August 17, 2018

…so there I was, making the familiar late-night drive to the Phoenix airport via the airport shuttle, upon which I would enter Terminal 3 and walk the same route past the JetBlue counter and up the escalators to the security checkpoint, then down the ramp to the Mexican restaurant for a glass or two of Pinot Grigio and an order of hot wings served by the same bartenders who have been there for as long as I can remember. We’re not on a first name basis – although we certainly could be, given all the visits I’ve made over the years back home to Massachusetts – at least 4 times a year, sometimes more.

The driver and I are exchanging small talk, primarily about all the changes going on and their rapidity, so much so it almost makes one’s head spin. The driver tells me the late-night work has slowed to a crawl – so much so that he could envision the late-night shuttle service stopping altogether in the next year or two.

I know what he’s talking about: there was a time when any time I’d be picked up at my house for an airport trip you’d see the van if not completely full, then certainly occupied from prior stops, or, we’d then wander around the East Valley for a stop or two to pick up other passengers before heading straight to the airport. The last several times, if it hasn’t been just me, it’s been only another passenger traveling with me.

“Our former passengers are all using Lyft or Uber to take them.”, explains the driver, smooth jazz playing softly in the background over the A/C. “It’s no more expensive, and they don’t have to share a ride with strangers or take anymore time than they absolutely have to. It’s not good for me personally, but there’s nothing good or bad about it, it’s just the way it is.”

Upon my arrival at the airport, Terminal 3 is a mish-mash of construction and unfamiliar routes taken folks all over the place to avoid it. I’m sure it’s going to be beautiful when it is all completed next year, but as I find out after exchanging pleasantries with the bartender and having my double Pinot placed in front of me without me having to ask, this is probably the last time I’ll be eating here. I ask about the construction and what they’re going to do once the work hits this particular area of the terminal. “They’re closing us up, probably in the next six weeks”, she says. “We’re all going to be reassigned to other new places they’re building as we speak. Me? I’m hoping to get into the San Tan Brewery that’s s’posed to open before he holidays.”

“No more Mexican joint?”, I ask. “No more hot wings? No more forty steps to Gate 26 with the men’s room on left for a quick whiz before having to board?”

She nods. “They’re going to be moving the gates and this area of the terminal will go bye-bye.”

I sit there quietly contemplating things. Everything seems to be drifting away from me, like a castle in the sand against an onrushing tide of events that you can’t stop. I’m heading back to Massachusetts to help my dad move out of the familiar two-bedroom apartment he and my mom had shared for a dozen-plus years before she passed away more than two years ago. Dad doesn’t need all the space anymore, and we’ve found him some wonderful new digs in a senior living place the next town over. I’m also going to help him turn in his car; he doesn’t really like driving anymore, and with the shuttle service at the senior living place he isn’t going to need one anymore. It’s win-win for everyone, and he’ll thrive in the social environment he’ll be in. No more isolation, no more us worrying about whether he’s doing OK.

At least for now.

As I think about it, I realize this is probably the last time I’ll be going back to Massachusetts for any kind of extended stay. My parents had the extra bedroom which made it a cheap trip; now with dad having a studio apartment I’m going to have to find my own place to stay, and pay for it. The senior living place has a guesthouse for $50 a night which is nice, and there’s a Best Western down the street that’s more expensive, which is nice also, but neither arrangement lends itself for more than, say, long weekend visits.

Everything is changing. Even the Goodboys Invitational weekend this past July was the second year in a row where it rally didn’t have the same feel it used to have. With all the issues with he hotel and stuff, it really wasn’t a whole lot of fun. We’re all getting older and more set in our ways, and after 28 years you wonder how much longer it’s all worth doing.

I miss the way things used to be: the full shuttles with folks excitedly talking about their upcoming trips. The wine and the wings at the Mexican joint as I looked forward to seeing my mom and dad, knowing how happy Mom would be to see me as I walked into their happy and familiar apartment, it looking the same as it did the last time I visited. Everything seemed so alive, so happy, so routine, so worry-free. I know I never took it for granted – I would tell myself constantly that things some day would change and be sure to embrace the joy and familiarity of it, but you still knew in the back of your mind it all had to end eventually, didn’t it? But that would be living fatalistically and cynically, and that’s no way to go through life.

But here it is: August 2016, and I’m going to help my dad with his move to a new phase of his life. And with it, we’ll be cutting away pieces of the past, never to be experienced again. Pieces of long-held happy and familiar memories given away or tossed into the dumpster. And I’ll be helping him do it.

Nothing lasts forever. All things must pass. And as it does, it hits you like a hammer that the things that are passing away aren’t just happening to other people – shuttle drivers, strangers in the van, bartenders at an airport Mexican joint, they’re happening to you as well, and there will come a point when those changes come closer to you than you’re comfortable with. And I’m not sure just how capable I am at dealing with that kind of realization.

Things are moving way too quickly for this old Great White Shank. And there’s nothing I can do about it.

Just ride the waves while you still have the ability to try and enjoy the ride. Because before you know it, that ride will end as well.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 05:21 | Comments (0)
August 15, 2018

It feels more like back to summer tonight on the back patio as the heat has returned. Last night had almost a feeling of early fall, as the temperatures dropped into the low 80s and today it only got up to 98. I know what you’re thinking, but around here that’s what we call early fall. Heck, the pool temperature dropped five degrees over the past couple of days, to a lovely and refreshing 88 degrees. Don’t think that will last too long, though… this iteration of the monsoon will die out after tomorrow and the next ten days will see a return to bright sunshine and temps around the 105-110 mark.

Me? I’ll be back in Massachusetts helping my dad move out of the apartment he and my mom shared for fifteen years and into some lovely senior living digs the next town over. It’s a big change for him – at 89 he’s also decided to turn in his car and give up driving. Which is probably best for everyone, including him. It’s not like he’s going to need a car anyways, the place he’s going provides practically everything he’ll need in terms of living arrangement – meals, laundry, trips to the supermarket, occasional road trips, and, most importantly, a social life with the other folks living there. I think my mom would be proud at the new arrangement and how he’s willingly accepted it as the next phase in his life. I know I’m proud of him.

But there’s a lot of work to do: he’s going from a two-bedroom apartment to a studio, and there’s a lot of stuff to get rid of and things to coordinate. There is the usual stuff involved whenever there’s a change of address, but also bank accounts to consolidate, and the usual coordination between movers, getting rid of stuff, and the moving out and moving in. I hope to be checking in from time to time while I’m back there.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 21:26 | Comments (0)
August 13, 2018

That was a pretty entertaining Sunday at the PGA Championship, and it was probably the most exciting final round of a major this year. A few thoughts to close out this season’s majors:

Is there any doubt that Brooks Koepka is a killer, a true product of golf’s modern age? Not only can he hit it far, he can hit it straight. You see his performances at the U.S. Open at Shinnecock and the PGA at Bellerive, and you have to wonder when folks are going to start giving him his due. Dustin Johnson may be rated as the #1 golfer in the world rankings at the present time, but if given a choice between DJ and Brooks, my money would have to be on the latter.

For one thing, DJ always seems to be able to trample the field at any given PGA Tour event whenever he’s in the mood – there’s no underestimating his talent. But he seems to lack the discipline and killer instinct to put it all together at majors. DJ is the personification of today’s professional golfer. He can hit it a country mile and he makes boatloads of cash. But you can’t help but wonder if that’s really all he’s about.

Koepka, on the other hand, is a steely-eyed version of the Old West gunman who comes into town, chip on his shoulder, looking for respect as a gunslinger. He’s got DJ’s length, but he seems able to discipline himself at the majors to handle the pressure that results from hitting it so long that you ought to be able to rack up birdies when the opportunities present themselves.

And it was amazing to watch he and Adam Scott, just two groups back from the Tiger Woods circus, fire away at pins tucked only yards from the edge. Both of them were virtually unflappable, and it was a marvel to watch them both handle the pressure of the last round of a major, especially with a charging Tiger in front of them.

He made some mistakes down the stretch, but there is little doubt that Justin Thomas is going to be collecting his own share of majors over the next few years. He’s got a beautiful swing and a game you just can’t help but love to watch. He’s almost as fearless as Koepka, but you could tell he got a little rattled at the pace of play when his playing partner Shane Lowry ran into difficulties on (I think) #14. Thomas, like Koepka, likes to get up there and hit the ball – a quality to be admired. But Thomas is still learning his craft and he ought to be a force over the next decade.

I wonder what’s wrong with Rory McIlroy? Not sure if it’s physical or mental, but he’s not the same golfer he was several years ago. Maybe he should have married Caroline Wozniacki after all.

Ditto Rickie Fowler. No one doubts the guy has game, but is what he has good enough to win a major? A big question that’s only going to get bigger with every major he doesn’t win.

I think Jordan Spieth is going to look back on this year as a growing year and an important one in his career. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to see him pick up at least two majors next year.

Which, of course, makes Tiger Woods’s opportunities to win another major all the more daunting. Sure, he showed an incredible amount of grit out there yesterday, but if you don’t win, who cares? He’s back to grinding with the best of them. And his irons were pure, no doubt about it. But he really doesn’t drive the ball well, and his putting is just OK. There were six putts yesterday that the old Tiger would have made without any problem. But that’s what being 42 years old will do to ya. The difference in your putting might be hundredths of a second here or there, but it’s that hundredth of a second that will result in a putt left just short or one to lip out.

And Tiger is going to be facing some incredible competition in the years he has left. Hard to believe, but as good as they are, Justin Thomas and Jordan Spieth are still learning the ropes of playing professional golf at the highest level. They’re only going to get better. You’ve got Koepka and DJ and others who just aren’t going to be intimidated by Tiger, even when he’s putting on one of his legendary charges. They respect him, for sure, but unlike his peers of 10+ years ago, these players look forward to the opportunity to go toe-to-toe with him. They relish the attention, they welcome the crowds and the attention, and they just itching to go mano a mano down the stretch of a major. As I mentioned in my last post, as long as he stays healthy (and there’s no guarantee on that) Tiger’s gonna win some tournaments. But majors? I think he’s going to find that very difficult.

One final comment about Tiger: everyone is all kissy-ass about his comeback and slobbering over his play as it has evolved over these past few months. I get it, his comeback is a great story. But they’re all placing Tiger in the same bubble he was during his prime more than ten years ago. The guy is 42, and given his history of injury, he’s an old 42. No one I heard this week expressed anything like a cautionary note that what we’re seeing now is the twilight of Tiger’s career. They’re acting as if he’s capable of dominating like he used to, and that’s just not going to be the case. I agree he’s making a great run and that it’s fun to watch, but he’s one Achilles tendon, disc, or knee issue from saying riding off into the sunset for good. And I can see it happening: he gets revved up and starts making those big, violent swings. A little dose of reality from the media in Tiger’s case wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Filed in: Golf & Sports by The Great White Shank at 21:41 | Comments (0)
August 11, 2018

Look, I get the interest in Tiger Woods’s comeback, but the coverage this week on Golf Channel has been nauseating to the point of insanity. It’s one thing to speculate on how he might perform during the weekend and cover it during the tournament. It’s another thing entirely to drop his name into every friggin’ discussion they’re having. A discussion about grasses? Rich Lerner has to drop a line about how Tiger played on that grass back in 2002. There’s a chance for rain? Brandel Chamblee (who, BTW, has turned into the biggest Tiger suck-up on the channel) will recall Tiger playing in the rain at Sodapop Valley back in god-knows-when. Adam Scott being rated 76th in the world? Frank Nobilo has to mention Tiger was rated 76th in the work on May 5th, 1997. My god, you would think he was the only golfer capable to hitting an iron from 127 yards out to seven feet. I’m sure that’s never been done before.

I get the fact that they’re trying to lure in the casually-interested viewer, but there are lots of golf fans who are interested in the tournament and the field in total. And (at least for me) that makes the viewing less than satisfying.

I don’t care that he’s only four strokes back. It’s fairly clear (although not 100% obvious at this point) that Woods will go another year without winning a major, making it ten – ten! – years since his last major win at the 2008 U.S. Open. Ten years. Like, a decade. It’s so hard to fathom – if someone had said in June 2008 that Tiger Woods would go at least ten years without winning a major they would have been laughed off the face of the earth. I still can’t believe it myself.

I happen to think Tiger has one, perhaps two more majors in him, but that’s not altogether certain, for sure. As I’ve said before, Golf Channel and the other sports outlets slobber over all the great shots he’s making out there, but they don’t show the putts he’s missing, the drives in the rough, the grinding his 43-year old body has to do week in, week out. It’s probably harsh to call him an ordinary PGA Tour professional at this stage in his career, but he’s certainly no better than an above average golfer. Of course, he’s got too much talent and expertise in his DNA not to play well whenever he is healthy – something he appears to be for the first time in a long time – but the level of golf he is playing just doesn’t equate to the amount of ass-kissing and non-stop coverage he’s getting. You want to focus attention on Tiger Woods? Do it from the angle of his age and the competition he is facing out there. These “young guns” may respect Tiger, but they don’t fear him. And they can hit the ball further and more consistently than he can.

One final thought: it’s ironic that the kind of modern-age, blast it off the tee as hard and as far as you can golf as played by the Dustin Johnsons, Justin Thomases and Brooks Koepkas of the world – the kind of golf that Tiger has to excel at in order to pass Jack Nicklaus’s record of 18 majors is the same kind of golf Tiger himself introduced nearly two decades ago. In that regard, he’s become a victim of his own success. The fact that Tiger is playing as well as he is at this point in the year is something to celebrate; certainly no one could have expected this back in January. But enough already with the saturation coverage. After a while you just get sick of it.

Filed in: Golf & Sports by The Great White Shank at 20:36 | Comments (0)
August 10, 2018

So it’s August. Any other year, I’d be paying attention to the smaller things in life: the fact that the local Fry’s is already starting to carry Sam Adams Octoberfest – an insane piece of marketing when the daily temperatures here in the Valley of the Sun are still well over 100 degrees. We have the monsoon which comes and goes, and boy did it come Thursday night, dropping over two inches of rain on us and taking all the dust out of the air from the dust storm we had had on Wednesday night and seemingly dropping it all into the swimming pool. I’ll be having to do a backwash for the second time in a week this weekend.

This year, I’ve got a lot of things going on. Work and “The Client Who Shall Remain Nameless” is back in the picture, the calls from senior execs and the usual dick-heads I thought I had gotten rid of for good all back in the picture. Next week we begin the move of my dad to senior living and the emptying out of the apartment he and my mom shared for fifteen years (how could the time have flown so fast!). He’s also giving up driving, so the turning in of his car needs to be taken care of as well. I’ll be back in Massachusetts in a week’s time with a lot of things to do, and I’m sure it will be both stressful and emotional. Just like this entire year has been. I guess I don’t have as big shoulders as I thought I once did. Maybe that’s something that comes with age. But I’m beyond fried.

Still, the other night I was poking around on YouTube, and as is custom this time of year – for whatever reason – my musical tastes begin to run towards classical music and the music of Gordon Lightfoot. In my view, he’ll never make a better album than 1975’s Cold On The Shoulder, but his 1978 album Endless Wire is a particular favorite, as it brings back all kinds of memories associated with my breaking free as a young adult and getting my first apartment. Two songs on that album in particular stick out as far as quality goes: “Daylight Katy”, which was a minor hit for Gord on the AM radio at that time, and “The Circle Is Small”, a song about infidelity that, for whatever reason, is one of my so-called “life songs”. Maybe because it’s so intensely personal. Maybe because I just love to sing the low harmony in the chorus whenever I hear it. And the lyrics? Well, all I can say is they’re words virtually anyone who has been in the whirlwind of an intense, life-changing relationship that is ending can understand:

It’s alright for some, but not alright for me
When the one that I’m lovin’ slips around
You think it’s fine to do things I cannot see
And you’re doin’ it to me, baby, can’t you see
That I know how it is?

I can see it in your eyes and feel it in the way you kiss my lips
I can hear it in your voice whenever we are talking like this
I can see what you believe in when his name is mentioned and I die
I can watch the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you close your eyes

It’s alright for some, but not alright to be
Where the one that I’m lovin’ can’t be found
The city where we live, might be quite large
But the circle is small, why not tell us all, and then all of us will know?

I can see it in your eyes and feel it in the way you kiss my lips
I can hear it in your voice whenever we are talking like this
I can see what you believe in when his name is mentioned and I die
I can watch the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you close your eyes

It’s alright to leave, but not alright to lie
When you come home and you can’t say where you’ve been
You think it’s fine to do, things I cannot see
And you’re doin’ it to me, baby, can’t you see, that I know how it is?

I can see it in your eyes and feel it in the way you kiss my lips
I can hear it in your voice whenever we are talking like this
I can see what you believe in when his name is mentioned and I die
I can watch the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you close your eyes

I can see it in your eyes and feel it in the way you kiss my lips
I can hear it in your voice whenever we are talking like this
I can see what you believe in when his name is mentioned and I die…

The song is especially personal for me because I used a portion of those lyrics on a phone call with my girlfriend at the time after I found out she had been cheating on me. I thought telling her, “I can feel it in my way you kiss my lips. I can hear it in your voice whenever we are talking like this…” were far more artful than the words “Screw you, you bitch!”, because I think I still really loved her at the time. She swore at me and hung up the phone, and that was pretty much that.

So much for art.

Anyways, I think it’s a great song, one of Gord’s best, and one I can listen to over and over again and never get tired of it.

Actually, I’m not sure what the whole purpose of this post is, but that’s sometimes the way blogging goes…

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 12:42 | Comments (0)
August 5, 2018

A few thoughts and comments as summer begins its transition into that soft, sentimental time I used to know as “late summer”:

This must be sweet news to the likes of Pastor Darrell Scott, Kanye West, and Candace Owens. Me? I don’t trust anything the pollsters toss out there. But I know the Democratic Party does, and were I them I’d be (to put it more politely) shaking in my shoes. But I think you know what I mean.

B52 Stratofortresses over the big blue.

Tiger vs. Phil, Thanksgiving weekend. Mano a mano for a cool $10 mil. Should be a lot of fun to watch. Were I Goodboys Exec-Comm (which, gladly, I’m not) I would try to set up a viewing party somewhere nice with food and big-screen TVs. Just a thought.

“Morning Joe Mika” is right: someone’s becoming unhinged. (Hint: it isn’t Donald Trump.) As Buskirk writes:

Mueller has been reduced to pursuing indictments for crimes wholly unrelated to President Trump. Paul Manafort, who briefly managed the president’s campaign, is being tried for some decade-old business deals. The 12 Russian nationals Mueller indicted in July are charged with hacking attacks against both the DNC and RNC email systems. And, by the way, since they are in Russia they will never come to trial. He also indicted 13 Russians earlier this year for their involvement in a Russian troll farm that produced some shockingly amateurish Facebook ads that at different times seemed to support every candidate running including Hillary Clinton, Bernie Sanders, Jill Stein, and Trump. Why? Because the goal of the Russian operation wasn’t a Trump victory; it was to sow social and political discord. Score one for the Russians and their accomplices in American media.

Later in his article, Buskirk provides a Trump video from twenty years ago. Trump’s message and his way of communicating is remarkably consistent with everything he has been saying since he and Melania came down the Trump Tower escalator more than three years ago. To quote Instapundit‘s Glenn Reynolds trademark phrase, “Read the whole thing.”

And speaking of unhinged, Carl Bernstein has got it all wrong – well, almost. And he (of all people) should know it and be able to recognize the differences. This whole Russia thing is worse than Watergate, he’s right about that. But it’s exactly the mirror image of Watergate, which is why it’s worse. In the case of Watergate, you had the party in power – the Nixon White House – using the nation’s intelligence community to sabotage an opposing political party and its candidates. Alternatively, in the case of Russia, you have the nation’s intelligence community attempting to sabotage a political opponent who later becomes a sitting president by weaponizing and using as an excuse a phony dossier developed for his opponent’s political campaign. If Bernstein can’t see the difference in that he’s delusional.

The MLB Network’s Friday night iteration of “MLB Tonight” has become a must-watch. They’ve consciously strived to make it a little looser than the other nights, and with the divisional races all heating up the show has become even more so. I’ve always liked Harold Reynold, and when they bring in the likes of Pedro Martinez, Mike Lowell, and Joe Girardi, it becomes for a baseball junkie the equivalent of an extra double- shot of espresso to a coffee drinker.

Forget about Russia, shouldn’t this item regarding China garner a little more of the press’s attention?

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 01:22 | Comments (0)
August 4, 2018

Life is stressful, and it’s very important that we all need to take some time, gear back, shut it all down, and find ourselves that quiet little place where we can meditate all the worries and cares of the modern-day world away.


(Warning: contains language not suitable for work or young children.)

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 11:29 | Comment (1)
August 3, 2018

Yep, if you’re hearing about it we were in the middle of it, and you had to see it to believe it.

At first, here in Gilbert, it didn’t look like much: the sky had its usual brown tint, albeit this time from the south and the southwest. It was ominous. Normally, our dust storms follow the usual monsoonal flow from the southeast, but my experience has been that when they come from the south they’re especially bad. The one we had in 2012 comes to mind. So the fact that this one was coming from the south and the southwest told me this was going to be a little different.

I snapped a couple of photos only a minute before it hit:

This one was kind of a strange dust storm. Sure we got wind, but it never made it over much more than a dirty, damned breeze. And then there was the duration: typically, our dust storms are short but intense, lasting 10-15 minutes, but this one kept coming. And coming. And coming. 40 minutes. The whole world turned into a brown haze, as if we were trapped inside a dust globe. And just to walk out in it was to feel the grit in your eyes and ears, in your mouth, on your skin. At times, the visibility was so bad, you couldn’t even make out the power lines on the other side of the canal to our north. The dust was so thick, it coated the street in our sub-division with a soft layer of brown:

My poor patio and tiki bar! Everything I washed down last Sunday now has the feeling of a soft furry carpet, the dust is so thick.

Compounding the problem is that we never got any rain – nada – out of the severe thunderstorm that kicked the dust storm up. Other folks might have, but we didn’t. Not one friggin’ drop. So that means that until we get either a strong storm system storm that blows the dust away (not likely, this time of year) or a heavy rainfall that will drop mud all over the place, the dust is likely to hang around for days, if not weeks. On the other hand, there ought to be some stunning Arizona sunsets the next few days!

We’ve been living here in the Valley of the Sun for almost fifteen years. I’d have to say that this dust storm might have been the mother of them all.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 01:21 | Comments (0)
August 2, 2018

I love this new painting by John McNaughton. It describes exactly why people support President Trump.

From left to right: Nikki Haley, James Mattis, Ben Carson, President Trump, Jeff Sessions, Mike Pence, Melania Trump, Mike Pompeo, Sarah Sanders, Ivanka Trump, John Bolton, Kellyanne Conway, John Kelly

You may not like him personally, but I don’t think he cares much about that. He knows he’s been sent to Washington by the kind of ordinary folks Washington long ago stopped listening to: the men and women of America who work hard and want to see their interests given priority over that of the Beltway elitists, globalists, and insufferable leftists who despise this country, its traditions, and its rule of law under the cloak and guide of “tolerance”, “diversity”, and “acceptance”. Me? I don’t care about the so-called Russians. You want to know what I care about? This. And this.

In my view, you’re either with the President and his movement or you’re aligned with the same swamp creatures who seek only to protect their interests and power. The Trump Train is on track “get-outta-my-way”. Get on it. Get over it. Or get under it.

Filed in: Politics & World Events by The Great White Shank at 20:29 | Comments (0)


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