this morning. Sometimes a good dose of “Aw, get off it!” is good. As PK once suggested, maybe I need puppy therapy. Or how about vacation? How about that, hm? (Greg and Suzanne really got involved on that post, too — it was dandy.)

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.