Category Archives: Rant

So here’s what bugs me today.

Wait. That list would be too long. But don’t worry, as is my wont, I will end this post with good stuff. Always like to finish on a happy note.

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

BTTH X

“I was trying to help her up and she fell on her leg.”

~

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.

:-)

Still More Things to Hate

I am ON about hate the last 12 hours, lemmetellya. I don’t know why. I just feel all itchy scratchy, and I can’t nail down the reason. Blark. I don’t usually sulk about things, and I’m not predisposed to bouts of rage, but I feel a slow, subterranean stirring of volcanic activity starting to build up steam. It could be deadly. (Or it could be Dinner Theatre.)

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