I Hold These Truths to be Self Evident

1) Bacon makes everything taste better.

2) Pancakes for dinner is completely underrated.

3) The Shawshank Redemption is the best movie ever made...ps, "Get busy living or get busy dying."

4) Pennies, Nickels, and Dimes no longer have a use in our society.

5) Stephen Covey should have quit after the 7th Habit.

6)  Renee Zellweger has now become more annoying than her character Bridgette Jones.

7)  The most unbelievable part of Transformers 2 was not everything electronic turning into robots, or a pyramid hidden machine that will kill our sun, or even the 1 hour fight sequence where everything but the main characters die.  The most unbelievable part of the movie was that Shia Labeouf decides to move across the country, away from Megan Fox, to go to college. 

8)  Pie is way better than cake.

9)  Why is "betting" on a company's or commodity's performance in the stock market legal, but betting on a sports team's performance illegal?

10)  A list is not complete unless it has 10 items.  (Which is why I added this lame 10th item as I've run out of anything more interesting to say.)

Did Anyone Find My Titleist?

I'd like to believe that golf balls have ambition.  That each ball grows up dreaming of being the best in the world and having a chance at being tee'd up at a Major Championship.  But just as with humans, it's not possible for everyone to be the best.  There has to be winners and losers. There has to be haves and have nots.  For some, they are born into a certain class and have no hope for upward mobility.  Those are the driving range balls.  If you are a driving range ball there is no chance you can do anything else.  You've been branded by the double stripe that says you are only good enough to get the crap beat out of you on a daily basis by sub-par hackers trying to rid themselves of a slice.  Sure, some of them may work at an upscale Country Club where the double stripes are replaced with a simple "Range Ball" label, but your destiny has still be determined in advance.  The best case scenario for the driving range ball is winding up in a bag to be used on a water hole where the golfer doesn't want to lose one of his "good" balls.  Yes, the life of a driving range ball is the lowest of the classes with little hope of anything better.

Next is our working class of golf ball.  The Top Flite is the poster ball for this class.  There are many of these balls available and all at minimum wage.  They do their job, but certainly are not specialized in any way.  When used properly by a skilled laborer these balls can accomplish great feats, but none of the greats would dare to use them.  It would be akin to Manolo Blahnik using a ferrier to make their shoes.  You are working class.  You are the bourgeois of the golf ball world.

However, not every ball settles for mediocrity.  A rare few work a little harder or were born into better families and become Titleists.  The college graduates become DT's.  The MBA's become HPT's, and the PHD's become Pro V's.  They are the cream of the crop, envied by all in golf ball world.  And yet even those balls aren't at the top.  There can only be one ball that is played by Tiger Woods and the competition to get there is....

Oh to hell with it.  I've been trying to write this damn analogy since late October and it's simply not translating from my mind to this page.  I've given it all I can and feel I need to post this failure instead of simply deleting it.  I'm tired of this post starting at me in editing state every time I go to my dashboard.  I'm not even going to proof read for grammar and spelling.  Tonight, I'm going to celebrate my failure.  Tonight I'm going to be a Driving Range Ball.

Lost in the Desert

I once again find myself wandering through a creative desert.  My fingers are parched and crave a steady stream of words to quench their thirst.  Ideas and stories appear on the horizon, but they turn out to be nothing more than cruel mirages.  I don't know where my fingers will take me, but I trust their sense of direction, so I follow.  My creativity sustains life with small sips along the way, but I find myself returning to the same well again and again hoping this time it yields more than temporary relief.  It's easy to give up; to just lie down and let the vulchers take what remains.  Would anyone miss it?  Would anyone even know it's gone?  I suppose one or two people might send out a search party.  There are answers they seek that only my fingers know.  So I drink what I can along the way and forge ahead determined to find a destination that breathes new life into my weary hands.