Snakes In My Head

Yesterday at the Masters, Ernie Els, four time major winner and Hall of Famer, six-putted the first hole from inside three feet. I've never seen anything like it. I've never even seen an amateur take six putts to get it in the hole from three feet. Occasionally professional golfers miss tap in putts, mostly because out of frustration they foolishly try to back hand the ball into the hole. But this...this was something else all together. I watched the video with a sick feeling in my stomach. Ernie Els is one of the nicest gentlemen in all of sport, one of the good guys. It was hard to watch.

After his round, instead of blowing off the press, he sat down and answered their questions. What happened? "It's hard to putt when you've got snakes inside your head," was his perfect answer. He described how it felt to stand over that first three footer and simply not be able to take the putter back. Snakes inside your head is a much more descriptive expression than the yips, but it's the same thing. At some point in every golfer's life, the prospect of making short putts becomes the equivalent of walking across hot coals in bare feet. It's inexplicable. Ernie Els, a man who can routinely launch a golf ball 300 yards down the middle of a fairway, then curve a five iron beautifully onto the green, freezes up standing over a shot that even old ladies can make...a three foot putt. The most confounding game in history. An example from my much less storied career:

I was playing out at Independance one day. On a 520 yard par five, I hit a beautiful wind-aided drive right down the middle of the fairway, over the hill and out of view. When I crested the hill, the ball was only 140 yards away from the green! (Later, I discovered that my drive had landed on a sprinkler head, propelling it down the fairway). I then hit an 8 iron to within 10 feet. I was going to have a 10 foot eagle putt!! Four miserable attempts later the stupid ball finally dropped into the bottom of the stupid hole. I walked off the green with a bogey. @$&!' game!!!

But now, thanks to Ernie, I have a new explanation for all embarrassing things that will ever happen to me on a golf course, and in life in general...there were snakes in my head!

Lucy Wins

Most of our friends who have come to our house have been greeted by the wild, maniacally neurotic version of our dog, Lucy. She wags her tail, runs around in circles, and generally loses what's left of her fragile mind when confronted with the unbridled thrill of visitors! What none of our friends get to see is this Lucy:

Every night, after Pam and I finish dinner, and after Pam has fed Lucy half of her paper napkin,(don't ask), our dog becomes the world's greatest snuggler. She jumps up on the sofa between Pam and I, horses around with me for a minute or so, then calms down and scoots over as close to Pam as possible and sleeps. She never does this with me, or seldom does. It's almost always Pam. There is a reason for this. When we first got her, I was 100% all in for getting another Golden, Pam probably only 75%. Dogs pick up on these things. They instantly know when someone is committed and when one isn't! So, they set about to win you over...it's what dogs do. From day one, Lucy has been showering Pam with love and attention, overboard and overloaded, desperate to win her affections. It's worked. Dogs just won't take no for an answer, but what they really, truly can't abide is ambivalence. Cats might crave it and they certainly dish it out by the truckload, but not dogs. Nothing short of unlimited love and adoration will do.

Pam never stood a chance!

Tired of This Campaign

Perhaps you have noticed that I haven't written much about the election lately. Last night there was a primary in Wisconsin and I should probably have an opinion about the Cruz and Sanders victories. I should, but I don't. I'm tired.

It has been mentally exhausting watching this primary season. While some of it has been entertaining, much of it has been an embarrassment. The further we get along in the process, the more it becomes clear that some sort of fix is either already in or is being currently devised, especially on the Democratic side of things. Poor Bernie Sanders is out there firing kids up and hustling his a** off, but Hillary just plods along with that knowing, maniacal laugh of hers, secure in the knowledge that she has bought everyone who matters off. Over at the GOP, the grand poobahs are spending money like its going out of style trying and finally succeeding in destroying Donald Trump. The current beneficiary is Ted Cruz, but those same poobahs hate him almost as much as they hate The Donald. A brokered convention seems a sure bet at this point, and the chances are high that neither Cruz nor Trump will be the nominee. So, all those rallies, all those speeches, all those debates will count for...nothing. This isn't how my 12th grade government teacher described the democratic process, but that was a long time ago. So...I'm tired.

Yesterday, my daughter asked my opinion of this meme type thing that came from the Bernie Sanders website describing how he planned to pay for all of his policy presents to the American people. First thing I thought was, well...at least he is admitting that it's gonna take a boat load of money to pull off. Kudos to him. It was an enlightening list of tax increases, all of which assumes that the targets of these higher taxes will never change their behavior to avoid paying them, a classic mistake of tax increasers. Most of the items listed would raise chump change. But the two biggies were both enormous new levels of taxation on income which would effect almost every demographic in America. That's fine and all. I mean, if you want a government to provide stuff to you, you've got to be willing to pay for it at some point. But then my daughter asked me why it is that most of Europe has governments that do these things? Why are most of them so into the welfare state and we are mostly not? I explained that most of Europe moved quickly to the left after WWII, having lost so many of their men in that horrible conflict, and with many of their cities in ruins, a strong and paternalistic government was for them a necessity. We, on the other hand, lost a fraction of our men, and none of our infrastructure was destroyed. And by the end of the war, Americans had grown weary of the overbearing excesses of much of the New Deal. We went the other way...it was time to make some money. The next two decades saw America grow into an economic juggernaut that left Europe and the rest of the world in the dust, despite the fact that we helped rebuild Europe through the Marshall Plan, and our defense budget became the defense budget for all of Europe essentially, since NATO was basically the United States Army.

But, that was then. This is now. Maybe my country has changed to the point where we don't want to be the world's street cop any more. Maybe we want a much smaller defense budget. Maybe we have changed to the point where we no longer desire the freedom to create and innovate if it carries with it the freedom to fail. Maybe we are ready for a large benevolent state that provides cradle to grave care for its citizens. Surely, such a state would always be benevolent, right?

So, I suppose I've grown  weary of always being the guy who defends free enterprise and extols the virtues of limited government to a world that is increasingly not interested in either. My quaint views seem to have gone the way of the ideas of our founding fathers, curiosities in the Museum of Antiquities.

What a Weekend!

I had a great weekend. First, I pulled off my April Fool's prank perfectly. Then I celebrated my birthday with a couple of meals out with family and friends. Finally, my son sent me an amazing music video of his own creation, which I have played over and over for the past two days. Now, for the details...

Several years ago, I introduced the bright orange ping pong ball to my work mates. I bought hundreds of them and boobie-trapped all sorts of things with them on the big day. One of my buddies at work is particularly susceptible to attack. A few years back I got him three different times. I perched a container of ping pong balls precariously on the top of his office door. When he entered that morning, obliviously on his cell phone, he was showered from above by 100 of them. Later, I had deliberately removed all the paper from the copier, making it necessary to get a fresh ream from the cabinet above the machine. Only, I had filled the cabinet with...you guessed it...100 more. As fate would have it, it was Lynwood who got hit. Finally, later on in the day, I was able to place 100 more in the cabinet above the coffee maker. Knowing that Lynwood enjoys an afternoon cup, I emptied the coffee jar of its contents, forcing him to open the cabinet to get more. Bam!! The trifecta!!!

So this past Friday, I played it very low key. Lynwood was wary all morning, as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, but when lunch time came and nothing had happened, he began to relax. However, earlier, during his morning trip to the bathroom, I knew I had a ten minute window to swipe his keys from his desk and fill the cab of his truck with hundreds of strategically placed orange ping pong balls. The resulting hilarity was filmed by two different cameras and was posted on Facebook on Friday. The best part is, it's not even over!! I can safely share this because my man Lynwood isn't on Facebook. In maybe a couple of months, he will find cause to open his glove compartment, maybe when he gets pulled over by a cop for speeding. When he does, 100 beautiful orange ping pong balls will rain down, providing comic relief for the cop, and for me something close to a Christmas in July moment. 

Despite the fact that I paid an insane amount of money to educate him, my son's musical training never gets used for my benefit. Asking him to perform a song for his family usually nets me...nothing. Since he started dating Sarah, a vocal performance major in college, I have been pestering the two of them to sing a duet for me. Thanks, no doubt, to Sarah's insistence, I finally got my wish on the morning of my birthday. The two of them recorded a duet of that classic song from the Movie, The Jerk..You Belong To Me. Patrick played the keyboard, and the two of them sang beautifully. But then, just like in the movie, Bernedette Peters' trumpet solo was performed by Patrick's roommate, Elias, who burst through the door at the perfect moment. Then, some guy I didn't know strolls in playing a green ukulele at the end. As of this morning the video has 4,000 views. Maybe 25 of them are mine!

So, a wonderful weekend. It was still strange not seeing either of my kids on my birthday. But, you can't have everything, right?

The Ten Best Beatle Songs...(show your work)

I blame my brother. He was ten years older and ten times cooler than me in 1964, and so I wanted to be just like him, which meant I had to become a huge Beatle fan. There we were on the living room floor, huddled in front of our RCA Victor black and white tv with the tin foil wrapped around the antenna watching Ed Sullivan. Our parents were on the sofa, arms crossed, looking throughly disgusted. Then..."close your eyes and I'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you..." It was all over but the shouting.

So, today I submit for your consideration...the ten best Beatle songs of all time, along with my rationale for each. If you disagree and think you can do better, by all means, have at it. Just to clarify, this is a list of the ten best, however, the order in which they appear is random, since it would be a metaphysical impossibility to pick one over the other as the all time greatest. Here we go...

1. Revolution

    That mesmerizing electric guitar that gets more and more distorted as the song progresses, and the fantastic keyboard by Nicky Hopkins.

2. If I Fell

    Beautiful harmony

3. I Saw Her Standing There

    A rollicking, toe-tapping blast. About the most fun song of all time.

4. Norwegian Wood

    Evocative lyrics and haunting melody..always a wicked combination.

5. You Can't Do That

    Unlike another famous song, this one has the perfect amount of cowbell.

6. Oh! Darling

    The best vocals of Paul McCartney's long and storied career, especially the pitch perfect shoutout to Little Richard.

7. Here, There, and Everywhere

    Beautiful melody, touching lyrics, and stirring harmony.

8. In My Life

    Might be John Lennon's finest composition, and George Martin's piano solo was perfect.

9. Don't Let Me Down

    Brooding Lennon at his best, and Billy Preston's keyboard is magical.

10. A Day In The Life

     Probably the most creative and original recording in their library of brilliance. Masterpiece material.

What a foolish exercise this was! What could I possibly have been thinking?? How is it possible to construct a list of the best Beatle songs and leave off Let It Be, Hey Jude, the She Came In Through The Bathroom Window/Polethene Pam/Golden Slumbers compilation, and Here Comes The Sun?? Oh well, what's done is done.

Things I Never Thought I Would Live To See

My Dad used to start conversations with the line, "I never thought I'd live to see the day when..." Since tomorrow is my birthday, it's my turn to give it a try.

I never thought I'd live to see the day when...

1. The Cubs were the consensus preseason pick to win the World Series.

2. I would type the word genderqueer on my blog.

3. A witless, bloviating, filthy rich, congenital liar would be poised to win the Presidential nomination of both American political parties.

4.  A police force of a modern democratic state would threaten it's people with a home visit if they were caught saying something unnecessary* and unkind on social media.

5. Dodgeball would be something that adults cared about.

6. I would be handed a six page beer menu at a restaurant.

7. That said menu would contain not one beer that I had ever heard of.

8. The wisdom of the world, all four thousand years of recorded history and the accumulated scientific knowledge of all of civilization could be accessed from a device that fits in my pants pocket.

9. One of the most valuable companies in the world got so by convincing millions of people to pay $4.50 for bitter, acidic coffee.

10. Tattoos would become such a thing for people not in the Navy or members of a motorcycle gang.

Well, that's a decent start. Even though I will turn only 58, another line I heard my Dad say once bears repeating..."If I knew I was gonna live this long I would have taken better care of myself!"

*- note to Scotland policemen...all of social media is unnecessary.

A Morning Thunderstorm

The rain is coming down and soft rolls of thunder are drifting in from the west, making this a wistful morning. Lucy isn't a fan of wistful. She slinks around, lower to the ground than is necessary, alert for the next peal of thunder, like a battle-fatigued GI waiting for another incoming mortar round. I try to reassure her that everything is fine, but she isn't buying it. She trembles from head to toe, hunkering down in our closet for the duration of hostilities. It gets darker suddenly, a large storm cloud loaded with rain hovers overhead, blocking the sun, then empties its payload in a mighty rush of wind and fury.  Somewhere up there a wave of thunder is born and becomes an adolescent ten seconds later, and by the time it shakes the windows of my house it has transformed into an angry old man. The raindrops get larger and more determined, splatting on my sidewalk like tiny Kamikaze pilots onto the deck of the Intrepid. By this afternoon it will be sunny, and the rain brought by this storm will begin doing its life giving work. Why we are not amazed by this is anybody's guess.