STEREOTYPES

I can't tolerate them. They are simply shallow. They are exclusionary. They are erroneous.

Whether predicated on religion, race, origin, education, weight or height, occupation or avocation, if you think you can categorize or pigeon hole individuals (the operative word), then you are going to be disappointed when your expectations do not match up with actuality.

So is a universal truth a stereotype? Huh? How many different snowflakes did researches study before they announced no two are alike? What if one year there were two or four or six just alike? Or do they have anyone who periodically checks those things?

What about fingerprints? How do we know that no two are alike? They say everyone has a double. Just two weeks ago at our son's church, a member asked me if I wasn't the guy who got baptised two weeks ago. Then when she realized "Oh no, your Scott's dad!" she was somewhat embarrassed. I don't know if she ever found that handsome guy she was looking for, but when I scanned the crowd, I saw no one similar looking to me. But who's to say there's not someone somewhere that has identical prints? Or DNA?

It wasn't all that long ago that we knew relatively little about that molecule. Now people are doing the time for leaving some molecular id at the scene. But what if the stereotype is wrong? Ok, maybe it's a push to call it that. What if the basic premise is wrong? Just look at global warming. Real or imagined? Accurate or doctored?

Maybe these same researcher scientists were the same who used to suggest to doctors that they have their overweight patients take up smoking. Who could know?

But I have my doubts about no two snowflakes.

I'M FORTUNATE TO HAVE A SUNROOF OR IS IT A MOONROOF?

If it is, it sure doesn't get used much in that capacity. Jammy time comes early for me these days.

But the picture of a 1934 Packard convertible really looks good to me. Loyal reader(s) know I don't care too much for American made cars anymore. It started back in 1980 when I bought a Trans AM or a Grande Am: all I know is we called it the Eggmobile because it always smelled like eggs from incomplete combustion, I suppose.

But besides that, the unremarkable body styles, lack of sporty look, lack of anything distinguishable (the other day, a friend who saw me driving my wife's 10 year old Jaguar thought it a Hyundai) and even limited safety features have soured me.

But maybe I've been spoiled. Not that I ever saw a Packard like this. I have seen great looking older cars and can identify several back in the 50's by the make and model. No more. All look too much like the 1992 Camry to me.

But (hey that's the 4th paragraph in a row that I've begun with but. And I used to impress upon my writing students to vary sentence beginnings and lengths for an improved style.) But back to the sunroof/moonroof convertible. The last convertible we had was when I was in junior high. Even then another woman in my life didn't like it always blowing her hair. My mother, of course. Now another woman doesn't even care for the sunroof being opened. Either the wind, sun, noise, rain, well maybe not rain, all affect her negatively, so Unless I'm solo, it's closed.

But to live in 1934 and have this brand spanking new beauty... I dunno. I'd probably have been stuck with another disapproving female.

POTUS

I'm starting to get real tired. I'm ready for a new POTUS. The one we have is playing with my health, finances, and now security.

If you're unsure of POTUS, it stands for President of the United States. Rather than play HORSE in basketball during half-time of an NCAA tournament game, he chose to play POTUS with Clark Kellogg, former player/ current announcer. He also threw (poorly) out the first pitch of the baseball opener in DC.

It seems he's doing a lot lately. He's starting to remind me of fictional Presidential candidate Pat Paulson who's most memorable line to me was "And for those of you who think me God-like,'verily I say unto you'." Only this POTUS isn't joking.

So what has angered me so much about his leadership this week? Only the nuclear agreement he signed with Russia. With so little fanfare. So little media coverage considering the enormity of it. Are you kidding me? The US, the most powerful nation in the history of civilization voluntarily opts to reduce our nuclear arsenal in hopes that other countries will follow! And be forthright about their reductions?

Furthermore, he thinks he can eliminate all nuclear weapons from the planet. Can you spell grandiose? Delusions of grandeur is a sign of mental illness. This is insane.

Ok, I'm just about done. But we have to inspect everything this POTUS does. Very carefully. Verily carefully.

And pray that he sticks to basketball and baseball photo ops.

SPRING HAS SPRUNG, FALL HAS FELL (SIC)

Springtime has returned to our valley. Of course I love it. With one caveat. Summer is coming and that's not good when you reside where we do.

With our Winter rains, we are busting out all over with flower displays. The cactus flower picture is just one example. Mexican poppies have gone nuts this year as well as agave shoots that split their foundations as they point their new growth to the sky.

Bougainvilleas are radiant purple or various shades of red. The smell of orange blossoms is almost sickening in their sweet aroma. So are the yellow monkey balled acacia which strangle me right now. And I used to blame that allergy on the palo verde.

One day two weeks ago when winds were excessive, we observed the pollen just raining down from several trees lining a hole on The Biltmore Links Course. They left bright yellow residue on the bare ground directly under them. They looked like a chemical spill or Weed-B-Gone on steroids.

When the saguaros start blooming, usually in early May, that's indicative of fewer 90 degree days and the onset of triple digits. But for snowbirds who leave before that annual rite of Spring, they're missing something pretty spectacular.

OWLS RULE FOR ME

I really like birds. Herons, cardinals (of course), eagles, weavers--well there aren't too many birds that I don't like. Except crows and grackles and starlings, ravens and the ones who keep making their nests on the top of our wreath on the front door.

We have a huge door that looks rather barren without something adorning it. We have enough of a portico (heck I don't know if we have one of those) or fancy front porch covering that it doesn't get sunlight to fade, so we decorate year round.

It's not easy finding just the right wreath. My wife's words. But she's considerate enough to value my opinion so we go wreath shopping once in awhile. The purpose for our last trek was dictated by real birds who nested and stunk up the old wreath.

With Obamanomics being what they are, it's difficult to find flower shops in AZ that haven't shut their doors. Ok, we went to one that had closed, but it was one that we used to frequent when W was only allocating millions and billions instead of billions and trillions.

I could go on about wreath hunting, but on the third shop we tried we found a Spring wreath, green with just enough artfully displayed silk sprigs and shoots, to warrant hanging. I can't decide if the silk looks so real that the birds think someone has already done the legwork for them, or they just see an opportunity for creative improvisation. But they're back.

So where do the owls come in? Well, you see, I'm getting ready to ascend a ladder and tear out that nest. Mumbling because it will require a trip to the garage for the ladder for which I only need two steps. Also, the time invested in wreath-hunting and the expense of the decoration. Did I mention effort?

About the owls. If it were burrowing owls, hoot owls, barn owls, albino owls or any other kind, I'd leave the nests. I'd be willing to change wreaths more often. That's how much I like them. And cardinals, and maybe a heron or two, a yellow throated weaver...

OPENING DAY

TGOD. Thank God for Opening Day. What a great day! What a great time. Baseball is back. While it may not be the game it was thirty or forty years ago
it's still the best game.

Oh, I know; it doesn't have the draw of the NCAA Final 4, which irony of irony concludes on Opening Day. It doesn't have the purity of The Masters Golf Tournament that also ironically begins the same week. It doesn't have the action of the NFL. The pure athleticism of hockey or the NBA's fast pace.

But what it lacks in those, it has history; it has charm; it has longevity.

What Father and Son never played catch? Simply catch, whose point was made in Field of Dreams. What father never took his son to a baseball game? Had discussions on the hometown team and its chances for the pennant?

What sport can trace its origins back to the Nineteenth Century? Possibly golf, but not on such a large scale. A universal appeal where all is needed to be played by the masses is a ball and bat. A glove is helpful but not a requirement.

What sport begins with Spring Training as a forerunner to the season itself? Who looks forward to NFL Summer Camp? Certainly not the players. Who gets excited about the pre-season football games? Spring Training has a draw of its own and a financial boom to Florida and Arizona. Is there even a warm up time for basketball and hockey? And golf? If there is I'm unaware. And uninterested.

But I could tell you that Garcia, Pagnozzi, Craig, and Mather are rookies to watch along with Strahinova and David Freese. I can tell you who the Cardinals signed in the off-season and who they turned down for one last hurrah--Jimmy Edmonds.

Red Schoendiest, starting his ridiculous 66th year with the Cardinals said it best when he was quoted years ago saying, "Baseball leaves us at the worst possible time--Winter." But it returns, with the Spring and blooms and blossoms and brings happiness and heartache.

As some sayings work when turned around (like time heals all wounds--time wounds all heels) Hope springs eternal--Spring's hope eternal. Well at least for most Major League clubs.

Here's a toast to the Cardinals for the 2010 Season. May it bring another championship beginning with the great call later today of "Play ball!"

BALL SCOOP

I don't even carry one of these in my golf bag anymore. Actually I never carried one that looked like this. It's well, too springy.

But a friend of mine has one even in worse shape that this contraption. I estimate he paid 15 bucks for it and he has scooped out golf balls totally $300 or so. About three dozen have been mine over the course (no pun) of 35 years. So 1 a year's not that bad.

A favorite line of his was saying that a playing partner needed to have his scoop re-gripped because he had used it so much. But his best line was about 14 clubs. Golf rules dictate that the player carry a maximum of 14 clubs in his bag. He counted a partner's clubs and informed him that the scoop counted as a club and he would have to take it or another club out of his bag. The partner believed him.

The more I think about it, he had a fixation with golf ball scoops. Another partner of ours is known for ball hawking or dipping in the waters for errant shots. But he also uses his long scoop to fetch golf balls hit in neighboring yards. One day he was told that if he got just a little longer scoop he could reach the dining table and snag a portion of the meal.

My reason for not carrying a ball dipper or scoop is that if I am blessed with 30 more years of golf playing, I couldn't use up all the golf balls I have. So I'm leaving the spoils for others. Since our house borders the golf course, we get an average of 1 or 2 a day. Even I don't play that much golf. Don't envy me though, since we have an average expense of nearly $1,000 per year for broken roof tiles, windows, skylights, outdoor table tops, and stucco repairs. Not to mention reparations for our golf ball net which meets the requirement of our HOA, but is not tall enough for slicing golfers.

I guess I could add to my collection if I sat around a patio table with a long scoop and stuck it through our fence to retrieve golf balls close but not in our yard. But if I ever feel the need, I'll get a better scoop that the one pictured.