Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

What's Not to Like

Went to Fatburger. Got a fatburger. Didn't like it.

Sat in a booth. Made me feel short. Didn't like it.

Went to Radio Shack. Wife got a laser pointer. Dog chases red dot. Red dot pointed at my crotch. Didn't like it.

Got Emergency Chocolate. Didn't like it.

The "I" Word

And finally, somebody has decided to take action. It's a step in the right direction.

NEVER TOO OLD FOR NINJAS

that's my new motto.

sent the black one to the jackal, the blue to matt.

they posed them and sent these pictures to my phone.

Exercise Room

We have a high-tech exercise room in the building with some machines that are unrecognizable. I have been planning to use the facility for about a month or so ... head on down and lift some weights. Nothing hard core. Just a little toning workout so I'm not embarrassed on the golf course.

I brought the dogs in a few minutes ago. I went the back way and passed by the exercise room as a part of my plan. I have to figure out the best time of day to go. I don't really want to go when a lot of other sweaty people are around.

I decided it's not a good time. There were six men and four women -- there may have been someone hiding out; but I decided it was not a good time. It wasn't the amount of people present. It was the message I got.

One woman was on some kind of running thing. On the back of her white t-shirt, printed in flaming red, was: It's All in the Hips.

Another woman, on some other kind of device that might have been invented by David Cronenberg, to the right and slightly in front of the other woman, announced in bold, white letters on the back of her green T: "UP YOURS."

Preparation

Alberto Gonzalez couldn't remember much, telling Democratic and Republican Senators who questioned Gonzalez, that he couldn't recall things more than anyone can recall in recent history.

I want to make a couple points about the Attorney General's appearance before the Senate Judiciary Committee.

Before I do so, I just want to point out that I obviously do not have the vast and varied legal experience of Alberto Gonzalez (otherwise, why would the President appoint him the top legal guy in the country?) and I obviously do not rival the keen legal mind and great intelligence of Alberto Gonzalez (otherwise, why would the President appoint him the top legal guy in the country?).

General Gonazlez (that's what they call him -- Attorney GENERAL -- get it?) was asked to appear before the committee to answer questions about the firings of eight U.S. Attorneys, who are the chief federal law enforcement officials in their respective districts of the country (the U.S. Attorneys go through a Congressional hearing process after the President has hand-picked each and nominated them and after extensive background checks have been done on them). He and the Senate committee decided on the date he would appear, which gave Mr. Gonzalez about six weeks to prepare for the questioning he would undergo by long-winded Senators.

Six weeks. Now, I've been doing this trial law thing for a while; and if there's one thing I know about putting a client on the witness stand, it's that the client should be prepared for the questions that are going to be asked by not only me but by the lawyers on the other side. So, Alberto had six weeks to know the answers to questions he probably knew were going to be served up by Republican Senators because they would have given him the questions ahead of time and six weeks to prepare for the worst questions that his 30,000 employees in the Justice Department could think up so that he could rehearse possible answers to the questions posed by Democratic Senators.

He gave his testimony. Did it take him six weeks to memorize all the different ways to say "I don't remember?"

I could have prepped him in ten minutes.

1) Don't look at any documents that were produced; so, you won't: (a) know the contents, or (b) remember the contents.

2) If asked about documents, your answer should be: (a) I don't know, or (b) I don't remember.

3) Wear a nice suit, but do not dress better than any of the Senators.

4) Add "sir" to each answer.

5) When you can't answer "I don't know" or "I don't remember," say: "The buck stops here;" or "It's totally like my responsibility, and I'm doing a heckuva job." It matters not what the question might be.

Six weeks. If the scene was a chapter in a novel, the critics would say that the reader can't possibly suspend disbelief for something that off-the wall and stupid.

This whole government is a demonstration of the Peter Principle at work.

OK.

funny thing: i posted this in "the kitchen." bill said, "yum." perv.

i feel better. so much so that i posted a couple of my favorites over in "the kitchen." (i always have to ask bill how to link, so i usually don't do it. sorry. you have to use html code in this safari browser. pffft.) you can get to the kitchen by clicking on that picture of the kitchen (go figure) up there between the two columns, k?

anyway... i do feel better. got that off my chest, and i'm working on getting back my mojo. for me, it's about putting my fingers to the keyboard. what's been stopping me is the beforehand desire to do that. stopped in my tracks. i'm not gonna let myself do that anymore.

check out my summer toes! had a pedicure yesterday at the salon downstairs. you haven't lived until you take the elevator up in your building with your jeans rolled up, cotton between your toes, and wearing those crazy pedicure sandals.

can you see bill's reflection in the window?

you'd never know it, but i was a pretty good photographer in the olden days. these new-fangled digitals just ain't working for me. at least not often. every once in a while i get a decent picture; but i try every freaking setting on the camera on one shot and then move on to the next setting on the dial. this crappy picture was the best of 20 pictures -- 20 different settings. fuck.

as i told you, life is freaking great right now. i should post a picture of my aerogarden (no link to "aerogarden" provided herein for same reason stated above). but believe you me -- it's crazy! i harvested some basil today -- am making some bruschetta tomorrow. yum. maybe i'll post that. naw. it's like posting "grilled cheese" (shut up. i KNOW i posted grilled cheese. it's a joke! jeez, lighten up, will you?)

update on freddie (the aqua babies frog? what? you don't remember freddie? i posted about him in december AND a couple years ago -- sorry, i'm not providing links) anyway... he's alive still and kicking. he'll be 7 years old in 2 weeks. i can't find any info on the www calculating that in frog years, but i'm sure it's at least 800 years.

i'm trying to talk bill into a new beetle. i miss the old white beetle with the who symbol and peace sticker. but bill's thinking a cooper mini with a who symbol and peace sticker. OBVIOUSLY, whatever we get will be prominently featured in bill's stories.

so go check out my anna banana potatoes anna and my anna banana cake. and please DO e-mail me. i didn't mean that YOU shouldn't e-mail me in that last grumpy post!

and a reminder that the nbl moniker is tongue in cheek. you'll get more than nothingbutlove HERE. and like it.

It's Time for Physics

Tomorrow is Particle Accelerator Day!

I'm sure you have, as I have, mailed cards to all of the particle physicists you know ... and some of the particle physicists you don't know, just to make them feel appreciated.

It doesn't come at a better time, as far as I'm concerned. The cool down of the Large Hadron Accelerator over there in Switzerland is going well, I'm pleased to report to you. They'll be accelerating particles within the next few weeks at near light speeds and smashing them into each other. Just like Demolition Derby from Islip, New York.

What?!!

You didn't know? I, for one, am totally shocked! When was the last time you went to Target to check out the greeting cards? There's a huge display at our local Target with a myriad of Particle Accelerator Day celebration cards.

Go. Send your favorite physicist a card.

Go. Smash a few atoms tomorrow.

Or just consider it a reason to have a party.

Winter Rules

The Cleveland Indians were snowed out of the opening series with the Seattle Mariners, played three home games up in a domed stadium in Milwaukee, and then came back to Cleveland to play the evil White Sox in sub-freezing-point temperatures.

I'm reminded of the season opening baseball game my freshman year in college. Back then, it didn't matter that the temperature was in the mid-20's; we wanted to play the game. The coach told me that I wouldn't be catching and that the upper classman backstop was his choice. I would be starting in right field, he told me. I couldn't recall ever having played right field before that. I had never even thought about playing right field. So, I trotted out to right field, carrying my Wilson A-2000 fielder's glove.

Generally, a catcher doesn't originally don the tools of ignorance because he likes the stars generated when a 90-mile-an-hour foul tip smashes into his catcher's mask, because he likes the pain reaching into his throat and the hollow feeling rising into his abdomen while kneeling in the dirt after being hit in the nuts, protective cup or no, because he likes pain, pain from being hit in the bare hand, toes, thighs, forearms by thrown and batted balls, pain from being hit in the head by a bat swung or thrown by the batter, pain from being run over by a runner desperately trying to score.

Generally, a catcher never loses the desire to return to the original position in the field he chose when he was beginning to play the game. For me, that was third base, the hot corner. But I'd never get the chance to make the diving catch over the rail into the grandstand like the Kid from Tompkinsville at the zenith of his comeback.

And here, in my first college game, game one of a double-header, which wouldn't be completed, I wasn't settled in behind home plate or bent low at the hot corner in the top of the first inning, my parents and girlfriend huddled together with several others, sitting on wooden bleachers eight rows high and about twenty feet long. I was poking around in right field in the bitter cold, the stinging wind kicking up brown Autumn leaves still on the crunchy grass that sloped away from the infield toward the brown one-inch-wide slats of the wood snow fence behind me and arcing around the outfield in a semi-circle.

Whereas I was part of every play in the field as catcher, initiating the action, life in the outfield was boring, waiting around for something to happen.

While I was accustomed to yakking with the umpire who leaned into my back while catching, talking at the enemy batsman, moving fielders one way or another, calculating the probabilities and the possibilities, learning what particular pitch was moving, breaking, and controlled by my pitcher, recognizing how this particular umpire saw the strike zone this particular day, among the myriad other considerations, decisions, and duties besides simply being physically ready and able to catch each pitch, standing in the outfield trying to stay ready to run after a hit ball or a wildly thrown one took a different kind of force of will.

I don't remember the particulars of the game. I don't remember the other team. I don't remember if I got any hits, drove home any runs, or scored a run. There are those who define themselves by the re-telling of details of games in the distant past, especially their first game or league championship games or the World Series games; but I'm not one of them.

I don't recall the inning in which the low clouds, streaking east, wind numbing my face, finally started to dump their load of frozen precipitation on the participants of this baseball drama; but I do recollect incessant snow, blowing horizontally from west to east into my face, outfield grass slowly turning white before my watery eyes.

I recall standing unprotected from the elements in the vast expanse of open space known as the outfield, wondering what I could do if an off-white baseball was perchance hit toward right field. I would see it, or evidence of it, if the ball was hit on the ground, its course written in the new-snow-covered grass. But if the batter lifted a lazy fly ball or lined a pitch solidly to right, my struggle against embarrassment would begin. And I had little doubt that the winner of such a battle with Nature would not be me.

Then, through the blizzard, a darkened form, a man in dark blue, nearly a football field away, waved his arms above his head, crossing and uncrossing them; and I do recall nearly winning the foot race with the center fielder to his gold '68 Chevy Impala and sanctuary, joined there by three blanket-covered, but still frozen, fanatics.

CENSORSHIP

this doesn't seem to be much fun for me anymore. i find myself censoring myself everytime i think about writing. it's not me anymore. i've made some great friends here and even met some very, very special people in person -- dan, dana, kathyhowe. i'm grateful for that. i'm happy that i can look back at some of my entries and be proud. i'm just having a hard time "producing." there's a bitter taste in my mouth.

we're thinking about shutting down the site. we'll let you know.

life is especially sweet right now. things are going great with us and our kids. my job ended last year, and now i work handling billing and other things for bill. bill has pared down his practice a lot (cut out tedious, non-profitable time), and the practice is going better than ever. we work side by side here out of the loft, and bill works one day a week at a client's site on a special project. working together is wonderful -- we're having a blast. all on our own time. a dream job for both of us. i've even overheard bill saying the same thing. ;-)

jax is great. he's 8 months clean already and should be back in cleveland soon.

matt and mel are awesome. matt will be dr. lang in another two years, and nothing can hold mel back! she'll be ceo of some big company someday. they are a delight to be around, so happy and well-matched. i adore them.

mark and sarah are planning their september wedding. sarah is finishing up her pastry chef training, and mark loves his job. they LOVE california, dammit. :-(

see? i've resorted to "icons." meh. how low can i go?

i've closed comments on this post. it DOES look pretty funny when you open the blank comments box, given the title of this post. e-mail me, k?

ONE MORE THING:

do NOT email me.

Sorry, Billy

Snippet of conversation in the car this evening:

B: How about grilled cheese on hand-cut Italian?
S: Sounds good.
B: OK.
S: Why are the lights on at the Jake?
B: Tribe is playing.
S: Oh, I thought they were out of town. I thought the Cavs were playing tonight.
B: No, Billy Joel is playing at the Q. Starts in 10 minutes or so. Want to go?
S: If it's a choice between Billy Joel and grilled cheese, I'll take the grilled cheese.

GARDENING IN THE CITY

i've tried. hard. and i once thought of myself as a person with a green thumb. but i finally said "uncle" to growing herbs inside the loft.

last summer i "grew" 3 different herb gardens. two of them were larger containers with assorted herbs. some of the herbs did ok -- most did not. then i bought a pot of flat-leaf italian parsley from a local gardening store. i guess it brought aphids into the loft because all three pots became quickly infested. down the trash chute. then, at christmas matt and mel got me the chia herb garden. first some of the herbs molded. then all the rest of them came down with something yucky. i was left with one teeny tiny plant.

then i saw the aerogarden infomercial. the aerogarden is a FULLY AUTOMATIC indoor gardening system. go look at it at "aerogrow.com." you fill a water reservoir with water (duh) and the nutrient tablets. the lights go off and on automatically. it is sooooo cool. i told bill about it, but he balked at the high price. about $160. THEN he heard a gardening expert on npr say that it worked nicely for indoor planting. that was all he needed to hear -- a "recommendation" from npr. he ordered it that day. here's a picture of my garden at 17 days. i freaking LOVE this thing.

another thing i love: my elgato eye tv which is allowing me at this very moment to watch "paula's home cooking" in the corner of my computer screen as i'm posting or working.

RE: JACKSON

he's doing great. really wonderful. he should be back in cleveland in early june. he'll be able to transfer to the "buck" in our area. thank you all for your prayers and notes to bill and me about him.

oh. and he posted the other day. do you believe it? jack and i BOTH posting? shut up. just go read and give him some bloggy-love.

ETC.

One of my personal heroes, Kurt Vonnegut, moved on.

The TIDE Turns

It's kind of like the TV show, "24," which everyone at the White House loves. I hear, in fact, that when "24" comes on at the White house, it's almost like going to the midnight showing of "Rocky Horror Picture Show" at the local art house. People dress up as their favorite characters and read along from the scripts that the studio sends in "TOP SECRET" government courier bags in advance of the show. And when the "24" marathon comes on ... the entire government grinds to a halt. They all know the lines by heart and act out the scenes on a little side stage set up for just the occasion. And you know who plays Jack Bauer ... I hear he gets into the role, especially those scenes where he needs information from someone.

It's kind of like the TV show, "24," in which the CTU (Counter Terrorism Unit) calls up information from its database. The National Counterterrorism Center has a database just like that. Almost half a million names are part of the database. Whether or not the people who carry those monikers are really terrorists or people who someone believes might harm the U.S., whatever that means -- seems to me that in the last 6 years or so, some of the highest ranking elected and appointed U.S. officials have done a lot more harm than good, besides shooting a dear, close friend in the face with a shotgun -- is not really known. Why is that?

My cousin's husband was detained at an airport until he could convince Homeland Security and the FBI that he was not in the Irish Republican Army -- seems to me that an IRA member is a threat to British security, not American security.

The database is known as TIDE, which is the acronym for -- get this -- Terrorist Identities Datamart Environment. Just go to the Datamart, the Wal-Mart of the security freaks, and get whatever information it is you need. The Datamart has increased in size the last four years, going from about 100,000 "identities" to nearly a half a million "identities" of not only those nasty foreign terrorists we all despise, but also U.S. citizens, only some of whom we despise. Subversives. Peace protesters. Graffiti artists. This sounds like the House Un-American Activities Committee of the 1950's all over again, only you don't get a hearing -- you get detained; you get questioned; you are guilty until proven innocent; you are "24'ed."

Oh, the list may not be accurate. It may cause the security freaks to infringe on the liberty of an American citizen, but who really cares.

It makes good blog material.

Meet U.S. Ambassador Sam Fox

In another "I'm-taking-my-ball-home" move by our royal governor, George W. Bush, he appointed Sam Fox, apparently a huge campaign contributor, as ambassador to Belgium. Since the Senate is in recess, Bush can appoint people without the advice and consent of the Senate, which had already rejected Sam Fox for the position. Ever stubborn, Bush made the appointment.

I was very skeptical about this appointment because it was all over the news and reported by this blog that Belgium was destroyed several years ago by an asteroid.

I guess I was wrong. Sam Fox was in Belgium last month to check out things before taking over the position. Maybe the Senate objected because Sam is not a U.S. citizen.

English Is Fucked 2

Who came up with the expression "went missing?" Nobody says anything about it because it is used by talking heads in stories about the disappearance of young children. The children don't "go missing." While I appreciate the phrase as a colloquialism, other phrases can be used, e.g., "Geez, oh man! The kid's done gone!"

Fuckin' - A. Or fuckinay. Or fuck and A. Whatever.

The guy in charge of finding an appropriate Italian restaurant for the LSU women's basketball team to eat asked my opinion ... the players did not go to Danny Boy's Italian Eatery late Saturday afternoon, as I strongly recommended.

LSU suffered an ignominious defeat. Not my fault.

A Note From the Pre-Eminent Courtesy Car Driver

The 2007 NCAA Women's Final Four basketball tournament is in town. I volunteered to drive officials of the NCAA, who have been very friendly and gracious, around town. The other day, I gave a lift to a woman, who did not have NCAA credentials, who said she would ride along with the three NCAA guys I was driving back to the hotel.

In the course of her conversation with the other passengers, she whined about the disorganized transportation situation because she didn't know when and who was picking her up at various places.

Well, it turns out she wasn't going to the same hotel, the tournament headquarters, as the NCAA guys. She was staying at a different hotel; so, I, in my most courteous manner, after dropping off the NCAA guys, told her I would take her to her hotel. I apologized for her being inconvenienced by those not so courteous and not so prompt transporters hired by the sports broadcasting network for which she worked and explained that I was a volunteer driver for NCAA officials only and not just anyone.

"I'm On-Air Personality," she said in such a way I knew she capitalized it; and I told her, most courteously, of course, that she was part of the group of "anyone" I was not supposed to be driving around town and that I was doing her a favor and, of course, very pleased to do so. I suppose I should have told her that I was pleased to do so because, she was, y'know, an "on-air personality" and all.

But I didn't. I didn't recognize her.

"I've probably seen you on TV," I told her. It was the best I could do on such short notice.

You see, I don't have a big-screen TV; so, she probably is bigger in real life than she is on TV.

At least, she thinks she is.