Talk about irony - apparently they can't even define what history is, so here's a little help:
In other words, it's what happened.
Period.
It's immutable and not open to revision, ideological or otherwise.
Granted, 'twould be nice to go back and change it from time to time, but apart from the realm of sci-fi, no can do.
Unless - evidently - you work for the History Channel, in which case the past can morph into whatever your current politically correct sickness demands:
"Ah yes, I well remember watching those 1976 Olympics as a young man living in Maine.
"Boxers Sugar Ray Leonard, Michael and Leon Spinks, discus champion Mac Wilkins and of course, world class decathlete Caitlyn Jenner.
"What a glorious sight she was in her skirt and high heels, clutching her pearls while summoning her inner Bruce to sprint, jump, hurdle, throw, run and pole vault her way to a new world record and Olympic gold in the men's decathlon.
"Now Where O Where did she leave that pesky Y chromosome?
"No matter, I'm sure it will turn up; it's always in the last place you look (by definition, actually).
"Sadly, we must take our leave of fantasyland now and return to harsh reality.
"As we go, remember Bugs Bunny's eternal question:"
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| a little war time humor |
Definitely not.
In the Melancholia department:
We are A) in the last third of meteorological summer...
...and B) will lose about 75 minutes of daylight this month.
"A falling leaf is summer waving farewell."
- Anonymous (if no one claims authorship, I'm going to)
In fact, this past weekend was the last sunset after 9pm for 2025 in our neck of the woods.
By September 10th, sunset will be 8pm.
Now don't think of this as me raining on your parade...
...but rather encouraging you to get moving and enjoy outdoor life as much as you possibly can BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE.
Do NOT waste your time staring at screens, whether they reside in your palm...
...on your desktop...
...or in your living room:
Life is NOT a spectator sport.
Get in the game!
And taking my own advice, I ventured forth to the Vale of Everlasting Sorrows where I practice the black art of hickory golfery.
I'm liking my mixed pre-1900/1920's hickory playset (woods are pre-1900, irons are 1920's):
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| l to r: long spoon, brassie, mashie, niblick, putter |
And because they are a mix, I sometimes use my golf bag as they did in the 1920's, and sometimes carry them sans bag, using the walking stick / club stand, ala the 1890's:
But as much as I enjoy swinging my hickories, my results have been less than exciting lately.
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| not fog, but genuine imported Canadian wildfire smoke |
Thought I was breaking out of my slump today; started with a bogey and par on 1 and 2.
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| my birdie put on #2 when I "settled" (read: jumped for joy) for par |
But then my drive on #3 just caught the upper lip of the sand trap guarding the green and spent some time playing around in the sand before admitting abject defeat and moving on.
4 and 5 were studies in incompetence on the short game, but temporarily righted the ship on 6:
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| tap in for par brought me back to all square |
Had a good drive on 7 followed by a decent brassie to the fringe of the green, chipped to within a foot of the hole, tapped in for par and headed to 8, 1 up with 2 to go.
8 was playing as a 400 yard par 5 today (they move the tees now and then).
Lousy fade from the tee put me among the trees where I used my long spoon as a putter to get the ball back into the fairway. Foozled my brassie for a 40 yard wasted stroke.
Now hitting 4 with my brassie, this time nice and straight and right into the trees on the left side of the fairway, 150 yards away. I guess aiming before hitting actually does matter.
Certain the hole was now a well-deserved loss, I dragged my sorry carcass to where my ball had dropped out of the trees into the first cut of the rough.
Hitting 5 which meant if I got up and down from 50 yards away for bogey I'd win the hole and the match.
A competent (please note the missing prefix of "in") stroke with my mashie left me with this putt for bogey:
I hadn't made a putt longer than 2 feet all day, but miracles do still happen apparently, because I did in fact sink it.
This accomplished 2 things:
1) nicely illustrated Harry Vardon's principle that states "Never Despair", -and-
2) gave me my uninspiring win.
Good thing, too, since 9 was another exercise in "creative ways to misuse golf clubs".
Hoping for better next week.
For the love of chicken gravy, let's just 23 Skidoo and be done with it!
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| nice to see a <former patient> doing well |
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| conceited cat...nobody ever commissioned a portrait of me |
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| gotta love black eyed susans and cone flowers |
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| vanilla / strawberry hydrangeas in the vanilla stage |
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| a dinner plate hibiscus caged by a japanese maple... |
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| ...and the more humane "free range" variety |
Assuming you're vertical, able to take nourishment and aware of your surroundings, you know the perpetrators of the <Russian Collusion Hoax> are due for their comeuppance.
It will be a true delight if the criminals involved (Hillary, Obama, Brennan, Clapper and Comey to name a few of the worst offenders) really are held accountable for their crimes against this country, but sad experience has taught us not to hold our collective breath.
When Trump is the target, the media gleefully intones "No one is above the law!"
When the left's conspiracy to frame Trump in an effort to deflect attention from Hillary's compromised server and 30,000 "missing emails" is exposed by heretofore classified intelligence documents, the complicit media are alternately loudly dismissive and strangely silent.
Even so, we are confident in this eternal truth: whether justice happens now or later, God promises it will happen:
later, mcm fans...
