Money is wasted on the wealthy: Part II

Maybe it's because we're getting ready to embark on a kitchen remodeling project, but I seem to be only writing about money this week. How gauche. Nonetheless, I came across this piece in Shouts & Murmurs (The New Yorker), and it really cracked me up.



My Mega Millions
by Larry Doyle

What am I going to do with my Mega Millions? Good question. Here’s a hundred dollars.


The truth is, I haven’t really thought about it. I mean, I suppose I’ll have to hire a lawyer to start preëmptively suing people who claim that I owe them money or fathered them or blinded them in a bar fight. And I’ll need bodyguards with double-0 clearance, for insurance purposes. And another lawyer to sue the first lawyer. But, beyond that, my life is going to stay pretty much the way it is, only with the Mega Millions.

Cheryl has been a good wife, financially supporting me all these years while I pursued my dream of winning the Mega Millions, and I’d like to keep her. She’s not really a Mega Millionaire’s wife, though, as she would be the first to admit. However, in light of all her years of loyal service, I’m going to give her first crack at the position.

Out of my own pocket, I’m advancing Cheryl up to three hundred thousand dollars for a series of upgrades. She has all sorts of complaints about her face that, frankly, I don’t see, but, fine, we’ll fix all that stuff. We’ll also be installing state-of-the-art breasts, right above the original ones, which we’ll keep around for old times’ sake to remind us where we came from. To go with her new Mega Millions looks, Cheryl will be getting extensive training in trophy-wiving from Melania Trump, on loan from my new friend Don, at a special discounted rate.

I do hope it all works out, because Cheryl was with me back when it all started. All those scratch-offs. All that black stuff all over the bed. She’s probably wishing that she hadn’t bitched so much about it now.

As for me, I can’t think of anything I want. Hair, maybe. Specifically, George Clooney’s. So far, he’s been unwilling to part with it at any price, but we’ll see how he feels about playing Khrushchev or Gorbachev or Blofeld or Mr. Clean in the new movie I’m financing. Plus, he travels a lot, often to countries where it’s possible to get what you want done done. You know what—that was off the record. Oh, and I forgot: here’s a thousand dollars for each of you.
Also, I may get a heart transplant, just as a precaution.

We’re going to keep the old house. We love the neighborhood, and we’ll love it even more without a lot of the neighbors. We’ll probably do some additions, preserving the original house as a centerpiece in the new living room, or maybe as a playhouse for all those grandkids we will no longer be denied. Cheryl’s going to be too busy pleasing me to take care of a house that large, so we’ll need some kind of staff: just a few French maids, one of those sinewy masseuses with Chinese tattoos, some house lawyers, a night masseuse, and a butler. A really good butler, from England.

Out back, I’d love to put in a small lake, where Mike McKenzie’s place is now. We’ll dock the yacht there, and copter it to whichever coast, as necessary. I haven’t decided what to stock the lake with, but I’ve been thinking a lot about the environment now that I’ll be owning so much of it. And it seems to me that the “greenest” thing to do would be to get a bunch of those Sports Illustrated swimsuit models, brush some scales on them with biodegradable body paint, strap each one in a helmet rigged with a giant eyehook or an industrial-strength magnet on top, and toss them in. Maybe. Like I said, I haven’t given it much thought. But I guess the short answer to your question is: I’m going to do a lot of fishing.

Money is wasted on the wealthy

A couple of years ago, while working on the financial services division of American Express (since spun off and now called Ameriprise), we shot a series of TV spots and my producer coincidentally booked one of our locations in the town across the bay from my hometown. She chose the spot because it had expansive grounds with multiple structures on the property, and we could make it look like 5 locations as opposed to just one. Very efficient.

The house was in Kings Point, which is in Great Neck - just a stone's throw from where I grew up. I had learned in my 9th grade American Lit course that the "Sands Point" section of my town and its across-the-bay-sister- peninsula, Kings Point, were East and West Egg, respectively, of Great Gatsby infamy (important note: I am from the other side of the tracks). Drawn to glamor at an early age, it became a favorite novel.

So it was a thrill to turn up the day of the shoot and find out that indeed, F. Scott Fitzgerald had summered at one of the cottages on the very same property. It was believed to be during that summer he wrote the fantastically fabulous - yet ultimately tortured - great American novel.

The grounds and houses still belonged to the original family, yet in touring the property it was clear to see why they had offered it up for commercial shoots. They needed the money! It was quite down at the heel and its better days were long behind it. Still, it was obvious those better days had been pretty grand.

Speaking of grand, the family Grand Dame was poking around with one of her sons at her side throughout the day. She was frail, yet she still had a twinkle in her eye, and she was clearly tickled at the frenzied activity happening all over her property. I had a chat with her at the Craft Services table over coffee. When she heard I was from Port Washington, she was very excited to tell me she had long been a member at the Manhasset Bay Yacht Club there. I told her that was where I had held my wedding reception. She seemed to approve (although I didn't mention I still hadn't ordered pictures).

Fast forward to this morning. I sauntered through the New York Times while drinking my morning latte and stumbled across this article about that very same house and that very same family. It gave more insight to the scene that unfolded that day. Apparently this clan has seen their share of drama and tragedy.

People always use stories like this to make themselves feel better about not being rich. "Yes, they have all that money, but are they happy?" Let me tell you something, I could be very happy living on 21 acres overlooking the Long Island Sound. And no matter who picked a fight with me, I wouldn't let them take my money, and I would keep that house looking Gatsby-level-fabulous.

A singularly beautiful sound

If you read my blog you have probably surmised by now that I am a slightly more than casual golf fan. I definitely enjoy watching the tour, and I know a lot about the sport from growing up around two fanatics (my father and brother). I run an annual tournament, for pete's sake. So it would be reasonable to make the leap and assume I play. I do not.

Lord knows, I have tried. I have my own clubs (purchased after a combination of private lessons and a dose of beginner's luck falsely led me to believe I had a natural gift). I have more than a passable understanding of course etiquette. Occasionally I still go out there (on an "Executive Course" - a fancy title for an easy Par 3 course meant to make bad golfers feel less emasculated) and try to act breezy. Like I'm having fun in my cute outfit. But I'm not. I'm just not good at this game, and it's hard not to look silly when you're shanking a swing. Being a (recovering) perfectionist, I find that too frustrating to be an acceptable way to spend 6 hours of a perfectly good Saturday.

So when I heard this story, it made me question: what is my excuse, exactly?

The AP is reporting that yesterday in Leighton, PA a TOTALLY BLIND woman hit a hole in one on a 144-yard, par-3 fourth hole at the Mahoning Valley Country Club. She plays regularly with her husband, who acts as a guide. She had to clear a water hazard and avoid sand traps to reach the green. Sheila Drummond reports her husband and the other players in her foursome told her it was a great shot, and then she heard it hit the pin.

Can you imagine how that sounded?

My brother once hit a hole in one during a tournament while playing for our high school's varsity team. Hearing the story gave me such a vicarious thrill - and he's not even blind! Brendan didn't realize it had gone in, although he knew it was a good shot off the tee. As he approached the pin and he didn't see his ball, he thought his aim must have not been that good after all. He began searching the rough beyond the green with growing frustration as he contemplated the fact that not only was it not a good shot, he may even have to take a penalty if the wayward object didn't reveal itself soon. With spontaneous insight, one of his teammates said, "Brendan, why don't you look in the hole?" He later told us that had never occurred to him because he just isn't that lucky (his wife begs to differ).

The PGA won't recognize a hole in one unless it's part of a full round of 18 holes. With a start time delayed until after classes are done for the day, high school varsity matches typically only consist of 9. So my brother, his coach and one of his friends from the team played the back nine in the dark. Worth every one of the 63 strokes!

Join the campaign against cruelty toward Account Executives

I'm hearing all over the news that "cage-free eggs" are the all the rage now. If consumers are willing to pay more for cage free eggs, I think the Ad industry should get ahead of the trend. I sat in a cube for at least the first 5 years of my career.

Have a heart: insist on Cage Free Ads

Sign up now for the Sixth Annual!

I'm finally over the post tournament coma I succumb to every year the minute my family's annual charity event is over, and I can now begin to shed some light on how The Fifth Annual Bud Traynor Classic went. It was a huge success, and my whole family is feeling great about it.

State Park Rangers lead carts down the front nine for the shotgun start

Ready at the first tee

Beautiful swing! (Shelly Berger went on to win Low Net, Ladies)

Laurie and Lorri take a break from selling raffle tickets to say cheese

Mamma Joan mans one of the auction tables

My brother and I get ready to hand out some prizes

And what can we say? Prizes make people happy...

Abigail Sollecito easily wins the "Most Colorful Pants" award

Regan Mullaly shows off the trophy her dad, Thomas, won with the lowest score of 77

Ryan Mullaly and Krysta Sollecito check out the trophy at closer range

We'll get the rest of the pictures up on our tournament website shortly and I'll put a link here so you can see them all if you're interested. But suffice it to say the day was an unqualified victory. Our volunteers were enthusiastic and amazing, our donors were incredibly generous, the course was in pristine condition, the catering was delicious, the bar was free flowing and at the end of the day we raised a lot of money for cancer research at Memorial Sloan Kettering - a good cause that's near and dear to my heart.

What could be better?

I will say, this year gave us more agita than any year prior. We started with the usual race to the finish. My brother, his wife, Terence, my mother and I all hunkered down in the organization's corporate headquarters (my mother's house) for the three days leading up to the tournament. We only left the house to run errands that had to do with the event. My mother had deli salads and cold cut platters on hand. When that ran out, we ordered takeout. In between re-fueling sessions we printed event programs, fine tuned the line up 23 times, coordinated deliveries and pick ups of donated items, jazzed up auction gift baskets, crafted bid sheet copy writing, picked up sponsor signs, bought 288 cans of beer, finalized the volunteer assignment list, made logo labels for gift bags, washed centerpiece vases, affixed the engraved plates with last year's winners to our perpetual plaque, collected pictures of my dad for display, picked up trophies, picked up golf hats, sustained several paper cuts, one glass cut, and several headaches. But we were having so much fun!

As Sunday afternoon dragged on, the giddy exuberance slowly eroded as the evolving weather reports cast a pall over the entire family. Text messages began coming in from around the tri-State area as participants queried, "What do we do if it rains?" "Get out your golf umbrella and don't expect a refund," seemed flip. Yet true.

A few choice quotes may help illuminate the panic that had overtaken the group. I won't attribute them, but probably easy to figure out.

"Ok, but just because it's going to rain in Seaford, doesn't mean it's going to rain in Bethpage."

Upon the fifth zip-code specific hour by hour satellite check, "I think we should just face the fact that it's going to rain on the golfers for the entire five hours that they're out there. Let's just get over that and move on."

"Does the lightening have to actually hit the ground for them to close the course?"

"My scar itches." "Mine too."

The final bid sheet came off the printer at about midnight, but who could sleep? The weather reports on the late evening news were too harrowing. Our alarms went off at 3:45 am and the ground was still dry. Not a good sign. Had the rain already let loose, there could have been some hope it would blow over before the 7:30 am shotgun start.

Our caravan made it's way out to Bethpage under angry skies. Many cars packed with many auction prizes, and a special tradition: we always drive my dad's two seater out to the tournament. It was the car he used to go golfing. Although it doesn't fit much cargo, we make sure it's always in the Bethpage parking lot while The Bud Traynor Classic is being played.

The first person I saw when I arrived at the Red Course was Bob Guarino. He's the Tournament Director at Bethpage and my go to guy for these events. Immediately he begins telling me about the TORNADO watch that's in effect and how we will handle cancellation/postponement/raincheck accommodation in various scenarios. The State Park Rangers tell us they're not going to bother putting out the hole sponsor signs just yet. They don't even have our golf carts lined up. They clearly don't think there will be a tournament teeing off in two hours. I have never been more nervous. Not even in the two hours before my brain surgery (although, I was medicated at that point).

Well, God bless our golfers. Most of them showed up. Only minimal no-shows. And do you know, that rain held off, I kid you not, until the players were all on their very last hole. (Shotgun start means everyone finishes at approximately the same time, just on different holes.) It poured rain all over Long Island that day, but not over the Red Course. Thanks, Bud.

After a quick nap, we already can't wait for next year...

Speaking of dubious pairings...

That's right, ladies. Lt. Andy Baldwin is back on the market. Questions remain:

• Who gets to keep the product placement diamond ring?
• Do we think we'll ever hear from Tessa Horst again?
• What are the chances the "love of Andy's life" will turn out to be a bimbette starlet hanger on now that he's a D-list celeb? Maybe they can double date with Nick Lachey and Vanessa Minnillo.
• Do we think Bevin is on a plane to Hawaii as we speak?
  

TMZ reports:

News Flash: Another "Bachelor" Engagement Called Off!

Posted Aug 15th 2007 3:43PM by TMZ Staff
Filed under: Break-Ups

Hunky Navy Lt. Andy Baldwin is once again a confirmed "Bachelor!"

One week after ABC announced their newest Frankenbachelor candidate, Baldwin and his Season 10 bride of "Bachelor", Tessa Horst, have called off their sham marriage. No way!

Baldwin tells In Touch, "When the fantasy wore off and the reality set in, we both realized that we weren't ready to be engaged"-- especially with the cameras gone! The relationship is allegedly still on, but Tessa is holding off on moving to Hawaii to be near the cardboard muscle man. Alo-HA!

At least TomKat can rest knowing they still have the most contrived marriage in Hollywood.

Can I ask you a question?

Shortly after sunset nine years ago today, on this beach in Sag Harbor, I agreed to marry Terence. I've been driving him crazy ever since. Let's face it. I was driving him crazy for the three years leading up to that day, and although he likes to act like he didn't know what he was getting himself into, he knew full well. He asked anyway. Not as smart as every one thinks, that boy.

By the way, this just may be the year that I finally order a wedding picture - if not the whole album.

When I recently told a good friend at work that I had yet to order a single wedding picture and I was about to celebrate my eighth anniversary, he suggested I outsource it. He thought my bagel bearing friends would be a good task force, or at last resort - I could just send the job overseas. When I further told him my mother has made several personal requests for just one picture from that day because she simply wants one of the whole family with my father in it, he looked at me with an expression that said, "Stay right where you are, lady. Don't move. I'm calling the police. There's a place for people like you."

I'm normally very efficient. I don't know why this particular task seems so daunting - although in my defense, our photographer shot about 35 rolls of film. That's a lot of sorting. Maybe I'll start tonight. I can pretend the skin under my eyes is still that taut...

Let's hear it for the boy. No - not that boy...

Tiger Woods won the PGA Championship today. Not a big surprise. He went into the day with a three stroke lead, and it's hard for anyone to catch up to him once he's on a roll like that on red shirt day. To me, the more interesting story about this tournament was John Daly's performance on Thursday, but that's long since disappeared from the headlines. Allow me to bring you back.


On Thursday crowd favorite John Daly seemed to be making a run at the title and was on the leader board going into Friday. It was particularly notable because 1.) he doesn't even have exempt status anymore (although he's got a life long invitation to this tournament as one of it's past winners) and 2.) even worse: instead of playing in the practice rounds earlier in the week with the rest of his earnest competitors, he was at the casinos playing slot machines.

I saw him interviewed off the green of one of the holes during play on Saturday. They were playing in EXTREME heat, so with a nod to his reputation he was asked how much water is in his bag. He replied, "There's four diet cokes, 12 packs of cigarettes, there's flints and lighter fluid - enough for nine holes - and then we worry about the golf balls and other stuff."

Watching him on the tour is funny and sad, inspiring and frustrating. His peers seem to feel the same way, with notable players (including Tiger) acknowledging that Daly's raw talent is likely greater than their own. His destructive habits get in the way of his own success.

An affable and humorous soul, he telegraphs his flawed life unabashedly. He scraps by on that sheer and obviously enormous talent. What else could explain how he manages to stay on the tour despite a serious gambling problem (he admits he's lost between $50 and $60 million over the past 15 years), severe alcohol addiction (he claims he drank a fifth of Jack Daniels every day of his 23rd year) and several tumultuous marriages (he's on his fourth, and in June he showed up at the Stanford St. Jude Championship with scratches and cuts on his face after claiming his wife had attacked him with a steak knife the night before.)

He's fatter than any two other golfers you could find on the tour. To this he applies his usual brand of self deprecating humor. He refused to partake in the British Open Champions Dinner because "You can't get this fat boy into a suit." He has stated the only reason he does not lift weights is because the health club does not let him smoke there.

As much of a train wreck as he is, his no-nonsense, what you see is what you get attitude makes fans just love this underdog. There was a perfect quote in the San Jose Mercury News: "If Tiger Woods is a Rembrandt, John Daly is a paint-by-numbers Elvis on black velvet. Tacky, for sure. Yet there's something oddly endearing about it..."

Speaking of perfect quotes, here are some winners from Daly:

"I don't think I've ever stepped into a gym - they won't let me smoke there. I just thank God Miller Lite isn't as fattening as most beers. If I cut back on beer, though, I'd look anorexic."

"I learned you can't drink whiskey and play golf."

"I said to myself, 'I'm gonna marry that girl.'...She said, 'I don't like blonds and I don't like golfers, but I do like fat boys.' So I knew I had a chance."

"I was never able to just have three or four beers. One's too many and ten ain't enough."

“I still say they made that movie after me,” (about Tin Cup, which really does seem like it's about him. Fun movie if you like golf. I've seen it at least 10 times.)

Check out this New York Times article about John's amazing Thursday round and some background on his 1991 "zero to hero" victory in this same tournament.

Rockin Saturday night

Tonight Terry and I are both doing things we love. He's at the Mets game, and I'm home watching the Giants (New York, not San Francisco) while purging the clutter from underneath the kitchen sink. I derive an abnormal, and likely diagnosable, amount of pleasure from organization. Couple that with Giants football (even though it's pre-season and I'm really missing Tiki), and I'm in heaven.

I've been coveting this amazing sliding shelf that my mother already bought at Bed Bath & Beyond. I got it today and could hardly wait to get home and put it together. Those white slats slide back and forth so you can accommodate the sink's drainage pipe. It doubles the storage space in that cabinet in a way that makes me so happy. (If you want it, order it here.)

I also bought a snazzy looking thing to hold all those plastic bags that seem to take over like a giant ball of tumbleweed. It will hold up to 50.


It's hard to top a Saturday night like this.

Coolest sofa bed I've ever seen

Check out this sofa bed I found on unclutterer. It doesn't look like it would be comfortable for anyone over 5 feet, but it might be good for kids' sleepovers. And who cares if it's comfortable? It looks fabulous!

Giddy with anticipation...

According to the press release on ABC.com:

ABC'S NEW BACHELOR IS A SINCERE, SEXY, SUCCESSFUL SELF-MADE MAN WHO MAY BE THE SERIES' HOTTEST GUY YET

The 11th Edition of ABC's Popular Romance Reality Series Will Premiere With a 90-Minute Special on Monday, September 24

Brad Womack, 34, a successful, self-made entrepreneur, has been selected to star in the 11th edition of ABC's popular romance reality series when it returns this fall on MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 24 (9:30-11:00 p.m., ET), on ABC with a special 90-minute season premiere. It doesn't hurt that his sexy good looks make him The Bachelor's own "McSteamy."

For all his hard-earned accomplishments, there is one thing missing from Brad's life: He is ready to find his soul mate, settle down and have the family life he has so long desired. But Brad's heart, determination and commitment have already given him a good head start.

Currently residing in Austin, Texas, Brad co-owns four lucrative bars with his two brothers, Chad and Wesley, both of whom are married. With the success of these establishments, they are now looking to expand into other ventures and are in the early stages of developing a hotel.

Brad had an early plan to make his mark on the world and, at 19, left Texas State University (known then as Southwest Texas State) after one year of college to work in oil fields across the country to save up money. His eight-year odyssey took him all over Texas and then to Louisiana, North Dakota and California.

After working diligently in the oil fields, he got into bartending with his twin brother, Chad. After some eight months tending bar, he had enough money saved to finance the purchase of his first drinking establishment with his brothers in 2001, when he was just 28. Since then, their very successful business has exploded to where they've purchased a bar a year.

However Brad has had to overcome some obstacles on his way to his booming business career. Born in Atlanta, his family stayed there until he was 12 years old, and then the family moved to Livingston, Texas, where he went to high school. Growing up in a single-parent home, his challenging days as a youngster helped to instill in him a good work ethic, the importance of a stable family and the ability to be a good provider. Not born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he is appreciative of what he has accomplished on his own. These strong values, coupled with great looks and undeniable sex appeal, make him the perfect catch. Brad is sincere about his search and optimistic that he will find the woman who could become his wife.

Hosted by Chris Harrison, The Bachelor is produced by Next Entertainment in association with Warner Horizon Television. Mike Fleiss and Lisa Levenson are the executive producers. David Bohnert and Martin Hilton are the co-executive producers.

Love it or leave it

I was raised in the suburbs and will always think of Port Washington (Long Island) as "home." I love spending lazy weekends out there. Yet after living in Manhattan for the past 14 years, I now think of myself as a New Yorker in the urban sense of the word. Between yesterday and today I had two experiences that made the evolution more transparent.

Wednesday:
Yesterday's morning commute in New York City was historical. A sudden and intense storm overwhelmed the city's drainage system with an unmanageable volume of water. It was serious enough that service was stopped entirely or severely disrupted on literally every single line within the entire subway system. NYC came to a grinding halt.

When I turned on the local morning news the traffic reporter vehemently admonished, "If you haven't left for work yet, don't bother. Stay where you are for at least another hour." So I did. I didn't even leave my apartment until 9:00. I didn't walk into the lobby of my Agency until nearly TWO HOURS later (normally a roughly 35 minute trek including a stop at Starbucks).

The worst of it was the 20 - 30 minutes that we stood absolutely motionless with no announcements in the dark tunnel outside the Columbus Circle station. Almost every cubic square inch of that subway car was jam packed with sweaty body parts in a way that made it impossible for anyone to feel clean. We were all frustrated, anxious, late for work and MISERABLE.

Not for one minute did the thought, "I need to get out of this god-forsaken city" cross my mind. Instead I thought, "I should make a donation to Straphangers."

Thursday:
I have already expressed the ballet flat induced fashion-fatigue I've been experiencing, so I'm starting to brave kitten heels in the office. My balance is compromised enough that I can't walk around on sidewalks in them, so today I wore flip-flops for the commute and then slipped on some cute green suede mules with a modest heel to wear for the day. Because I'm kind of old school, I don't think it's right to be seen in flip flops in the office, so I make the switch a block away. You never know whom you'll run into on the elevator.

The same philosophy applies going home, so I waited until I was out of the building and had crossed 8th Avenue into the side street before making the switch. I leaned against a concrete tree planter to keep my balance through the footwear swap. First one shoe, then the other, then a quick Blackberry check. The whole transaction took maybe a minute and a half. With mules safely back in my gigantic purse, I continued flip-flopping down 49th Street cursing the tourists for taking over the theater district.

Guess what was going on just on the other side of the planter? Not two feet from me? A homeless man was standing up from his evidently fake wheelchair and peeing against the same hunk of concrete I had been leaning against for the last 90 seconds.

Did I bat an eye? No. I simply thought, thank God none of that got on my cute suede shoes.

I know these anecdotes only fortify the soundness of others' decisions to live in a location that affords a house with plenty of space, a yard, maybe even a pool - and virtually no risk of anyone peeing on them during their commute.

As for me, I loved the camaraderie that came with being stuck in a laughably ridiculous commuting situation that could not have resulted had we all been behind the wheel of our own cars. And I laughed for at least two blocks over the audacity of the "cripple" peeing in broad daylight right smack in front of the Ambassador Theater amidst throngs of tourists.

I love this city.

Can TMI lead to DWI?

In preparation for the tournament, I went to Costco with my brother and his wife to load up on beverages. We have big tubs of iced drinks placed throughout the course. Well, we bought so much beer that I had to fill out a form that gets registered with the State! What the hell!? Feels very big brother to me.

I filled it out, but should I be worried? I haven't driven a car since my surgery, but I thought I might have had to tomorrow. We have a LOT of stuff to bring out for our silent auction. Turns out we've squeezed it all into four other vehicles, and we are going to make one extra trip for a large screen TV. No driving for me.

But I'm feeling ready and may try on Tuesday while I'm still out in the burbs at my mom's. What if I get pulled over? Given my vertigo status, I know for a fact I would fail a line test on the spot. Then all they have to do is check in their computer and see that I purchased 288 cans of beer on Friday. Perhaps Nicole Ritchie and I can share a cell.


On a separate note, we're very depressed about the weather report in the Traynor household tonight. There is a good chance for on and off showers all during our tournament tomorrow. We've always held our event on the last Thursday in July. This year was the first year we were given the option to hold it on a Monday - so we thought that would be easier for folks to take a day off - make a long weekend out of it. But we knew we were tempting the golf gods. When we booked it I said to my brother, "This will probably be the first year we get rain."

What can I say? Golfers are hearty souls. That's why there is an object called a "golf umbrella."

Guest Blogger (Terry) - TV Review: "Flight of the Conchords"

"The Sopranos" is history.

No more "Deadwood".

"Entourage" is great, but it's only a half hour.

And let's face it - "John From Cincinnati" just ain't getting the buzz.

What's a Sunday night HBO fan to do?

I'm going with "Flight of the Conchords", a show about about the eponymous, slightly dim-witted folk singing duo from New Zealand trying to make it in New York while sharing a tiny apartment on the Lower East Side. Their efforts are "aided" by supporters like Murray, their manager, who also works as "Cultural Attache" at the New Zealand Consulate - which is portrayed in the show as a finished basement in Levittown, c. 1974. Their #1 (read: only) fan, Mel, is a daft groupie who stalks them, and their buddy Dave's advice is heartfelt but mostly idiotic.

As a bonus, every now and then the characters break into song about whatever happens to be going on in their lives at that moment - usually some romantic agony or ecstasy. The songs are presented as sort of surreal, MTV videos, and are so ridiculous they are sublime.

Bret and Jemaine (in Kiwi, that's "Brit and J'mayn") are played by Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement, and they are dry-as-a-bone deadpan, and hilarious.

If you haven't already, give "Flight of the Conchords" a try! Here's a sample clip:

Aussie-Aussie-Aussie-Oy-Oy-Oy-Vey!

You will not believe this video of Jake Brown. While competing in yesterdays X Games in LA, this 32 year old man fell from over 40 vertical feet and somehow walked away. He is hospitalized today, but his injuries are not as serious as you would expect after seeing him fall 5 stories.

This video is truly shocking, but somewhat easier to watch when you know the outcome. Make sure you watch to the end to see the slow motion. He literally hits the ground so hard his shoes explode off his feet.

I didn't believe he could walk away until I heard he was an Aussie. Those folks are just not like anyone else.

PS: Terry and I are in a debate over the title of this post. He tells me no one has heard the phrase "Aussie-Aussie-Aussie-Oy-Oy-Oy." It's a cheer of national pride for Australians. Like "U - S - A! U - S - A!", but without the Confederate flags and tinged with less xenophobia.

Update: Apparently YouTube has removed the video due to copyright issues with whatever network aired the X Games. Good thing, I suppose - it was the stuff nightmares are made of.

Taking recovery one leopard-patterned step at a time

Have you heard of the phenomenon whereby patients rebel against their treatments? Diabetics stop taking their insulin. HIV positive individuals won't take their cocktails. Against a disease over which they have no control, this is a means to assert their own will.

Well, in my head I know I'm still balance challenged, but in my heart I'm so bored with flats. Truly. I'm feeling the need to rebel. And these cute numbers are reduced for the Nordstrom's anniversary sale. It's not like it's an outright heel - a wedge is practically a flat, for heaven's sake!

Bloomingdale's inflicted temporary insanity

I already have a well documented problem with circles. But since a friend staged an intervention, I've been self aware and have been recovering nicely without rehab. So how can I explain Saturday's purchase?

I was in the market for something colorful. We give a prize for "Most Colorful Pants" at my tournament - a playful tribute to the outfits my father had the nerve to wear both on and off the course. Although I can't win, I like to support the fun. I bought this dress at Bloomie's SOHO. Not really that colorful, but all the Fall lines are out already. Pickings were slim. I was thinking some bright Tory Burch shoes could punch it up. Anyway, I truly didn't even realize it had circles all over it until I got home.


It's almost as though my subconsciousness was working so hard to suppress the circular pattern that it didn't allow the more obvious problem to emerge. Seconds behind the discovery of the offending geometry, a realization that I already have almost the same exact dress came rushing into my brain.


The dress is going back. But it's all working out for the best. It forced further exploration for something colorful and I think I have outdone myself this year.


Bless her cotton socks, the sales lady asked me if I wanted to join the store's loyalty program. Once I spent $300 I would get 5% off every future purchase. Of tacky crap. No thanks. (By the way - I got them on sale, thank God, because the original price was $80! For these!?)

Shameless promotion

Sorry about the lack of posts. I haven't had much time for blogging this week because:

1. I am expected to show up at the office every single day in exchange for my paycheck (!?!?)
2. Lately, every moment of my free time has been spent on tournament activities.

There is still time to sign up for my tournament on Monday. Don't you deserve a long weekend? Play hooky and come enjoy a round of golf on the beautiful Red Course at Bethpage. The US Open was played here in 2002 and will be again in 2009. But it's real claim to fame is the Annual Bud Traynor Classic.

Sign up here. If you're a single - we'll pair you up with a fun group. Or at least a group. We serve beer on the course - so you won't care if your partners are boring.