Golf Elbow

I went to the driving range yesterday. It was a very pleasant early morning bucket o' balls, let me tell you. The wind was soft. The sun was warm. I was hungover, but it didn't matter. It was the beginning of the nicest day in DC this spring.

Now I am not what you would call a "golfer." I took summertime lessons at my grandfather's country club when I was little, but that was many years ago. I was decent at the time, but I didn't give it my all. You see, I always hated the pretension of "The Club." Little people with plaid pants and flipped collars. Yuk. Give me an ice cream cone, that's what I'd be saying. A firecracker, perhaps? Any sort of sweet treat would do.

But I did love diving for golf balls in the lake. It was far more entertaining than the golfing itself. You could paddle boat over to the cove, dive in the shallow water and see who among you could snatch the most balls. And then you'd race back for another ice cream cone. Oh, wait. That might have been just me. In any case, golfing was never "my thing."

Until recently.

I've learned that everything in life is exactly what you make of it. I'm not going to let some future investment banker with a flipped collar tell me that golfing is pretentious. Not anymore!

Golfing is fun for me now. And I'm excited to get better at it. I've already mastered the sand wedge, so there's really not too much else I need to learn. No doubt, by the end of summer, I'll be on a tour. Augusta National? Piece of cake.

Now if I could just get rid of this golf elbow. [Side note: I looked it up. It's like tennis elbow, but it's called "golf elbow" because you get it after you've "golfed." Tricky.] Once I'm healed, it's back to the range. Watch out Tiger Woods. Watch out little Asian prodigy whose name I can't remember. Here I come.

Busy Week, Excellent Friday

This has been probably one of the busiest weeks of my life. Monday through Thursday were jam packed not with jam (although that would be fantastic) but with several events, both for work and play.

It was a great week though. Wouldn't trade it for anything. And the cherry on top is my day off today. I woke up in the best place in the world and felt comfort and peace in the absence of a plan. The day is mine. I could do nothing. I could do everything.

Only a few hours have past and, after an unfortunately necessary trip to the office for my sneakers (I feel a lot better now that I have them in my possession again), I have done two loads of laundry, ran the dishwasher, went grocery shopping and made a delicious tomato soup.

It's a rainy day here in DC. Tomato soup seemed appropriate. I have to say, it's the best tomato soup I've ever encountered. And I've encountered my fair share, let me tell you.

Now, in keeping with my "lack of plan, this is a day for me" strategy, I am going to lay down and let myself doze in and out to the melodious voice of Paula Deen (of "Paula's Home Cooking" on the Food Network if you didn't know). It's my little guilty pleasure. She just made a homemade mac 'n cheese that makes me want to jump right through my TV screen. She's the best. I love her uninhibited use of butter and cream. And she makes me feel accepted, in a very maternal way. I'd like to give her a hug, I'm not going to lie.

Sorry to ramble. But I hope it proves the point that a lazy, plan-less day is sometimes the perfect end to a hectic week.

Smuckers

So I bought some jelly the other day. I'm trying to calm my addiction to the muffins at 7-11 by forcing myself to eat a breakfast of toast with cream cheese and jelly. Just seems healthier. One muffin a week. That is my new rule. Sorry, 7-11. I know I've been a valuable and loyal customer for several months now.

After perusing the condiment aisle at the IGA with careful thought, I finally decided on the Smuckers Simply Fruit. Turns out, it's quite delicious, not overly sweet. Good stuff.

I was looking at the bottle this morning, and, because of extremely effective marketing, their slogan instantly came to mind. "With a name like Smuckers, it has to be good."

Then I thought, does it? Does it really?

We all think of little cute children eating jam. Smuckers = little cute children.

But without the visual picture of the adorable TV commercial kids, I have to say that Smuckers could be something very horrible. Smuckers rhymes with suckers. Which reminds of an alien with tentacles. At the end of each tentacle is what I call a "sucker." These creatures, in the demented world that is my brain, are called "Smuckers."

Watch out! The Smuckers are coming! They don't just suck, they "smuck." I haven't defined what smucking is, but don't you agree it could be horrible? Who wants to be smucked? No one. That's who.

New slogan: "With a name like Smuckers, you better run the hell away."

FYI, this man is an alien if I've ever seen one. Check it out.

Holy Thursday, Batman!

I went to Catholic school for more than 16 years. Yes, it's true.

Surprisingly true, in fact. Sometimes it shocks me how anti-Catholic I can be. I seem to be a paradox when it comes to religion.

When they taught me about morals and values, I was listening. But bread turning into the body? Huh? We don't accept gay people? Women can't be priests, even if they follow the same rules? The pope man is infallible? Whoa! Rising from the dead? Mindless recitation of words written by humans? Passing the basket? Homilies about spaghetti dinners?

Don't get me wrong, I love spaghetti, but sermons about pasta don't exactly reach my inner soul.

Yet, at the same time, I love gospel music. I love stories about faith that turns people's lives around. I love the sign of peace. I love service for others. I love thinking about how I'm blessed, or lucky. And I love how a prayer's sole purpose can be to wish someone else something good (whether there are magical powers that make it happen remains a mystery to me, but the intention itself is powerful).

So, how does such a confused Catholic celebrate Easter week? Well, I am drinking a beer right now. Jesus had wine, so I figure that's ok. I wished a few friends and family members a "Holy Thursday, Batman!" And I'm listening to the soundtrack to Jesus Christ, Superstar. Don't do it, Judas! Something tells me this will not turn out well!

Jackie Chan

Last night, I awoke at 4 am to the sound of the loudest thunderstorm that ever existed. It was so loud that I resorted to my trusty earplugs reserved only for upstairs neighbor noises. Now they have two purposes: loud upstairs neighbors and crazy thunderstorms.

Usually I like thunderstorms. They tend to be peaceful in a weird way. The rain pounding on my window. The roar of the thunder. The comfort of being inside, under covers, in the midst of a violent war amongst the angels and demons. Wait, that was a flashback to grade school and the nuns. Sorry.

In any case, I did fall back to sleep and woke up to the sound of my alarm at 6:20. Not the best feeling in the world, but hey, I'm committed to my morning gym routine. So I stumble over to the WSC and sleepily discuss the night's storm with my friends at the front desk.

The conversation went something like this:

Me: "Dude, that thunderstorm was insane last night!"
Gym Woman: "Yeah, that was craaaaazy!"
Me: "It was so loud."
Gym Man: "I could barely believe it. I was like, Is that Jackie Chan? What's Jackie Chan doin' outside my window? You know what I'm sayin?"
Gym Woman: "Haha. Jackie Chan!"
Gym Man: "You know. I was like, what's that? Is that Jackie Chan?"
Gym Woman: "Straight up! Hahaha. Jackie Chan."
Me: (Awkward Laughter) "Haha. Yeah... Ok then. Catch you guys later."

Now, let me ask you. What does Jackie Chan have to do with thunderstorms? Am I missing something? I mean, I know he's a martial arts guru. He's very talented, been in several movies. But, does he make thunderous noises? Does lightning come out of his head? Really, I have no idea. It was so random to me. In my sleepy haziness, I just had to politely nod and walk away. Just walk away, I said. Uncomfortable laugh, and get out of there. So that's what I did. And that was the end of that.

If you have any insight to the correlation between thunderstorms and Jackie Chan, feel free to share.

Idealistic Cynic

Yes. It's true. I am an idealist.

I'm sorry if I offended anyone with my previous post. As you can tell, I'm not a fan of the current administration. But let me be very clear in saying that I support our troops wholeheartedly. And, when it comes right down to it, I'm not sure I'd be loving John Kerry either. As my grandfather would say, "They're all crooks."

In the end, I simply hate it when people suffer. And sometimes I get overwhelmed by that emotion. I want the world to be a happy place, one where everyone helps their fellow man and one where we don't shoot people with guns. One where people are accepted for their differences. One where people don't have to drink diseased water. One where there is no desire to be better than each other, only to be with each other. One where there is no hate. One where nobody dies. Ever. And unicorns and fairies frolic about distributing chocolate pudding to everyone. And if you want whipped cream, you can have it. And if you are lactose intolerant, there is a soy option. And it's sunny every day of your endless and eternally happy life.

See where I'm going with this?

Although my idealistic side dominates, I often come to the unfortunate conclusion that idealism is very far from realism. People can be greedy and narcissistic. And, the more I realize this, the more cynical I become. And depressed. I start to crave pudding. And then I think of the magical pudding delivery system in my head and I smile again... it's a vicious cycle.