Brain Cells Begone

Is there anything more mind numbing than NFL Draft Day? If ESPN really wants to turn this event into entertainment they need to include singing, dancing, scantily clad women and juggling bears....or maybe bare juggling. To make matters worse on an event less Saturday afternoon TV schedule, the PGA Golf Tournament featured a leaderboard that included players named Wi, Kelly, Moreno and Who The Hell Is That Guy. Not exactly a Tiger/Phil duel. The only thing that kept me from a deep coma was practicing "double stops" on my guitar while I viewed the "action" on the tube. (Can anyone actually reach from the seventh fret with their pointy finger down to the twelfth fret with their pinky?)(Anyone with normal size hands, that is.)

"The Denver Broncos, with the twelfth pick in this year's draft, select Knowshon Moreno from the University of Georgia."

Yeah, that's right, I'm thrilled. (He says sarcastically.) Knowshon. Well I guess that's better than Knowshow Cutler.

"If Kelly can make this three foot putt, he'll have a four stroke lead."

Oh. Darn. Missed. Has anybody got any drugs?

Today should be better though. I'm looking forward to the third and fourth rounds of the draft and the conclusion of the golf tournament.

"With the three hundred and fifty seventh pick in this years' draft, the Denver Broncos select Knownothing Leadfoot, a wide receiver from Valdosta State A and M Penitentiary."

"They got a real steal there Bob. Kansas City was predicted to pick Knownothing with the three hundred fifty sixth pick but let him slide to get that 160 pound linebacker from Patterson State Teachers College. I don't know what they were thinking. Leadfoot's a project but with training could end up a starter in this league or maybe a parallel universe."

Did I say I was thrilled?

"If Kelly can sink this three foot putt, we will have a four way tie and be headed for a playoff. Don't worry folks. We will stay on the air until the conclusion of the tournament."

Just shoot me now. Please.

I Don't Make Excuses

I don't want to make excuses for how I played golf yesterday but I do have a hangnail on my thumb. It didn't stop me from birdieing the par three 197 yard second hole (The Nightmare On Elm Street) that has a fairway about as wide as one lane bowling alley and features water all down the right side and a steeply rising hill to the left. No, it didn't bother me there. I merely placed my drive four feet from the flag and canned the putt. It did, however, come into play on most of the other holes as hangnails, ask anyone, are really annoying. Sure Tiger can get up and down at the U.S. Open with a blown knee, but how, I ask, does a a gimpy knee affect your grip? It's a hangnail that can truly hamper one's golf game and it takes a real man to play through that kind of excruciating pain. And I should mention the wind was blowing throughout the day. Everyone knows I don't have good wind karma. The other players, RTGFKAR, Woowwo Charly and I'm Never Using This Putter Again Johnson are not beset by wind demons and thus were allowed to play mostly without weather incident. I, on the other hand, had to deal with gale forces nearly every time I took the tee or lined up a putt. And there is the bad back thing, but I won't get into that since, as I've said, I don't like to make excuses. I probably should point out though, that many of the golf balls I brought along to lose were in less than perfect condition and I'm sure they were partly to blame for the erratic way they flew. My clubs too, are from a manufacturer, Head, noted for ski equipment and not fine golfing gear. On top of that, my breakfast, cereal with bananas, was clearly not the proper fuel for a golf outing. If I was into making excuses for my poor play, I would point out that the cart I was driving lurched repeatedly and a thing like that is very bad for the composure a golfer needs to be at his best. Worst of all were my playing partners who insisted on saying things to me like, "Whoa, that baby's deep into the woods" and things to each other like, "Nice putt, good shot" and "that's a par for me." Very disturbing that, but still, I'll tell you sincerely, I'm not going to use it as an excuse for this simple reason: I don't make excuses.

Another Blog for No Reason

There is no longer an outdoors outdoors. Ever since the pups have been here they have made it a habit to bring a little bit of the outdoors indoors each day. As a good pup parent I would then sweep up the bit of outdoors that had found its way indoors and put it in a trash bag that gets taken to a downtown drop spot on a regular basis. Since there is only a finite amount of outdoors outdoors it was inevitable that one day it would be all gone. Today is that day. I swept up the last of it first thing in the morning and then took my coffee out to the patio to wonder where the rest of it is now.

My thoughts on health care. (Okay, my thought. I rarely have more than one.) There are people like me who don't want their lives to be about money. They want it, instead, to be about art or literature or teaching or study or countless other occupations. They don't really care about the pursuit of money and DON'T WANT TO CARE ABOUT IT. With the exception of those whose desired endeavors accidentally make money - a small percentage - the single thing that most often stops people from getting off the money trail and on to that of their dreams is the cost of health insurance or the cost of paying for health care if you don't have insurance. Most Americans (I'm talking about Americans) can find a way working at what they want to cover the food, clothing, shelter imperatives, but the cost of health drives them to other professions and the reaching, grasping, clutching money grab that consumes so many. It is dehumanizing to work solely for money - if you don't want to. So let's put a stop to all that and vote for Obama and Universal Health Care.

What's that you say? We already did? Alrighty then. That's a start.

(In future blogs I will cover other issues of the day, like, for instance, uh...war.
I'm against it.)

News of Late

I wasn't at my best for the visit by JBW. My stomach was housing some kind of internal amusement park where all the rides were tilt-a-whirls. Nausea was a frequent companion. Nevertheless a good time was had by all and my gorge - and here I mean the gorge of definition number three in my Webster's New World College Dictionary which I've used this time in lieu of my usual Old World Third Grade Dictionary With Pictures, that is to wit: the maw of a ferocious being or animal (actually the stuff swallowed by the maw) - stayed miraculously down. There were road trips and hikes, dinners in and out - the best of which was at friends B and L's house on Easter Sunday or, as it is called hereabouts...okay just by me, Zombie Day - golf, cocktails on the patio and elsewhere, jokes, conversations and dogs. There are always the dogs for amusement. There will be photos to follow, Woowoo Charly took ten or twelve, JB took eight or nine...hundred!, so the experience was duly chronicled in picture form.

Other happy notes to we here in the great Panama Outback are these: son Todd is pondering a visit in June or July and daughter Dara and mate are pondering a house purchase. Woowoo Charly is pondering a weight gain of several ounces and I'm pondering lunch. The first two of those have us goofily excited, which is the best kind.

Finally, I find myself compelled to note for reasons even I can't comprehend, that I have writing projects enough before me to fill my days and nights for weeks on end. With that in mind, I will now move to the TV room to catch the Manchester United vs. Porto FC soccer match in the quarterfinals of the UEFA tournament. Should be a good one.

Poetry Begone

I'm writing this blog so that any one new who stumbles upon Monkeymind won't be greeted by my terrible poem. Regulars will forgive me as they've read my rhyming before and know that the poetry muse seldom lingers long in my neighborhood.

I don't really have much to say. I just read a fredoneverything.net column that depressed me -it was about urban blacks - and my usual cheery morning mood has se fue (gone). Of course I have noticed while rereading my first paragraph that the words lingers long are fun to say together and that helps a bit. I also have Sportscenter to look forward to. It's a place I go to to contemplate whether the names Hannah Storm and Sage Steele are real or adopted. Both ladies are in the "fox" category - at least I think so - and could probably get by with monikers like Madeline Melwinski or Clara Shultz but Storm and Steele are nice icing on the cake. For those unfamiliar with the Sportscenter, these ladies are very competent sports announcers.

Later today Woowoo Charly and I will be taking the three puppyteers to the vet for more inoculations to prevent distemper, parvo, rabies, acne, flat feet and other conditions dogs are heir to. Finnegan, the Golden, I need add for those of you who know of the pup, is growing at a rate that, should it continue, will have us building an airport hangar to house him in a few more months. We will soon have kibble delivered by semis.

Friend "Joe Bob" will be arriving tomorrow for a short visit. Other than that I have nothing else to report but a sudden urgency to vacate my keyboard. There is a rhyme upon me with which I have a date. There is no help for me, you see, it's near, it's here.

Too late.

I Live Dreaming

This month's writer's group assignment was to write something that started with "I live.." I didn't feel like grinding out a story that began that way so I opted for my feeble brand of poetry. To wit"

I Live Dreaming
By Doc Walton


I live in a Dream and fear not the waking

Reality’s a place that’s just more of my making.



In Dream there’s a life filled up of my choosing,

Tranquility reigns midst the hours of musing.

My reality differs so little from snoozing

I frequently wonder which state I am using.


You see I’m a man that is usually pleased

And the joy of the natural I’m most quick to seize.

I’m not of the type that are too often teased

The ones who would purchase their comfort and ease.


I like sunsets and puppies and writing a bit.

I like cheering my teams and using my wit.

I like loving and laughter they’re such a good fit.

To the above and much more I am quick to submit.



Should you see me about all shiny and beaming

Just buy me a drink … so I’ll know I’m not dreaming.



Hah!

Fear and Loathing in Valle Escondido

I'm a golf ball. I've got more dimples than a Hollywood starlet, but that's another story. I'm here today as a designated spokesball for all our kind, be they Titleist, Top Flite, Srixon, Pinnacle or any other brand and for balls of all colors and conditions, white, pink, yellow, orange, pristine, cut, dented, new or old, to talk about the abuse we have recently been subjected to at the Valle Escondido Golf Course.

As you all know, we golf balls have been carefully designed to withstand and actually enjoy being struck solidly by metal objects and hurtled into the air to fly gracefully and majestically onto fairways and greens. There we can land softly and patiently await the feel of the next good whack. Of late though, this has not been occurring. I don't want to name names for fear I might be exposed and put into play by these next, but four players in particular have given rise to acts of golf abomination so dastardly that - if I may borrow a phrase from Hunter Thompson - I am choosing to call "Fear and Loathing in Valle Escondido." These...these...people - I'm having trouble calling them players - continually refuse to strike us properly and firmly on our centers so that we can reward them with sounds like thock and whoosh which indicate they have done well. Instead they thrash away like primitives new to club wielding and punish us with a series of blows that they refer to as "thin, fat, sliced, hooked, chunked, topped and damned near whiffed" but to us are simply pain. We are not meant to spin sideways as we fly through the air. We are not meant to go bouncing from the tee. We are not meant to roll far beyond the holes we seek. No, we are meant, instead, to be guided methodically towards our goal with no more than four thumpings along the way; an occassional five tolerated. These play...no - wait, I'm going to use the correct if somewhat profane term on condition that you do not tell the orb youngsters and frighten them in their sleeves - these DUFFERS have of late been carding sixes and sevens on a regular basis. Little wonder that we flee into the jungle and dive into lakes and streams. Hiding is our only recourse. By doing so we spread the suffering over several of our kind and no one ball has to bear the abuse for more than two or three holes.

I offer this as a warning to all the balls in Boquete including Noodles, Nikes, Range and Brand X. If you find yourself in a bag owned by any of a foursome with these nicknames: D.B (double bogey) Johnson, Woowoo Where-did-it-go Charly, RTGFKAR (routinely topping golfballs from kinetic action reactions) and Doc What-the hell-was-that, run I tell you, run for your life! Fall out of the bag in the parking lot and roll under the car. Don't come out of the ball washer. Seek the nearest pond or puddle. Leap quietly from the cart. In short, get lost, get lost, get lost. It's your only hope.