May 19, 2010

I think golf is ultimately more of a man’s game because where else can you be in someone’s presence for 4 hours or more and not have to talk?  I’m surprised more couples don’t play together.


One could make the argument that I’m not that into golf because I stink.  And yes, that is a huge part of it.  I swing hard, it just goes even faster into the woods.  I try to keep my head down and end up missing the ball.  I think you get the picture of what a round of golf with me is like.

Golf is similar to shuffleboard in that anyone can do it who isn’t confined to a wheelchair.  If you’re 300 pounds overweight, your swing will be different than the 90 year old woman suffering from osteoporosis, but you can both be accomplished golfers.  Somewhere along the line, golf acquired more street cred than shuffleboard, and I’m still trying to figure out how that happened.  I think it has something to do with greens fees.

Which brings me to my next point: golf is ridiculously expensive.  While I’m all for preserving expansive areas of undeveloped land, I don’t think you should have to pay out the wazoo to walk a piece of land with a club.  Between the membership fees, the cart fees and then what it costs to get a bag of clubs together, I could have built my own tennis court and redone my kitchen.  And, if I want to spend my time with painful people, I already have plenty of occasions, and I certainly don’t need to pay money for more.

But golf also takes up time, and by time, I mean, eons.  And I don’t have four hours of free time to spend chasing a ball on a regular basis, which would be required in order for me to enjoy playing without my current level of frustration.  If I want a work out, I run, hike or go for a bike ride.  If I want to play a game, I play tennis, corn hole or volleyball.  All of those can be accomplished in around an hour, maybe a little more.

It made sense that my grandfather was into golf.  About all he could do was walk and it gave the poor guy something to do during the day since he wasn’t working and his wife had died.  And his passion for the sport, well, I chalked that up to having literally nothing else to do other than offer us grand kids twenty five cents for drinking our milk.  Then my dad got into it, but he was also getting up there and it made sense for the most competitive person I’ve ever known to attempt domination of a new activity when his fitness level was less and less impressive and he was approaching his golden years.  Once he couldn’t put his kids to shame athletically, he said he took up a game requiring more skill than athletic ability.

I’ve wondered whether he did it to get away from life for four hours.  If being out on the golf course was kind of like going on a high mileage run in that your mind is able to free itself from the minutia of your daily grind.  For four hours, he wasn’t an employee or boss or father or husband or brother or son.  Or maybe it doesn’t get that deep at all.  Maybe it really is just about getting a ball in a hole.


SHE SAID: Navigating and Directions

May 13, 2010

Gentlemen.  Jeremy.  Let’s talk.

do you have any idea where you're going?

What is it with directions?  And not just directions, but navigating in general.  Not to be too specific as I get too specific, but I went on a trip once with a friend in college, a male friend who had not only gotten into a great school, but completed the necessary requirements and was about to graduate, and he thought the towns were located where the name was written on a map, not where the convenient little black dots littering the map were placed.  I wish a recording of this trip existed.  Because while I was confused and progressively more frustrated at the time, I think I would laugh hysterically were I to hear it played back now.

All stupidity of this specimen aside, his example does demonstrate the refusal to ask for help.  He knew, as we circled around for the second time, that the town we were looking for wasn’t where he thought it was.  It wasn’t, like Hogwarts, visible for a select few.  But still, he refused to say anything, and continued to lead me around for a third time all the while declaring his amazement at our inability to find it.  Yes, at this point you can point out my own idiocy for not grabbing the map and hitting him over the head with it, but I was trying to be patient and a good team player … for once.  Plus, I was driving.  Two hands on the wheel.  Ten and two.

Another time, quite recently while driving in a city, I was given no indication whatsoever where I should steer the car until about twenty seconds after I had passed through an intersection by the gentleman holding the map (it was actually a smart phone with a mapping application, but it’s easier to say map).

I realize these are two specific occasions both bordering on the ridiculous … but the stereotype of a man refusing to stop to ask for directions as he steers his vehicle into the great unknown stems from somewhere and I would love to hear your side having experienced it more than enough.

Yes, we women might take forever to get ready and we might have to ask you a few times what you think of the outfit we’ve chosen and then ask you to carry seven items in your pockets because we cannot fit our license, debit card, extra hair tie, tampon, phone, lipstick and keys into our minuscule/non-existent pockets … but once we get our act together and open that door, we know where we are going and how to get there.  Maybe, while you’re waiting by the door, tapping your foot and reminding us what time the get together started, you could use that time constructively and figure out the route to said destination.  And no, I do not have someone waiting by the door and tapping his foot, he is far more patient and supportive than that, which is why we’re still together and he is still sane.

So what is it?  It must be something more interesting than not wanting to admit you don’t know something.  Is each trip a rite of passage in which you, equipped with a steering wheel, pedal and the sun, are to prove your competence to your tribe?  Do you say nothing and ask no questions because you want us sitting next to you, badgering you about whether or not you know where you’re going so you can crack a beer with your teeth and tell all your BBQing buddies about how your old ball and chain nagged the heck out of you on the way over because she didn’t think you knew where you were going?  Boy did you show her!  Seems like a lot to go through for a remedial story.  Is it some territorial thing?  Would you prefer to be peeing out the window and marking territory periodically while we’re moving along and that’s what’s distracting you?  Is it that you lose interest in the task at hand and move on to figuring out what athletes you should drop or shift on your fantasy team roster instead?  Because, while I get that other topics might distract you (ooh, she’s hot; I’m hungry; oh, I love this song), I’m able to both consider my next nail polish color and figure out how to get from point A to B, and I would expect you to as well.  Or is it that you want to deliver us helpless females, unharmed, to a destination needing no help at all from map, or navigator or smart phone?  Am I missing out on a competitive conversation that happens regularly between men about who had the easiest time arriving somewhere with the least amount of information?

I know we don’t tackle too many of the obvious male and female stuff on here, odd given the name of our blog, but this time let’s dive in.

SHE SAID: Case of the Mondays?

May 3, 2010

I’m not a fan of the finger quotes.  Sure, sometimes it helps delineate a speaker in an orally recounted conversation, but overall, I think they are abused and overused.  Kind of related, someone has taken the time to photographically document the misuse, overuse, and abuse of the quotations all around us. Check it out. It’s highly entertaining and also kind of upsetting.  My sixth grade teacher, owner of the self titled grammar bible, would have been distressed to see this site.


Wow.  Sir Mix A Lot.  I like Butterfingers too, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sell out.


Someone awesome cataloged every single Calvin and Hobbes cartoons online using AJAX.  Best part is you can search for your favorites using dialog.


How much do you think Britney is kicking herself for not recording Lady Gaga’s Telephone?  She did a demo and then passed on it! Yet another example of her terrible decision making ….


I don’t know if everyone on earth has seen this video of the kids acting out the hills, but the little girl who plays Audrina should get nominated for whatever awards show recognizes mock-offs.

SHE SAID: Cell Phone Etiquette*

November 3, 2009


I am a fan of cell phones.  I love my iPhone. I love that I can access my email, the world wide web, twitter, the weather, my calendar, a crossword … all these things are at my fingertips and I abuse that on occasion, like most people I know.  We have the ability to constantly be in touch, and while most people I know are able to deal with that healthily, enough of us have been annoyed by someone’s cell phone habits at some point in time.  I feel some boundaries are necessary and here are some rules I think should be mandatory.

Your ring-tone … If you just have to have Miley Cyrus as your ring-tone, please keep the volume at a low level.  While I would ask this of any ring-tone, musical ones are particularly annoying because no matter how awesome the song, it’s going to sound bad when sampled for your ring-tone and not all around you are going to be fans of your particular choice.

If you are in a movie theater, a meeting, class, etc.  putting your phone on vibrate will do just fine.

Talking while in a close public space is not always necessary.  While I get that your mother or husband or wife or whoever might call while you’re in the store because they need you to pick something else up that wasn’t on the list, it is not necessary to be on the phone with your best friend going over the details of last night’s disastrous date with a fine toothed comb in the check out line.  I have overheard really personal conversations, disgusting details, and many a bathroom conversation (really … does the other person know you’re sitting in a public rest room doing god knows what while they are talking to you?) because people cannot seem to find a private place to carry on their phone call.

In addition – to have your phone on speakerphone while in public is downright wrong.  While you might find yourself and your conversation fascinating, let me assure you, the rest of us do not.

Also, it is not required that you always answer your phone.  If you are having a real face-to-face interaction with someone, it’s pretty rude to pick up your phone.  Again, emergencies aside, it’s okay to miss a call and call someone back later.

Ringback-tones are a terrible, terrible idea.  When I call someone, I don’t want to hear a song while I wait for them to pick up.  I usually have some sort of music going on in the background anyway.  Plus, it makes me feel like I’m calling some huge corporation, not a family member or someone I know.

Texting should be limited to quick exchanges.  If it’s going to be long, or you need to discuss options, just call.  Also, if someone calls you, they wanted to talk, not text.  You should call them back.

Blue-tooth headsets.  Brad Pitt (one of People Magazine’s sexiest men alive) and David Beckham recently modeled blue-tooth headsets on two different magazine covers.  Proving that no matter how awe inspiring your good looks are, you still look like a complete tool with a blue-tooth headset on.  Wearing one when you’re not on your phone is … well, if you want to do that to yourself, that’s fine, but I try to help those I love and tell them when they look like an idiot.

*Thanks to Laura Page for the post idea.

SHE SAID: Halloween

October 15, 2009


When I was younger, Halloween seemed a whole lot cooler than it is now.

Back when my only worry was running into my older brother and his friends who were equipped with shaving cream cans and eggs, and we didn’t have to worry about that AND the neighbors putting razor blades in our popcorn balls or candy apples.

Back when my biggest disappointment was having to put on my down coat underneath my ghost costume that I had spent at least ten minutes on since the eye holes were apparently necessary, however much they compromised the costume and missing meeting up with friends.

Back when Unicef was still unquestionably good and all of us struggled blissfully under the growing weight of our candy and the little orange boxes as the night progressed.

Back when pumpkins were all hand carved and not created by following one of the five included patterns.  Although, I will admit the little tools are a lot easier to work with than the ten inch butcher’s knife.

Back when we kids owned the neighborhood, even if only for the evening.  And we roamed aimlessly, hitting up every lit house for candy and sometimes hopefully knocking even on the dark house’s doors, trying to amass the largest group of people we could as the twilight eased into darkness.

There was one rule.  Be home when it got dark … or a little past dark.

Now, my mom says she only needs one bag of candy since she only gets about three trick or treaters.  Parents drive their kids from house to house, packing their families into mini-vans until the kids are old enough to go out on their own.  And when that is the case, they stay on a few streets that are populated with tons of people.  You start trick or treating at 3pm and are done by 6.  You don’t trick or treat from people you don’t know and you don’t accept any candy that wasn’t pre-wrapped by Mars, inc.  Costumes are mostly store bought from places that specialize in mass marketed outfits that reference a popular TV show or widely recognized icon.  I can’t remember the last time I saw a punk rocker, now it’s Hannah Montana, the Backyardigans, Disney.

And because of this mass produced Halloween, how many kids are going to be able to recount the time they went as a mummy, completely wrapped in toilet paper, which seemed like the greatest costume ever until you started dancing, it deteriorated and you were mortified because you hadn’t anticipated that little problem and so didn’t have anything on other than underwear.  And yes, that means no bra either which was MORTIFYING in sixth grade.

I get the reasons behind some of the changes – safety being the obvious one due to the creep who hid razor blades in candy apples.  But it still makes me a little sad for what was lost.  And I plan on making my son wear home-made or pieced together costumes.  Because making them is so fun.