My newest worstest nightmare...

This, my friends, is Kai Lan. She is your average bilingual preschooler of a non-traditional Grandfather-only family with the powers of animal speak ala Dr. Doolittle. Her friends consist of "Rintoo" the cocky, adventure loving tiger and "Tolee" the cerebral Koala who, for whatever reason, always seems pissed off during the show. That monkey is "Hoho". He is exasperatingly energetic and, although is name lends itself to visions of yuletide celebration, it's actually code for "I want to kill that fuckin' monkey". What do all these characters have in common? I want to bury them in my back yard.

The bastards at Nick Jr. decided that it was a good idea to jazz their morning routine up a bit by mixing the schedules around. Instead of the Backyardigans at 7:00, I am forced to watch this horrorshow. In addition to the token mix of languages (this time its mandarin Chinese), it has singing...annoying, atonal singing. It's not even the Chinese garble that bothers me. Hell, my kids speak in English garble all of the time. But ALL OF THE SONGS ARE THE SAME!!! Only the words change from one show to the next, normally reflecting that morning's "lesson". Today it was how Tolee needed to "calm down" (by taking a couple breaths and doing Tia Chi or some shit) before going off the deep end (he smashed Hoho's sandcastle that he made for his little crab buddies). Now I've got this tune rattling around in my sinuses and I'm an inch away from ramming a coat hanger up my nose and ripping my brain out through my nostrils.

Of course, I can't turn the channel because my kids love it. I mean, why wouldn't they? The Kai lan gang is like the nasty, older group of drug-smokin' friends you don't want your kids to hang out with, but can do nothing about. I came into the room this morning after getting some coffee and my kids were screaming her praises..."Kai Lan!!! Kai Lan!!" Even my daughter, who has a hard time saying her OWN name, was singing along.

We had the Bozo show and G.I. Joe. What the hell happened?

What would have happened if the Twins hit 3 grand slams in the 9th yesterday?

They would've lost. Ish.

It's quite a feat to manage 14 hits and lose by 13 runs. What, exactly does it mean when that happens? It means the pitching on display was shockingly craptastic. Check out this box score.

Minnesota	IP	H	R	ER	BB	SO	HR	ERA
Hernandez (L, 9-6)	4.1	11	6	6	0	2	0	5.44
Bonser	1.2	4	4	4	1	1	0	6.50
Breslow	0.1	1	2	2	1	1	0	2.33
Bass	1.1	6	5	5	0	0	1	5.27
Reyes	0.1	1	1	1	0	0	1	2.92

Holy shit does that suck. The Indians called up Rincon yesterday. Do they want Bonzer too?

I'm kinda worried...and proud at the same time...

We've just about conquered this potty training thing with Max. We put him in diapers at night, but it's been eons since his last accident during the day. Yesterday morning, however, Shanna thought that he may have wet his pants due to the fact that his diaper was bulging in that general area. She asked him "Max, did you go potty in your pants?" His reply?

"Nope. That's my big wiener....BIG wiener."

Apparently, his door was open when Grampa was sampling the late-night HBO skin flicks.

We had a great 4th of July...

My sister was home for her HS reunion. The family went to two different parades. My kids ate enough candy to choke a horse. There were bands, and drinks and gardens and art and cowboys and trucks and fireworks and farm animals and sunshine and everything else that would make a great independence day weekend. But do you know what the best part about the weekend was? It was coming into my parents house to the work of soft-core cinematic magic..."Ghost In The Tiny Bakini" playing on the HDTV. Oh, I shall explain.

We had a bon fire at my parents' home on Saturday and my father retired early into the living room to surf the internet. I went in about 1/2 an hour later to get something to eat and he was, indeed, looking at his laptop and watching Demolition Man on the big screen. It was at the part where Sly takes the future cops down into the sewer to look for Edgar Friendly and is treated to "Carne de rata". I went outside again and joined my sister and wife for another hour or so on the back patio.

When we had suffered through the smoke long enough, we put out the fire and went inside only to find my father slouched over sleeping on the sofa, with his laptop computer gleaming in front of him, and two naked people getting their jollies off and their "OH" faces on...conveniently covering their naughty parts of course. Not that I should be surprised by the randomness of late-night cable pornography, but I was a little bit perplexed as to why the young lady was wearing an ammunition belt and nothing else. If it were me, that would have been the first thing I took off. My father, of course, woke up when we came inside and his famous last words were "I was watching Demolition Man!!!"

From the files of "Damn Right I Need That"...

comes this:



Even if the guy’s dressed in his favorite old white tee shirt, with this napkin at his neck he’ll actually look like he made the effort to get "dressed for dinner". A great conversation piece at any party. 20 paper napkins to a package; five of each design. Cello wrapped. Measure 13” x 13”.

Get them here.

P.S. It's also quite amusing that instead of getting a model to show off this creation, it appears as though they simply went outside and yelled "anyone want to wear a paper tie napkin thingee?" This dude just happened by.

Kiddo Update:

Well, the hard drive debacle is just about over...and I think I managed to lose about 400 photos. I was able to salvage some low-res versions of my kids' pics as well as most of the pictures from our trip to Germany. Unfortunately, none of the pictures from Max's 3rd birthday survived. And that is a shame considering there were quite a few really good ones. Too bad.

Lucy is talking her ass off right now. And I'm not always sure she knows what she's saying either. Instead, she's copying everything...and I mean EVERYTHING that she hears. Now I have two parrots to be concerned about. I've done alright with the Twins (the winning streak helps a LOT) but I'm sure that when the Vikings season begins I'll have to lock myself in a room by myself or scream into a pillow. Otherwise my children will be squawking obscenities while at day care. My son already asked his day care lady, upon seeing the carnival rides, "What the hell is that?" I don't need Lucy screaming about how Tavaris Jackson is a shithead or something equally true, but embarrassing. Her newest thing to say is YYYYYUUUUCCCKKK! No matter what it is, Lucy expresses her disgust. Now, this doesn't prevent her from eating it...let's not get nuts. She used this adjective the other evening when I asked her if she wanted a hamburger from the grill, but promptly ate one...and then her brother's as well.

We also decided, just a couple days ago, to move them into the same room. Shanna and I have never been all that comfortable sleeping downstairs while they were upstairs. So we bunked them together, moved our bedroom back into the other upstairs bedroom, and moved all of the toys into what used to be our bedroom. We hooked the old TV with the Portugspanglish subtitles up to a DVD player and set it up so they can watch Backyardigans whenever they want, and littered the room with books. Let me tell you what...having a playroom is the Shiznit. Not only do they spend a lot of time in there together, but all of the crap that used to be littering our living, bed and family rooms is now concentrated in one room. I feel so cleansed.

The first night in the room together was quite the experiment. In fact, even a week or so later, they still talk to each other for 20 minutes before settling down. Max has turned stalling bedtime into an art form. He needs a drink. He needs a blanket. He needs puppy. He needs Teddy. I didn't put socks on him. Lucy wants Dad. Over the monitor we heard him get up, go over to Lucy's crib and ask her "Lucy...do you want dad?" Lucy responded with a very heartfelt "YEEEAAAHHH." Max says "OK, I'll get him." At this point, he begins knocking on his door and yelling my name loudly. When I respond, he says..."Lucy wanted you." He's a sly little bugger.

So we're all sitting in the living room the other night and Max is by the door trying to put his sandals on. I can tell he's having some trouble with them and he's becoming visibly frustrated. He continues trying to put them on until it's simply too much to bear and he yells out "THIS SHOE IS NOT COOPERATING!!!" To be honest, I didn't know he even knew that word, let alone what it meant and how to use it in a sentence. They surprise me daily.

I promised my sister that I would blog about the kids, and post pictures to accompany it so here goes. I was going to post the birthday pics, but alas, some others will have to do.

Max and Lucy helped their mother bake in the kitchen and they managed to get flour all over them...with my help of course. My main job in the kitchen is to create workflow problems and generally, make it harder for my wife to accomplish her goals. Not sure what Max is surprised at in this pic. His sister may have just goosed him, you never know.

Yep, look at that face...she totally did. This is the face that Lucy makes for 99% of the pictures taken of her. Once she sees the camera, it's automatic mugging mode.

This is just damned cute, that's all. No real story behind it other than to say THIS is why I'm happy to come home from work every day.

I think I've written about Max's ping-pong obsession before. It started with the Backyardigans. Duh. After watching him pretend everything was a ping-pong paddle we decided to get him his own, genuine paddle and ball. He ruined the first one from using it too much. That and he left it in the swimming pool over night. We bought him a new one. It's in his bed with him as we speak.

Roughrider Days...

It. Has. Arrived.

In this part of the State, Roughrider Days is the cat's pajamas. It's Dickinson's yearly "celebration" that takes place for a week surrounding the 4th of July. There are parades, beer gardens, concerts (shitty ones normally), art exhibits, beer gardens, rodeos (and they're fancypants counterpart..."showdeos"), animal exhibits (both live and "static"), fireworks, car shows and some beer...in gardens. Just check out the myriad of shitkickin' FLAVOR that this week is offering.

I actually love this week every year. I'm not much of a cowboy. I don't know squat about farm animals and I really don't like going to places that smell like animal poop. I don't know anything about farming or farm equipment. In addition, I don't like Country music. Nor do I enjoy working on classic cars. And I hate rodeos due to the whole "avoiding poop smells" thing. Well, that and horses make my neck swell. But I really do like the week. Maybe its the good mood that people are in. Maybe it's the one week out of the year where there is a smidgin of culture around (local music, The Arts Roundup, beer...in gardens). Whatever it is, I welcome it every July and am sad when it passes.

My sister is hoppin' in the car and making her way back home to celebrate her 10-year High School class reunion. I'm sure that she'll keep fairly entrenched in the mid-summer madness that is upon us. Note to Lindsey...this year's parade theme is "Musical Moments". I say you go as THIS guy. That truly was a great "Musical Moment".

For the rest of you...I'll see you on the other side. Odds are there will be at least one AC/DC cover band. Fingers are crossed.

I'm so pissed off right now...

I've had a rather large crisis in my storage of pictures...they're gone. I purposely bought a 500 gig Maxtor external hard drive to store the 20 gigs or so of large picture files that I've compiled over the last four years, and when I went in to do some photoshopping, I realized that half of them had gone the way of the dodo. I'm in the process of 1) trying to find them and 2) breaking things in my office. ALL, and I mean ALL of my children's pictures are on there. Granted, they're quite young, and I still have plenty of time to take more pictures. However, all of their baby stuff was on that hard drive. If I cannot get them back, bringing Maxtor down will become my life's work. Just thinking about it makes me want to send a letter bomb.

UPDATE: My second backup...my iPod...came through in the pinch. All of the kids' pictures (822) are on there. If I lose everything else, and keep these, I'll consider it a disaster averted.

Wow, another politician thinks I'm an idiot...

Strange isn't it?

Nancy Pelosi seems to think that the answer to the deluge of conservative talk radio is to institute the "Fairness Doctrine" again. To Nancy (who day in and day out proves that I was wrong in believing she was anything but a crazy spaz) and every other politician and pundit who thinks this is necessary...I'm not a freakin' moron. I know what I should and shouldn't listen to. For instance, I'm smart enough to know that Rush is full of shit. Now, I know that lots of people, obviously, AREN'T well-informed enough to make this determination. But forced limitations and requirements of speech aren't the way to fix this. Besides, those cats are too far gone anyway. You've got the net as your medium. Radio is dying. Remember, freedoms are GOOD.

Hat tip to Rob at Sayanythingblog.com. Always good for a liberal lambasting.

They need to charge perjury more often....

The system has gotten away from the sanctity of oath. Without people fearing the consequences of knowingly giving false testimony under oath, the system can't possibly work. That's where we are right now. Police officers, defendants, witnesses alike. None can be sure to give truthful testimony. My clients, who, granted, aren't always bastions of reliability themselves, constantly complain about the inaccuracies of police filings and testimony. However, my response is "How the hell do I prove it?" The hand on the Bible shit doesn't scare anyone any more and replacing the normal oath with "cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye" isn't going to work either. I think we need to implement some harsh penalties. Considering the recent Supreme Court decisions we can neither implement the death penalty, nor hold offenders in Gitmo for years without process.

How about taking away Christmas...hell, take away all state and federal holidays? Or threaten to make them give nursing home foot rubs...or clean public restrooms and interstate rest areas. How about bare-ass caning like they do in Singapore? One worse... if you lie, you take my kids to church. Perfect. This last one, for SURE, would make people think twice about suspending reality when they raise their right hand and move the microphone a bit closer.

Any others? Mom, I already said you can't shoot them. Castration is also....wholeheartedly...OUT.

SCOTUS says having guns is "Individual Right"...

Here's the actual opinion, if you want to look over all 158 pages of it. I've been working on Byron Dorgan's book for 3 months (and that reads like Peter Rabbit), so I doubt I'll have time to wade through this juggernaut right away. But I did read the syllabus.

The important part, to me, isn't whether normal citizens can have guns. I really don't give a shit. I don't have any. I don't like them in my home. I have a scary dog instead. But frankly, a total ban on firearms in one's home does offend my conscience a bit. And considering the crime rate in DC, I don't blame people for wanting to pack a little heat.

Instead, what I'm most interested in, as a citizen, is whether the State may continue to limit the use of firearms by selected subsets (felons, children etc.), in certain places, and the use and possession of firearms that aren't in line with the previous limitations illuminated in Miller. For instance, I'm of the opinion that the average citizen doesn't need a Bazooka. He/she most definitely doesn't need to carry one under his/her coat. And he/she has no business bringing it to school. Apparently, this decision did nothing to prevent State from continuing to limit the use and possession of guns in this manner. Indeed, the syllabus states:

"Like most rights, the Second Amendment right is not unlimited.It is not a right to keep and carry any weapon whatsoever in any manner whatsoever and for whatever purpose: For example, concealed weapons prohibitions have been upheld under the Amendment or state analogues. The Court’s opinion should not be taken to cast doubt on longstanding prohibitions on the possession of firearms by felons and the mentally ill, or laws forbidding the carrying of firearms in sensitive places such as schools and government buildings, or laws imposing conditions and qualifications on the commercial sale of arms. Miller’s holding that the sorts of weapons protected are those "in common use at the time" finds support in the historical tradition of prohibiting the carrying of dangerous and unusual weapons. Pp. 54–56"

Again, I haven't read the decision. Maybe my opinion will change a bit when I do. I know that the conservatives are lovin' life today. And Chuck Heston is glad that they aren't going to pry his gun from his hands....even IF they're cold and dead.

My haircut lady has moved to a new building...

First of all, I know that she's called a "stylist", technically. But it sounds so pretentious to say it that way. Now, "hair cut lady" is a tad sophomoric, but I prefer that to sounding like one of those ego-centric Hollywood types that have someone follow them around and tell them whether they look good in wool. Just go with it. It's a neurosis.

Speaking of neurosis...the new building. I know it's not a new girl doing the cutting. (God knows I've had problems dealing with that in the past...see "mullet".) However, I'm leery of going to her new salon/spa. The old place was understated and simple. I got in, got cut, and got out. No hassles. The new place is all zen and tranquil with fountains and foot rubs and shit. It's gonna weird me out, I just know it. FUCK!

I swear to God, if anyone gets near me with "essential oils" I'm going to burn the place down. I couldn't think of anything less essential than "essential oils." The massage lady used those things on me once and I smelled like a Bath and Body Works display for a week. That, and it's not in the phone book and I don't know the number. This is going to be a disaster.

Ya think Georgie?

Apparently, someone told Bush that the Zimbabwe election is a "sham".

Now, set aside the obvious irony of this statement considering 2000 and consider it for what it is. It took the leader of the free world this long to realize that the election process in Zimbabwe (which has included beating, torturing and murdering activists, opposing parties and their families) ain't all that democratic. Glad you're catching on sir.

In other news, Bush concludes that the Carpenters suck.

Justice Scalia as a mouthpiece for Right-Wing propagandists?...

Weird.

If you didn't detect the sarcasm, then let me clarify it. Scalia's opinions are most often collections of uber-conservative nonsense clothed in "historical perspective" and the oft-cited "originalist" (see listeralist) approach to reading the constitution which normally is just an excuse for him not having to deal with the problems of today. He is given much too much credit for his "candor" in writing when in actuality, he's just being a condescending prick. Intelligent? Damn right? Detached and impartial? Not unless "detached and impartial" coincidentally results in the furtherance of a blatantly conservative agenda nine times out of ten.

Where the hell have I been? Randomness.

Where the hell have YOU been? Actually, things are a little bit hairy at the office lately, and I've been so flippin' busy that I haven't had time to blog much. In addition to my steadily-mounting case load, my office partner has been dealing with a very serious family emergency and I've been picking up whatever slack I can for him. Nuts I tells ya.

I did get some hella-good pictures taken of Max's birthday party at the park on Saturday and hopefully I'll upload them in the next year or so. I love taking the pictures, but the post-processing and saving takes forever, and I'm not very good at it, so I dread having to do it. Perhaps that's why there is a month's worth of pictures languishing on my camera, just waiting to be uploaded to the hard drive. However, I'll have to expedite the process this time because the entire 2BG is filled up.

How's the new TV set you ask? B.I.T.C.H.I.N.' In the four years prior to getting this set, I think my wife and I have watched 4 new movies...MAYBE, and that includes "The Reel Man", a VERY low-budget fishing film starring two local radio personalities. Since getting the TV, however, I've watched 3. I'm, of course, not including the Backyardigans or any other children's tripe. I mean legit, studio-made works of cinematography. The picture is amazing. The ancient surround sound system we have is still OK. And the upscaling DVD player seems to improve things a bit. In all honestly, I can't tell the difference, but I'll buy the hooey.

The TWINS? Oh the Twins. I first boycotted them due to their inability to win. Now I'm boycotting blogging about them due to their current win streak. I know it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but until they lose, I will not comment on their games. Besides, I'm lazy. And, of course, no one reads the Twins posts anyway, so who gives a flying fruit bat. I still love Carlos Gomez, and I do think that the streak is proportionately, if not directly, related to Juan Rincon's well-deserved dispatch.

Election stuff? I'm spent, quite frankly. John McCain is a dirty, old liar. Barack Obama doesn't need no stinking public funding. That's where we sit as of right now. Tim Russert's passing was a real blow. Certainly to the political discourse in this country, but more so to MSNBC. What the hell are they gonna do? That guy ran the joint. It sucks that George Carlin died too. Talk about a sucking sound in political commentary. Few did it better.

My buddy Rob informed me that I needed to check out a couple bands and their respective songs. I'll pass them along to you, with my thoughts on each.

First up: Oxford Collapse - "Please Visit Your National Parks". Definitely in the mode of Sunny Day Real Estate with a smidgin of Perry Farrell/Jane's Addiction and perhaps some Tim DeLaughter circa Tripping Daisy. It's Ok, I guess. It's not something that I would buy. I've got enough of this type of thing in my iPod already and, frankly, this does nothing additional for me. Pretty raw though. It's beats the tediously over-produced shit that gets airtime nowadays.



Next up: The Black Kids with "I'm Not Going to Teach Your Boyfriend to Dance. If you like mid-80's dancie stuff (The Cure, OMD, Depeche Mode) you'll dig this for sure. Hell, if someone played this for me without telling me who it was, I would think that I was listening to some Robert Smith solo project. It'll also appeal to the newer Euro-rock scene ala Boy Kill Boy etc. If nothing else, unless you're a corpse, it'll make you feel happy. It just does. Enjoy.

It's all Obama, all the time...

One of the things that I've found incredibly funny this election season is the lack of exposure John McCain actually gets. Nearly all of the blogs/sites that I frequent talk about Obama. The liberal sites tout his qualities and rebut and discredit most of the nonsense spewed by the GOP hacks. The GOP sites, however, do not speak of John McCain. This shouldn't surprise anyone. John McCain really doesn't have anything to talk about. Instead, they spend the majority of their bandwidth complaining about Obama.

What's the newest nonsense? Fiscal conservatives are upset about Obama not using public funding for his campaign. Sound strange? It is. What's really pissing them off? Now their presumptive candidate is doomed to have MUCH less money than the Obama campaign fundraising machine.

Oh, I forgot. They're also pissed off about the fact that Obama likes habeas corpus. I cannot figure out why these yahoos hate the idea of allowing these people access to the courts. Do they believe that habeas equates release? I thought that these were absolutely the worst people on earth and that their criminality was undeniable. I thought that America as a nation was in grave danger simply because of their existence. So is it really going to matter if a Court ok's their detention or inquires into the nature of their captivity? After all, if they are as bad as they are being touted, it shouldn't be a problem...right? Or JUST PERHAPS...it's because the people championing the suspension of this privilege don't have any credible evidence for a good portion of the people they have cooped up in these prisons?

These people make me sick and their pathetic attempts to cling to this humanitarian nightmare continue to astound me.

Flickr's gone all nuts on me...

So until I figure it out, the site's pictures may be messed up or absent...hence the missing header.

Apparently, one of the few perks associated with the "pro" Flickr account is the occaisional bed shitting that occurs in the site's guttyworks. Wonderful.

3 years ago today...

...every day started to begin a little better. Every breath seemed a little more purposeful. All the "small stuff" got just a little bit smaller. All the "big stuff" got a little bit bigger. I started using bad language a little bit less. I started making funny faces a little bit more. I went out on the town a little bit less. I began what seems like an endless period of cleaning up human waste. Three years ago today my boy was born. As Ben Folds states in his song "Good Morning Son"..."I picked you up and everything changed"...the moment that little man looked at me, my world was different and indescribably better.

Max is a walking contradiction in terms. He is my little paradox. It's crazy to think that it's been three years since he was born. But in the same breath, it's impossible to imagine a the world before he was in it. He can be the most snugly, loving, kind-hearted sweetheart who would like nothing more than to watch cartoons or read books in the recliner with me one moment. But within minutes he'll be running naked through the kitchen with rubber boots on, throwing chewed up cereal at the dog, or urinating from the top step of the neighborhood jungle gym, or throwing a daisy-cutter tantrum because his chocolate milk isn't in the "race car cup". He tries to be funny, but is the most non-abstract literalist this side of Justice Antonin Scalia. If 3 year-olds could be employed, he'd work for the IRS. He can eat food by the buckets, but doesn't. He's got a rather astounding vocabulary, but chooses to annoy me by talking baby talk instead. He's got a codebreaker memory, but can't, for the life of him, remember where he's placed his prized "Teddy" who just happens to be the same size as he is. He's both shy and outgoing. He's a toe-headed blondie from two dark-haired parents. He tests boundaries, but doesn't agree with their enforcement. And while his giant green eyes can make your face hurt from smiling, when they well up with tears, they can rip your heart right out of your chest.

This is my little man. And I wish the happiest birthday possible.

We're going to have a little shindig for him this weekend at his favorite park. He's getting a wicked-cool cake from his mom too. We ordered a cake pan in the shape of "Pablo" (Backyardigans for the blissfully unaware) and she's going to go to town on it. And considering the price of said cake pan, I would imagine that I'll be getting a Pablo cake too, as will my daughter and perhaps certain preferred relatives...I've got my eye on you John-O. Perhaps some help with this site's favicon will push you "that" much closer to a giant sheet cake in the shape of a blue penguin.

I'll take some pictures and post some after his party...stay tuned.

A father's duty...

Today my daughter insisted on wearing her little pink Crocs. So I put them on her feet and she proudly strutted around the living room. (As well she should, they are damned cute). But then she came to me, offered a pair of socks, sat down in front of my chair and motioned like she wanted me to put socks on under her sandals.

I consider this to be a turning point in a person's life. Either he/she is an individual that wears socks with sandals, or he/she is a person that would not even consider such an abomination. I, being the latter, took it upon myself to make certain that my daughter understood this. I told her, in no uncertain terms, that I would sooner run naked through Cesar Milan's dog pack with a milk biscuit clenched between my butt cheeks than put socks on underneath her little pink sandals and risk having her mocked and ridiculed for her obviously stunted fashion sense. After all, this would be a poor reflection on her upbringing and her family in general. I think she got the picture, although the confused look on her face leaves me wondering whether she understood the gravity of the situation.

I sincerely hope that I have made an impression.

My trick knee fixed my slice...

I have golfed off and on since I was about 13. My grandfather taught me how to swing around that time and I've gone in and out of bouts of obsession since. I hadn't, however, swung a club since my son was born nearly 3 years ago. That was, of course, until this past weekend when my wife and I celebrated both fathers' day and our wedding anniversary by going out to the local greens and hacking away.

My entire life I have been plagued by the banana slice. It heads left, goes high as hell, and turns/swerves right and carries wayward for yards. It's both embarrassing and frustrating. I had tried everything to get rid of it, including shifting my feet, taking lessons, holding the club differently, using different balls, beheading chickens and rubbing their blood on the head of my driver...the usual stuff. Nothing worked. Dare I say that following a brief week after lessons, my slice actually got worse. The longer the club, the more likely it was that someone on a neighboring tee box was going to need emergency surgery.

Yesterday, however, every single mishit was left. And, indeed, every single decent shot included a nice little draw. I've never...NEVER had that before. I must say, it was a beautiful thing to watch, when it worked. The duck hooks into the left fairway trees on 5 weren't easy on the eyes, but the rolling drive on 7 was a thing of magic. Many shots simply strayed left because I was still compensating for the 15 years of slice.

But what's perplexing is that I can't attribute it to anything concrete. It wasn't simply the time away from the game. I've taken many long breaks in the past. Muscle memory is what it is. It wasn't my newer clubs because I was using these same clubs, albeit sparingly, when I was living in Oregon. It wasn't voodoo. I couldn't find any LIVE farm animals. The only thing that was different is my knee. Perhaps the doctor was right and I SHOULD stick to golf. Perhaps he knew something when he said that. Perhaps he has witnesses this phenomenon in the past. Maybe there is something in the tightness of the ligament that keeps me from waggling in the wrong way. I'm not sure.

It reminds me of cousin Eddie's comment about his daughter Ruby Sue:

"Falls in a well, eyes go crossed. Gets kicked by a mule, they go back to normal...I don't know."

What I DO know is that I'm on the cusp of something big here. The knee has magical powers. Too bad with my current schedule, I'm not expecting to test the theory again until around 2012.