Your Bucket List When Visiting Kermit, TX.

1. Find Kermit Texas on a map.
2. Take a drive down Tommy Thompson Street.
3. Google Tommy Thompson then Google Kermit Texas then go to the bathroom.
4. Take a swat at a Yellow Jacket (Ha!, That's the mascot!) No, really don't hit anyone.
5. Sit outside the Winkler County News Bldg. and count pick up trucks until your eyes bleed.
6.Have 4 people stand in different directions and race to see who finds an empty lot first.
7. Visit the art museum containing the largest collection of Modular Constructivism and Northern European Renaissance artworks in the world.
8. Visit the Kermit International Airport, Nail Salon and Pet Supply Store.
9. Have your picture taken underneath the water tower and then file a stolen picture report at the Sheriff's office.
10. Drive back down Tommy Thompson Street and ask Corrine Mae if she's had that thing under her armed burned off yet.

The Bobble Tolls for Thee

I am a 42 year old male with a wife and two children. I work out at Lifetime Fitness in North Dallas. Like most men, I am fully aware of the awkward insecurities and homophobia that permeate the men’s locker room at any gym or public restroom. I typically maneuver my way through the restroom like a Blue Angel flying in formation trying not to touch wings with another pilot. However, there are always the unabashed naked rovers with all the modesty of Caligula who frolic about like they are in a Thai bath house. Usually these are older P-51’s with damaged landing gear and spent ammunition. One such older gentleman works out at my gym. He typically changes in my cluster of lockers.

One morning, I couldn’t help but notice that he brandished a bobble around the end of his…fuselage. Like a salmon swimming upstream, my eye caught the glint of something shiny and out of place. I focused on it for some time before I realized what I was starring at. I was hooked. I heard him speak up. It startled me back to consciousness.

“It’s a cock ring”, he said.

Mortified I quickly diverted my glance. He giggled a little bit. I was grateful because he broke the ice and let me off the hook. Now at this point, I should mention that Lifetime Fitness has cold hard granite benches between the lockers. He sat down on the granite and I heard the bobble clink like a beer bottle in the recycling bin. It clinked several times as I turned my back and continued to get undressed. I grabbed my towel and ducked into the steam bath.

Some of the old timers at the club figured out that by placing a towel over the thermostat in the steam room produced an inordinate amount of steam, blinding in fact. I situated myself in the corner and endured the heat and steam for about 12 minutes. I was light headed and loopy from the heat. My heart rate slowed to a crawl. I was fatigued. I heard the door open. Someone walked in and took a seat on the other end of the steam bath. I heard the now familiar clink. I sounded like my neighbors cat lost in the fog. The steam was so thick that I had about 1 inch of visibility. I wanted to appear open minded and indulge my curiosity. I was comfortable enough after sharing a giggle with my new found perverted acquaintance; I asked the question that was “bobbling” around in my head.

“Do you have to roll that thing back when you have sex?”

The question was followed by awkward silence; no reply only steam. I waited and my fears were confirmed as the steam cycle ended and the room dissipated. I found a entirely different gentleman with a metallic water bottle and a cap attached by a carabineer clip. At this point he’s was just staring at me. 15 seconds had passed in gut wrenching silence. I looked down at his water bottle resting by his side. Once again caught in unfamiliar territory, I could not help but notice that the gentleman that now sat naked and alone with me in the steam room was unbobbled but also uncircumcised. I wanted to die. Like a panicked squid squirting ink to confuse and disorient it's enemy, I said the first thing that came to my lips: “You’re not my Dad.” I shamefully walked out of the steam bath and hid in a shower for no less than 20 minutes.

Horror Scope

Cancer
June 22 - July 22-Monday
"Usually you enjoy talking with others, Cancer, but today you won't even want to answer the phone. Your physical stamina and mental energy are low, and you could feel out of sorts. It might help if you go for a walk sometime in the afternoon. You won't want to waste your evening lying around the house. Get the endorphins going and then go to a movie. You'll soon be your old self again! "

I read this and then I had a thought. Who is writing this? Who is my metaphysical advisor on all things supernatural and astrological? There is no credit line. There is no by line for my horoscope, at least on MSN. Does someone need certification in astrological science to be able to interpret and council on the Zodiac? If so, who is the governing body that bestows this accreditation? I checked and from what I can tell an astrological advisor does not have to be board certified by American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology, American Astronomical Society, or even the American Federation of Astrologers. What if I take their advice? Is there any liability? Is there a recourse or regulatory commission established for bogus horoscopes? The answer is no.
I read these every day because I have elected to view this content module as a part of my MSN Profile. Almost every online publication and web portal offers a daily horoscope. You can find your horoscope in the newspaper, on your favorite website or magazine or even on TV. You can even see it here on my blog if I choose to add the application. The question remains, who is giving the horoscope? Is it all coming from the same channeled spirit advisor? Perhaps it’s the Jamaican lady I see on some infomercial at 2:00 in the morning in between the “Girls Gone Wild” and “Real Estate for Dummies” infomercials. Many people take these things seriously and consider them as some supernatural roadmap to the future.
If this information is provided from a not-so-trustworthy source, the outcome could be destructive if not dangerous. I’m sure there is an inherent disclaimer for the reader to take these general observations and speculations with a grain of salt. However, I am confident that one has the potential to be subversive with the daily doses of advice and use the intergalactic map of destiny to steer someone into harm’s way. That is if one is so inclined. I may not be inclined to harm anyone, but I am inclined to jest at the expense of an unsuspecting dullard who is not responsible for truth and common sense. Seriously, if you subscribe to a theology based on mundane observations and sycophantic affirmations, you get what you deserve. If I were to consider ordaining myself as a high priest of the Zodiac and offering unsolicited council on some media outlet to any poor devoted schlep that might read my false recommendations, then I would say reader beware. In the spirit of fun, I might post something like this:

Cancer/ June 22 - July 22
Monday- Today you might feel a little sluggish and slightly unmotivated. This is because it is Monday and you spent the entire weekend sleeping in and eating and drinking things that you probably shouldn’t have. You might feel a bit inundated at work. This is because you put so much crap off on Friday because you were in a good mood that it was Friday and you could not wait until the weekend. Try to plan out your week. This will help you get back in your routine. Eating healthy is a good choice. When is it not?

Tuesday- Beware of the pitfalls of procrastination. Yes, it’s no longer Monday. Get your ass to work! You will reconnect and meet up with some old friends today. Facebook currently has over 350,000,000 users including that guy from your high school gym class that you may call friend in a pinch. Do not be alarmed if they do not respond to you right away. You have some secrets that stand in the way of these relationships and it will take time to ease back into sharing your innermost thoughts. That’s because you don’t really know the guy from your gym class well enough to tell him about your sock fetish. Yes, I know about that.

Wednesday-This will be backwards day for you. Take half a bottle of Tylenol PM. Now shower and get dressed and then put your pajamas back on. Drive in backwards to work. Speaking of work, someone there is watching you. It’s Stan from accounting. If you work at a large company, than it could be a Fran or Ann or even a tan man with two hands and he/she may not work in accounting. Stan is the anti-Christ or in this case, the anti-Cancer. He must be destroyed. Take a semi-automatic weapon to work and kill the anti-Cancer or anyone that gets in your way. Some may try to stop you or get in your way. Shoot them. Be confident and secure in your decision. Don’t let people get in the way of your dreams or your nightmares.

Thursday- Wait, you didn’t go through with that whole anti-Cancer extermination did you? Oh boy. I’m sorry; I was a little tipsy yesterday from having Sangria at lunch. I was just having a goof. Today (if you did ignore yesterday’s horoscope) will be a productive day for you. The Sagittarius is in the house of the moon of Taurus and the plate ran away with the spoon. Go get the spoon back. We may want to eat Tapioca later. This means that this is the day that you will have clarity on that thing that you were thinking about and were not really sure about but today you will be a little more sure or at least comfortable about having made some sort of decision either way regarding that thing or whether you want to do that thing. You know what I’m talking about or you will know.

Friday- Today is Friday and as they say "Thank God it’s Friday". Beware false idols or chain restaurants that bear the name of an acronym of a cliché. You may spend eternity in damnation or get overcharged for a weak tropical cocktail. Today is the day you will find peace and comfort…and joy, comfort and joy. Oh tidings of comfort and joy. Don’t forget there are only 260 more shopping days until Christmas. Oh, but you don’t believe in Christmas, do you? Otherwise you would not be reading this stupid horoscope in blind faith that someone or something shares some banal commonality that predetermines your destiny and therefore absolves you of any forbearance, moral dilemma, resolution, or personal responsibility for your own life. That’s right. It was all mapped out before you got here, wasn’t it? You just had the dumb luck of being born between the days of June 22 and July 22, didn’t you? If that’s the case, then avoid fatty foods, get plenty of rest and enter you MasterCard/Visa number, expiration date and security code in the form below. DO IT NOW! It’s your “destiny”.

Man-cation 2010: Vail & Breckenridge

In January, I decided to take a much needed "man-cation." This time, I went with Todd from work. We left on a Friday morning and skied Vail that afternoon. Todd got sick the day we left and his health deteriorated throughout the trip. This put a damper on the brewery tours, but he was a trooper and rallied for a few nights out on the town. The conditions were beautiful; sunny with packed powder. We missed the fresh powder by a few days but we were just glad to be there. The crowds were subdued and the weather was perfect.

Here is the first run of the day.



I guess I was more out of shape than I thought. We had to stop a few times on the first run and avoid the moguls to stretch out. We were there for the half day so it didn't matter. We just enjoyed the views and tried to remember we were in Dallas that morning.

No, that is not Zach Galifianakis from the Hangover. On the second day, I stopped at a local barber and got it all chopped off. It was fun while it lasted but truth be told, I was looking forward to a shave & haircut.

This next clip I placed the Flip camera in my goggles and filmed a run going down the back side on Yonder Gully. There was still some nice powder left. I was shocked to see the video turned out. I thought about adding some high amped music to it, dropping in a helicopter shadow and speeding up the frames, but who am I kidding. I was able to edit out all of the names of the runs we were on like "Lame Boy, Little Fluffy, Snow Queen and Gentle Bird." We had a good time.

That night we stayed in Denver. Thanks to my overconfident and rather obstinent sense of directions, we got lost in Denver. Todd was ready to kill me. The poor guy was beat and just wanted to go to sleep. The next day we awoke to sunshine and blue skies. After a lovely continental breakfast provided by our friends at La Quinta, we jumped in the car and headed up to Breckendridge. I was pleasantly suprised at just how beautiful Breckenridge was. We wasted no time hitting the slopes and made the most of a perfect winter holiday.

That night we stayed in Beaver Creek. We had a chance to catch the Cowboy Game at a local bar named the Dusty Boot. The next day we explored more of Breckenridge, including the famed Breckenridge Brewery. They have some of the best beer made in America. I had a chance to sample my favorite beer, Small Batch 471 sitting only a few hundred feet from where it was made, delish!

Waking Up

I guess I am what you call a morning person. I truly enjoy waking up. I enjoy it so much that I try to suspend it. I drag it out over my whole morning. When I go to bed at night, I look forward to the event of waking up. It feels a little bit like time travel. I never remember falling asleep. Who doesn't love a good nap? I give myself a solid bump on the arm if I know I got some solid REM. The sculptor Harry Geffert was asked once what motivates him to create art. He said "When I was about 8 years old, I fell sound asleep on top of a cow in a pasture in the middle of the day. I have spent the rest of my life trying to recapture that moment in my art." Sleep is a powerful thing. Waking up is the first experience you have every day (unless you stayed up all night.)

I never remember drifting off to sleep. Something grabs me and knocks me out. Somehow I am magically transported to 4:00, 5:30 or 6:30, when I hear the sound of Donna Summer on my alarm clock. I keep my alarm clock radio set to wake at 6:30 am on the seventies station. Nothing gets me reaching for the snooze button faster than a little disco. The songs are all engrained in my memory and they give me something to focus on to pull me into the world of the living.

I write on this topic because this is the season that sleep comes so easy for me. It's spring time. I'm not sure if it's the onset of warm weather, the time change or the frequent drops in barometric pressure with the rain storms. Spring is always the best season for sleep. I should really say that it’s the best season for waking up. Yes, the sleep is nice but it’s the waking up that I really enjoy. Most people say they hate to wake up. I hate to get up and go to work, but I love to wake up. I love to spend 30-45 minutes celebrating the new bed by lying motionless. It’s the act of waking up I enjoy. There are no worries, no mistakes made and no arguments…yet.

I stare at the ceiling for 10 minutes and run my feet back and forth under the covers. My dog Fiddler can hear me so he clicks his way across the hardwood floors and his nose pushes the bedroom door open. “CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK…” He practices his own waking ritual with a quick downward dog and a yelping yawn. He sniffs my shoes on the floor. Then he heads straight for my side of the bed banging his tail into everything and panting loudly. I roll over half crocked across the comforter. My movement makes him bang his tail that much faster. He knows I’m awake now.

I feel the cool, grass laden breezes coming through the open window. Sometimes it’s just starting to rain and I can make out a faint rumble off in the distance and drops of rain hitting the leaves outside. That’s the best. I can smell all of the new blossoms and green tree buds. If I’m lucky I will catch a hint of bacon on the air from a neighbor’s house. I can hear a loud exchange of a thousand cackles, twerps, cheeps and caws coming from hot and bothered birds. I sit up disoriented and unaware of my present situation. I take a few minutes to try and analyze the dream I just had. Sometimes I feel like calling in sick to work to spend some time working through whatever self psychoanalysis I can sort out from my dream. “This stuff is important!” I would tell them. “I am on the brink of a major self discovery.”

I think about hot tea or coffee to help clear my head. I think back on my dreams again. I start in on my dream again. What the hell did that mean? The golf tournament in Brazil that I can never make the tee time because of an affair I am having with my 3rd grade teacher. The purple sock I can’t get off of my foot because it’s a mile long. Did I mention that I’m sitting on the Chrysler building? There are always the snakes.

I fall back into my pillows and contemplate. I think to myself, “Today is different.” Of course it’s not. It’s the same day that I had yesterday. It’s the same day I will have tomorrow. I’ll usually forget about it half way to work on my commute. My blissful condition of rest and self affirmation is quickly replaced with rage for the jack-hole that just cut me off, “JACK-HOLE!” It begins again; the day that will leave me fraught with anxiety, fatigued and confused; the day that will die in my sleep and lead me back to another wake.

Starbucks offers first peek at "its not a Starbucks" cafe

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/businesstechnology/2009527518_starbucks24.html
Shared via AddThis

"The culture is pushing back from the corporate establishment and moving toward more organic, small business."-said customer Scott Christensen, of Puyallup

I apologize now for the use of trendy cliché’s, but really? REALLY? Seriously? How un-small can a company like Starbucks be? In my opinion, Mr. Christensen was unable to recognize a retail concept being test marketed for a potential mega-chain. The article asserts that the 15th Avenue Cafe is a departure from big business as usual for Starbucks, the largest coffee retail chain in the world. The new restaurant has an independent look and feel with its interior comprised of recycled elements, a scaled down beverage offering and a bistro fare. I can't tell if Starbucks just tried too hard on this one or didn't try hard enough. It attempts to leverage street credit (literally) by naming the store after it's geographical location. The name is about innocuous as "Main Street". This is to invoke the perception that it's just a part of the local surroundings.

It's a local stop for local folks, "Inside, an ABC news crew prepared a national broadcast about the new Starbucks store that's so heavily focused on its locale that it shed its corporate name." I don't think that is the real reason Starbucks shed it's corporate name or the fact that they invited the major networks to cover the opening. People who live in Seattle know that they have tried this before. It was previously called "Starbucks Cafe". A little less deceptive I think. This is similar to McDonalds when they opened Chipotle. Everyone knew it was the giant mega corporation hiding its name behind one of its "orphan" brands. Coincidentally, McDonalds now offers McCafe espresso drinks. Starbucks is going head to head with them for the market share. A company that takes on McDonalds can hardly be described as small, no matter how many adaptations it hides behind. At least in that business scenario I'm surprised that people actually still fall for this kind of this mega-corporation-trying-not-to-look-like-a mega-corporation brand positioning.

I’m not surprised that a Seattle based company would cook up something like this. The people in Seattle claim to hate big business. I have never seen so many protests erupt when a major chain tries to grab some real estate in that town. You can’t put up a Wal*Mart with out bulldozing a few dozen people. These are the same people that work for some of the biggest companies in the world (Boeing, Microsoft, Amazon, Weyerhaeuser, Nintendo, Costco…) but no one is chaining themselves to their front doors. Does this frappacino head really think that if this venture takes off for Starbucks they will endeavor to keep one out of every strip mall across America? You know Starbucks Coffee was once a quirky unknown venture that opened in Pike Place Market in Seattle, Washington, in 1971. The original store was an “organic” small business. Now they have a corporate headquarters that looks like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory and they peddle energy drinks at the local 7-11 (another mom and pop operation gone multinational). Trust me. Starbucks is not downsizing. That’s like saying Amway morphing into Quixtar was an attempt to shrink their business. Quite frankly, I’m surprised they haven’t put a Starbucks inside the Starbucks Café that’s not a Starbucks.

We are wha???

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5U6B0J-z54&NR=1

I know, I know. Those who know me will instantly say “Here he goes again. Here comes Sir Cynical, Captain Crap-On, Debbie Downer’s not so distant cousin”. I watched this clip and I couldn’t help but laugh at the obvious contradiction, not to mention the blatant hypocrisy and superficiality.
“Oh, go fly a kite you sour puss!”
No I hear ya, I hear ya. Please indulge me this small bit of hating. I recognize that the end goal here is to sell cologne. Additionally, I recognize the marketing and media mechanics at work here, granted. But please, “We are one?” I speak for my self when I say that I could never in a million years see my self skipping along through the California country side with 20 or so paper thin supermodels professing my affiliation and complete “one-ness” with this pantheon of sexual wayfarers (as much as I would like). Jerry Seinfeld said once “only ten percent of the total population is good looking.” I think they have at least 1 percent of them in this video. Seriously, can you see you or one of your relatives in this herd of denim clad prima donnas? This is one club that I would NOT join if they chose me as a member. How many of us would? Besides, my pasty and freckled insipidness is contrary to their calculated ambiguous ethnicity (not to mention my beer gut). It’s like the cast party for Gattica. I'm curious why this guy didn’t make the cut. “Red Rover, Red Rover let Roy Weaver here come over".

I am tickled by the creative concept laid out here. The behind the scenes footage is the true punch line. When supermodel Cameron Russell claims that “we are all living in the same earth” and “we are the same” I choke up and nearly wet my fat self. Do you think she might like to spend the same quality time with her cosmic siblings in Wahoo, Nebraska? How often do you think she escapes the trappings of West Hollywood to connect with her earthen kin in Balch Springs, Texas? Can you see that group coming over the hill in say, Bixby, Oklahoma? As a matter of consideration, do you think any of them really wear CK One? Do you think they even have sweat glands? Do you think any of them have eaten in the past two days? The slogan should be "We are HUNGRY!"
What you can’t see just out of frame is the giant, impenetrable Hollywood bubble wall they run into after passing the cameras. No one this thin or good looking leaves Southern California except on Jet Blue via JFK. I guess this is what the natives look like in the dessert of California. Surely it is somewhere far from Modesto or Bakersfield. These are the real Beverly Hillbillies just out for a shirtless stroll through Santa Barbara.
On yet another level of this plastic fun ball of hilarity, I love how the crew takes great pride in being apart of this project. You almost think they are on a humanitarian mission in a third world country helping the unprivileged smell a little better. “For just a few pennies a day, you can help Umbutu get a six pack set of abs, chiseled features and an EMO wardrobe of monochromatic denim ensembles. He can teach his entire village to walk slow-mo in Sepia. Won’t you help?” You can’t write comedy like this. It has to be real. This is how they perceive the world around them (at least in front of the camera).
One question remains. Where the hell are they running off to? Is there a ½ off sale at Jimmy Choo? Is everyone racing for shotgun in a Prius? Is someone about to snag the last organic Acai Berry juice from the craft services table? Or is it a casting call for America’s Next Top Model? Run! Run fast my little muses of the denim desert. Youth fades, Ben & Jerry’s is irresistible and CK One is still the cologne of choice for over gelled, mall rat douche bags sipping on crown and coke at the ultra lounge in Woodbridge, New Jersey.
It's okay to hate beautiful people now and then. We all love to see them taken down a notch. Isn't that what sells millions of magazines? It's simply comical when they can come out with a campaign targeting all of us claiming to be one of us, one of the normal kind, one of the struggling schmucks who try to get by looking modestley human. We just try not to leave our fly unzipped or fall over things. We put our pants on ONE leg at a time. Don't hate me because I'm hating. After all, we are ONE.

A golf widow's guide

For the benefit of the wives so unfortunate to marry a sod seeker such as me, I write to the golfer that spends countless hours pursuing the futile mastery of a game called golf. Do you find yourself rushing out to the middle of a fairway during a thunderstorm with no regard for life or limb only to remark “Wow, I got the whole course to myself?” Do you sacrifice shame and self respect by scooping up left over balls from the putting green to hit a few extra at the range? Do you enjoy ball hunting almost as much as the game of golf itself? Do you wait out more than 3 frost delays in a year? Do you pair up with other pitiable duffers at your local golf course with whom you have had the dubious pleasure of pairing with before? Do you take in a beautiful vista only to wonder if it would make a nice Par 5? Are your car keys intertwined with golf tees, range tokens and ball markers? Do you maximize the full value of a sundowner rate despite complete darkness? Then please, read on. For the unfortunate family of habitual golfers that ignore crowded tee boxes, expensive courses and foul weather to chase a “stupid white ball” around a perfectly good municipal park for half a day, it is a curse. I claim myself among these hopeless hacks. We are time thieves to say the least and sad to say the most. We spend countless hours of separation from our families without so much as a phone call, a note or an email. There are some spouses who will say that golf is an evasive measure. They claim this is just a reason to spend time away from their loved ones to avoid conflict. They say it is a desperate attempt to escape doldrums and responsibilities of life. Scorned lovers should be so neglected. Wives, when your spouse tells you that he is going “double down” in the afternoon, you can only hope it is an admission of adultery that he speaks. A non-golfing wife may gain some perspective if she understands the bug a little better. Golf is not a causal diversion. It is not a pastime, hobby, leisure activity or sport. It is an all consuming paradox of the metaphysical and existential. It’s as if you are Albert Einstein on the cusp of the penultimate discovery of all physical and mathematical understanding with a note taped to your back that reads, “Kick me.” It is the rabbit hole of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and you can't seem to get there in 4 strokes. Take no personal offense. The golfer is a walking zombie seeking a swing he never finds, a putt that never drops and a crushing 350 yard drive that predestines two chilly dips and a 3 putt. In short, golf is a cosmic joke. The golf addict is the butt of said joke repeating the same mistakes over and over and erasing the past. Golf impairs long term memory. It creates delusions of clutch shots and soaring drives. It buries the painful memories of chunks, flubs and countless mulligan’s. Fate allows us a birdie on the last hole to ensnare us with visions of grandeur and green jackets; sounds of bouncing balls in a small plastic cup that siren us back into the worst round of our pathetic lives. The golfer is not haunted by ghosts, tempests or plague but rather harmless elements such as trees, ponds and sand.The loss of a loved one to this spiraling vortex of denial and escalating green fees is traumatic. Like all traumatic experiences, the families of these victims should be spared the grisly details of this affliction. There are some fine points in the rules of the game that are best left on the golf course. There are a few blades of truth regarding the game best kept swept under the golf mats. Innocent victims may be spared the embarrassing excuses and barefaced deceptions if the golfer considers a few points to shelter their loved ones. To this end, I have compiled a short list of golf-isms that we can all agree to share with our wives to help them better understand the game of golf. Don’t give me that look. Let’s just call them “winter rules.” May our better halves find solace in their naiveté. Not to mention the fact we can all enjoy a few extra holes and avoid divorce if we can all attest these truths of golf to be resolute and sincere in accordance with the United States Golf Association.

1. All players are required to finish all eighteen holes and can not leave the course under any circumstances (this includes weddings, dinner parties, that family thing at her sister's house) until they have completed all 18 holes and read all 18 of these golf rules.

2. St. Andrew is an actual saint whose wife thinks that golf is 36 holes and takes 8 hours and 41 minutes to play.

3. Golf is an aerobic activity. Write this down: GOLF IS AN AEROBIC ACTIVITY AND THEREFORE CONSIDERED EXERCISE.

4. The 19th hole is an actual part of the course where upon a tie must be decided by sudden death. Sometimes this can take up to three or four additional hours and may involve multiple locations.

5. All cart girls look like John Daly and work on a golf course to pay their way through medical school.

6. An average green fee is $3-$5 dollars. The cart is $65 plus a mandatory bar tab.

7. Yes, golf courses are open during snow storms, tornados and hurricanes. This includes the one on Golden Tees at your nearest sports bar.

8. There is no such thing as a “kitchen pass”. (If you need a “kitchen pass” to play golf then you need to be playing from the red tees. Additionally, you might want to stop at the pro shop and pick up some extra balls because it is apparent that you left your’s at home with your wife.)

9. Tee times work on a lottery system and once you get one, it’s your’s for the season. If you fail to appear, it will be forfeited to the guy with the “kitchen pass”.

10. Alcohol is strictly forbidden on the golf course. (That’s because they sell it on the golf course).

11. A rain check is good for many, many rounds throughout the rest of the life of the player holding it.

12. A tee time is a binding commitment by law and all players must appear 30 minutes prior or face criminal prosecution punishable by fine, imprisonment or additional tee times.

13. Concession stand hot dogs are made with organic free range beef and all natural ingredients. They will sustain a player’s energy for 36 holes and readily absorb 16 beers.

14. In accordance with proper golf etiquette, all cell phones must be turned off throughout the duration of the round to avoid interference with the cart’s navigational system.

15. A “Sundowner” is any round that starts after 1:00pm and must continue until after the sun has gone down, hence the name, “Sundowner”. “Twilight” in contrast starts at 8:00 am and typically requires the purchase of a “Sundowner”. Most courses will package the two together in what’s called an “Over-Nighter” that requires a minimum of five guys and a half rack.

16. Proper attire is required at all respectable golf courses. Such attire includes a new set of Ping G-10 irons, 3-PW and must be worn at all times. No shirt, no Pings, no service

17. Children under 30 are never allowed to accompany a golfer on a golf course, in a golf cart or near a driving range.

18. Average Par is 104 (This really has no bearing on the relationship of golfers and their wives but it sure would help my game if we can all agree).