Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Billions for Defense

The earthquake and tsunami that struck nations bordering the Indian Ocean is proof of not only the insignificance of mankind in the vast universe, but of mankind on this insubstantial hunk of rock and metal hurtling through an infinitesmal part of that universe. We are unjustly arrogant about our place in the universe and the world.

And when someone says that the United States is stingy in providing aid to decimated countries, let alone towns and villages, he is correct. Even now, with the $35 million that President Bush has pledged, the United States is pretty fucking stingy. Is there no realization that this could be an opportunity to return the country to a pre-eminent position. We have the contractor in charge of building roads pulling out of Iraq because it is not safe. Send the contractor to the Indian sub-continent and Indonesia. Spend the billions there cleaning up, building roads and building housing.

If the U.S. pledged to spend $35 million dollars per day on the Asian relief effort, it would take over 11 years to spend what we have spent on the War in Iraq. Stingy? Damn straight.

Bush talks like this donation is a big deal. He is merely moving foreign aid money from one column to another column in the scheme of things. The money is already budgeted for foreign aid. The U.S. was going to spend it somewhere, probably a lot of it in India, Indonesia, and other Asian countries anyway. Stingy? Yep.

Why not have Halliburton take a little cut in pay over there in Iraq? The company is gouging the U.S. government on behalf of its former CEO. Cut Halliburton's payments for work it cannot do in Iraq right now by about a billion instead of paying them for things the company has not done yet and send the money over to the earthquake relief effort.

There is an opportunity to make a choice of what kind of world we want to work toward, what manner of man we can strive to be. We have heard our leaders talk about the WAR ON TERROR, always in capital letters, and always describing it as a different kind of war. Right now, I see 35 million reasons for Osama bin Laden to rally his troops against the U.S.A. This paltry donation by the U.S. adds fuel to his fire. Why fall into the trap?

Turn the tables, so to speak. Take away a platform.

And while you're at it, take care of the hungry and homeless in this country.

Why Should I Shovel?

There's a law in our town that says public sidewalks on private property must be cleared of all snow, which at one time probably served a purpose when the kids had to walk to school, people didn't drive everywhere, and joggers .... well, joggers always ran in the streets; so, no change in that department. I haven’t bothered to shovel the sidewalk … ever. Our old neighbor, the doctor who didn’t talk to me until he retired (I think that’s one part of the Hippocratic oath – "And above all, don’t talk to lawyers."), would sometimes snowblow our sidewalk. But he and his wife moved away two years ago.

We had snow last week. I looked out over the 200 feet of sidewalk in front of the house this morning. There is not one human foot print in the vicinity of the sidewalk. It is a pristine vista of glowing white, marred only by the track of one deer. I think it's the track of one deer, but it could be the tracks from eight tiny reindeer. But there are no human footprints out there.

Why should I shovel the sidewalk if nobody walks there? Seems like a lot of wasted effort to me.

The Dot Matrix

I dropped by Office Max this afternoon, and I noticed this bargain hunter's dream-come-true. I mean, in a roll-back to 1984 prices, I could've picked up this dot matrix printer.

Okay, maybe it does print a little faster now; but for that kind of money, it ought to grant any three wishes, too.

Christmas and Steve Zissou

Christmas Day! Last night was a blast with old friends, who have been coming over on Christmas Eve since long before the turn of the century, since before children. It was roated tenderloin with a parmesan/blue cheese sauce, Potatoes Anna, broccoli with a hint-of-parmesan sauce, lobster fondue for an appetizer, and chocolate fondue for dessert.

We opened presents after midnight, and Santa and the family delivered an NEC Versa tablet PC to me to keep me technologically and organizationally advanced. Now, I have to learn how to use it.

And there was a return to tradition this year -- a family outing to the cinema. The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. I loved the movie. I laughed when others were not -- they didn't get it. Of course, I am just this side of fucking crazy. Weird movie? Yes. Bill Murray was at his understated comedic best, just as he was in Rushmore. And one of my favorite actors, Willem Dafoe, was terrific, with a funky German accent. I have made no bones over the years that most pregnant women (as opposed to, say, pregnant men), despite what they think about themselves, are very attractive; and Cate Blanchett was no exception in this movie.

If you want glorious special effects, you won't get them here. Be prepared for funkiness, David Bowie tunes sung in Portuguese, and weird characters. By the way, the espresso machine that Bill Murray steals is the kind I have and does make a great espresso.

Or maybe everyone was just being nice to me last night because it was Christmas Eve.

Of Tchotchkes

I was sent out on a mission yesterday morning to get tchotchkes for stocking stuffers. I did. I got some cool things, and I found a bag of sponges. These are not the cellulose abominations that attempt to masquerade as sponges. Sponges are not rectangular solids (I don't remember what rectangular solids are called in the scientific or geometric world. The problem would be phrased, "Squares are to cubes as rectangles are to ____." The first one to answer correctly gets a FREE gift. So, if you have read this far, you might be a winner!).

Sponges are actually, and this is kind of disgusting if you ponder on it for any length of time at all, the skeletons of once-living, respiring sea creatures. Now that I think about that, it gives me pause about whether I really want to use these sponges in the shower. Stacey doesn't like to use them. For her, it's a public health issue. "Bacterial breeding ground" is what she called my friend, the sponge. We all have our idiosyncrasies, I guess.

I can overlook the skeletal remains issue and the bacterial breeding ground issue because I like the way a natural sponge feels on my skin and the way it conforms to the curves. And then there's the rinsing thing, with the cascade of water squeezed out of the sponge that joins the pounding beads of water from the showerhead.

Sponges can be good.

All talk of tchotchkes aside, I had planned to make a Christmas manger scene from Peeps; but then Stacey suggested that I collect the various Peeps series issued throughout the year and do a rockin' manger scene for next Christmas. I like that idea because it was going to be pretty hard to dress up and perform radical surgery upon snowmen, trees, and gingerbread men to properly portray baby Jesus, Joseph, Mary, and the Wise Men, shepherds, angels, cherubim, and a drummer boy. And animals. And then there would be the inevitable backlash from the Peeps' rights activists protesting the mutilation of their sacred Peeps because I would have had to cut several of them and the humiliation suffered on account of the outfits they would be required to wear. And then there would have been the complaints from traditionalists about the three Wise Men bearing their gifts of gold, Frankenstein monster, and habanero peppers. While I can appreciate tradition, I think that art leaves room for interpretation. We must be open-minded and accepting of different philosophies and the rich variation that is life.

Now, for the bonus question, I heard about something new ... at least, to me. There's a FREE gift to the first correct answer: What is a "woo stick?"

DONE!

Roto-Zipping in Front of a Cop Car

I went down to Columbus to help lay a laminate floor, given my expertise in such areas. I introduced the guy I was helping to a new tool I received as an early Christmas present.

"Hey, look at this ... a Roto-Zip. Pretty cool. It has a diamond cutting wheel I'll hook up," I said, putting an attachment on the power unit (It's always more official-sounding and expert-sounding when the word "unit" is used; and the more it is used the better.)

"You're not going to use that, are you?" the guy asked.

I was there helping him; and here he was, being kind of like a prick. "What does that mean?" I asked him in a rather cool tone. After all, this was my Roto-Zip with the fancy black bag and all kinds of attachments. It was a very nice unit.

Then he said, "You'll cut finger off, Dad," like I had ever hurt myself with power tools before. Okay, okay, there was the time with the grinder when I ground a huge chunk out of my thigh; but there was hardly any bleeding at all, what with the cauterizing power of modern, high-speed grinding wheels. How long does something like that have to follow a guy around. Well, there was the staple gun incident, but the alignment arrows were confusing; so I missed and hit my hand. It didn't go in that deep. The pliers worked. And ... well, enough of this crap. I don't need to hear about it anymore.

At the conclusion of our evening, I left with all my fingers and all my toes. So there. You, gentle reader, can take away from my trip two valuable lessons, however.

Corporal In C. Kim, USMC

Five years ago, a family from Seoul, Korea, moved to the United States and settled in Warren, Michigan. Two years later, the family's only son, a 20-year-old, In C. Kim, enlisted in the United States Marines; and on December 7, 2004, he joined an ever-growing list of his commrades who have died on Iraqi soil, fighting for truth, justice, and the American way.

He was sucked into the Marines by the advertising -- he liked adventures, and the Marines promised him adventures. He survived his first six-month stint in Iraq last year. He hated military life at Camp Pendleton. He hated Iraq even more. He was sent back to Iraq for a second six-month tour.

He came "home" early ... in an unphotographed body bag. He wasn't a U.S. citizen.

And George W. Bush, Time magazine's Man of the Year, will be smiling broadly today. He should read the criteria for selection, or have it read to him, since he doesn't seem to read much of anything, including briefings.

He's now right up there with Adolf Hitler as Time's Man of the Year.

Fun With Inflatables

As promised, here is the winter wonderland display of huge inflatable, lighted: 1) reindeer; 2) toy soldiers; 3) snowmen; 4) trees; 5) grinches; 6) Santa Clauses; and 7) leftover witches from Halloween, which were banned in some areas. What the Cat in the Hat has to do with any holiday is beyond me or stored deep under the Dr. Seuss trivia in my brain, but he is there, also, hiding in back somewhere. There is one grinch in his grinchy Santa suit up on the rooftop with some reindeer, but no dog, out of view. And Winnie the Pooh, Tigger, Eeyore, and that little bear, whose name I can't recall and who is obviously Winnie's bastard child, although Winnie would never admit to that unless confronted by Connie Chung's husband, whose name I can't fucking remember, either, but who does DNA paternity testing, guard the entrance to the house. We would perhaps need a fiber expert to determine paternity, however, come to think of it.

I had to take the pictures during the daytime because at night, the place is brighter than 10,000 suns with all the lights, and I couldn’t get close enough to snap a meaningful photo. And I don't know an f-stop from ASA, which is a problem.

Cover Your Head and Duct

After billions and billions of dollars spent on who knows what, since it's a secret, the missile that was supposed to shoot down an incoming ICBM in a simulated real-life, controlled, good-weather test of the missile defense shield (the Star Wars program from the 20-Mule Team Borax days) did not miss its mark. The fucking missile didn't even get off the launch pad. A dud -- in scientific terms (And I wonder why we don't have flying cars? I'm an idiot.).

So, here's the situation. Here is what we need to do. In case of nuclear attack, take up a position under the nearest desk or heavy table. If it was good enough to survive an attack by the Soviet Union, it's good enough to survive an attack by the evil North Koreans.

And unless we hear something different from the new Director of Homeland Security, we can assume that Tom Ridge's advice about a chemical attack is still good. Duct tape and plastic. I saw clear duct tape made by 3M in Target. I wonder if that will work as well as the regular gray stuff. Should we take that chance without government testing? Probably not.

Say, that under-the-desk thing and the duct tape thing – we did have some government testing, didn’t we? I mean, there had to be – the government tests all kinds of shit. That’s all some companies do … I mean, those companies down in the Research Triangle in North Carolina … that’s how they make all their money.

There just had to be testing … maybe like fucking top secret testing. Yeah, had to be.

"We say to those tyrants who believe they can blackmail America and the free world - you fire, we're going to shoot it down." -- George the Lesser, Aug. 17, 2004, Ridley, PA.

SMELL THE GLOVE ROSES

i just got off the phone with matt and jax. jax and i conferenced matt in to our call when we had a computer question. another very sweet moment in time for me to savor.

jax just got home from registering for classes at our local community college, and we got to share that with matt, too. matt had just found out what the closing costs on his and mel's new condo were going to be and had written a check for part of the total amount. they close and move next week.

go away now if you can't stand me sharing my pride over my "boys."

i sometimes find myself reading many of your blogs and getting a little misty (nostalgic) over the goings on in some of your little families - the ones with young children. i sometimes do miss those days. well, maybe "miss" is not the right word. i enjoyed them as little boys so, so much. and remember thinking "stop growing up. now." but grow up they did. and i enjoyed watching that. but it is soooo cool seeing them now.

matt married and in grad school. right where he wants to be. graduate teaching assistant. buying his first home. crazy about mel. even when he calls me when he's bone tired from working on a paper for submission for publication and hasn't been home or to sleep for 2 days, he sounds so happy and proud.

jax calling from the college, relating the classes he's chosen, barely controlled excitement in his voice. almost THREE YEARS CLEAN AND SOBER (i still am completely in awe of this)! how the hell did we get here? some of you have been reading all of us for most of that time. TELL ME!

i've always been a forward-looking mom. not REALLY wanting them to stop growing. not REALLY. i was just always aware of how precious those days were. right after matt was born, a friend and i were talking about our newborn boys (4 weeks apart). she asked me, "don't you just HATE thinking about them as all grown up and away from you?" i didn't. i told her that my dreams were more about dancing at their weddings.

now maybe matt understands why i could NOT stop bawling (really making a complete FOOL of myself) at his and mel's wedding during the groom-and-his-mom dance.

i know we're not DONE. we won't be DONE until we're dead. but i know we won't stop loving and trying and ENJOYING.

i love you guys. all of you. bill, matt, jax, mark. you're where i live.

knee update: surgery scheduled for JANUARY 24!

Running For Life

A couple of times, I've mentioned our blogger friend, Keri, who is on a 500-mile jaunt back to where she started. I'll mention her once again because she is on a mission to single-handedly fund cancer research for the entire world.

Last night, I received my scarf that she knitted. I've already had six comments about it, or seven, if you count both Starbucks employees. Everyone thought it was a great scarf and wanted to know where I got it. I told them.

I know she has some crimson yarn left over ... contact her immediately and please order one. And if you absolutely hate scarves, send her your donation for her efforts in the Relay For Life. It's a wise investment for the cold weather and a wiser investment for the future.

Kill Bill, Vol. 3

The BBC News on the web, which I drop into read every now and again, is on my shit list. I don't know if the publisher or editor has been speaking to Quentin Tarrantino, but when I see something like this bulleted on the home page:

Primer on Grocery Shooping

I arrived in Cincinnati early; so, I thought I’d relax a little by writing something. They have Kroger’s grocery stores in Cincinnati. Kroger’s was the first grocery store I can remember. It was well before the turn of the century and before Kroger’s closed up shop in our area. As you know, if you are a long-time reader, I like to go grocery shopping by myself. I find it a relaxing experience in which I can lose myself, using old math skills in determining the best price of similar items and trying to discern comparative nutritional values of competing brands and then, by some formula that cannot be translated into any meaningful expression, choose the best item on that particular day… or night, because the night season is the best time to accomplish this task.

This type of shopping, contemplative shopping, can't be accomplished if one brings children along. That's more like play time, what with racing shopping carts and skidding around corners and doing donuts. And contemplative shopping can't be done when one is in a hurry. And it cannot be done when one has a shopping partner who does not have the same philosophy of making grocery shopping a zen-like experience, especially one with a ... shopping list.

I do not mean to imply that one cannot ever enjoy a particular shopping experience when there exists a list; however, the shopping list is, undeniably, a disabling, if not deadly, blow to an enjoyable shopping experience, especially for two individuals of different schools of grocery-shopping philosophy.

It should always be remembered that a shopping list is an expression of personal preference, in most cases, highly personal and nothing with which to trifle. By questioning the highly personal preference expressed on the list of another, one certainly exposes oneself to, at the very least, severe ridicule and might, indeed, jeopardize life or limb.

Let me clarify this by example, if I may. For instance, "walnuts" is scrawled as a part of the definitive shopping list on the back of a business card by one's shopping partner. Being aware of the recent purchase of walnuts and that the walnuts were stored in an airtight container, one might, in the interest of saving time and money, draw attention to the abundance of walnuts stored in the house, by asking, "I think we have walnuts at home, don't we?" In positing the query in such a manner, one should have weighed the known competing considerations.

If an error in one's analysis has been made, a contemptuous glance by the list maker in one's direction is oftentimes the non-verbal reply. Popular thought dictates a shrug as one's appropriate response, whereupon any possible confrontation is avoided. Seeking an explanation of the non-verbal reply invites swift, inexorable retribution in the form of a severe rebuke, such as, "There's a reason I put it on the fucking list. I want fresh walnuts," which could be interpreted as putting one on notice of who is in charge and who is along to pay the bill, thereby raising one's dander more so. Consider this, however. There may be other forces, unknown and likely unknowable, at work upon the list maker. I suggest that you move on to the next item on the list. Don't take it personally.

To further elucidate and, indeed, take it one step beyond, scribbled on the same list is "whipping cream." Being aware of the recent purchase of whipping cream and that the whipping cream is adequately refrigerated, one might, in the interest of saving time and money, draw attention to the volume of whipping cream stored in the house, by asking, "I think we have whipping cream at home, don't we?" In positing the query in such a manner, one should have weighed the known competing considerations.

"I didn't know that. Cross it off my list," she says in a lilting voice. Like I said, unknown and unknowable forces are at work; and one should never assume to know what one doesn't know. And don't take it personally.

Like I said before, I like to go grocery shopping by myself.

NEXT: Primer on Putting Up the Christmas Tree

ANNOUNCEMENTS

[This post was authored by Stacey; but because she is so busy, she asked me to post it for her and, idiot that I am, I logged in as me instead of her. So, I am not having knee surgery. I did go to see "A Christmas Carol;" and in addition to Stacey's complaints below, some little kid stuck his hand through the curtain separating our box from the, er ... others, and up DT's pant leg. Needless to say, the child had the shit scared out of him when DT's country-fried steak of a hand clamped down on the kid's noggin. I recall that testicular examination the 92-year-old lady doctor did on me during my physical for baseball freshman year in college for quite the opposite reason, I guess.]

lots going on. duh. that was profound, huh? like i’m the only one who’s busy?

Church News

Who's the wise-ass out there?

And I ask that tongue-in-cheekly because I'm not one to get upset. I got an e-mail today from the National Council of Churches USA. I can only assume that someone was trying to win a prize or something and submitted my name as one who would be interested, unless this is more like a Nigerian money transfer scam or the USBank customer scam (Why they think I'm a USBank customer, I don't know.).

The National Council of Churches wants me to avoid the 10 most violent videogames. I hate to tell the NCC, but the e-mails I get from my dear friend, DT, about his hunting experiences are sometimes more graphic that the Grand Theft Auto games. And although I have not seen it, Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ, I hear from those with strong stomachs, was gruesomely nasty and bloody bloody.

And the NCC is having a contest for Earth Day 2005. I'm assuming the NCC wants some submissions in the form of art, poetry, and prayers, since that's what the e-mail says. I have a poem that I'm writing with a working title "Fuck Fossil Fuels," which I could submit.

My high school English teachers would commend my use of alliteration. Then again, I went to public school. Bummer.

Girl Scout Cookies

I finally found the lawyer, to whom I paid Stacey's hard-earned money for Girl Scout cookies. I know that he had been avoiding me all these months. After claiming that he had the cookies in his trunk and that he would produce them the next time we saw each other a few months ago, I never saw him anywhere. He never called me, despite the fact I put my phone number on the order form.

Today, I walked into one of the jury rooms; and there he was, sitting and talking to one of the prosecutors. He looked at me, surprise on his face.

I leveled my arm and pointed at him with my blunt-tipped right index finger, which was the result of getting smashed by a baseball before the turn of the century, "You have my Girl Scout cookies. Where are they?"

"I owe you $12," he said.

"The cookies ... I ... want ... the ... cookies."

"I'm sorry, Billy, I ate them."

"You ... ate ... my ... cookies? You ... ate ... my ... cookies? Have you no consideration for my feelings? What do you think this is? You think this is just some cookie thing? These weren't just any cookies; these were Girl Scout cookies, man. This is tradition you're fucking with ... this is part of living, man."

"Billy, they would have been stale. That was back in April."

"That's fucking bullshit, and you know it. People in the wilderness survived on old Girl Scout cookies they found. I saw that on the Discovery channel once. In fact, those coconut things I ordered just get better and better with age."

"My wife was mad at me for not delivering them, so ..."

"So, to save your ass, you said you delivered them. Then you ate the fucking evidence? That is so low ... I don't believe this. I oughta tell your wife. Good thing I don't remember your last name."

Tommy, Can You Hear Me?

"For the life of me, I cannot understand why the terrorists have not attacked our food supply because it is so easy to do."
- TOMMY G. THOMPSON, the secretary of health and human services, announcing his resignation. [New York Times, 12/4/04]

I have written about testicular feminization in fish due to estrogen in the Great Lakes and Prozac-laced blue gills. Cattle feed made of chicken shit has finally been banned.

Rocket fuel contaminates some of our food supply. The World Health Organization was pressured by the food industry to suppress a report that recommends significant decreases in junk food advertising and limits on added sugar, salt, and fat in foods in an anti-obesity push by the organization.

The EPA wants to give poor families about $1000 to poison their children with pesticides.

Atrazine was banned by the European Union, but the herbicide is still used extensively in the U.S. Bob Dole was paid to lobby against a ban. The Swiss company paid lobbyists $260,000 to help poison us.

And I have quoted one of my favorite 20th Century philosophers before. What he said is poignant still:

We have met the enemy and he is us! -- Pogo

So, Tommy Thompson quit as HHS secretary. Maybe the President should appoint the best person to fill the position instead of one of his cronies. And do something different. Do something innovative. Do something good. Appoint Don Berwick I know it's a long article and you have to register, but I urge you to read it. It may give you a different, life-saving perspective.

You too, Mr. President, with all due respect. Have someone read it to you.

Skin

I see that Stacey posted something new over on the food blog.

When working with 300 degree F (149 C) sugar mixture, one should not be real careful because if you should be pouring the mixture out of the pot onto a jelly roll pan and the person you're helping is smoothing it into a thin layer and you're, of course, being totally careful, holding the hot copper pot with a heat-resistant silicon glove, blue in color, on your left hand and with a silicon heat-resistant pot holder, translucent-white in color, in your right hand so that you do not burn your hands, and you are totally concentrating on where you are pouring the 300-degree mixture, you won't see the person you are helping move the spoon with the 300-degree mixture on it and you will not be able to avoid the spoon being jammed into the back of your right hand in that sensitive area between your thumb and the first knuckle of your index finger.

It's a quite interesting sensation. There is no blister. The skin just comes right off, leaving a big raw area.

Before You Accuse Me

Last time I saw my client before this morning was a couple months ago. His wife retained me. I showed up in court. He had been in jail for a week. Time in jail tends to make people look drawn and haggard. The case was from 1992. He thought he was released from probation in 1995, moved to Indiana to get away from his ex-wife, then moved back into the area a couple years ago. He was stopped for a bad tail light, and it turns out that there was a warrant out for him. He was not released from probation like his lawyer told him back in 1995. So, it looked like he was on the lam for 9 years. And he had been a law-abiding citizen for 12 years, since he pled guilty in 1992. His ex-wife asked if she could deposit some checks in his accounts ... turns out the checks were state welfare checks. She was convicted of welfare fraud and served time. He got probation on a reduced charge since there was a question of whether he knew about the fraud or was just a nice guy.

I got him out on bond on the probation violation charge. He still owed some money for court costs and administrative fees. He paid that. Today was the hearing to determine whether or not he should be sent to prison for violating his probation. The judge ended up terminating the probation and dismissing the probation violation charge.

But that's not the story. This morning, I picked up the certified copies from the accounting department at the clerk's office to show that there was no balance owing to go along with the criminal record check that the probation department did; so, I was a few minutes late.

I ran into a lawyer as I was getting out of the elevator. She told me that my client was looking for me. She was smiling and said that he was "a very nice man." Well, he had that going for him, I guess.

In the hallway outside the courtroom, another lawyer mentioned that my client was in the courtroom waiting for me. He asked, "Think he'd mind if I stuck around and you could introduce me?" I said that I didn't think it was a problem.

What the fuck?

So, I went into the courtroom. My client was all cleaned up and wearing a nice suit ... looked exactly like Eric Clapton. Uncanny it was. Scary. On our way out of the building, a woman asked for his autograph. He said he gets it all the time and people don't believe him, even though he doesn't have the accent. And I did introduce him to that lawyer, by the way. He said it would make a good story.

It's Rocket Science

I know I open myself up here for ridicule and teasing. And that's okay. I can take it.

I have been accused of acting immaturely, of having a juvenile sense of humor, of lacking adult sensibilities, of being picky in my eating habits like a small child. And do I care? No. Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.

I now know the reason.

Rocket fuel. CNN says, "Sufficient amounts of perchlorate can affect the thyroid, potentially causing delayed development and other problems."