The above is an indoor putting green I bought a year ago. It's basically a few boards cobbled together and some green fabric.
You putt on the fabric, hopefully drop the golf ball in one of the 2 holes, and it's returned to you.
It's completely analog - no power source, no internet connection, no virtual reality - which means you actually have to do something.
Physical.
In the real world.
This automatically excludes pretty much everyone born after 1990 -
"Do I really want to shell out my hard earned simoleans for something you don't even turn on?"
- so the manufacturer wanted to put some compelling advertising on the package to entice the modern buyer.
Deep in thought, caught on the horns of a dilemma, the punter suddenly spots the clincher, tucked away in the upper right corner of the package:
EPWS...that's it!
[Advertisers know "environment" has become one of those unassailable sacred cows against which no argument can succeed.
They could have also gone with "climate", but that particular trigger word comes with some scary baggage...
...so "environmental protection" it is!]
At first blush it might seem to be a non sequitur, a completely unrelated statement as pertains to putting greens.
My advice: don't break your brain trying to understand all the scientific intricacies of how this wood and cloth contraption protects the environment, or even how it can achieve that noble goal sans stink.
The key to your enlightenment is acceptance.
In the absence of intellectual comprehension, it becomes as an article of faith:
"This putting green does in fact protect the environment diligently, faithfully, odorlessly and for that we should give our thanks (and $$s)."
Henceforth, remember...when you need to sway the stubbornly skeptical with an argument so ingenious it's impervious to rebuttal:
ESWP.
No wait, that's ESPW. Dang it! EPSW?
Ah forget it; you know I mean.
Week #1 of the Crying Man diet...
...is in the books, and Karen reminded me this is our 12th year in a row of willfully subjecting ourselves to this ritual torture.
Weighed in at 211 and managed to shed 5 lbs without resorting to any form of amputation or surgery.
But let's face it...the 1st week is always the easiest.
You've set your mind to the task at hand, commitment is high, determination has not yet been buffeted by the harsh winds of deprivation...
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| O come to me in my dreams, Thou Sweet Forbidden Promise of Culinary Delight! |
...and your certain collision with The Wall is yet future.
So while we may not have breezed through it, we held our own, we're still standing.
And this year we have another arrow in our quiver with which to fight the enemy:
Ok, so "fun" may be a slight exaggeration, but so far this daily workout routine has been ok and seems to be helping.
In my younger days I would have laughed to scorn...
...anyone touting this as a "real" workout.
Marching? Step back punches? Knee taps? Shade pulldowns?
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| we may need to focus on our arms and legs a bit more |
Puh-leez.
However, as I near the close of my 7th decade topside of planet earth, there's no denying my youth has fled like a coward before the schoolyard bully of advancing years.
Sadly, as it hit the exit it took with it those glorious days of 2 hour weight lifting workouts.
Nowadays I settle for an exercise bike and a Total Gym, so this Walkfit program suits us pretty well.
And it’s not as bad as those “walking like a dork” routines from the 80’s...
...when people swung their arms wildly as they double timed it down your sidewalk -
"Mommy, what are they doing?"
"Never mind sweetie, just don't make eye contact."
- but I'm afraid it does shade itself under the same family tree.
As long as no one sees us doing it, I think we'll be okay.
It's bad enough our cats are witnesses - I can tell they’re questioning our position in the pecking order - but so far they haven't told anyone.
We hope.
Before you parachute to safety from the living heckhole that is the AMC, you still have to level up on 23 Skidoo...
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| that's Ukraine's ambassador Oksana Markarova wishing for a different life as Zelenskyy sabotages his countrymen and proves he's as pointless as that extra "y" in his last name. <way to listen to the dems, Z!> |
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| I can dream, can't I? |
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| it's been a few years so we decided to re-watch all of the Downton Abbey seasons. look at that cast of characters! writer / creator Julian Fellowes endowed each with their own unique history and personality, then seamlessly blended them all together into one overarching, coherent story...amazing. |
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| you have relatives who need this lifesaving procedure performed on them. they're choking to death intellectually on the garbage media. |
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| karen snapped this pic of an early march sunrise while herding cats this week. "are you EVER going to take down the Christmas lights??" there. I said it for you. |
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| it looks cold because it is - yes, that's ice on the little pond. desperate men, doncha know. but hey, the snow's gone...for now, anyway. |
I'm reading through Ecclesiastes in my devotions at the moment.
I firmly believe God included it in His Word as a pointed warning of what life is without "God sense":
A confusing, repetitive, contradictory existence "under the sun".
It's all horizontal, no vertical relationship.
I once heard an atheist college professor claim this was the only book of the Bible he actually understood, and that makes perfect sense.
It's a completely accurate rendering of The Preacher's thought process as he despairs over the pointlessness of achievement, success, wealth, power.
"Vanity of vanities," he laments cynically, "all is vanity!"
Throughout his "trial and error" life journey The Preacher records his observations, and he learns.
By the end of this travelogue - which God in His wisdom preserved for our benefit - The Preacher finally rises above his "life under the sun", "vanity of vanities" limitations and arrives at his destination:
Truth.
later, mcm fans...
