Sunday, November 30, 2008
I can't imagine there is anything more tiresome than someone who is all talk and no action. Which means I'm pretty tired of myself. Over and over again I've tried to rededicate myself to the weight loss. Again and again I've tried to refocus my efforts. Time and time again I've tried to rekindle my motivation. And each time I've failed.
Now I'm trying again. Is there anything to suggest that I'm going to succeed? Not really. I think today's Cathy really captures the essence.
In the comic strip, Cathy's mom is the one who sells her on the idea that she can eat the pie. While I've had plenty of people encouraging me to eat this past weekend, I myself am the one to blame for my sub-prime eating problem. And there is no bailout coming for me. I'm the only one who can get myself out of this mess.
Here's what I'm trying for the month of December.
1) I will work out at the gym at least five times each week until I leave for my Christmas vacation.
2) I will go to the gym at least three mornings each work week until my vacation.
3) I will try to cut back on what I eat.
That's it; no weight loss goals, no other requirements. Really what I need to do is get in better shape. On our vacation we expect to spend two days in a row skiing. If I can't get in better shape, I won't be able to make two whole days (not to mention being able to fit into my ski clothes).
Tomorrow is Day One...
Now I'm trying again. Is there anything to suggest that I'm going to succeed? Not really. I think today's Cathy really captures the essence.
In the comic strip, Cathy's mom is the one who sells her on the idea that she can eat the pie. While I've had plenty of people encouraging me to eat this past weekend, I myself am the one to blame for my sub-prime eating problem. And there is no bailout coming for me. I'm the only one who can get myself out of this mess.
Here's what I'm trying for the month of December.
1) I will work out at the gym at least five times each week until I leave for my Christmas vacation.
2) I will go to the gym at least three mornings each work week until my vacation.
3) I will try to cut back on what I eat.
That's it; no weight loss goals, no other requirements. Really what I need to do is get in better shape. On our vacation we expect to spend two days in a row skiing. If I can't get in better shape, I won't be able to make two whole days (not to mention being able to fit into my ski clothes).
Tomorrow is Day One...
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Monday, November 03, 2008
A fond farewell to another of my favorite comic strips. Opus was just the most recent face of Bloom County, one of my very favorite comics. Bloom County said "Happy Trails" (the last book) in the late '80s. It came back as Sunday-only Outland, with new characters who were gradually replaced by the old ones. It ended in the mid-'90s. Then in 2003 it showed up again as Opus, with many of the same characters. And now it's gone again, and creator Berkley Breathed claims it's for good this time, as he turns his attention to children's literature. A noble effort, to be true, but I will miss Opus, Bill the Cat, Steve Dallas, Binkley, Portnoy, HodgePodge, Cutter John, Rosebud, and all the other characters. I will put my Bloom County books on the shelf with Garfield, The Far Side, and Calvin and Hobbes, and pray that Bill Amend continues drawing FoxTrot on Sundays for just a little bit longer.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
My brother forwarded this e-mail to me. I don't know where it came from, but I sure hope it's true. If it isn't, it should be.
I put my carry-on in the luggage compartment and sat down in my assigned seat. It was going to be a long flight.'I'm glad I have a good book to read. Perhaps I will get a short nap,' I thought..
Just before take-off, a line of soldiers came down the aisle and filled all the vacant seats, totally surrounding me. I decided to start a conversation. 'Where are you headed?' I asked the soldier seated nearest to me. 'Chicago - to Great Lakes Base - We'll be there for two weeks for special training, and then we're being deployed to Iraq '.
After flying for about an hour, an announcement was made that sack lunches were available for five dollars. It would be several hours before we reached Chicago, and I quickly decided a lunch would help pass the time. As I reached for my wallet, I overheard soldier ask his buddy if he planned to buy lunch. 'No, that seems like a lot of money for just a sack lunch - Probably wouldn't be worth five bucks - I'll wait till we get to Chicago.' .. His friend agreed.. I looked around at the other soldiers. None were buying lunch. I walked to the back of the plane and handed the flight attendant a fifty dollar bill. 'Take a lunch to all those soldiers.'.. She grabbed my arms and squeezed tightly. Her eyes wet with tears, she thanked me. 'My son was a soldier in Iraq ; it's almost like you are doing it for him.'
Picking up ten sacks, she headed up the aisle to where the soldiers were seated. She stopped at my seat and asked, 'Which do you like best - beef or chicken?'.. 'Chicken,' I replied, wondering why she asked.. She turned and went to the front of plane, returning a minute later with a dinner plate from first class.. 'This is your thanks.'
After we finished eating, I went again to the back of the plane, heading for the rest room. A man stopped me.. "I saw what you did. I want to be part of it - Here, take this.".. He handed me twenty-five dollars.. Soon after I returned to my seat, I saw the Flight Captain coming down the aisle, looking at the aisle numbers as he walked, I hoped he was not looking for me, but noticed he was looking at the numbers only on my side of the plane.. When he got to my row he stopped, smiled, held out his hand, an said, "I want to shake your hand.".. Quickly unfastening my seatbelt I stood and took the Captain's hand. With a booming voice he said, "I was a soldier and I was a military pilot - Once, someone bought me a lunch - It was an act of kindness I never forgot.". I was embarrassed when applause was heard from all of the passengers.
Later I walked to the front of the plane so I could stretch my legs. A man who was seated about six rows in front of me reached out his hand, wanting to shake mine. He left another twenty-five dollars in my palm.. When we landed in Chicago I gathered my belongings and started to deplane. Waiting just inside the airplane door was a man who stopped me, put something in my shirt pocket, turned, and walked away without saying a word. Another twenty-five dollars!
Upon entering the terminal, I saw the soldiers gathering for their trip to the base. I walked over to them and handed them seventy-five dollars. "It will take you some time to reach the base - It will be about time for a sandwich - God Bless You."
Ten young men left that flight feeling the love and respect of their fellow travelers. As I walked briskly to my car, I whispered a prayer for their safe return. These soldiers were giving their all for our country. I could only give them a couple of meals.. It seemed so little...
A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life wrote a blank check made payable to 'The United States of America' for an amount of 'up to and including my life.'
I put my carry-on in the luggage compartment and sat down in my assigned seat. It was going to be a long flight.'I'm glad I have a good book to read. Perhaps I will get a short nap,' I thought..
Just before take-off, a line of soldiers came down the aisle and filled all the vacant seats, totally surrounding me. I decided to start a conversation. 'Where are you headed?' I asked the soldier seated nearest to me. 'Chicago - to Great Lakes Base - We'll be there for two weeks for special training, and then we're being deployed to Iraq '.
After flying for about an hour, an announcement was made that sack lunches were available for five dollars. It would be several hours before we reached Chicago, and I quickly decided a lunch would help pass the time. As I reached for my wallet, I overheard soldier ask his buddy if he planned to buy lunch. 'No, that seems like a lot of money for just a sack lunch - Probably wouldn't be worth five bucks - I'll wait till we get to Chicago.' .. His friend agreed.. I looked around at the other soldiers. None were buying lunch. I walked to the back of the plane and handed the flight attendant a fifty dollar bill. 'Take a lunch to all those soldiers.'.. She grabbed my arms and squeezed tightly. Her eyes wet with tears, she thanked me. 'My son was a soldier in Iraq ; it's almost like you are doing it for him.'
Picking up ten sacks, she headed up the aisle to where the soldiers were seated. She stopped at my seat and asked, 'Which do you like best - beef or chicken?'.. 'Chicken,' I replied, wondering why she asked.. She turned and went to the front of plane, returning a minute later with a dinner plate from first class.. 'This is your thanks.'
After we finished eating, I went again to the back of the plane, heading for the rest room. A man stopped me.. "I saw what you did. I want to be part of it - Here, take this.".. He handed me twenty-five dollars.. Soon after I returned to my seat, I saw the Flight Captain coming down the aisle, looking at the aisle numbers as he walked, I hoped he was not looking for me, but noticed he was looking at the numbers only on my side of the plane.. When he got to my row he stopped, smiled, held out his hand, an said, "I want to shake your hand.".. Quickly unfastening my seatbelt I stood and took the Captain's hand. With a booming voice he said, "I was a soldier and I was a military pilot - Once, someone bought me a lunch - It was an act of kindness I never forgot.". I was embarrassed when applause was heard from all of the passengers.
Later I walked to the front of the plane so I could stretch my legs. A man who was seated about six rows in front of me reached out his hand, wanting to shake mine. He left another twenty-five dollars in my palm.. When we landed in Chicago I gathered my belongings and started to deplane. Waiting just inside the airplane door was a man who stopped me, put something in my shirt pocket, turned, and walked away without saying a word. Another twenty-five dollars!
Upon entering the terminal, I saw the soldiers gathering for their trip to the base. I walked over to them and handed them seventy-five dollars. "It will take you some time to reach the base - It will be about time for a sandwich - God Bless You."
Ten young men left that flight feeling the love and respect of their fellow travelers. As I walked briskly to my car, I whispered a prayer for their safe return. These soldiers were giving their all for our country. I could only give them a couple of meals.. It seemed so little...
A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life wrote a blank check made payable to 'The United States of America' for an amount of 'up to and including my life.'
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
I don't know what has put me in a melancholy mood. Could be the season: days getting short, weather turning chilly, some rain this week, the leaves falling. Could be my birthday this past week. I've reached that stage of life where birthdays now indicate growing older rather than becoming an adult. Could also be my mom's birthday, which was also this past week. I miss her terribly still, and the closeness of our birthdays, which was always something special we shared, was a reminder of her absence. Heck, could even be PMS.
Anyway, I've been in sort of a gloomy mood lately. Not depressed exactly, but just less than energetic and more likely to expect the bad rather than the good. Certainly nothing bad HAS happened; I've just been more of a grump recently than normal.
So, I got to thinking, as I scanned through the radio stations looking for music, about sad songs. There are plenty of them out there. I'm sure lots of them are country songs. I'm sure there are thousands of really sad songs that I've never heard. But I started thinking about the saddest songs I HAD heard, and what made them sad.
Some songs are sad purely because they deal with a sad topic. Death rarely makes for a happy time; the same goes for lost love. Some are sad because they are tragic: a bad decision, something that could and should have been prevented. Some are sad because of the back story; the song might sound a little sad just upon listening, but once you know the behind-the-scenes information they become positively heartbreaking. And of course, some songs are sad because of specific associations the listener has with them, memories connected to the music.
Once I got on the topic of sad songs, I made a list of the saddest songs I could recall listening to, and what made them sad.
Since the best part of being in a dark mood is spreading the wealth, I figured I'd list my top ten here, along with my reasoning for them. Feel free to comment and add your own contributions. I'm sure there are plenty I overlooked as I drove to work this morning.
10. Candle in the Wind '97 (Elton John)
What it's about: Elton John and his writing partner, Bernie Taupin, rewrote their original lyrics (about Marilyn Monroe) to memorialize Princess Diana after her death in a Paris car accident.
Why it's sad: Already a sad song about a life cut short, it takes a very personal look at the too-short life and tragic death of a very kind and genuinely good person (Elton John was close friends with the royal family). I remember as a little girl the mystique of Princess Di. Knowing that there were real princesses in the world was a very big deal for little girls in the '80s, and such a terrible death rocked anyone who ever believed in fairy tales.
9. The Show Must Go On (Queen)
What it's about: A performer must act a part that he certainly does not feel inside. However, he continues the role for the benefit of others.
Why it's sad: This was one of the final songs Freddie Mercury recorded with Queen. He was dying of AIDS at the time (Brian May, Queen's guitarist, wrote the song for Freddie). It is incredible to me that Mercury could have put so much power in the vocals of this song, as gravely ill as he was. I remember seeing the video for the very first time only a few days before Mercury revealed he had AIDS, and only a few days later he was gone. Again a reminder of a life cut short.
8. One Tin Soldier (Coven)
What it's about: Two groups of people, one from the valley and one from the hill, fight over a supposed treasure on the land belonging to the hill people. When the battle is over and many have died, the treasure is revealed to be the message "Peace on Earth".
Why it's sad: Irony, people, irony. The assumption that treasure must be monetary in value and that it's worth killing for is really terrible. War is supposed to suck, but there's supposed to be a better reason.
7. The Cat's in the Cradle (Harry Chapin but I like the Ugly Kid Joe version better)
What it's about: A father who is perpetually too busy to spend time with his son finds the tables turned when his son grows up and no longer has time for him or for his own family.
Why it's sad: It's real life. People constantly spend more time on material goods and their jobs than they do with their own families. The horrible realization at the end of the song by the narrator that not only has his son abandoned familial ties because he's too busy but that the narrator TAUGHT the son to be that way is crushing.
6. Concrete Angel (Martina McBride)
What it's about: A little girl is abused by family members and ends up dying because of it.
Why it's sad: First of all, just singing about a little abused girl is terribly depressing. The little girl in the song toughs it out and doesn't let outsiders know that she's been beaten--she's a "concrete angel". But the twist comes when the song describes the angel headstone resting over her grave in the cemetery, because she's died from the abuse. So now the song sings about the concrete angel forever watching over the other angel. *sniff*
5. Tears in Heaven (Eric Clapton)
What it's about: The singer is asking a loved one who has obviously passed on if they will recognize each other and get to be together in heaven someday. It also seems that the singer must visit heaven in his dreams but knows he cannot stay because he doesn't belong there yet. There may also be some question or concern on the part of the singer as to whether he himself deserves to even GO to heaven someday.
Why it's sad: The worry about finding loved ones in the afterlife probably concerns a lot of people. But the song is especially poignant because Clapton wrote it on the death of his four-year-old son, who fell from a window 53 stories above the ground. How Clapton can even bring himself to sing the song in concert with such personal grief is incredibly brave.
4. The War was in Color (Carbon Leaf)
What it's about: The song is an apparent conversation between a grandfather, who fought in WWII, and his grandson, who stumbled across a box of his grandfather's memorabilia. The grandson wants to know if the war was like all the old war movies he's seen on TV. The grandfather says no, the war was in color. He then very graphically describes how terrible war really is.
Why it's sad: This song has one of the cruelest plot twists ever. Near the end of the song it is revealed that this is an imaginary conversation, because the grandfather died during the war and didn't get to experience the birth of his son, the grandson's own father. So why did the grandfather fight in the war and make such a sacrifice? He says it's to give his grandson "a world without war, a life full of color". The agony here is that WWII was not the "war to end all wars", because we still have the damned things. It could be that his grandson will someday go to war as well. So his sacrifice was all for naught.
3. If You're Reading This (Tim McGraw)
What it's about: The song is a letter from a soldier being read by his family after his death in war. He wrote the letter in the event he died while overseas. He apologizes to his wife, hopes his parents are proud of him, wishes he could be there for the birth of his impending daughter, and asks that his family remember not just him but his comrades.
Why it's sad: Are you kidding? Even a very anti-war protester should be able to understand and sympathize with the final requests of a dying person. This soldier is not being selfish but instead is trying his best to help his family cope with an incredibly difficult situation. God bless our troops.
2. Kilkelly, Ireland (Peter Jones)
What it's about: Real letters kept by a family and found by a man in his attic were used to write this song. The letters are written by a father in Ireland to his son John, who came to the US during one of the many famines in Ireland. The letters keep John appraised of the struggles of his family still in Ireland. Each letter ends with a wish that John, who sounds from the gist of the letters to be far more successful in making a livelihood than his family across the sea, would come home to visit.
Why it's sad: John never went home. The final letter comes from one of John's brothers, and relates to him the death of their father. The father continually asked about John as his health grew poorer, and he called out to John as he lay dying. How dreadful. The brother's letter also ends with the same request, "Why don't you think about coming to visit? We'd all love to see you again." We never do know if John ever went back to Ireland. Agonizingly sad.
1. The Christmas Shoes (Donna VanLiere)
What it's about: The narrator is standing in line to buy last minute Christmas gifts with a large group of other flustered and short-tempered shoppers. A small boy ahead of the narrator attempts to purchase a pair of women's shoes but does not have enough money. When he is told he cannot buy the shoes he explains why he wants them: his mother is dying of an undisclosed illness. He wants the shoes to make her happy and to make her look pretty in case she goes to see Jesus. The narrator and others in line help the child buy the shoes and go home, appreciating everything and everyone they have in their lives a little more.
Why it's sad: This should not be a freakin' Christmas song. The death of a parent is awful, especially for small children who don't fully understand what is going on. Obviously, this song is very personal to me, but I had trouble listening to it even before my mother was diagnosed with cancer. Since she died, it's a definite no-no for me.
Any others I've missed? Any happy songs to get me out of my funk?
Anyway, I've been in sort of a gloomy mood lately. Not depressed exactly, but just less than energetic and more likely to expect the bad rather than the good. Certainly nothing bad HAS happened; I've just been more of a grump recently than normal.
So, I got to thinking, as I scanned through the radio stations looking for music, about sad songs. There are plenty of them out there. I'm sure lots of them are country songs. I'm sure there are thousands of really sad songs that I've never heard. But I started thinking about the saddest songs I HAD heard, and what made them sad.
Some songs are sad purely because they deal with a sad topic. Death rarely makes for a happy time; the same goes for lost love. Some are sad because they are tragic: a bad decision, something that could and should have been prevented. Some are sad because of the back story; the song might sound a little sad just upon listening, but once you know the behind-the-scenes information they become positively heartbreaking. And of course, some songs are sad because of specific associations the listener has with them, memories connected to the music.
Once I got on the topic of sad songs, I made a list of the saddest songs I could recall listening to, and what made them sad.
Since the best part of being in a dark mood is spreading the wealth, I figured I'd list my top ten here, along with my reasoning for them. Feel free to comment and add your own contributions. I'm sure there are plenty I overlooked as I drove to work this morning.
10. Candle in the Wind '97 (Elton John)
What it's about: Elton John and his writing partner, Bernie Taupin, rewrote their original lyrics (about Marilyn Monroe) to memorialize Princess Diana after her death in a Paris car accident.
Why it's sad: Already a sad song about a life cut short, it takes a very personal look at the too-short life and tragic death of a very kind and genuinely good person (Elton John was close friends with the royal family). I remember as a little girl the mystique of Princess Di. Knowing that there were real princesses in the world was a very big deal for little girls in the '80s, and such a terrible death rocked anyone who ever believed in fairy tales.
9. The Show Must Go On (Queen)
What it's about: A performer must act a part that he certainly does not feel inside. However, he continues the role for the benefit of others.
Why it's sad: This was one of the final songs Freddie Mercury recorded with Queen. He was dying of AIDS at the time (Brian May, Queen's guitarist, wrote the song for Freddie). It is incredible to me that Mercury could have put so much power in the vocals of this song, as gravely ill as he was. I remember seeing the video for the very first time only a few days before Mercury revealed he had AIDS, and only a few days later he was gone. Again a reminder of a life cut short.
8. One Tin Soldier (Coven)
What it's about: Two groups of people, one from the valley and one from the hill, fight over a supposed treasure on the land belonging to the hill people. When the battle is over and many have died, the treasure is revealed to be the message "Peace on Earth".
Why it's sad: Irony, people, irony. The assumption that treasure must be monetary in value and that it's worth killing for is really terrible. War is supposed to suck, but there's supposed to be a better reason.
7. The Cat's in the Cradle (Harry Chapin but I like the Ugly Kid Joe version better)
What it's about: A father who is perpetually too busy to spend time with his son finds the tables turned when his son grows up and no longer has time for him or for his own family.
Why it's sad: It's real life. People constantly spend more time on material goods and their jobs than they do with their own families. The horrible realization at the end of the song by the narrator that not only has his son abandoned familial ties because he's too busy but that the narrator TAUGHT the son to be that way is crushing.
6. Concrete Angel (Martina McBride)
What it's about: A little girl is abused by family members and ends up dying because of it.
Why it's sad: First of all, just singing about a little abused girl is terribly depressing. The little girl in the song toughs it out and doesn't let outsiders know that she's been beaten--she's a "concrete angel". But the twist comes when the song describes the angel headstone resting over her grave in the cemetery, because she's died from the abuse. So now the song sings about the concrete angel forever watching over the other angel. *sniff*
5. Tears in Heaven (Eric Clapton)
What it's about: The singer is asking a loved one who has obviously passed on if they will recognize each other and get to be together in heaven someday. It also seems that the singer must visit heaven in his dreams but knows he cannot stay because he doesn't belong there yet. There may also be some question or concern on the part of the singer as to whether he himself deserves to even GO to heaven someday.
Why it's sad: The worry about finding loved ones in the afterlife probably concerns a lot of people. But the song is especially poignant because Clapton wrote it on the death of his four-year-old son, who fell from a window 53 stories above the ground. How Clapton can even bring himself to sing the song in concert with such personal grief is incredibly brave.
4. The War was in Color (Carbon Leaf)
What it's about: The song is an apparent conversation between a grandfather, who fought in WWII, and his grandson, who stumbled across a box of his grandfather's memorabilia. The grandson wants to know if the war was like all the old war movies he's seen on TV. The grandfather says no, the war was in color. He then very graphically describes how terrible war really is.
Why it's sad: This song has one of the cruelest plot twists ever. Near the end of the song it is revealed that this is an imaginary conversation, because the grandfather died during the war and didn't get to experience the birth of his son, the grandson's own father. So why did the grandfather fight in the war and make such a sacrifice? He says it's to give his grandson "a world without war, a life full of color". The agony here is that WWII was not the "war to end all wars", because we still have the damned things. It could be that his grandson will someday go to war as well. So his sacrifice was all for naught.
3. If You're Reading This (Tim McGraw)
What it's about: The song is a letter from a soldier being read by his family after his death in war. He wrote the letter in the event he died while overseas. He apologizes to his wife, hopes his parents are proud of him, wishes he could be there for the birth of his impending daughter, and asks that his family remember not just him but his comrades.
Why it's sad: Are you kidding? Even a very anti-war protester should be able to understand and sympathize with the final requests of a dying person. This soldier is not being selfish but instead is trying his best to help his family cope with an incredibly difficult situation. God bless our troops.
2. Kilkelly, Ireland (Peter Jones)
What it's about: Real letters kept by a family and found by a man in his attic were used to write this song. The letters are written by a father in Ireland to his son John, who came to the US during one of the many famines in Ireland. The letters keep John appraised of the struggles of his family still in Ireland. Each letter ends with a wish that John, who sounds from the gist of the letters to be far more successful in making a livelihood than his family across the sea, would come home to visit.
Why it's sad: John never went home. The final letter comes from one of John's brothers, and relates to him the death of their father. The father continually asked about John as his health grew poorer, and he called out to John as he lay dying. How dreadful. The brother's letter also ends with the same request, "Why don't you think about coming to visit? We'd all love to see you again." We never do know if John ever went back to Ireland. Agonizingly sad.
1. The Christmas Shoes (Donna VanLiere)
What it's about: The narrator is standing in line to buy last minute Christmas gifts with a large group of other flustered and short-tempered shoppers. A small boy ahead of the narrator attempts to purchase a pair of women's shoes but does not have enough money. When he is told he cannot buy the shoes he explains why he wants them: his mother is dying of an undisclosed illness. He wants the shoes to make her happy and to make her look pretty in case she goes to see Jesus. The narrator and others in line help the child buy the shoes and go home, appreciating everything and everyone they have in their lives a little more.
Why it's sad: This should not be a freakin' Christmas song. The death of a parent is awful, especially for small children who don't fully understand what is going on. Obviously, this song is very personal to me, but I had trouble listening to it even before my mother was diagnosed with cancer. Since she died, it's a definite no-no for me.
Any others I've missed? Any happy songs to get me out of my funk?
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Monday, October 06, 2008
Not much progress on the weight issue (I was 196 today, down from about 199, but my weight fluctuates so much day to day that it's hard to count that as a for-sure drop). But there's other news...
I won my first golf game ever yesterday!
Not to say this is announcing my entrance into the LPGA tour or anything--I will not be taking Annika's place particularly soon. But this was big for me; the score was probably at least a 20 stroke improvement over my personal best. I've always used double-par as my personal par, since I've only been doing this since the end of June. That means I'm usually looking at a score in the 140's. And most of the time my 9-hole score is in the upper 50's-mid 60's. My front nine was 51; my back nine was 58 (sort of fell apart there at the end). So this 109 was totally awesome for me. The fact that I got a lower score than my husband (who usually completely destroys me when we golf) and my brother-in-law (who was on his high school golf team) was just icing on the cake.
Will I ever beat them again? Unlikely. I suspect the planets aligned or something for me to play as well as I did.
I guess I need a new personal par. It will probably depend on the course I'm playing (the one yesterday was pretty short, which is good for me because I can't drive very far). Maybe 18 under double par?
I won my first golf game ever yesterday!
Not to say this is announcing my entrance into the LPGA tour or anything--I will not be taking Annika's place particularly soon. But this was big for me; the score was probably at least a 20 stroke improvement over my personal best. I've always used double-par as my personal par, since I've only been doing this since the end of June. That means I'm usually looking at a score in the 140's. And most of the time my 9-hole score is in the upper 50's-mid 60's. My front nine was 51; my back nine was 58 (sort of fell apart there at the end). So this 109 was totally awesome for me. The fact that I got a lower score than my husband (who usually completely destroys me when we golf) and my brother-in-law (who was on his high school golf team) was just icing on the cake.
Will I ever beat them again? Unlikely. I suspect the planets aligned or something for me to play as well as I did.
I guess I need a new personal par. It will probably depend on the course I'm playing (the one yesterday was pretty short, which is good for me because I can't drive very far). Maybe 18 under double par?
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
So.
It's been a while since I posted anything particularly meaningful. Basically because nothing really has happened. Have I moved to a new and interesting location? No. Have I hit any new rivers lately? Nope. Did I accomplish any of my goals for the summer? Not really. Have I lost any weight in the past two years? NO.
I don't understand what happened. Almost three years ago, in November 2005, my husband and I decided to work out and lose weight. We ate a bit better, worked out a lot, and we each lost about 40 pounds in about six months. Of course, the more weight we lost, the harder it got to lose more. Our bodies adjusted to the work outs and the diet, so we had to step it up in order to keep losing.
But instead of stepping it up, we went the other way. We started going out to eat more. We started going back for seconds (and thirds) at mealtimes. We got bored with going to the gym all the time. We cut back on the work outs and the intensity, and some weeks we didn't go to the gym at all.
And the weight came back. Thankfully, not all of it; I'm not sure what my husband gained back, but I'm back up about 25 pounds from the lightest I had gotten on this plan (still down almost 20, hallelujah). With the weight came all the crappy stuff that I wanted to get rid of. I'm tired all the time. My back hurts. My plantar fasciitis, which had gotten a lot better, got worse again. I'm cranky all the time. I don't feel well. My clothes don't fit.
And it's that much harder to get started again. The gym is still uninteresting. I haven't found a suitable replacement--I can't make myself run (tried that this summer, failed), I don't force myself to swim hard enough for it to benefit me, I'm afraid to ride my bike anywhere because I don't want to get run over...I've got an excuse for everything.
Plus, with work and swimming (yes, it's that time of year again) and some of the other commitments I have, there is so little time for me to spend with my husband that it is a shame to spend it sweating away at the gym when we could be out somewhere enjoying each other's company.
So I'm trying to reach deep inside me somewhere and find the strength, willpower, and motivation I need to get my ass off the couch every day and lose this weight. If I can't do it now, I may never get it off.
Stay tuned...
It's been a while since I posted anything particularly meaningful. Basically because nothing really has happened. Have I moved to a new and interesting location? No. Have I hit any new rivers lately? Nope. Did I accomplish any of my goals for the summer? Not really. Have I lost any weight in the past two years? NO.
I don't understand what happened. Almost three years ago, in November 2005, my husband and I decided to work out and lose weight. We ate a bit better, worked out a lot, and we each lost about 40 pounds in about six months. Of course, the more weight we lost, the harder it got to lose more. Our bodies adjusted to the work outs and the diet, so we had to step it up in order to keep losing.
But instead of stepping it up, we went the other way. We started going out to eat more. We started going back for seconds (and thirds) at mealtimes. We got bored with going to the gym all the time. We cut back on the work outs and the intensity, and some weeks we didn't go to the gym at all.
And the weight came back. Thankfully, not all of it; I'm not sure what my husband gained back, but I'm back up about 25 pounds from the lightest I had gotten on this plan (still down almost 20, hallelujah). With the weight came all the crappy stuff that I wanted to get rid of. I'm tired all the time. My back hurts. My plantar fasciitis, which had gotten a lot better, got worse again. I'm cranky all the time. I don't feel well. My clothes don't fit.
And it's that much harder to get started again. The gym is still uninteresting. I haven't found a suitable replacement--I can't make myself run (tried that this summer, failed), I don't force myself to swim hard enough for it to benefit me, I'm afraid to ride my bike anywhere because I don't want to get run over...I've got an excuse for everything.
Plus, with work and swimming (yes, it's that time of year again) and some of the other commitments I have, there is so little time for me to spend with my husband that it is a shame to spend it sweating away at the gym when we could be out somewhere enjoying each other's company.
So I'm trying to reach deep inside me somewhere and find the strength, willpower, and motivation I need to get my ass off the couch every day and lose this weight. If I can't do it now, I may never get it off.
Stay tuned...
Friday, September 19, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Still fuming about the end to the Chargers/Broncos game last night. Yes, I know, mistakes happen, and yes, I know, calls get blown all the time. But when not one but TWO calls go horribly awry in the same game, against the same team, you start to feel as though the refs have a personal vendetta against your team. I remember back to my college days. The refs in the old Western Athletic Conference were notoriously TERRIBLE. We had regular chants for such occasions, such as "THE REF BEATS HIS WIFE! THE REF BEATS HIS WIFE!" and "WHEN I GET OLD AND CANNOT SEE, I WANT TO BE A REFEREE!" and of course the classic "ZEBRA ZEBRA, SHORT AND STOUT, FIND YOUR HEAD AND PULL IT OUT!" which I still employ at hockey games. Heck, I even remember one game where the calls were so bad the refs had to be rescued by football players from a barrage of snowballs coming from the stands. We had deadly aim back then. What I wouldn't have given for a long-distance snowball last night to peg Ed Hochuli in the back of the head for blowing his damn whistle early.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
I drove past a fire station today. Spread out on the grass in front of the building were three hundred and forty-three American flags. Big letters amidst the flags read FDNY.
Tears flowed as I drove on. It's been seven years, and as a country we are still frightened, heartsick, and angry. And so very, very proud. Most of us do not know the names of the firemen, the police officers, the first responders who lost their lives at Ground Zero. We have not memorized the names of the dead at the World Trade Center or Pentagon. We can't recite the names of the heroes who fought and died on United Airlines Flight 93.
And yet their names are written forever in our hearts.
God bless America, land that I love.
Amen.
Tears flowed as I drove on. It's been seven years, and as a country we are still frightened, heartsick, and angry. And so very, very proud. Most of us do not know the names of the firemen, the police officers, the first responders who lost their lives at Ground Zero. We have not memorized the names of the dead at the World Trade Center or Pentagon. We can't recite the names of the heroes who fought and died on United Airlines Flight 93.
And yet their names are written forever in our hearts.
God bless America, land that I love.
Amen.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Here I am. One full week left of my summer, and practically nothing to show for it. At the beginning of May I was rededicating myself to my weight loss attempt, figuring a full fifteen weeks before school started up for the fall would give me ample time to lose 15, 20, maybe 30 or more pounds! What a great idea!
And then the wheels fell off. I did not get myself to the gym as I should have. I did not get up and go jogging as I should have. I did not go rollerblading as I should have. I did not go biking as I should have. I did not take the dog to the park as I should have. I did not eat appropriately as I should have. I did not clean my house as I should have. I did not overhaul my lesson plans for the school year as I should have.
As a matter of fact, as I pointed out last time, the only thing I DID accomplish was to pick up a new sport (golf).
Pretty feeble. I did manage to make some money with my workout schedule, but there's no reason to spend it, because I haven't lost any weight so I don't need to buy new clothes.
So, here I am. I have one week left of summer. I need to do some work around the house, cleaning things up. I need to weed items out of my closet that don't fit (but hopefully will at some point before Christmas). I need to go over my school stuff to see what needs to be changed. I'm going out of town for a long weekend (early anniversary celebration), and then it's back to the grind. Hopefully I can make a start on the weight loss again. I'd hate to be stuck like this forever. I'm running out of rededications.
And then the wheels fell off. I did not get myself to the gym as I should have. I did not get up and go jogging as I should have. I did not go rollerblading as I should have. I did not go biking as I should have. I did not take the dog to the park as I should have. I did not eat appropriately as I should have. I did not clean my house as I should have. I did not overhaul my lesson plans for the school year as I should have.
As a matter of fact, as I pointed out last time, the only thing I DID accomplish was to pick up a new sport (golf).
Pretty feeble. I did manage to make some money with my workout schedule, but there's no reason to spend it, because I haven't lost any weight so I don't need to buy new clothes.
So, here I am. I have one week left of summer. I need to do some work around the house, cleaning things up. I need to weed items out of my closet that don't fit (but hopefully will at some point before Christmas). I need to go over my school stuff to see what needs to be changed. I'm going out of town for a long weekend (early anniversary celebration), and then it's back to the grind. Hopefully I can make a start on the weight loss again. I'd hate to be stuck like this forever. I'm running out of rededications.
Monday, July 21, 2008
While I am not surprised by how most of my summer has transpired (like, the fact that I haven't gotten ANYTHING on my to-do list done, and I only have two weeks left), I am absolutely shocked by one occurrence, something I could never in my entire life have predicted:
I've taken up golf.
My entire adult life, I have subscribed to the opinion of the late George Carlin:
"Did you ever watch golf on TV? It's like watching flies fuck. I get more excited picking out socks. Think of the brains that it takes to play golf: hitting a ball with a crooked stick, and then...walking after it. And then, hitting it again! I say, 'Pick it up, asshole, you're lucky you found it. Put it in your pocket and go the fuck home, will ya?'"
I've had little contact with golf of the non-miniature variety during my life. My dad played occasionally when I was a kid. He owned his own clubs, but it wasn't a particularly frequent pasttime; I really can't remember any specific golf outings of his, or what caliber player he was. In fact, my only specific memory was when I was about seven or eight and my father decided to teach my brother and me to play.
Now, I suspect the plan was really to teach my brother the finer points of the game, as he is 3 1/2 years older than I am, but I tended to tag along when my brother wanted to do things, so I was probably included more to prevent hurt feelings and temper tantrums than for my edification.
Anyway, Dad was teaching us how to swing the clubs. The next event is shouded in mystery, and the truth may never be fully clear, but ultimately the result was my solid thwacking of my brother's head with an iron. Many questions have been asked about the intent of said thwacking: was my brother a victim of an accidental backswing or follow-through, or were there darker forces at work? I don't take well to criticism, so it's possible that assistance or critiques being offered were not taken in a positive light by me. In any case, my illustrious golfing career was over. The clubs were taken away, and suggestions were made that perhaps golf was not in my future.
And golf never entered my mind again, at least not for about 20 years. Meanwhile, my dad continued to play occasionally (probably not more than once or twice per year), and somewhere along the line my brother picked up enough of the game to get his own set of clubs and hit the driving range at lunchtimes or the links on a Saturday with some of his buddies. As for me, I did not play, I did not consider playing, and except for the sports highlights on the nightly news I did not see golf at all.
Then, in 2005, my brother-in-law graduated from high school. A member of his high school's golf team, he expressed an interest in hitting the local golf course with his siblings as a graduation gift. My husband agreed, having golfed a few times growing up and having enjoyed it, and so my husband, his brother, their sister, and her husband set off for the course. I tagged along out of curiosity, having never watched anyone actually play the sport live. The first few holes I enjoyed watching everyone else (my brother-in-law of course is quite good; everyone else had a few good shots but more unpredictable than not), but then once we were out of sight of the clubhouse, my sister-in-law offered me the use of her clubs and let me play along on a few holes. I thought perhaps this might be the moment where I discovered my true talent, my natural ability. I've never felt naturally gifted at anything, really, so I thought maybe I was a hidden gem, a Tigress just waiting to be discovered.
Alas, I really wasn't. I doubt that I hit the ball more than once correctly. My skills were more suited to the putt-putt courses than the full-sized game. Oh well. When we made the turn back towards the clubhouse, I relinquished the clubs to my sister-in-law and returned to my position as spectator. I had fun, but felt no real draw to the sport. I had tried it, I had failed, and I was moving on.
However, golf did not go away. My husband expressed several times how much fun he had playing with his little brother. The opportunity presented itself a few more times here and there, and he enjoyed himself. Several of his friends in town play golf, some pretty good actually, and he thought that it might be fun to learn to play so he could golf with them. And he suggested I might learn to play too--neither of us would be likely to take it seriously, but it would be something to do together, and a form of exercise that might be more interesting than cruising on an elliptical machine at the gym. His grandfather gave him an old set of clubs he had used when he retired (old enough that, as my husband laughs, "The woods are really wood"). The clubs sat in our house, unused, but occasionally the topic would be brought up again.
Nothing actually happened until June of this year. My husband's cousin was getting married at a golf resort, and the guests were offered the opportunity to play a round the day of the wedding. My brother-in-law of course expressed an interest, as did my sister-in-law and her husband, and my mother-in-law. My husband decided he would play too, and looked expectantly at me. What the heck, I thought, it would just be family, no one played regularly, my brother-in-law would surely smoke us all and we'd have a good time doing it.
But I had a problem: no clubs. My husband had his aged set, some family members had their own they would bring and others had sets they could borrow. I had neither my own clubs nor any friends who golf. I was uncomfortable asking my husband to borrow clubs from any of his coworkers' or friends' wives (and to be truthful it seems few of the women golfed--I don't know if we'd have found a set in time).
So a discussion with my husband ensued. Was it possible we might be interested in taking up the sport, not seriously of course, but as a fun option on weekends when rivers weren't running? Would we play enough to make a purchase of clubs worthwhile? Would this be a sport we might actually do more than once or twice a summer?
We answered "Yes", and purchased a set of woman's clubs (driver, two woods, two hybrids, four irons, two wedges, putter, bag, head covers) on sale at Sports Authority for $150. I was appalled at this outlay of money for a sport that I really, honestly, had not shown any promise at (I'm not even a par golfer on the putt-putt course), but after looking at the prices of the mid-range and upper quality clubs, I was pretty sure we'd just gotten the deal of a lifetime.
After only enough time to hit the driving range once and play a short nine holes on our little municipal course, we drove to the wedding. The morning of the wedding we showed up at the pro shop at a little after 7 a.m. It hadn't really occured to me that only four people could play golf at a time, so we were separated from my brother- and mother-in-law. Our foursome consisted of me, my husband, my sister-in-law and her husband. This suited us pretty well; while we would have liked to have the whole family together, who really wants to get shown up by a 21-year-old kid? I was fine with the group, since no one had significantly more experience than I did, in the grand scheme of things.
Two things became apparent on the first hole: 1) we were reasonably well matched as a foursome, skill-wise, and 2) this was not going to be a quick game before lunch. We were informed by a course ranger that a maximum score of 10 strokes was all that was permitted for each hole (what this meant was if you hit the ball ten times and still weren't in the hole, move on; what we interpreted this as was we might hit the ball thirteen times but we're only going to write down 10 on the scorecard). After being driven off the course after the first hole by a thunderstorm (generally holding a metal stick in a field when there's lightning is not on the recommended list of healthy activities) we resumed play. While I did not possess the golfing experience that my family members did, none of us possessed any consistency: one hole might find us on the green in two, only to six-putt; the next hole might require four tee-shots before we got one that was remotely playable; and a third hole might result in five lost balls before we ever got to the green. And yet, every few holes, each of us would hit a real golf shot, one that went where it was supposed to go. Those shots spurred us on (despite course rangers harassing us for being so slow), and we finished the eighteen holes (in 5 1/2 hours, a full hour beyond the course's maximum pace).
When the scores were totalled, I was shocked, stunned, and rather absurdly pleased with myself to find that I did not come in last in our foursome. My husband was equally pleased to learn that he had the best score of the four of us. This success, we decided, and the fun we had doing it, was just what we needed to verify that our decision had been correct. The Rubicon had been crossed, so to speak; we were taking up golfing.
However, we both agreed that our hack-and-slice approach probably wouldn't make us happy for long, so we decided to seek professional help. We arranged a lesson with a local golf pro, who took us one evening to the back end of the driving range at our municipal course. We were both disappointed to learn that we would be starting off with the short irons (part of the glee in golf, especially for my husband, is unleashing a wicked drive off the tee), basically because they are the easiest to control. The pro had us each hit a few balls while he evaluated our swings.
Then he started giving advice. He helped with the grip, the positioning of the shoulders and feet, where to put the head, and a number of other tips. Then he told me to swing again. Suddenly, it was like everything clicked into place, as my husband put it. Pow! I hit the ball with my pitching wedge, and it traveled easily just as far as the farthest I had ever managed to hit it with my driver (yes, sadly, that was only about 50-75 yards). I swung it again. Pow! And again. Pow! This was fantastic!
[On a side note, I actually hit the ball better than my husband did that day. His swing difficulties, however, were largely attributable to the fact that his clubs were old, battered, and far too short for his 6'4" frame. A new set of clubs, specially lengthened, have solved many of his problems. But I enjoyed the superiority while it lasted.]
Wanting to show off our new abilities, we scheduled a golf round with a kayaking friend of ours. He claimed to be a poor golfer (which he may be, but he still beat us). We had a great time, but there were still many inconsistencies in our game. My biggest problem seemed to be my longer clubs--our coach had taught us to swing the short irons, and I couldn't seem to translate that great-feeling swing to my driver or woods. Also, my putting, once the strongest (ha ha) part of my game (all that mini-golf), seemed to fall apart. We needed another lesson.
Our second lesson came, and despite our pro's plan to work on lower numbered irons (or, in my case, my hybrids), we asked him if he would teach us to hit the drivers. He acquiesced, and we started hitting. Again, with just a few tips here and there, my swing was back. Pow! Pow! Pow! (I've decided that the best course of action may be for me to record his advice and play it in headphones while I play the course.)
We played another round of golf with our friend this past weekend, and he was dismayed to see our improvement (I actually parred two holes, and my husband was only four strokes behind our friend at the end of 18). We're still wildly inconsistent, but so are the other people we've played with. Our friend has been playing since he was a kid; we've been playing for a month.
We have another lesson on Wednesday. I think we're going to ask if we can work on chipping and putting, as those have been weak spots for both of us.
So far I have resisted the urge to start replacing all my clubs with fancier ones (although I must admit, I have replaced the putter that came with my set with a novelty putter in the shape of the starship Enterprise from Star Trek, and yes, I know that makes me a complete geek), but I'm sure the time will come. Already the shiny, high tech sticks are singing a siren call every time I enter a sporting goods store. I will only resist for so long. Perhaps instead of new clubs, we need a new house, with more storage space for all the expensive gear we seem to accumulate through our many hobbies (kayaking, skiing, hockey, mountain biking, Magic: the Gathering, reading, four video game consoles, five computers, and now golf). Anyone know a realtor? We can take them golfing and discuss our options...
I've taken up golf.
My entire adult life, I have subscribed to the opinion of the late George Carlin:
"Did you ever watch golf on TV? It's like watching flies fuck. I get more excited picking out socks. Think of the brains that it takes to play golf: hitting a ball with a crooked stick, and then...walking after it. And then, hitting it again! I say, 'Pick it up, asshole, you're lucky you found it. Put it in your pocket and go the fuck home, will ya?'"
I've had little contact with golf of the non-miniature variety during my life. My dad played occasionally when I was a kid. He owned his own clubs, but it wasn't a particularly frequent pasttime; I really can't remember any specific golf outings of his, or what caliber player he was. In fact, my only specific memory was when I was about seven or eight and my father decided to teach my brother and me to play.
Now, I suspect the plan was really to teach my brother the finer points of the game, as he is 3 1/2 years older than I am, but I tended to tag along when my brother wanted to do things, so I was probably included more to prevent hurt feelings and temper tantrums than for my edification.
Anyway, Dad was teaching us how to swing the clubs. The next event is shouded in mystery, and the truth may never be fully clear, but ultimately the result was my solid thwacking of my brother's head with an iron. Many questions have been asked about the intent of said thwacking: was my brother a victim of an accidental backswing or follow-through, or were there darker forces at work? I don't take well to criticism, so it's possible that assistance or critiques being offered were not taken in a positive light by me. In any case, my illustrious golfing career was over. The clubs were taken away, and suggestions were made that perhaps golf was not in my future.
And golf never entered my mind again, at least not for about 20 years. Meanwhile, my dad continued to play occasionally (probably not more than once or twice per year), and somewhere along the line my brother picked up enough of the game to get his own set of clubs and hit the driving range at lunchtimes or the links on a Saturday with some of his buddies. As for me, I did not play, I did not consider playing, and except for the sports highlights on the nightly news I did not see golf at all.
Then, in 2005, my brother-in-law graduated from high school. A member of his high school's golf team, he expressed an interest in hitting the local golf course with his siblings as a graduation gift. My husband agreed, having golfed a few times growing up and having enjoyed it, and so my husband, his brother, their sister, and her husband set off for the course. I tagged along out of curiosity, having never watched anyone actually play the sport live. The first few holes I enjoyed watching everyone else (my brother-in-law of course is quite good; everyone else had a few good shots but more unpredictable than not), but then once we were out of sight of the clubhouse, my sister-in-law offered me the use of her clubs and let me play along on a few holes. I thought perhaps this might be the moment where I discovered my true talent, my natural ability. I've never felt naturally gifted at anything, really, so I thought maybe I was a hidden gem, a Tigress just waiting to be discovered.
Alas, I really wasn't. I doubt that I hit the ball more than once correctly. My skills were more suited to the putt-putt courses than the full-sized game. Oh well. When we made the turn back towards the clubhouse, I relinquished the clubs to my sister-in-law and returned to my position as spectator. I had fun, but felt no real draw to the sport. I had tried it, I had failed, and I was moving on.
However, golf did not go away. My husband expressed several times how much fun he had playing with his little brother. The opportunity presented itself a few more times here and there, and he enjoyed himself. Several of his friends in town play golf, some pretty good actually, and he thought that it might be fun to learn to play so he could golf with them. And he suggested I might learn to play too--neither of us would be likely to take it seriously, but it would be something to do together, and a form of exercise that might be more interesting than cruising on an elliptical machine at the gym. His grandfather gave him an old set of clubs he had used when he retired (old enough that, as my husband laughs, "The woods are really wood"). The clubs sat in our house, unused, but occasionally the topic would be brought up again.
Nothing actually happened until June of this year. My husband's cousin was getting married at a golf resort, and the guests were offered the opportunity to play a round the day of the wedding. My brother-in-law of course expressed an interest, as did my sister-in-law and her husband, and my mother-in-law. My husband decided he would play too, and looked expectantly at me. What the heck, I thought, it would just be family, no one played regularly, my brother-in-law would surely smoke us all and we'd have a good time doing it.
But I had a problem: no clubs. My husband had his aged set, some family members had their own they would bring and others had sets they could borrow. I had neither my own clubs nor any friends who golf. I was uncomfortable asking my husband to borrow clubs from any of his coworkers' or friends' wives (and to be truthful it seems few of the women golfed--I don't know if we'd have found a set in time).
So a discussion with my husband ensued. Was it possible we might be interested in taking up the sport, not seriously of course, but as a fun option on weekends when rivers weren't running? Would we play enough to make a purchase of clubs worthwhile? Would this be a sport we might actually do more than once or twice a summer?
We answered "Yes", and purchased a set of woman's clubs (driver, two woods, two hybrids, four irons, two wedges, putter, bag, head covers) on sale at Sports Authority for $150. I was appalled at this outlay of money for a sport that I really, honestly, had not shown any promise at (I'm not even a par golfer on the putt-putt course), but after looking at the prices of the mid-range and upper quality clubs, I was pretty sure we'd just gotten the deal of a lifetime.
After only enough time to hit the driving range once and play a short nine holes on our little municipal course, we drove to the wedding. The morning of the wedding we showed up at the pro shop at a little after 7 a.m. It hadn't really occured to me that only four people could play golf at a time, so we were separated from my brother- and mother-in-law. Our foursome consisted of me, my husband, my sister-in-law and her husband. This suited us pretty well; while we would have liked to have the whole family together, who really wants to get shown up by a 21-year-old kid? I was fine with the group, since no one had significantly more experience than I did, in the grand scheme of things.
Two things became apparent on the first hole: 1) we were reasonably well matched as a foursome, skill-wise, and 2) this was not going to be a quick game before lunch. We were informed by a course ranger that a maximum score of 10 strokes was all that was permitted for each hole (what this meant was if you hit the ball ten times and still weren't in the hole, move on; what we interpreted this as was we might hit the ball thirteen times but we're only going to write down 10 on the scorecard). After being driven off the course after the first hole by a thunderstorm (generally holding a metal stick in a field when there's lightning is not on the recommended list of healthy activities) we resumed play. While I did not possess the golfing experience that my family members did, none of us possessed any consistency: one hole might find us on the green in two, only to six-putt; the next hole might require four tee-shots before we got one that was remotely playable; and a third hole might result in five lost balls before we ever got to the green. And yet, every few holes, each of us would hit a real golf shot, one that went where it was supposed to go. Those shots spurred us on (despite course rangers harassing us for being so slow), and we finished the eighteen holes (in 5 1/2 hours, a full hour beyond the course's maximum pace).
When the scores were totalled, I was shocked, stunned, and rather absurdly pleased with myself to find that I did not come in last in our foursome. My husband was equally pleased to learn that he had the best score of the four of us. This success, we decided, and the fun we had doing it, was just what we needed to verify that our decision had been correct. The Rubicon had been crossed, so to speak; we were taking up golfing.
However, we both agreed that our hack-and-slice approach probably wouldn't make us happy for long, so we decided to seek professional help. We arranged a lesson with a local golf pro, who took us one evening to the back end of the driving range at our municipal course. We were both disappointed to learn that we would be starting off with the short irons (part of the glee in golf, especially for my husband, is unleashing a wicked drive off the tee), basically because they are the easiest to control. The pro had us each hit a few balls while he evaluated our swings.
Then he started giving advice. He helped with the grip, the positioning of the shoulders and feet, where to put the head, and a number of other tips. Then he told me to swing again. Suddenly, it was like everything clicked into place, as my husband put it. Pow! I hit the ball with my pitching wedge, and it traveled easily just as far as the farthest I had ever managed to hit it with my driver (yes, sadly, that was only about 50-75 yards). I swung it again. Pow! And again. Pow! This was fantastic!
[On a side note, I actually hit the ball better than my husband did that day. His swing difficulties, however, were largely attributable to the fact that his clubs were old, battered, and far too short for his 6'4" frame. A new set of clubs, specially lengthened, have solved many of his problems. But I enjoyed the superiority while it lasted.]
Wanting to show off our new abilities, we scheduled a golf round with a kayaking friend of ours. He claimed to be a poor golfer (which he may be, but he still beat us). We had a great time, but there were still many inconsistencies in our game. My biggest problem seemed to be my longer clubs--our coach had taught us to swing the short irons, and I couldn't seem to translate that great-feeling swing to my driver or woods. Also, my putting, once the strongest (ha ha) part of my game (all that mini-golf), seemed to fall apart. We needed another lesson.
Our second lesson came, and despite our pro's plan to work on lower numbered irons (or, in my case, my hybrids), we asked him if he would teach us to hit the drivers. He acquiesced, and we started hitting. Again, with just a few tips here and there, my swing was back. Pow! Pow! Pow! (I've decided that the best course of action may be for me to record his advice and play it in headphones while I play the course.)
We played another round of golf with our friend this past weekend, and he was dismayed to see our improvement (I actually parred two holes, and my husband was only four strokes behind our friend at the end of 18). We're still wildly inconsistent, but so are the other people we've played with. Our friend has been playing since he was a kid; we've been playing for a month.
We have another lesson on Wednesday. I think we're going to ask if we can work on chipping and putting, as those have been weak spots for both of us.
So far I have resisted the urge to start replacing all my clubs with fancier ones (although I must admit, I have replaced the putter that came with my set with a novelty putter in the shape of the starship Enterprise from Star Trek, and yes, I know that makes me a complete geek), but I'm sure the time will come. Already the shiny, high tech sticks are singing a siren call every time I enter a sporting goods store. I will only resist for so long. Perhaps instead of new clubs, we need a new house, with more storage space for all the expensive gear we seem to accumulate through our many hobbies (kayaking, skiing, hockey, mountain biking, Magic: the Gathering, reading, four video game consoles, five computers, and now golf). Anyone know a realtor? We can take them golfing and discuss our options...
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Strange things happen at a school during the summer months. Teachers get hired and fired, or decide to retire, or move away. Floors get waxed, walls and handrails get painted, items get repaired or mysteriously broken. Whole classrooms full of furniture wander away and turn up in unlikely places. Bookshelves get rearranged. Supplies get ordered, delivered, and distributed, often to the wrong places. Students and teachers who cannot stay away roam the halls. New students are enrolled. Technology is upgraded. Major decisions are made.
In the midst of all this, I have to teach summer school to about twenty incoming freshmen. This is an English class designed to give a boost to students who didn't perform as well as our admissions office would have liked on the entrance exam. We spend most of our time on grammar, with a little discussion of reading techniques and study tips. It isn't anything drastic--just making the poor kids show up for fifteen hours in the middle of July is drastic enough.
But the chaos that surrounds such a simple class is remarkable. The students show up late and unprepared, and don't know where to go or what to do. Since there is little communication between groups of administrators, teachers, and support staff during the school year, let alone summer, no one knows anything about the class, not even me. I didn't get a roster. I showed up (early, thank goodness), to find that the classroom I've taught in for six years was utterly devoid of furniture. Partway through my copying of handouts for the students, someone (maintenance) came along and unplugged the copy machine, dragging it out of the faculty workroom and into the hallway. The second day of the class, today, I came in to find that someone (IT) had come in and taken the LCD projector I had been using off the rolling cart and mounted it to the ceiling. Great, except I can't find a remote for it so I have to stand on the furniture today to turn it off and on. Goodness knows if I will come in to find the furniture in this room gone as well.
Anyway, summer school is an adventure, and the only thing one can hope for, student or teacher, is survival. Four days left...
In the midst of all this, I have to teach summer school to about twenty incoming freshmen. This is an English class designed to give a boost to students who didn't perform as well as our admissions office would have liked on the entrance exam. We spend most of our time on grammar, with a little discussion of reading techniques and study tips. It isn't anything drastic--just making the poor kids show up for fifteen hours in the middle of July is drastic enough.
But the chaos that surrounds such a simple class is remarkable. The students show up late and unprepared, and don't know where to go or what to do. Since there is little communication between groups of administrators, teachers, and support staff during the school year, let alone summer, no one knows anything about the class, not even me. I didn't get a roster. I showed up (early, thank goodness), to find that the classroom I've taught in for six years was utterly devoid of furniture. Partway through my copying of handouts for the students, someone (maintenance) came along and unplugged the copy machine, dragging it out of the faculty workroom and into the hallway. The second day of the class, today, I came in to find that someone (IT) had come in and taken the LCD projector I had been using off the rolling cart and mounted it to the ceiling. Great, except I can't find a remote for it so I have to stand on the furniture today to turn it off and on. Goodness knows if I will come in to find the furniture in this room gone as well.
Anyway, summer school is an adventure, and the only thing one can hope for, student or teacher, is survival. Four days left...
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Went and saw Disney's WALL-E last night. I wanted to see it because I'm a huge Disney fan, and I love all the Disney/Pixar collaborations. But I was also curious because I had read about some controversy surrounding the movie.
What I had read on CNN.com were some comments by parents saying that their children were frightened and upset by some of the images in WALL-E, specifically images of the Earth that WALL-E lives on and of the people on the cruise-spaceship that left Earth over 700 years earlier.
This is an Earth of the future, and we haven't done very well, apparently. The opening shots of the movie pan mountains of garbage, taller than skyscrapers. Poking out of some of the garbage heaps are windmills, almost as if Pixar is mocking our 21st century attempts at cleaning and greening our planet. Right? Anyway, WALL-E is the last lonely garbage-crushing robot left on the planet, rolling around in the dust with just a little cockroach as a buddy, watching a videotape of Hello Dolly and wistfully wishing he could hold hands with someone (forget about the scores of other now-defunct WALL-E robots all over the place that he probably could have fixed since he had scavenged so many spare parts to keep his own bod running). The horror that these parents on this CNN blog claim their children feel comes from the destroyed Earth. Hmm.
The next images that are apparently stressful for kids are those of the humans on the giant space cruiser Axiom. The Axiom was built for a five-year cruise of the galaxy while the little WALL-Es cleaned up the Earth enough to make it hospitable again. Essentially a cruise ship similar to what you would find in the fleets of Norwegian or Carnival cruise lines, the Axiom made everything available to people--shopping, activities, TV and Internet, etc.--and went it one better: no one had to walk anywhere if they didn't want to, because specially designed lounge chairs could cart them anywhere on the ship they wanted to go. As the years passed on the ship, people chose to be less and less active, using the lounge chairs more and more, and gradually became self-absorbed, morbidly obese, stubby legged slugs floating around the ship not taking in the scenery because they were too plugged-in to their video screens. While these body changes are attributed to the "affects of microgravity" in the movie, it's pretty obvious that these people need to get off their fat butts and get some exercise, much like many of the people in the US today (myself included). I don't know why this would be upsetting to little kids, especially since many of them were probably sitting in the movie theatre eating out of their huge tub o'popcorn and sucking down a monster soda after sitting inside and playing video games all day.
Anyway, some people are bothered by the images, and feel that Disney/Pixar have taken the opportunity to get PREACHY about social issues, and they are bothered by this frightening depiction of the future Earth. "Let a kids' movie be a kids' movie, full of bright colors and harmless images," these parents say. "Let's not heap despair and social anxieties on them at this young age. It's too frightening."
Who ARE these people? And why are they complaining about these images, which seem pretty tame compared to some of the things kids' movies have dished out over the years. Anyone else upset by the nasty car accident that happened to The King in Cars? That was pretty realistic. And the villainous Syndrome getting sucked into a jet engine in The Incredibles? Pretty gruesome. Any little kids frightened by the great white shark in Finding Nemo when he snapped and tried to eat Dory and Marlin? Heck, I was a little disturbed. What about A Bug's Life when the grasshoppers show up to claim the ants' hard-earned food (with Julia Louis-Dreyfuss whispering "they come, they eat, they leave...they come, they eat, they leave..." over and over)? Eek. Heck, go back to the first Disney/Pixar film, Toy Story, and watch the scene where the toys scare Sid into treating his toys with more respect (come on: Woody's head turning a full 360 in a Linda Blaire-esque moment?). Terrifying. And those are just recent movies; look at the old Disney flicks--Bambi's mom being shot, Maleficent's transformation into the dragon in Sleeping Beauty, the wicked witch plunging over the cliff at the end of Snow White. After some of those, a brown, dusty Earth doesn't seem so bad. And some pudgy people? Gimme a break.
I think these PARENTS are more disturbed by the images in WALL-E because they hit a little too close to home. Yes, maybe Disney is trying to make a point or two about cleaning up the environment and reversing America's trend towards obesity. Does this mean Disney and Pixar are being PREACHY? So, what if they are? Is it a bad thing? Are these messages any different than a mother's basic two instructions to her children: 1) Clean up that mess you made; and 2) It's a nice day outside, why don't you go out and play instead of sitting in front of the TV?
I see nothing wrong with these messages. If WALL-E convinces a little kid that he or she needs to help encourage the family to recycle, good. If a little kid is so distressed by the images of fat people on lounge chairs that it makes him or her go outside and run around, hooray! All kids' movies have messages--be kind to others, be true to yourself, someday your prince will come--and I see nothing negative about these.
If your child is old enough and smart enough to pick up on Disney's "hidden agenda", good for you and them. If not, your kid will just be wowed by the robots and the cute story. Big deal.
Now, if your kid picks up on the more subtle messages (the huge "Buy N Large" corporation that apparently runs the Earth--can you say Walmart? The smarmy Buy N Large CEO who sends a message to the Axiom that they can never return to Earth and should "Stay the course"--picking on the Bush administration, are we?), we'll talk. Otherwise, clean up after yourselves, and go outside and play, because it's a beautiful day out there.
I thought it was a darn cute movie.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Boy, just a reminder of how progress can be undone by just one indiscretion. It was looking to be a good week. I had a pretty surprising nearly two-pound drop on the last day of the week, which seemed like nothing but good news going into this morning's weigh-in. However, I probably should have questioned why I had such a large weight drop on a day that I didn't do anything particularly special (I did play boatball, a kind of waterpolo in kayaks, for about an hour and a half, which really wasn't enough to justify a loss that big); it probably meant that I was perhaps dehydrated and had some water loss. Anyway, maybe if I'd worked really hard yesterday I might have kept the loss for my weekly weigh-in this morning and gotten some cash out of it. Instead, we went to the local Chinese buffet for dinner last night. Chinese, along with Mexican, seems to be the absolute WORST thing that I can possibly eat when it comes to my weight. Even pizza and pasta don't have the effect that Chinese and Mexican seem to. I think it is the high salt content of the foods--I suspect I retain quite a bit of water when I consume them. Plus, the Chinese buffet is just an open invitation to eat way too much anyway. And the sauces, while being salty, are also high in sugar, which certainly doesn't help. So the ultimate result of the week, instead of being an almost two-pound drop, was a .2 pound GAIN. I gained two entire pounds in one night. Now, whether that was just because of the water or if I actually DID manage to lose and then gain two pounds in just two days' time, I don't know. But it sure turned what looked like a good week into a major disappointment.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)