June 21, 2018

I always look forward to the longest day of the year. It’s a cause for celebration, I think – for me, it’s typically a day to light candles all over the house and celebrate light in every form of brightness I can conjure up. This year, I’ll be playing golf in 110-degree temperatures – the first of two days straight. I want to work on my driver and my short game, and I want to see how well my back holds up. We’re just weeks away from Goodboys Invitational weekend, and things have finally quieted down at work, so it’s a perfect time to lube up, hydrate, and see what I can do out there. I haven’t exactly decided where I’m going to play – I’m leaning towards Papago Park today with a return to Superstition Springs tomorrow. One thing is for sure, I won’t be fighting the crowds on the first tee – when it gets this hot, it’s not too hard to walk onto a golf course around 10 AM and fly your way around the course.

Meanwhile:

If liberals are supposed to be the most compassionate of folks, why are they so uncivil in their actions and discourse? I know there are wackos on both sides of the political aisle, but you rarely see conservatives engaging in actions like this and this. Look, you can disagree and protest against whatever you want, but there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed, and liberals do it all the time. I don’t take to much of what Rush Limbaugh usually says, but in this case he’s right – people are going to be killed, and the lack of condemnation on the part of the mainstream media and Democrats speaks loudly.

The activist who led a demonstration inside a Mexican restaurant where is actually a Department of Justice employee – she needs to be fired immediately. And as for Peter Fonda, well, John Lennon pretty much sized him up as a wacko a long time ago in the fine deep track “She Said, She Said” from their classic LP Revolver:

We didn’t want to hear about that! We were on an acid trip and the sun was shining and the girls were dancing and the whole thing was beautiful and Sixties, and this guy – who I really didn’t know; he hadn’t made Easy Rider or anything – kept coming over, wearing shades, saying, “I know what it’s like to be dead,” and we kept leaving him because he was so boring! … It was scary. You know … when you’re flying high and [whispers] “I know what it’s like to be dead, man.”

You’d think ahead of the midterms that the libs would try and tone it down a bit, but if anything it seems to me they’re getting more unhinged every day. On one hand, it gives me great pleasure to know that President Trump has unhinged them so much that you know every day of their lives is one of unending misery; on the other, someone is going to get killed. And if that were to happen there are enough wackos out there who would take offense to something like that and want to take an eye for an eye.

Me? I just don’t understand it. I lived through eight years of Barack Obama and watched him attempt to turn this country into Venezuela but you didn’t see this kind of thing from conservatives. It baffles me because life is too damned short to get your panties in a wringer just because your candidate lost. If it bothers you that much, work your ass off to get more Democrats voted in. But this juvenile, obnoxious “resistance” bullshit – it has to stop.

It’s time for liberals to grow up and grow a pair. But I can guarantee you they won’t.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 01:58 | Comments (0)
June 20, 2018

A few thoughts about stuff.

As the media slobbers over the separation of illegal immigrant families who try to pass into the U.S. unlawfully – yeah, keep it up, Democrats, that’s a winning issue to run on – the Trump administration isn’t afraid one bit to unleash the hounds against Iran. I’ve always said in this space that the oriental (and here I’m referring to “the East” as opposed to “the West”) mind has always respected the fastest horse. They understand – and respect – President Trump far more than our insufferable, wet-nursed mainstream media does. Believe me, if you don’t think the mullahs in Iran don’t see what’s coming their way, you don’t understand Theodore Roosevelt’s “big stick” ideology in a 21st century setting. Donald Trump is the closest thing we’ve ever had to Teddy, and the world is going to be drastically and irrevocably changed because of it.

You want to talk about families being separated? OK, let’s talk about separating families.

…or the estimated 58.5 million babies separated from their mothers – permanently – since Roe vs. Wade.

…so excuse me for my lack of compassion for people who come here, knowingly and willingly putting their children at risk knowing that they are committing an illegal act.

Strange, I don’t remember Democrats making such a fuss about this when Barack Obama was president and you-know-who was Secretary of State. Their gall and hypocrisy knows no bounds. But like I’ve always said, Democrats don’t give shit about anything except power and getting elected. African-Americans used to be their identity group du jour, now they’re fawning over the Hispanics and transgenders. Anything for a vote.

It’s looking like an awesome pennant race between the Red Sox and the Yankees, doesn’t it? Be interesting to see what both teams do at the July 31 trading deadline.

Can we all agree that Director James Comey’s FBI was a cesspool of political activism on behalf of Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton? It’s really a disgrace that Madame Hillary was given a pass for her private server, e-mails, and reckless disregard for classified information because of partisan politics. The law ought to be the law. Mark my words, this is going to end up in Barack Obama’s Oval Office. And what is being uncovered here will make Richard Nixon and Watergate look like shoplifting gummy bears out of a candy store. This is going to change Washington and the way business is done there forever.

I guarantee you Robert Mueller has had enough and is going to be looking for a face-saving out to wrap his bogus investigation up by the end of July. Right around the MLB trading deadline.

Fifty years ago this instrumental hit the American charts for the first time. I loved it then, love it now. A very interesting arrangement with swooping strings and cool vocal work. It’s truly one of my “life songs” – a song that takes me back to innocent times, our families vacationing up at Lake Ossipee (or was it Molly’s cabin?) and a time when everyone and everything was young and alive. It’s all gone, gone forever.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 01:41 | Comments (0)
June 19, 2018

And so it appears that everything associated with the nightmare previously referred to in this space as “The Client Who Shall Remain Nameless” has ended with a whimper instead of a bang. The dick-head senior managers who inundated my inbox with messages and texted my cell at all hours of the day looking for immediate answers have all drifted back into anonymity. The skittish India support people who knew not how to open any cases without a status of “CRITICAL!!” have drifted away as well. The client folk who have been a regular part of the daily conversation for the past seven months? Gone as well. They’re all gone. As if the past seven months – seven friggin’ months – never happened. Seven months. A Vegas weekend ruined. A Christmas season ruined. 14-hour days (or more) and weekends spent at the computer spent trying to pull everything together. And not just me: others as well. And the project director responsible for the whole debacle – one that has to have cost the company hundreds of thousands of dollars? She’s not only still employed, but has moved to another group responsible for – of all things – overseeing client engagements. Go figure.

And it’s not just time that has been lost – time that could have been spent with family and friends and doing stuff around the house, my relationship with my boss and my the company I work for has been lost as well. I’ll never look at either the same way again. Loyalty and respect go two ways, and while I’ve never expected work to be anything but work, I don’t like being betrayed and disrespected in front of my team (something that happened more than once), and I’ll never allow myself to be put in that kind of position again. In the past I’ve been willing to overlook slights and the usual corporate bullshit in the interests of what’s best for the company. No more. Until this debacle I had never even once considered retirement, now, at 62, I could care less if they want to send me packing. I’ll find something else to do, believe me. Oh, I’ll continue to put in the effort expected as part of my position, but to go out of my way to help others in the company? Fuhgeddaboudit. This whole experience is one I won’t forgive and I won’t forget.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 19:36 | Comments (0)
June 18, 2018

Another U.S. Open, another year of controversy involving course set-up. The last time the Open was held at Shinnecock Hills the USGA admitted they let the course get away from them. Three years ago at Chambers Bay, they didn’t expect the course to respond as it did to the weather and the elements, leaving the golfers crusty brown surfaces that looked like some West Texas muni. This year, Saturday was a debacle when the USGA admitted they didn’t take into account the amount of wind and the impact it would have on the greens with the pin placements that were chosen for the day. Fortunately, for the USGA…

…Order was restored on Sunday when officials chose the side of caution, dumping plenty of water on the greens overnight and situating the cups more often than not near the center of greens, away from severe run-offs near the edges.

There were still plenty of high scores, but an average of 72.2 on the par-70 course suggested the set-up had been just about right, though it was helped by winds that did not blow quite as strongly as the previous day.

The USGA got lucky, though, in that Koepka won. He played late on Saturday.

Had Tony Finau or Daniel Berger hoisted the trophy, the criticism might well have got louder.

Both played early on Saturday, shooting 66 before the greens wilted under the baking sun, and neither would have expected to be tied for the lead at the end of the third round.

Golf is not meant to be fair but Finau and Berger, through no fault of their own, were provided with such an advantage that had either won, the victory might well have left a sour taste.

Finau was ranked 37th in the world while Berger started the week ranked 43rd — both accomplished players but yet to make their mark in major championships.

In the end, the top four finishers — Koepka, Tommy Fleetwood, Dustin Johnson and Patrick Reed — all started the week ranked in the top 13, so nobody could say it was a fluke leaderboard.

There’s no question that the USGA dodged the proverbial bullet this year, but unless they seriously – and I mean seriously – reevaluate their approach to setting up future Opens, they’ll just keep running the same risk year in, year out.

I won’t hold my breath.

Methinks the whole idea of what the USGA believes the U.S. Open is supposed to prove and how the USGA sets up their courses in order to achieve that goal is both outdated and ill-advised. Clearly, they are fighting a losing battle with technology and the athleticism of today’s professional golfers, and that’s not going to change anytime soon. I think GOLF Channel’s Frank Nobilo hit the nail on the head when he said that what the USGA is now reduced to doing is taking courses that were designed some 80-100 years ago to play a certain way in a far different era and tricking them up in order to achieve the USGA’s goal of making them par as close to the winning score as possible, and the hell with everyone and everything else.

It makes no sense. What the USGA is doing is risking making our national golf championship a farce. What does “par” really mean, anyways? And why should par matter? The idea should be to create a stern test for the professional golfer around a certain philosophy that the golfer who plays the best all-around should win. Not the golfer who can best drop an approach shot from 150 or 170 yards out onto an area the size of a postage stamp. That’s not golf, and I’m certain that’s not what the original course designer – no matter who they are or were – had in mind.

So here’s an idea for the USGA: forget about par. Forget that par even exists. And, for gawdsakes, leave the stimp meters in the equipment shed. Allow the courses you choose to be themselves and set them as reasonably close to the way the original designers had in mind. If you want to squeeze the fairways and leave the rough “U.S. Open rough” – fine. But leave the greens alone. Let them run as true to average as they can. And then – most importantly – let the chips fall where they may and just count the strokes. Forget about +2, -5, +7, etc. A guys shoots 69-72-69-75? Count it as 285. No one needs to know what par is. No one should care. Put your collective egos in your pockets and your outdated ideas about what par should be and just count the strokes. The better players are going to rise to the top, and if some non-marquee or top 20 player in the world doesn’t win, accept it for what it is.

I can assure you, as much as you think the fans out there want to see the pros struggle and get embarrassed like they do in their own weekly Sunday leagues, no one wants to see Rickie Fowler shoot an 84 or Dustin Johnson shoot 77 like they did on Saturday. No one wants to see the best players in the world shooting +12 or +18 for the weekend, even if it is just one week a year. No one wants to see a putt on line just barely trickle past the hole and then pick up speed and roll off the green entirely. That’s not USGA golf, that’s clown golf.

You probably won’t listen to The Great White Shank, but if you, the USGA, just set up your courses honestly and count the strokes instead of worrying about what the winning score should be in accordance with par, you might actually be able to relax and watch the best players do what they do best instead of sitting on the edge of your seats year in, year out worrying about the weather conditions and if the course is going to “get away from you”, leaving you embarrassed and making excuses yet again.

Our national championship deserves better.

Filed in: Golf & Sports by The Great White Shank at 17:28 | Comments (2)
June 16, 2018

Days until the 2018 Goodboys Invitational: 33
MyScorecard.com Handicap: 25.2 / Change: (-0.7)
Location: Lone Tree Golf Club
Score: 45

We were getting our first monsoon rain of the season when I arrived at Lone Tree Golf Club for my first “real” round to be played since getting my new M2 graphite irons, but from the looks of the parking lot the rain wasn’t keeping folks away on this Father’s Day weekend. When I originally made my tee time two days ago, the course was wide open; now it was packed for pretty much the rest of the day. I guess everyone saw a chance to play in wet (but not too wet) conditions and temperatures only in the 70s. Can’t blame them – that’s December weather out here. There was no starter so I had to try my luck hitching on with a less-than foursome out there, and there weren’t many of those.

I spotted a threesome heading to the first tee, so I curtailed my warm-up after four balls and drove over to meet them. I asked if I could tag along, and for the first time in my memory I was actually asked not to join them, saying they were playing as a memorial to their dad. Pretty bizarre, but I was thinking they might have his ashes on them and were going to find a way to spread them across a course he might have loved to play. At least I’d like to think that was the case. They did point me to a twosome already by the first hole green and allowed me to hit my ball off the tee so I could catch up with them. Which I did, but that lasted only five minutes when their phone rang and they had to quit their round because one of the guy’s wives needed the baby car seat in his truck for her car. I kid you not.

So now I’m left by myself to finish the hole by myself. I’m 156 yards from the hole, grab my 6-iron and leave it just off the green on the right, short-sided and high above the pin. I had spent three hours last Wednesday afternoon over at Superstition Springs Golf Club revamping my chipping game from the ground up and playing with different set-up and address positions, and it paid off when I just barely missed chipping in for birdie. Rushed my short putt and missed it for par, but at least I could get away from the guys in back of me.

I love my M2 5-iron. Easy to hit, ball just jumps off the clubface, every time. With my Callaway Steelheads, my 5-iron was a 170-yard club at best. The #2 hole at Lone Tree was playing 180 yards slightly downhill, pin at the back. My tee ball went 183, landing just off the fringe on the left. Two putts later (one official) I make par. When I get to #4 the hole was empty, so I played away. Thinned my drive, skulled a 5-wood – two really bad shots – but still had only 93 yards to the pin. Not great, because I had short-sided myself once again and above the pin right. I’ve learned with my M2s that a sand wedge, 80 yards with the Callaways, is now 100 yards, so I eased up on a sand wedge and put it exactly where I wanted it. Rolled out more than I thought it would, though, and three putts later I had a double-bogey six. But a good double-bogey, because I’ve really been working hard on my wedge play inside 100 yards. With the M2 and a sand wedge, it’s become a lot easier.

When I reached the par 5 fifth, I see two walkers about three-quarters the way up the hole, so I hit my tee shot – my first really good strike of the day – and then drive up to where they were. Two twelve-year olds just kicking around, one kinda chubby, the other a dead-ringer for the kid in The Sixth Sense. I ask if I can play with them and they said sure. I go back to my tee ball and, not wanting to be a hindrance, rush my 5-wood and skull it forty yards. “Oh brother”, I’m thinking, “these kids will think I’m a hacker.” The chubby kid looks back and says, “Hey mister, take your time, we’re not going anywhere, there are some real hackers in front of us.” So that’s what I did: took my time, focused a little on the task at hand, and crushed my 5-wood with slight fade towards the green. “Wow!” the two kids yell in unison.

Taught them a lesson about how The Great White Shank can play.

We had a great time the rest of the way. The chubby kid was playing from the red tees – he said until he turns thirteen he’s required to do that in order to keep his 18-handicap. He routinely hit the ball 220 yards off the tee. Beautiful, athletic swing. The other kid played from the whites, wasn’t quite as good a player, but he had a nice short game and could putt lights-out. They both played no worse than bogey all the way in. I taught them some Goodboys-style golf with a little bit of trash-talk that they really got into, and we all gave as good as we got. Lots of laughs and a lot of fun. Better yet, they both liked to play quick – something the adult foursome in front of us obviously never heard of.

I double-bogeyed the par 5 fifth, my bogey putt hanging over the lip and refusing to go in, then parred #6 after a solid drive and an eased-off 9-iron from 117 yards that left me for a third time short-sided and above the hole before I almost holed a sand wedge chip. I parred #7 with another solid drive and a 4-hybrid that went 190 yards that left me pin-high but twenty yards off and above the green to the left. My Goodboys 2018 partner “The Funny Guy” Andrusaitis would have been proud to see me chip with an 8-iron (!) that left me twelve feet for par. Which I promptly drained to fist pumps all around.

I made a mental mistake on the par 3 eighth. Normally playing 184 yards, “Uncle Bushnell” had me at 154 yards. With the Callaways, that would be an obvious 6-iron, but I had a sneaky suspicion I could get there with a M2 7, Didn’t trust myself and tried to play an easy 6, but my upper body got ahead of my lower and I yanked it far right, down into a gully. But I’d worked really hard on my short game and made a nice uphill chip with a pitching wedge to six feet. For the second time, I left a putt on the lip. Rocking-chair bogey.

The kids had really gotten into golf Goodboys-style, so we agreed we’d play the final hole for the beverage of choice for whoever had the lowest score. I teed off first and made my worst swing of the day, a big push OB left. Teed it up for my third shot and pulverized it down the middle. It’s always easier the second time, isn’t it? Sixth Sense hooked his drive OB left as well, then pulverized his third shot down the middle. The chubby kid hit his drive of the day, 240 yards, leaving him just 180 yards to the pin. He had a great game all around so me and Sixth Sense were out of it. But that didn’t stop me from crushing a 5-wood to 93 yards, then easing off another sand wedge that bounced twice just before the green and rolled to eight feet from the pin. My putt rolled around the cup and bounced out for a double-bogey. But it would have been one hell of a bogey. The chubby kid hit his second shot to twelve feet and left his eagle putt short.

The kids were getting picked up by their dad, and I was going to be sandwiched between two foursomes, so I called it an early day. The sun was breaking out and it felt Florida-humid, so getting off the course just after noon wasn’t going to be a bad thing. But I accomplished what I wanted to: continue to validate the distances of the M2s and work on my tempo. I felt a move with my driver on #7 that I tried to replicate on #9 that I want to practice on a bit more.

Overall, it was a good round. Four fairways hit, 15 putts, three-for-three in hitting the green from less than 100 yards out. No greens in regulation (which was disappointing), but it gave me a chance to practice the chipping game changes I’d been working on. I’m feeling very confident in my game, and with just over a month before Goodboys Invitational weekend, I feel my game is rounding into shape nicely.

Filed in: Golf Quest by The Great White Shank at 19:27 | Comments (0)
June 10, 2018

We’re not far away from monsoon season here in the Valley of the Sun, and everyone is hopeful that it will be a wet one. The fact that there is already monsoon-ish weather down south of us in Mexico is a hopeful sign. Lord knows we could use some precipitation here because last winter was nearly bone dry, and a borderline El Nino predicted for next winter typically offers more of the same.

R.I.P. Anthony Bourdain. His most famous book, Kitchen Confidential, was a great read and one of the most entertaining books I’ve ever read. I didn’t enjoy his TV work as much – all too often I thought he was always trying to be edgy for the sake of being edgy – but there’s no doubt that’s how he lived his life – on the edge, and ultimately the edge caught up with him. I feel bad that he killed himself knowing he was leaving an 11-year old daughter behind. Having had a brother who committed suicide several years ago, I can’t imagine what it would take to drop that kind of weight on your children. But that’s the nature of suicide – it is an act of irrationality that, unless you’ve experienced that kind of darkness (which I never have), you can’t understand.

R.I.P. Danny Kirwin, a Fleetwood Mac before Fleetwood Mac became, well, “Fleetwood Mac”. He was a gifted guitarist, his sounds all over Bare Trees, a classic in my opinion. Kirwin’s lead guitar work is prominent on one of my favorite Christine McVie tunes, her fine “Spare Me A Little Of Your Love”.

R.I.P. Johnny “Pie” McKenzie. Back in the early ’70s when the whole New England area was Bruins-crazy you could recite the line he was on, alongside Fred Stanfield and Johnny Bucyk.

Sad to hear about Charles Krauthammer. I always enjoyed watching him spar with Bill O’Reilly on “The O’Reilly Factor”. Didn’t always agree with him, but I respected him as a writer and an observer of the politics. One can only wish him and his family peace in the short time they have together.

…which is why I try to find something in every day to make it worth living. It might be just a few minutes with a glass of pinot grigio under happy pineapple lights on the back patio listening to palm tree branches rustle in a warm breeze, or watching the mourning doves congregate on our wall to drink from our fountain, or take a warm soak in the tub with a good book, or hit a bucket of balls at the range. There’s always something in every day that you don’t want to take for granted, so live each day as if it were your last!! You never know when that physical exam is going to come back with something unpleasant, or some part of your body that you like having gives out.

I’m pretty agnostic when it comes to the legalization of marijuana, but anything that would tie Democrats and liberals panties in a knot is OK by me. Just another reason why I love this president.

Honestly, you can’t make this stuff up. What’s wrong with beauty pageants? Look, I understand life isn’t always fair. Not everyone is born beauty-pageant pretty. Me? I’d like to think I look at the whole package when it comes to women – I’ve known pretty women I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole and average-looking women whose “whole package” makes them far more attractive than looks alone. But for gawdsakes, there’s nothing wrong with a pretty girl, just as there’s nothing wrong with exploiting guys that are hugely handsome. But that’s liberals for you – they just want to suck the joy out of life. It’s just a damned beauty pageant. Live with it!

Which reminds me: God willing, I’m so looking forward to Vegas in December – this time with no laptop in tow, and no text coming across my phone in the middle of nowhere demanding I be in Pensacola, Florida the next day. I want to replay my year all over again from the moment “The Client Who Shall Remain Nameless” started.

Just another way Donald Trump is changing not just the way the world looks at the U.S.A., but changing the world. Period.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 02:16 | Comment (1)
June 9, 2018

First round of golf since December, and so much has changed. I’ve got the new TaylorMade M2s in the bag, Superstition Springs Golf Club has allowed most of the ponds to go dry and – especially on the 9th hole which used to have water all down the left side – replaced them with what I think are ultimately going to be waste areas filled with native grasses and flowers, and I’m anxious to see what kind of game I have.

Yanked my drive off the tee into a sand bunker, but had no trouble getting out with my 8-graphite, leaving me with a chip just off the green and a putt from 5 feet for a par. I’m thinking, here we go, baby!

Err, not so fast. Not the greatest drive on #2, but good enough to leave me 180 yards to the pin. The play here is not to get snookered into going for the green, because anything left is close to OB or short-siding you with a slippery downhill chip or putt. I choose my 5-iron, planning to leave it 30 yards to the right with a short, uphill approach with plenty of green to work with. I catch it good. But I’m not 30 yards short right, I’m 5 yards past pin-high to the right. 185 yards with a 5-iron. I’m stunned. Of course, haven’t spent much time on my short game, so I proceed to butcher the hole and end up with a six. But that’s OK, I’ll take that six and head to the next tee.

Ah, the next tee is the Springs’ first par 3. Normally 170 to the center, today it was tucked as far back and right as it could be, 180 yards with water right and behind, a large bunker protecting the approach. Back in the Callaway Steelhead days, this was a 5-iron all the way: don’t pull the hybrid because it’s just too unpredictable; instead, play it safe with a 5-iron and leave it just short off the green to the front. I pulled the 5-iron, but it’s way longer than I ever expected to hit a five; instead of nestling into the sand bunker, it’s over the bunker and in the water right. I pull a six-graphite to play my penalty, and it lands 170 yards just left of the green. This is uncharted territory for me – with my Steelheads I would figure my six to play at the most 155. So now I’m facing the prospect of having to gear down at a minimum one, perhaps even two less clubs with my M2 graphites.

And that’s how the rest of the round went: just feeling my way around, hitting clubs for distances I’d never dreamed of. A 7-iron that carried 150 yards. A sand wedge I grabbed for 105 yards and hit it pretty damned close to that distance. On #7, I pulled a six-graphite with 158 to the pin and hit it 172. On #9 I had 180 to the pin. Normally, that’s a 4-hybrid, but I pulled the 5-graphite instead, felt myself push it a little with a bit of a thin hit; it still went 170.

I wasn’t keeping score, but I figure I ended up around a 52 or something, but that wasn’t the point of the outing: I knew my short game was rusty and that I would need to get to work on that before my first bona fide 18-hole, keeping score outing. I threw away at least a dozen strokes just butchering chips and finesse shots from 40 yards or less out. But these new M2s are real, baby. Or rather, unreal in the distance improvement I’m seeing. I remember feeling that the 7-irons I was hitting back at the Golf & Ski looked like they were traveling lot longer than my usual 7-iron, but until you put the clubs under real playing conditions you just don’t know.

Now I know. And they do.

Next step is to get to work on my chipping and prepare for my first honest-to-goodness, every shot counts outing. Now that I have a general idea of what to expect from these new graphites, you can bet I’ll approach my yardages with a different club in mind than what I’ve been used to, like, forever. It’s the absolute coolest thing.

Filed in: Golf Quest by The Great White Shank at 20:38 | Comments (0)
June 7, 2018

…so it’s like the gods are conspiring against us at “The Client Who Shall Remain Nameless”. There was real hope that our work there would be complete by now, but something happened over the last weekend and everything has once again slowed to a crawl. So it’s yet another weekend of work that should have been done two weeks ago. Painful.

Gonna be hot this weekend, hot enough to scare golfers from teeing off at Superstition Springs any time after 10 AM. Perfect for me, as I want to play nine holes with two balls – one white, one orange – just to see how the new M2 irons (actually, graphites) perform. I haven’t done much chipping or putting lately, so this will be a good opportunity to lube up, drop four water bottles in the cart, and go out and work on my game.

Looks like “The Big Ugly” has started: it’s well past time people started to be held accountable for lying to federal authorities and leaking classified information to the media. The media and the “Deep State” have been at war with President Trump almost from the moment he announced his candidacy, and it’s well past time the Justice Department sends a message that lying and leaking and mishandling classified information (Hillary can’t be sleeping to well tonight) is no longer to be tolerated. The next month ought to be very interesting.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 18:23 | Comments (0)
June 2, 2018

I’m hoping this is the last of the really hard weekends trying to get “The Client Who Shall Remain Nameless” back to where they need to be. The light truly is at the end of the tunnel: the team has had two really good weeks since the false alarm two Thursdays ago that put me temporarily on suicide watch; while we’re not going to get as much done this weekend to close things out, there’s a good chance that by this time next weekend we will have. I can already feel the stress just pouring out of me; whenever I take a moment to relax I find myself drifting off to sleep. My body is achy from head to toe as the muscles all start to relax and decompress. This has been the absolute worst six months of my life, but it really feels as if the whole fiasco is coming to an end.

I’ve taken my new TaylorMade M2 graphites out to the Superstition Springs range three times now, and all I can say is they are by far the best clubs I’ve ever owned. They hit like a dream, and I’ve gained one club length simply by them being what they are. With things starting to finally settle down at “TCWSRN”, I’m thinking one more range session next weekend before I start taking Fridays off to play all the way to Goodboys weekend in July.

Hillary Clinton has so far blamed everyone and everything for her 2016 election loss, but the one person she hasn’t had the guts to blame was the one person who gave all the liberals out there Donald Trump: their savior, Barack Obama:

All you did was troll Donald Trump into running for president in the first place, stand by while Ferguson and Baltimore rioted and burned, give Iran billions in exchange for empty promises, allow Russia to establish a beachhead in the Middle East for the first time in half a century, browbeat Israel at every opportunity, ram through Obamacare after Scott Brown’s election in Massachusetts, preside over the mass migration of children across the southern border in 2014, expand the DACA amnesty despite saying 22 times you lacked authority to do so, use the permanent structure of government to devastate the Appalachian economy, convince half of America that liberals were ready to take their guns (this wasn’t hard to do), have your Education Department issue orders that led to the campus-assault craze and the deterioration of classroom discipline and that, months before a presidential election, mandated trans-bathrooms in schools, have your Justice Department preside over a sloppy (I’m being charitable) investigation into Hillary Clinton’s use of a private email server that included, at one point, your attorney general secretly meeting with the husband of the subject of the investigation on an airport tarmac, muscle out Joe Biden, who might have won, from the race, and hand the party back to the less-likable half of America’s most polarizing and corrupt political couple. Not to mention the eight years of lecturing. Oh, the lecturing. . . .

Not to mention siccing the IRS after conservative Tea Party organizations, running guns to Mexican drug smugglers that resulted in the death of a border agent, and hide the fact that you left your own ambassador to Libya and American servicemen and intelligence officers to die in Benghazi, and trash the very country you were President of every time you went overseas. After a while, your agenda became clear – but only clear enough that an outsider running as a plain-speaking, red-white-and-blue loving modern day Harry Truman could beat the likes of Hillary Clinton.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Barack Obama could have been one of the greatest presidents this country ever had. He could have single-handedly healed the racial divisions this country had, but he didn’t want to. It was too much work for someone who was fundamentally lazy, and the whole idea of bringing truly diverse groups of people together was just something he never really embraced. Oh, he and the activists he surrounded himself with believed in diversity, but only the kind of diversity progressives and liberals believe in. They despise this country, they despise America, they despise freedom, and most especially, they despise anyone who doesn’t think like they do. They hate, demean, and despise “fly-over country” because they don’t understand anything outside of their little liberal conclaves along the coasts. Hillary Clinton’s campaign revealed just how much they despised folks who weren’t like them, and now they have paid dearly for it.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 20:52 | Comments (0)
May 29, 2018

To think that the same band that produced this also produced this as the “A” side of the same single.

..and produced both this and this as flips on the same 45 RPM single. Check the videos out, the quality is astounding!

..and produced both this and this on the same 45 RPM single. At the same time as what most folks believe was the greatest rock album ever produced. As for the latter, it was the first “psychedelic rock” release – light years ahead of what other bands were even thinking about doing at the time. Most folks don’t realize the original track was played fast and then slowed down from the original speed to give it that murky feeling. It remains (at least in my view) the greatest bass performance of Paul McCartney’s career. This is what it sounds like when played at the original speed. The guy is good – even has the Ricky bass!

…and produced both this and this on the same 45 RPM single. At the same time as Rubber Soul.

…and produced both this and this for a 45 RPM release.

…and produced both this and this for a 45 RPM release.

I won’t even talk about “lesser” releases that any other band would have considered far and away the best of their career. ‘You can talk about the “greats” all you want, but that the Beatles achieved over their time in terms of both sales – and quality of product – will never be equaled again.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 02:33 | Comments (0)

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