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| courtesy of the Film Photography Project |
'Twas 2 weeks before Christmas...
"...inside my warm dwelling; this outrage won't stand!
...and Smokey...
"But counting on him? Ha! Don't bet your life."
Even though we're just 2 weeks from the big day, you can't tell it from the weather:
50+ degrees is not what we expect here in mid-December.
...this ain't good.
Well, maybe not exactly "play" hickory - that's months away, unfortunately - but I have been swatting wiffle golf balls in my backyard with my slimmed down playset.
...the shortened back swing addresses what Sam Snead called the most dangerous part: the first 12 inches.
...somewhere in the hinterlands.
Varvel has been on a seasonal roll lately:
Now Kind Reader, farewell and adieu;
...and every mouse...had fled frozen fields for the warmth of my house.
My wife found their droppings and said, "I'm not pleased, to think that these varmints are taking their ease...
"...inside my warm dwelling; this outrage won't stand!
What will you do?" Then I raised my hand:
"These mice, they are finished! Kaput and Kersplatz!
No way they'll survive 'cause we have 4 cats!"
Then we beheld our mog desperados...
Kitty...
...and Smokey...
"Well don't forget Loki," admonished my wife.
"But counting on him? Ha! Don't bet your life."
Disciples of Garfield were these lazy creatures,
with eating and sleeping their dominant features.
Ignoring those four hebetudinous chaps,
I scrounged all around 'til I found an old trap.
And later that evening 'ere mice came a-creeping,
I set the cruel deadfall then got busy sleeping.
So early next 'morn, at dawn's early light,
I sprang from my bed to find what I might.
But what did my wondering eyes finally see,
but a clean, empty trap and a note left for me:
"Thanks for the cheese, but what would be better,
instead of old muenster, could we have fresh cheddar?"
"And what's with this platter?" my mousy pals asked.
"We might have been killed if we hadn't been fast!"
'Twas then that I thought of the great Robert Burns
and his famous lament to a mouse that he turned,
Out of warm hearth and home as he plowed in his field.
Did I want to partake in his life time of guilt?
The best laid plans, it is easy to see,
Gang aft agley and I think you'll agree,
There was nothing to do but give them their cheddar.
After all, 'twas Christmas, and what could be better,
Than showing the love God has for His swarm,
by letting them stay inside where it's warm?
So out went the trap, but the mice? Man alive!
We're quite overrun but I guess we'll survive.
And lifting a quote from St. Nick's yearly flight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!"
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| original artwork by Diane Dempsey |
Oh quit whining, you big baby.
It’s like ripping off a band aid...stings for a minute and then you're fine.
Even though we're just 2 weeks from the big day, you can't tell it from the weather:
 |
| at least we got rid of the leaves |
50+ degrees is not what we expect here in mid-December.
If you're a winter sports person...
...this ain't good.
But in my case it's giving me a chance to...
Well, maybe not exactly "play" hickory - that's months away, unfortunately - but I have been swatting wiffle golf balls in my backyard with my slimmed down playset.
His "feet planted, reduced hip rotation" feels awkward, but I'm working on making that change.
Two things that feel much more natural are his palm grip and shortened backswing.
The palm grip gives better control of the club face.
And while it may look odd...
 |
| MN began with the club head a foot away from the ball |
...the shortened back swing addresses what Sam Snead called the most dangerous part: the first 12 inches.
When you start wrong, you finish wrong.
Eliminating the first foot mitigates that, and so far it seems to be working for me.
However you get there, the point of everything we do with a golf club is about one and only one thing: the moment of impact, when club meets ball.
That's what determines if your ball ends up in the fairway, or hopelessly lost…
MN was a golf swing savant; he spent a lifetime perfecting it. It's not possible to cherry pick his form and achieve his results.
But I don't expect to; if applying some of his principles helps me keep the little white ball in the fairway more consistently, I'll be a happy man.
Either way it's been an unexpected pleasure, swinging my hickories in mid-December.
An early present from Santa, I guess.
Varvel has been on a seasonal roll lately:
I know lampooning Slo-Joe and the current zeitgeist is about as challenging as shooting dead fish in a barrel, but still...gotta hand it to Mr. V for his incisive wit.
Read 'em and weep.
Now Kind Reader, farewell and adieu;
or in Flatiron parlance, 23 skidoo!
 |
| enjoyed dinner with friends visiting from Alaska |
 |
| beautiful view of the lake shore area |
 |
| recent sustained high winds with gusts over 50 mph... |
 |
| ...caused a little problem for Santa and his reindeer... |
 |
| ...but after some antler repairs and gyroscopic recalibration, Christmas is saved: they're back in business and cleared for takeoff on runway 36 |
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| spinning some new Christmas vinyl...Satchmo... |
 |
| ...and Ol' Blue Eyes |
 |
| from 1956, a beautiful couple "loved for gentleness". the equivalent of these types of ads today are for drugs; they show happy people enjoying life while the narrator reads an ominous list of side effects that can maim or kill you, then finishes with, "ask your doctor if hoc occideret is right for you". |
Remember, smart Christmas shoppers start early, which means the rest of us are dumb.
But not to worry, there's still plenty of time to panic.
later, mcm fans...
* Crass Commercialism Corner *
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