Original Hipster’s Automatic Camera

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Pictured above is a Minolta fixed lens camera from the sixties. It was a very hopeful time in Japan and it was reflected in the solid manufacture of this camera which was meant to compete and undercut traditional German cameras like Rollei and Leica. This particular camera had an interesting provenance. When I was living in Washington Heights, I lived next door to an elderly lady, a Holocaust survivor, one of many who settled in Washington Heights after the war, including Henry Kissinger and many other German Jews. She was moving to Florida and was throwing out everything and this was her gift to me. She stopped using it after she first got it because she could never figure out how to use it and her husband used it only sparingly. It has its original box and manual and a handsome leather cover.

Jennifer had a box of old film which I’m sure has gone bad but may still take pictures -I am going to shoot it all and see what I get!

 

Typewriter, tip tip tip…

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Being someone who likes to write, I can tell you that writing on a manual typewriter is different. The typed words have the quality of memories that you keep in shoe boxes compared to the ones you keep on your smartphone. When you make a nice page of prose, you keep it in that shoebox which soon becomes a chest. These thoughts then are like friends that you keep in touch with a once a decade trip to Prince Edward Island, Patagonia, or the strip at Myrtle Beach where you can ride a cheap roller coaster shoulder to shoulder. 

I should plan a trip. 

Mitt Romney: Slash Amtrak, PBS Funding, But Defense Cuts And Middle Class Tax Cuts Off The Table


I’m reminded of Pottersville, USA, from It’s A Wonderful Life, where unless you have money, you will be consigned to manual labor before dying young of an industrial age diseases long ago cured or treated. Strip clubs for the girls, or concubinage if they want to work their way up. No birth control meaning you will have 5 to 10 mouths to feed. Endless wars to fight and to control the excess population. Gated communities will become fortresses. Obey or you’ll be tossed out to face the libertarian, post-apocalyptic paradise of no government, laws, or deodorant.
Read the Article at HuffingtonPost

The Metro Municipal -Highland Park GC

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One of the things about the USGA and GHIN is that you have to be part of a club to register your golf scores. I could join the several Northeast Ohio based golf associations, but it would be nice to just join a club. The problem is that a private club is a considerable commitment of time and money.Image So it was with some joy that I found Highland GC, which is a large 36 hole municipal course. The Red Course is two traditional nine holes that go out and back into the clubhouse, while the Blue Course is an 18 hole track that does not come back for a breather between nines. They are about ten minutes from my driveway, and there is hardly ever a line.

That kind of convenience comes with some compromises. There is no pro shop. There is no driving range. And finally, there is no club for affiliation and registering of scores. It is a municipal golf course and there is a golf egalitarianism that is lost in the rarefied districts of private club golf. In the parking lot, there is an eclectic mix of luxury sedans, beaters, and even a loaded pickup truck. At one time in America, all the different classes mixed in the public sphere, at school, work, and play. This has eroded and you can see it in the economic gerrymandering of neighborhoods and suburbs reflected in their anchor malls and grocery stores. The municipal golf course is the last preserve of the public commons. On the first tee this morning, I saw three groups lined up, Asians, African-Americans, and whites.

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Sadly, they were segregated and rather prickly, being all men of a certain age. If you are in the late fifties and are playing golf on a municipal course with swings that could be good for tree chopping, you worked hard all your life, never got handed anything, and have generally skeptical view of the world. On line, the reviews complain of lack of services, poor conditions, and discrimination (both forward and reverse). Yet even with the apparent race relations of a prison yard, and stiff necked, flinty eyed glare of blue collar pride, golf etiquette prevailed and all the groups let me play through with courtesy and even a little banter about the good weather. And that is the lesson for us all. In golf there is hope.

The African American twosome were the first to let me through. Both had the mien of philosopher kings, ancient wise men, spiritual healers. They clearly enjoyed each other’s company and were in no hurray, and shooed me onwards. The Caucasian twosome were clearly betting on everything that could be bet upon during a round of golf, and seemed to be making bets about me as I played through. They were congenial and courteous. The foursome of Koreans were the most fearsome. They didn’t smile at me when I asked to play through, and I held off speaking in Korean because I thought it might trigger some kind of outburst that could only come from 4 Korean dads, but I overheard them their captain say, let him through in Korean. They watched me tee off in silence and I bid them adieu.

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On the fairway!

The course had its problems -I suspect from lean budgets and a very hot and dry summer. There were dead patches on the greens and fairways, and uneven mowing on both. That said, from the tips, the course was a lot more fun than I could usually expect to get for 35 bucks.

Addendum: found out they mow on Monday. Once mowed, the fairways and greens are very nice. This place is growing on me. Plus, the starter asked me if I was a golf pro or golf writer, which really made my day.

Mars Rover Landing: Curiosity Lands Early Monday Morning (RECAP)


This bodes well for America’s well being. At one time, doing really cool stuff was America’s metier. Landing a robotic Chevy by a rocket crane on the 4th planet, in a crater that we chose -how cool is that? It must feel like this to pitch one’s first victory after time spent on the disabled list. Of course, if it had failed, it would be another boondoggle example of government waste that could be better spent as pocket change in the ass pockets of troglodytes who don’t care where Mars is and believe the universe was created in a week.

Why are we there? If you are at all curious, that is reason enough that we are there, but for those troglodytes who are upset about government spending, I can reassure you that landing that Chevy with the American Flag logo painted on the side is as good as planting a flag on the planet. I bet you there is even a hidden flag that can be planted if it came to that. Mars is ours.
Read the Article at HuffingtonPost

Highland Park GC

ImageI was looking for a driving range, and found a 36 hole public golf course instead only 5 minutes from my house. Getting there at 7:30, I was surprised to find that the Blue Course was open -basically first come first serve. I paid my 35 bucks for a cart, and played 18 holes in 2 hours, playing through three groups who were very gracious in letting me fly. 

I played from the tips and had a blast -the greens were slow and I could take dead aim and blast the ball into the cup. 

William Rose, Teacher of Golf

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When I started this blog, I had in mind what could pan out with mindful attention to golf. Would it improve my life? Would it make me a better man? Would my golf get better? One of the first people I turned to in this endeavor was Mr. William Rose, the emeritus golf professional at the Wakonda Club, and a quick sitdown with him was one of the last things I did at Wakonda before I took off for Ohio.

Born and raised in Duluth, Minnesota, Mr. Rose learned to play golf there and after he was demobilized from the Korean War, he joined the professional staff at the Evanston Country Club headed by the recently retired Johnny Revolta. Johnny Revolta, winner of the 1935 PGA Championship along with 25 other titles as a touring pro. Mr. Rose earned his craft from this great teacher and moved to Iowa, taking the position of head golf professional at the Wakonda Club in 1960.

Since that time, Mr. Rose tells me, the club has changed much and not at all. He remembers the club in a very different time when Wakonda was the sun around which everyone’s social and recreational orbits were centered. The pinnacle of that time was when Wakonda Club hosted the US Amateur tournament in 1963, the one where Deane Beman, future PGA Commisioner (the one who Jerry Pate tossed into the water hazard after winning the TPC at the TPC Sawgrass), won. The bridge from #18 tee to the fairway is called the Beman Bridge in honor of that victory.

In the tournament were Billie Joe Patten and Charlie Coe from Augusta National who noticed the work of Mr. Rose’s assistant professional, Mr. Bob Kletcke and recruited him away. Mr. Rose relayed, “They asked me if Bob would be available, I told them he’s packing his bags now.” Mr. Kletcke eventually became the head golf professional at Augusta National Golf Club in 1966. In an interview given to the blog, Carolina Golfer (link), Mr. Kletcke said this:

“I needed to improve my teaching skills so Johnny Revolta, one of the game’s best teachers at the time, got me a job at Wakonda Club in Des Moines, Iowa, where I would study under Bill Rose,” Kletcke offered. ”That turned out to be a wise decision because I learned much from Rose.”

When I was learning piano, I had a thought. What is the lineage of my teacher? If you trace back your teachers to their teachers, could you track the roots back to Beethoven, Mozart, Haydn, or Bach? For example, my basic chemistry teacher in college was Dudley Herschbach who won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry soon after I finished his Intro to Chemistry course. When I teach my son about atomic valence, he should know that he is one step removed from a Nobel Prize winner. Here, with Mr. Rose is a connection to the broader world of golf beyond Wakonda Club, but I always suspected that Mr. Rose had a great mystical connection to golf.

Teachers talk about greatness to inspire their students, but the great teachers inspire greatness from their students, even from the first moments. I remember in 2005 chipping twenty footers with desultory results when Mr. Rose shouted, “point your club at the hole on the follow through.” I made the next chip into the cup and Mr. Rose shrugged and walked away with his students who were as mystified as I was. At my first lesson with Mr. Rose, he told me to use only half of my energy in swinging the club -that golf shouldn’t be so hard. Within five minutes, I was hitting pure iron shots, two of which hit the pin at 150 yards!

I wrote down whatever I could remember from those lessons, but what stuck was the point about golf not being a hard game unless you made it difficult. The same could be said about life, I suppose.

If Korea were whole…

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The Olympics make me cry. Watching Gabby Douglas triumph brought tears to my eyes. The Pistorius story  makes me bawl. Every four years, I choke up, and what makes me always choke up is the story of the two Koreas. Looking at the results to date, the South (ROK) has 9/3/5 in gold, silver bronze, giving it a total 17 in medal count. The North, (PRK) has 4/0/1, or 5 total. Combined, that is 13/3/6 or 22 total so far. In terms of golds, it would place Korea 4th behind the UK, and it would tie with France in the total count. This makes me cry and cry watching the clips of Koreans winning. When Rim Jong Sim, North Korean power lifter took gold, I cried -happy at the thought of all the food that she and her family would get. 

While I harbor many dark thoughts about the North -I have stated that justice would be served by lining up all the fat people in North Korea on the wall, I can’t help thinking that reunification would have to involve reconciliation. I look at the example of South Africa, and the miracle that it didn’t descend in to a genocidal hell, and wish something half as good could happen to Korea before the North becomes a province of China. Unfortunately, all the potential Mandelas in the North have been shot or nicely enslaved.

I pray that force of arms won’t be required to rejoin two halves of one body, but with every decade, the memory of wholeness will become more distant. But the games, oh the games! 

Movies Meet True Crime

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/29/nyregion/kidnapping-victim-is-found-inside-detectives-garage-in-queens.html?smid=pl-share

Above is link to an article about a 17 year police veteran whose kidnapping victim he is investigating is found in his garage. It inspired this movie script.

Movie Script: Heartburn. Act I: Veteran detective (Kurt Russell) assigned a kidnapping finds resonance with this latest case with an un solved kidnapping from his rookie year. His newbie partner (Miley Cyrus) provides Rom-Com relief but goes into survivor mode when her partner is arrested after the kidnapping victim (Charlize Theron) is found in his garage, bound and gagged with his DNA all over her. Act II: Detective Newbie (Cyrus) breaks out her partner from jail and both go rogue, entering the seamy underworld of the kidnapping victim who stages fake underground snuff shows where the audience pays a lot of money to witness the psychosexual torture-murder of an audience member -is it really fake?! Act III: Exoneration becomes a choice given to our rogue detectives by a mysterious figure (Cornel West) who offers redemption versus knowledge -knowledge of the circumstances of what happened to our detective’s un solved cold case who is now revealed to be his daughter (Blake Liveley in flashbacks) in dive bar confession scene between our rogue detectives who then make out and make love. Dramatic climax in a Brooklyn warehouse in DUMBO during one of the underground snuff shows where the newbie detective (now kidnapped) is the audience “volunteer.” Final sword epic fighting scene between the main character, the original kidnapping victim (who is the Venetian-masked torturer in this underground snuff show), and the mysterious figure (Cornel West).

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