When I was trying to take thousands of steps for fitness and contests, I would occasionally pass by a place where people were actively engaging in a ritual over a non plausible concept.
When I would look inside, I could imagine a person with multiple automatic rifles easily taking out dozens of people lined up like lambs to a slaughter.
Then I would hope than when someone else comes up with that idea and carries it out that it would finally get those who make laws in the US to ignore the money they get from those who want guns and more guns and do something to prevent more killing. It didn't.
Within 3 days, New Zealand is doing that.
I saw a billboard with the phrase "Pray for new Zealand". It is meaningless. The people of that nation saw a problem and are taking care of it the same way the US acted against fertilizer and airline passengers in the past but won't against guns.
Those in the US who waste their time and energy in prayer should not pray for New Zealand but instead should pray that when not if the next angry white man with assault weapons opens fire on a bunch of citizens that those killed are not their friends, family, or themselves.
Sunday, March 17, 2019
Thursday, March 14, 2019
Half a lifetime later (almost)
May 6, 2018.
After making a putt on #12 at Lemon Lake Blue that landed on the side of the basket and almost in slow motion fell the correct way for a birdie, I had completed the first six (having started on #7) of the fourth round of the 2018 US Masters Championship in 17 shots.
In the three previous times (and one since) had never scored a 3 on #7, 10, or 11 so the good luck that started on the second shot of practice was still going and I knew then the round could be special.
I was able to continue through smart play to keep things going while barely missing two long birdie putts. The same self pressure of staying clean (meaning no bogies) that was experienced on my 27th birthday reemerged for the first time in over two and a half decades.
After a birdie on #3, there was a par 4 which I never parred before or since but that day the drive went through a decent sized gap between trees, a second shot went around a tree to a clean line, and an approach to ten feet for a par which provided a fist pump to three confused players from Colorado, Georgia, and France.
My last hole, #6, is another par 4 that runs along the road bordering the course and it was not impossible to put a disc on it especially into a slight breeze. After the last vehicle, one that reminds me or a car I would expect to see in rural Indiana, passed, I started my approach noticing it was slowing. As my arm started forward, I heard the engine blast as the vehicle, according to those who were with me, spewed a black cloud of smoke. I then watched my disc fly 275 feet exactly where I was aiming.
My relatively simple 80 foot third approach shot was one I have made hundreds of times but never to complete the best round I ever played. After it landed five feet away, I was holding back tears knowing that on this day that all the pain, aggrivation, and FOMS experienced was worth it.
After returning to tournament central, I experienced something unexpected to me. People ranging from the Illinois head of the PDGA, the person who ran the course, and those I know congratulated me on my round and I did not realize all that was required as a reply was "Thank you" as opposed to a detailed summary.
My life has been so full of negative enforcement, ignorance and hostility to my successes, I had no idea how to react. On a PS4 trivia game, upon seeing 25 random letters, spelled OVERREACTION, I was booed or upon seeing a sports question, others complained. When I play that game now, I purposely miss questions or get drunk so I don't always win.
In 36 hours, my 2019 tournament season will start and since my rating now puts me in the upper half of most fields, winning events is no longer improbable and since I am usually not the obnoxious asshole I was almost half a lifetime ago, I will need to learn to accept compliments especially when deserved.
Note: Two months later still working on just saying "thank you" especially when complimented on a shot that I was not 100% happy with my throw.
After making a putt on #12 at Lemon Lake Blue that landed on the side of the basket and almost in slow motion fell the correct way for a birdie, I had completed the first six (having started on #7) of the fourth round of the 2018 US Masters Championship in 17 shots.
In the three previous times (and one since) had never scored a 3 on #7, 10, or 11 so the good luck that started on the second shot of practice was still going and I knew then the round could be special.
I was able to continue through smart play to keep things going while barely missing two long birdie putts. The same self pressure of staying clean (meaning no bogies) that was experienced on my 27th birthday reemerged for the first time in over two and a half decades.
After a birdie on #3, there was a par 4 which I never parred before or since but that day the drive went through a decent sized gap between trees, a second shot went around a tree to a clean line, and an approach to ten feet for a par which provided a fist pump to three confused players from Colorado, Georgia, and France.
My last hole, #6, is another par 4 that runs along the road bordering the course and it was not impossible to put a disc on it especially into a slight breeze. After the last vehicle, one that reminds me or a car I would expect to see in rural Indiana, passed, I started my approach noticing it was slowing. As my arm started forward, I heard the engine blast as the vehicle, according to those who were with me, spewed a black cloud of smoke. I then watched my disc fly 275 feet exactly where I was aiming.
My relatively simple 80 foot third approach shot was one I have made hundreds of times but never to complete the best round I ever played. After it landed five feet away, I was holding back tears knowing that on this day that all the pain, aggrivation, and FOMS experienced was worth it.
After returning to tournament central, I experienced something unexpected to me. People ranging from the Illinois head of the PDGA, the person who ran the course, and those I know congratulated me on my round and I did not realize all that was required as a reply was "Thank you" as opposed to a detailed summary.
My life has been so full of negative enforcement, ignorance and hostility to my successes, I had no idea how to react. On a PS4 trivia game, upon seeing 25 random letters, spelled OVERREACTION, I was booed or upon seeing a sports question, others complained. When I play that game now, I purposely miss questions or get drunk so I don't always win.
In 36 hours, my 2019 tournament season will start and since my rating now puts me in the upper half of most fields, winning events is no longer improbable and since I am usually not the obnoxious asshole I was almost half a lifetime ago, I will need to learn to accept compliments especially when deserved.
Note: Two months later still working on just saying "thank you" especially when complimented on a shot that I was not 100% happy with my throw.
Monday, March 11, 2019
Half a lifetime ago (almost)
I was going to post this on a future date but after expanding on that thought, it should be done now.
The date: November 13, 1992.
It was the day I turned 27 but back then, I was not aware of the connection with that number and Weird Al. To me it marked two things. Two years after the point where I first expected to die and one year after I met my girlfriend which was the first time I kissed a woman that was not her doing it as a joke.
Most of my coworkers at Universal Bowling Corporation were unhappy to hear that I was bowling in my league at 9PM that evening. They wanted me to get a hotel room and spend a romantic night with my GF or go to a club with her.
One coworker who was my teammate as well as the league secretary knew that I had to be at Palace Manor Bowl in Cicero and why.
Three weeks prior, my 65 year old father after stopping at the racetrack drove four more blocks to watch me bowl. After one frame, I noticed he headed into the lounge to put a twenty dollar bill (He hit the double at Maywood) into a "for amusement only" video slot machine.
I then hear a bowler get upset. He had credit in the machine and was playing it between frames and my father did not realize that.
After my dad played his 20 and left, I walked to the bowler to apologize, I hear him say to his teammate, "That old fuck ..."
Though I do not disagree with his description but I still confronted him. Fortunately, thanks to our respective teammates, no blows were traded.
You can probably guess what team we were against on lanes 1 and 2 that evening.
As I always did before the lights came on for practice, I stopped by my teammate's wife since she was collecting money for various optional pots. There was one for high each of three games and high series (both with handicap) as well as one for 7 strikes in a row.
There were also two for bowling clean, having a strike or a spare in a frame. One was instant clean which was for the one who from the start went the most frames without an open and 30 clean for anyone bowling three games without an open. At that point in the season, no one had done it so there was $300 available since it carries over if not won.
The previous year no one had won it into March and I had multiple bowlers watch every frame in my third game until I got a split in the 5th.
That night, I was hyper focused on bowling wanting to beat that team bad. After not getting a split early after being too pumped up and pulling my shot left to the nose of the head pin, I got in a good rhythm getting either a strike or leaving an easy spare. As I am waiting to bowl the 10th frame, I am announced as the winner of the instant clean pot.
The second game was even less memorable than the first other than finishing with three strikes in the 10th. When it was over, I walked to my teammate's wife who noticed my game was clean and asked 20 which I confirmed then asked to not tell anyone.
Compared to the previous March, the third game started with no one not paying attention but as the game progressed clean, those on my pair were becoming more aware of me as I kept reacting to every strike and spare with emphasis especially after converting a 3-6-9-10 in the 8th and a 2-4-5 in the 9th in a game that our team had sinched.
As I held my AMF black Ninja (ball brand) for my 10th, I moved 1/2 board to the left from my previous shot that went through the nose and executed as good a shot I did all night with all ten in the pit.
Those on lanes one through eight turned my way as I screamed in triumph. My teammate, league secretary who has referred to me as an insane lunatic shipping clerk had a WTF look and in a stance reminiscent of Goku from Dragon Ball Z charging in a voice that echoed through the 16 lane center bellowed, "THIRTY!"
Confused, he asked and I nodded my head rapidly and pointed to his wife. He turned around, saw her nod as well, then headed to the counter as I left a ten pin on my 11th shot.
Over the PA: "Even those here, in the parking lot, and possibly driving by probably already could figure out... Thirty clean, Ken Sherlock," followed by no reaction by anyone. After I picked up my spare, he gave me the money.
No one else in the building said anything to me in one of the few nights I ever left a bowling alley happy. Even though I won more money than I earn in a week, my girlfriend did not say anything to me either even after buying her dinner earlier that evening (on my birthday).
The lack of reaction was exactly what I really wanted at the time after "disappointing the crowd that wanted me to fail". The madman won... DEAL WITH IT!
I had thought they were just being jealous but almost half a lifetime later, I understand.
The date: November 13, 1992.
It was the day I turned 27 but back then, I was not aware of the connection with that number and Weird Al. To me it marked two things. Two years after the point where I first expected to die and one year after I met my girlfriend which was the first time I kissed a woman that was not her doing it as a joke.
Most of my coworkers at Universal Bowling Corporation were unhappy to hear that I was bowling in my league at 9PM that evening. They wanted me to get a hotel room and spend a romantic night with my GF or go to a club with her.
One coworker who was my teammate as well as the league secretary knew that I had to be at Palace Manor Bowl in Cicero and why.
Three weeks prior, my 65 year old father after stopping at the racetrack drove four more blocks to watch me bowl. After one frame, I noticed he headed into the lounge to put a twenty dollar bill (He hit the double at Maywood) into a "for amusement only" video slot machine.
I then hear a bowler get upset. He had credit in the machine and was playing it between frames and my father did not realize that.
After my dad played his 20 and left, I walked to the bowler to apologize, I hear him say to his teammate, "That old fuck ..."
Though I do not disagree with his description but I still confronted him. Fortunately, thanks to our respective teammates, no blows were traded.
You can probably guess what team we were against on lanes 1 and 2 that evening.
As I always did before the lights came on for practice, I stopped by my teammate's wife since she was collecting money for various optional pots. There was one for high each of three games and high series (both with handicap) as well as one for 7 strikes in a row.
There were also two for bowling clean, having a strike or a spare in a frame. One was instant clean which was for the one who from the start went the most frames without an open and 30 clean for anyone bowling three games without an open. At that point in the season, no one had done it so there was $300 available since it carries over if not won.
The previous year no one had won it into March and I had multiple bowlers watch every frame in my third game until I got a split in the 5th.
That night, I was hyper focused on bowling wanting to beat that team bad. After not getting a split early after being too pumped up and pulling my shot left to the nose of the head pin, I got in a good rhythm getting either a strike or leaving an easy spare. As I am waiting to bowl the 10th frame, I am announced as the winner of the instant clean pot.
The second game was even less memorable than the first other than finishing with three strikes in the 10th. When it was over, I walked to my teammate's wife who noticed my game was clean and asked 20 which I confirmed then asked to not tell anyone.
Compared to the previous March, the third game started with no one not paying attention but as the game progressed clean, those on my pair were becoming more aware of me as I kept reacting to every strike and spare with emphasis especially after converting a 3-6-9-10 in the 8th and a 2-4-5 in the 9th in a game that our team had sinched.
As I held my AMF black Ninja (ball brand) for my 10th, I moved 1/2 board to the left from my previous shot that went through the nose and executed as good a shot I did all night with all ten in the pit.
Those on lanes one through eight turned my way as I screamed in triumph. My teammate, league secretary who has referred to me as an insane lunatic shipping clerk had a WTF look and in a stance reminiscent of Goku from Dragon Ball Z charging in a voice that echoed through the 16 lane center bellowed, "THIRTY!"
Confused, he asked and I nodded my head rapidly and pointed to his wife. He turned around, saw her nod as well, then headed to the counter as I left a ten pin on my 11th shot.
Over the PA: "Even those here, in the parking lot, and possibly driving by probably already could figure out... Thirty clean, Ken Sherlock," followed by no reaction by anyone. After I picked up my spare, he gave me the money.
No one else in the building said anything to me in one of the few nights I ever left a bowling alley happy. Even though I won more money than I earn in a week, my girlfriend did not say anything to me either even after buying her dinner earlier that evening (on my birthday).
The lack of reaction was exactly what I really wanted at the time after "disappointing the crowd that wanted me to fail". The madman won... DEAL WITH IT!
I had thought they were just being jealous but almost half a lifetime later, I understand.
Friday, March 1, 2019
The madman vs. the world
When I was creating my previous post and the one that is scheduled after this, I realized something. People being confrontational or ignorant when I win is not a unique situation. I can think of dozens of times when upon success, I am met with silence, resentment, or even anger which at times has lessened or even ruined the rare moments in life where I succeeded.
Driving around making deliveries gives me time to examine things. I was searching for a common thread to the over four decades of reactions from classmates, coworkers, teammates, opponents, relatives, and friends some of which were mentioned in previous posts.
The answer is as simple as integral calculus and is most disgusting when I see it in a mirror and I am ashamed it took that long to figure it out.
That is part of the price of being a madman. The same angry and disgusted asshole when things are going bad turns into an obnoxious, pompous asshole upon success.
When I first encounter something new, restraint is necessary since revealing my unusual ideas often scare people. That is why I will often be in the corner out of the flow so I don't make a bad impression.
In any timespan from minutes to decades, fatigue, anger, pain, or life will bring out the madman and once that happens, people will remember other questionable moments and realize who I really am. No matter how hard I try to fix that, it can't be fixed and for a while, I try to avoid the shells from the egg I busted.
Once I realize it stops being worth the effort, it becomes time to walk away.
Driving around making deliveries gives me time to examine things. I was searching for a common thread to the over four decades of reactions from classmates, coworkers, teammates, opponents, relatives, and friends some of which were mentioned in previous posts.
The answer is as simple as integral calculus and is most disgusting when I see it in a mirror and I am ashamed it took that long to figure it out.
That is part of the price of being a madman. The same angry and disgusted asshole when things are going bad turns into an obnoxious, pompous asshole upon success.
When I first encounter something new, restraint is necessary since revealing my unusual ideas often scare people. That is why I will often be in the corner out of the flow so I don't make a bad impression.
In any timespan from minutes to decades, fatigue, anger, pain, or life will bring out the madman and once that happens, people will remember other questionable moments and realize who I really am. No matter how hard I try to fix that, it can't be fixed and for a while, I try to avoid the shells from the egg I busted.
Once I realize it stops being worth the effort, it becomes time to walk away.
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