Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

DON'T LET THE DOOR HIT YOU ON YOUR WAY OUT, 2006!

it's been a tough year. we made it through, and we're, i think, better for it.

there's been a lot of goings on here in the nbl.

jax is doing well in his recovery and is working hard at STARBUCKS. he's in florida (will be back in cleveland by the summer or early fall at latest, i think).

matty's getting ready for his candicacy exam, having finished up and submitted a paper in his "area" for publication and presentation. mel started a new job at her company.

mark and sarah planning a september wedding.

my job ended (our office closed), and i'll be taking care of bill's billing (and collecting). bill has decided not to take court-appointed cases anymore; these cases ate up a LOT of his time, and he wouldn't bill the courts for them anyway. so he's taking more cases from the group that administers his major work. the construction in the loft way back last spring has really organized the work space, giving him a much more relaxed and productive day.

we learned a lot about what a real friend is. i'm thankful to have seen that we have some wonderful, genuine friends. they've enriched our lives and carried us through some dark days.

it's all good. 2007 will be full of transitions and changes. all of it positive. to cap it off, we're planning a trip to italy in early december with two couples that are dear, dear, dear friends.

i know that we'll get through whatever's thrown at us in 2007.

keep a rock in your pocket. ask kazoofus what that means. it's her story. adopted by me, dana, and a few others, i think.

i have to go shower. sue and dave, with whom we've spent every new year's eve (except for the occasional illness) since 1977, are coming over.

Auld Lang Syne

Sometime today, we'll get word that the 3,000th American GI will have been killed over in Iraq. The answer to the escalating violence over in Iraq is to send more troops to join the slaughter ... this must be a Texas-Remember-the-Alamo kind of response because it did happen before, before most of those 3,000 were conceived, at a time when the way forward was full of hope and promise. Bush might take a cue from Ford about the "Way Forward."

But he won't cut the number of troops in Iraq. The magnetic yellow ribbons are few and far between on the gas-guzzlers. I see more magnetic ribbons that ask other drivers to rescue dogs than to rescue troops, troops ostensibly fighting now, not for freedom for Iraqis, which was a distortion of the executive's constitutional powers, but for oil, as many in the minority suspected in the beginning of this bloody debacle.

Keys

Since we moved and I decided to vacate the office that was located near our house, I am carrying fewer keys than I did before. And isn't that the goal of down-sizing and simplifying -- reducing the number of locks to unlock in your life and the keys you need to do that?

So, here are my keys and the "key ring."

I have a key to the door to the loft, a key to the building security doors, a key for the car, and a key to our mailbox in the building. We have only one car and the ignition key fits the trunk; so, I am spared having to carry a trunk key and the keys to a second car. I do have a key to the storage unit, which has become far too large for what we have stored now. We sold the refrigerator and gave the freezer, together with its pair of keys, and the stove to a half way house. We gave away some other stuff. Matt took one of the futons; so, there's still stuff in the storage unit, but not enough to fill even half the space.

Foregoing the office, to which I rarely made a visit, relieved me of three keys and the need to remember the code to punch in on the keypad to silence the alarm after normal business hours, despite using the two keys to breach the outer doors of the building, and the password to give to the alarm company so they didn't call the police when I didn't punch in the code on the keypad properly and enough I.D. to convince the cop, if I didn't know him, that I belonged there when I forgot the password and told the alarm company guy to send the police over because it was way easier doing that than cluttering my feeble mind with all that other crap. It's bad enough I have to remember the Rule Against Perpetuities, the Exclusionary Rule, and the Statute of Frauds, which isn't a statute at all, let alone codes and passwords to silence alarms in an office in which I rarely made an appearance.

I never kept the lawn tractor key or the garage key on my keychain, but I still had to keep track of the things. Wait ... I forgot that the engine on the tractor blew because Johnny, one of the J-dogg's acquaintances, jacked up the compression or something so that it would go faster. That's ... uhhh ... like what drug addicts do in their spare time when they like get together. That key was still laying around; and I'd get asked, "What's this?" to which I'd say, "Tractor key;" and I'd get asked, "Why do we still have that fuckin' tractor?" to which I'd answer, "I dunno." We got a lawn service. And the garage key I didn't need because we had a fancy digital electronic garage door opener.

I did carry a U.S. Postal Service key, upon which was imprinted "DO NOT COPY," to my post office box, which I no longer use because I no longer maintain the office in that locale. That reminds me that I should stop off at that Post Office when I'm in the area and get my $1 deposit I put down on the key twenty years ago. I wonder if I get interest on a dollar. But then I'd have to find the key, wouldn't I.

I had a key to a friend's law office, which he told me I could use if I needed an office way out in the suburbs. He moved and gave me a different key, but he didn't ask me to return the old key. I'm glad of that because I had already lost the old key. I keep his office key on its own separate key ring; so, if I lose his key, I won't lose my keys, too.

One of the non-key items on my key ring is the medallion I received at the end of parents' psychotherapy week at the Wilderness Treatment Center. That's the one out in Montana. On one side is the logo for the "Dub," and on the other side is the Serenity Prayer, which I need to read when I have to say it at Al-Anon meetings because I haven't really got it down in my memory. It's funny. I can remember really important stuff that might just save the world one day like "Gort, Klaatu berada nichto," but not the Serenity Prayer, the incantation of which helps millions of people every day. Go figure.

Come to think of it, reading the Serenity Prayer may have helped in driving on the Going-to-the-Fucking-Sun Road out there in Montana; but on second thought, I tend to drift to the right a little when I'm reading while driving, which would not be a good thing on the Going-to-the-Fucking-Sun Road, especially with a person in the passenger seat already whimpering and crying.

And the other item on my key ring is a Christmas present, a miniature rubber chicken. I had a rubber chicken for many years, a regulation-size rubber chicken. It was once "borrowed" by an employee of a law firm where I worked long before recorded history began. She was nearly fired over the incident ... the head guy said something like, "She stole another employee's property ... an attorney's property;" and I said, "Howard, it's a fucking rubber chicken, which really belongs to no man," or something like that. I think he realized that someone might laugh at "theft of a rubber chicken" as a reason for termination. She returned the rubber chicken, putting it back where she found it, hanging by its neck from the coat hook on the back of my office door. She eventually quit, probably because of the stigma of being a rubber chicken thief.

The keys I have are, in fact, replacement keys for the keys and the key ring I lost. I'm pretty sure I threw them down the rubbish chute. Those keys didn't like me because in addition to falling down the rubbish chute into the bowels of the building, they had, when we were moving, secreted themselves in a box that went into storage, but that's another story; and we needn't remind the other half of the blog about that. It would mean almost certain bodily injury for this writer ...

MAKING MERRY

matt, mel, and jax here. have yourselves your own merry little christmas. that's scout taking her own christmas snooze. bella's on the other end of the couch out of the picture; sheba's on the chair in the foreground (so you can't see her either). yes, it's a new couch; bella ate one of the old ones. pfffft.

Fuck It, Dude. Let's Go Bowling

In an ABC News interview, Condoleeza Rice said the Bush administration should be remembered for far more than the Iraq war, including a peace deal ending two decades of North-South warfare in Sudan.

Condoleeza Rice, please make a note about that peace deal, since it has been reported locally that the peace agreement has failed to take hold. So, in the mold of your mentor, George W. Bush, you, of the New York City buying spree while many in this country, mostly people of color, lost their homes, their livelihoods, and their lives in Louisiana and the South, ignore reality, ignore truth, and fabricate your own reality, your own truth, to continue to perpetrate the continuing fraud upon the American people.

Nice job.

Horrors! The American flag on the first beam erected for the Freedom Tower, too long after September 11, 2001, is flying the wrong way. Joan Bury, don't fly Delta -- there's a wrong-way flag on the right side of the fuselage of every Delta Airlines jet.

And I've had several inquiries about blogging etiquette. Imagine that ... I'm no expert, but I'll answer the question. I have been known to use the Old English word "fuck" and all of its known variations, some I invented, and some stolen from my good friend, country boy, DT, who has been known to turn a phrase now and again. The question concerns blog-commenting etiquette, actually, and the use of profanity in a comment. I think the rule is that you need to be polite and that the use of the f-bomb in a comment (Oh, I've quoted a line from a movie, The Big Lebowski, a few times in comments; but it was in context and not gratuitous -- I never use profanity gratuitously. Not me.) is a blog-commenting faux pas. It is my opinion that the user assumes a familiarity with the author that is likely not present or tries to convey some familiarity that is not present to others or tries to be funny in some way and fails. It is my opinion that doing so takes a liberty one should not take.

Off to the airport to pick up valuable cargo.

Have a nice Christmas and New Year.

Christmas Lights

Men have gone insane putting up outdoor Christmas lights. The government uses this particular torture technique in Guantanamo. Where we lived before, a guy up the street lost in what he perceived to be the Christmas light decoration contest and was discovered wearing women's clothes shortly thereafter. His wife divorced him. Lost his teaching job. Replaced in his golf foursome. His life went downhill from there, I guess. I saw him recently, bright red lipstick, nice calf-length suit ... I suppose he had made some sort of recovery.

In any event, he used nets. You know what I'm talkin' about -- well, they look like Christmas light nets. Instead of wrapping the strings of lights around and around and around your shrubbery, the lights taking on a more-or-less random arrangement, the Christmas light nets are draped over or around the bushes.

Unless you scatter several lighted fish in these nets, the Christmas light nets look like ... Christmas light nets cast over bushes or tied around shrubbery. The nets look plain fucking stupid.

And I know what you're saying, out loud if you use them because you have been driven insane in some prior year, or to yourself, "What does he know? That's just his opinion," even though you hear a tiny voice speaking to you, probably in the quiet of the middle of the night, maybe at other times, aloud or in your head, "Those GE 150 Count Multi-Color Pro Line Super Bright Net Lights look so fucking stupid. 'Pro Line,' my ass!"

It's okay. I understand. Denial is a defense mechanism. Maintain your tenuous grasp on your own particular reality in any manner you choose.

666

In The New York Times this morning, I saw an article about widening all 666 miles of Route 2 in Montana to four lanes. I was ecstatic about the possibility of this happening in the near future, thinking that I was instrumental in helping to accomplish this improvement on account of my report of my horror-filled driving experience while in Montana recently.

Then I looked at the map.

Going-to-the-Fucking-Sun Road is not part of Route 2.

So, I have formed an opinion on the subject of widening Route 2. Why do you want to mess with 666 miles of road? That's the sign of the devil. You'll be sorry.

The Spirit of Christmas

I wasn't expecting to get a Christmas present much before next week ... maybe like early in the week if I make that old deal ... you know, the give-me-a-present-and-I'll-give-you-one ... probably won't work, but it might. But I was sayin' that I wasn't expecting to get a Christmas present, but I got one. A flashlight. A little flashlight. From James, my street friend.

Runs up to me. He's yelling, "Pops! Pops!" I didn't know he was calling me. How could he call me that. I'm not that fucking old. Pops ... shit ... better watch out who he's callin' "Pops." I'll pop him ... float like a butterfly, sting like a bee ... shit, that's from what, the '60's, goddammit. Fuck.

But how could I be upset when he says, "I gotchyuh sumpnn'" And he pulls a small flashlight from his pocket and smiles, "Merry Christmas." And I thank him; and he says, "Try it!" excited to see the result. I push the little black button and out of the business end erupts a beam of light. "See?" he asks. I say, as I push the switch back, "Yeah. Pretty cool. Thanks, James. Merry Christmas." And I offer him my hand, and we shake hands.

And he walks off, smiling. And I turn my little flashlight on and off. I catch myself smiling. And feeling pretty good. But I think not as good as James feels.

Racial Profiling

There's an e-mail that I received several times listing crimes and "acts of terror," listing several events and describing the suspects as Muslim males, swarthy-complected, 18-to-40 years old, making the argument for racial profiling.

Please do not send me these stupid e-mails unless you have checked out the race, age, nationality, religion, previous U.S. military training, and gender of the following, so that you can add these to some kind of profile:

MAKE TIME

just like everybody else, we're busy, busy, busy. i love it. i have high expectations. i am pretty good at getting everything done the way i want it. at the end, if time runs out, i don't sweat it. i reassess and reprioritize. sometimes the stuff at the bottom of the list gets done. sometimes not. doesn't bother me much.

yesterday, along with a lot of other stuff on the list (some of which i accomplished, some of which i didn't) i found a new sound to alert me to incoming e-mails. this was a high priority for me yesterday. because i ALWAYS want to make time to enjoy the little things (read: the slow, methodical torture of bill).

don't judge me.

Universal Declaration on Human Rights

The united Nations adopted the Universal Declaration on Human Rights 59 years ago.

I doubt if George W. Bush is even aware that it exists. Or maybe it's one of the reasons that he wants to see the U.N. reformed ...

Dogs

4 a.m. They woke me up, wanting to go out. I knew the forecast was cold for yesterday morning. I got my cold clothes on, hooked up the leashes, and followed in a fog down the hall to the elevator. They sat and waited for the buttons to stop lighting up and the door to open. They walked me to the front door, not pulling, in no real hurry.

Snow ... snow poured from above, the first snow of the season. Sure, a couple weeks back, we had ice crystals pelting us amidst the raindrops getting us soaking wet; but these were real flakes, sticking to the city sidewalks, undisturbed by any human or animal. There was no human in sight; there was no car streaking down the street; there was the snow and the dogs; and there was me.

They have souls. And thoughts. And feelings. And they stood with me, quietly watching the scene.

ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?

i was thinking this mornng that because of the proliferation of pre-lit artificial christmas trees, couples are missing out on the time-honored test of their vows -- namely the yearly agony and subsequent fighting over the placement of lights on the tree (those of you who don't put up a christmas tree may compare this with hanging wallpaper together). but then i realized that since we turned to the dark side -- bought a fake tree after all the years (over 30) of putting up a live (dying) tree -- that this "fun" has been replaced with the "straightening and placement of the "branches."

when one door closes, another door opens.

photo later.