Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Driving Me Crazy

Adventures in driving is a good topic for a whine-y blog post today.

I was heading toward the northern shore of the United States, on East 9th Street, which is nicknamed Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Boulevard because heading farther toward Lake Erie brings traffic to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum and Voinovich Park on the left before ending at the lake. Burke Lakefront Airport, the location of the International Women’s Air & Space Museum, which is a sponsor of the 2011 Engineering Exploration Camp for high school-aged young women with a curiosity about engineering, is a right turn off East 9th.

I approached the intersection of St. Clair Avenue, intending to turn left, and pulled up behind a car, which was stopped in the left turn lane, apparently waiting for traffic coming the other way to pass before making the turn. The car carried a Connecticut license plate above the rear bumper.

Just to let you know, I mean no disrespect to the fine citizens of Connecticut with this post (The Western Reserve was actually a part of Connecticut until the people of the Western Reserve threw off the shackles of the arrogant East Coast subjugators by staging a bloody revolt -- well, maybe that's not true, but the land on the shores of Lake Erie was malarial swamp land that those Connecticut Land Company bastards sold to unsuspecting settlers, killing off many of them.). After all, nobody arrested me when my flight landed in Hartford several years ago. And I was permitted to rent a car for the drive to Amherst, Massachusetts, without taking a driving test; so, I assume the traffic laws are substantially the same there as those in Ohio. Massachusetts, well, that's another story.

I'm sitting behind this guy -- it could have been a woman, but it was a guy -- and the light is green for us. And he's not going into the intersection, but sitting there at the white stop bar, waiting. And waiting. And there's no on-coming traffic. And being fully cognizant that Cleveland needs all the visitors it can get, I don't want the guy to feel unwelcome. After all, he's probably trying to get his bearings; so, I give him a short, friendly toot of the white Yaris' cute-sounding horn. The Connecticut guy's brake lights remained illuminated, unlike the green light, which changes to yellow, then to red.

It's not like the corner of East 9th and St. Clair is all that interesting. Claes Oldenburg's Free Stamp sculpture is at the next intersection at Lakeside and East 9th, and the flowers in front of the Penton Building at the intersection haven't erupted from the ground yet, let alone come into bloom. The steel and glass IMG Building, aside from being the birthplace of the ground-breaking sports agent firm, International Management Group, isn't all that interesting, except for the temperature sign telling us it is 34 F.

I can only assume that he is mesmerized by the expanse of water about a half mile ahead -- Lake Erie. He may be wondering where Canada is -- people have asked me while I'm walking the dogs on a clear day why they can't see Canada on the other side, apparently thinking that Lake Erie is smaller than it is; but it's about 50 miles across the lake to the Canadian shoreline. The horizon is nothing but sky-meeting-water in that direction.

The green arrow lights up, telling us it is okay to turn left onto St. Clair without interference. Mr. Connecticut's brake lights remain brightly lit. He isn't moving at all. Maybe he is thinking about the presentation he is about to make at his up-coming business meeting. I don't want him to be late.

I help him by laying on the horn, startling him into action. Really.

And, upon reflection, he did not give me the finger.

Cleveland International Film Festival 2

Waking up at 4:45 in the morning is not conducive to attending a 2:20 p.m. showing of the movie, Snap. Because of the parking situation, I was several minutes late and tried to figure out what was going on. I sat across an aisle and one row behind Stacey and her sister.

So, about 20 minutes after getting comfortable in my seat, kind of curled up, hat on because of a cool breeze across my bald pate, left hand in a contemplative pose shielding my face from the woman sitting two seats to my left, I decided to succumb to Hypnos for just a few minutes.

An alarm went off, which caused no small consternation amongst the people in the area. You know how arrogant those film cognoscenti can be, especially when the film is ... well, artsy-fartsy, with all kinds of flashbacks within flashbacks and dark psychological insights into the characters, readily apparent to anyone of modicum intelligence, made to seem real, real mysterious and uncommon, revealed at the end of the movie film.

So, Stacey's alarm woke me up, which I think, considering the movie, was not a good thing. I know I missed some of the story, but I could have used another half hour. I was having a pleasant dream in juxtaposition to the bleakness of the subject matter of the film.

The alarm incident ... we discussed this major faux pas at length to prepare for when it happens again because we are *ahem* far from perfect. I'm supposed to jump out of my seat and scream, "Oh my god, your heart monitor! CPR! I NEED TO DO CPR ON HER!"

That'll show 'em.

Cleveland International Film Festival

I saw Nuremberg: Its Lesson for Today today.

I did not stay for the Film Forum with the daughter of the film maker after the movie, since I was scheduled to see Rubber, which was a movie about a steel-belted radial that killed people by blowing up their heads.

I should have stayed for the Film Forum.

The Power of Math

I have no idea why I keep getting H-P ads. I don't have any Hewlett Packard stuff. I have done the whole thing with unsubscribing. It doesn't work because my e-mail address is etched deeply into the memory of the H-P mainframe, what with having purchased more printers than I can count and 286, 386, 486, and tablet computers going way back before the turn of the century. The mainframe obviously thinks I'm joking about unsubscribing.

Today, I got an e-mail ad for some H-P servers and, I heard this word a lot today from a drunk guy who stopped me for directions, what-not. Never try to give directions to a drunk guy -- or what-not.

Here's a part of the ad:

I calculated the laser printer's actual price by using my math skills: $11,239,424.

It's not worth it ... unless it has an endless supply of ink.
__________

And 2 dogs ... well, they have a hard time when they have lost a companion of 7 years. They don't eat much at all. They sniff every pee spot to see if there are any messages. They aren't active. They want to be petted more than ever before. They won't play with certain toys. They don't know which bowl to eat from. They sleep touching each other.

Kill the Irishman

We saw Kill the Irishman tonight, which was factually inaccurate in a couple respects.

Let's leave it at that.

Recommendations From iTunes

I don't ordinarily check out iTunes' "Recommendations for You," but I saw something that caught my eye.

20th Century Masters - The Millenium Collection - The Best of Bachman-Turner Overdrive. Bachman-Turner Overdrive.

I am in shock. Bachman-Turner Overdrive. It's not that I haven't heard of Bachman-Turner Overdrive. I have. Can I name any of the best of Bachman-Turner Overdrive? No. I don't recall ever having listened to Bachman-Turner Overdrive intentionally. I imagine that I heard songs by Bachman-Turner Overdrive, but I was obviously not impressed enough to pursue any kind of musical relationship with the group. I never called in to a request line and asked for anything by Bachman-Turner Overdrive. I never went to a concert. I never bought an album or single.

The only Bachman I know played second base on my college baseball team. I have watched Tina Turner and heard songs by Tina Turner; and even though she performed in overdrive on stage, I don't think she ever hooked up with a person named Bachman, except I never asked Bachman on my college baseball team if he did.

You would think that I would have heard, back in the day, from my friends, "Billy, check out the latest Bachman-Turner Overdrive. It's cool." I never did.

So, where the hell does the iTunes computer preference program come up with Bachman-Turner Overdrive as something I might enjoy?

I'm not falling for this ploy.
_____

And a couple people have asked me how my work-out regimen is going. It is going well.

And I'm feeling somewhat better about my personal trainer.

He's not pure evil. He's a sick, masochistic fucker. That's what he is. But he will not beat me.

Dress Codes

What has happened in this country? It was not so many years ago that my grandfather was alive. He worked for many years in the steel mills of Cleveland. He worked for many more years in his 40 X 60 foot back yard, from which he coaxed plums, peaches, pears, apples, figs, and more kinds of vegetables than I can name right now.

He arrived home from the mill wearing dress pants, a white shirt, and a tie. Unless he went outside into the yard to work or cut his grass with the push mower, he wore dress pants, a white shirt, and a tie. All the time. For as long as I remember until he died about 20 years ago.

I admit that I don't dress that way. I avoid wearing suits and "work" clothes, although I have been known to wear a white shirt and tie under a v-neck sweater when playing golf from time to time -- yes, strange, but

Walter Hagen

and Bobby Jones

and Francis Ouimet wore ties while playing at times.

And I have that beat up old MacKenzie leather golf bag that completes the theme.

But this isn't about me. Do people who appear on People's Court and Judge Judy and the other judge shows know they are going to be on TV all over the world? How many minutes notice do they get that they are appearing on one of these shows?

I would guess that the people who appear on these shows have enough time to go out and buy a nice outfit to wear -- something other than a t-shirt and shorts -- and a nice haircut -- something other than a comb-over. Surely, there is enough time to wash one's hair.

Or maybe not. Maybe I expect too much.

Flood Watch

How long have I been living around here? More years than I care to count. I started living here way before the turn of the century.

And around this time, a "news" story that has played every year at this time is again brought out of the archives and replayed.

The Chagrin River has overflowed its banks and flooded every house along the river. Oh, it's a terrible tragedy, you say? Yes, I suppose it is; but it happens every year around this time.

It's kind of like the Nile River flooding every year. I'm sure the Egyptians figured that out after a couple years and moved everything to higher ground, built their half million dollar homes on stilts or something, used that ancient Egyptian ingenuity.

But those who live along the Chagrin River? It is as if the river has flooded for the first time ever. They are never prepared for it, and they whine about it after it happens.

Fact: The Chagrin River floods every year! Move now before you forget that it happened because apparently there is some kind of mass forgetfulness going to happen in the next few weeks, and you'll forget and continue to live there.

It's the Twilight Zone over there. Year after year after year after year ...

Stop whining about it.

Cue the replay.

Life Is a Fishbowl

Sometimes, you have to wonder about what is going on in the world. Obviously, the educational system is turning out a lot more morons than it used to. Biology was a required course. We cut open little frogs that we first killed or rendered unconscious with chloroform, which has been categorized as a likely carcinogenic substance by the Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry. Schools probably don't allow its use anymore in the Biology lab. Schools probably don't allow frogs in the Biology lab anymore because they have been known to spread e. coli, especially when 16-year-old Biology students lick them excessively, as 16-year-olds are wont to do nowadays.

We also did experiments on goldfish. Okay, yes, I admit it! I was the one who put the Congo red stain in the goldfish tank; so, you can finally stop that investigation. You know who you are. Nobody cares any more. Please. No more e-mails about it.

The goldfish did not turn red, by the way. And Congo red stain is carcinogenic, also; so, bright, inquisitive, near genius level Biology students no longer have it at their disposal to do actual experiments, unless they buy it and bring it into class and do the mad experimentation on unsuspecting species.

And no matter what we did to goldfish, electric shock, freeze-them-thaw-them-shock-them-to-bring-them-back-to-life (didn't work), seeing if they could breathe out of water by extending the period of time out of water each time (no, they died), they never squawked. Not a peep out of them -- almost Easter and official Peep season, by the way.

The goldfish were not like that goldfish on American Dad, the one that talks.

BUT AMERICAN DAD IS A FUCKING CARTOON!!!

Why do I point this out? That could be the only reason, logical or illogical, that a 16-year-old could think that he should kill the three goldfish during a burglary so as not to leave any witnesses.

I know, right?