Random Again

I know Internet security is very important. But, do we have to jump through what seems like an endless series of hoops to change a password? How many verification codes are really necessary? It took me what seemed like forever to change the password on one of my personal accounts, which are mostly filled with junk mail. But I can't bring myself to dump any of them, because I'm not sure on what important documents they may be listed.

Drivers of pick up trucks seem to be some of the slowest on the road. Particularly in the morning when they're heading to the job. Coincidence? Maybe not...

For those of you who have issues with social media and Twitter in particular, check out this conversation with Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey: How Twitter Needs to Change

He agrees with you.

Several years ago my mother-in-law gave my wife the following advice: "The older they get, the more they become like little boys."

While doing yard work last fall, I tripped and slightly fractured my ankle requiring a brace for a 10 days. I also sprained my wrist and broke my thumb at the same time putting me in a cast for six weeks.  A few weeks ago while emptying the dishwasher on a Sunday morning following a Saturday night cookout (where the gas for the grille ran out before the food was cooked), I sliced my finger on a serrated knife and needed five stitches.

In between those incidents, I have clumsily fallen up flights of stairs requiring me to re-engage the ankle brace. I've had a tooth ache that I moaned about for days before going to the dentist. I've also suffered through several bouts of flu like symptoms. I see my chiropractor on a regular basis and if I don't start the day on the floor for 10 minutes with a tightly rolled up towel at the small of my back, I'm creaky (cranky?) all day. My allergies also bother me.

I think Janet might be onto something.

...and about the grille running out of gas. In my defense, I cleaned and started the grille the day before and everything seemed fine. And no one had to remind me to do it!

It's interesting how many want to blame Alex Cora for the Red Sox woes. He can

only manage the players he has and if they're not doing the job, it's not his fault.

As Rick Pitino famously said "All the negativity that's in this town just sucks."

Thoughts on Sox

Even though several days have passed since we first heard the news, it's still difficult to process the words "David Ortiz" and "shot" in the same sentence.

No matter the reason -- not that there could ever be a good one -- you have to hope that something greater will come from this. That's the only way to make any sense of what happened.

This incident showed once again the limits of social media. I talk to my students all the time about understanding the sources of the information that they read on Twitter and elsewhere.  It's a lesson that some adults could learn as well. Be sure that your sources are reputable and not ones that engage in rumors and half truths. Some of the information about the Ortiz shooting that has been repeated and retweeted as fact is at this point gossip and speculation from questionable outlets.

Another lesson for my students when I see them again is that as a story initially unfolds you should also be cautious about early reporting from legitimate media outlets.  In the race to be first, incorrect information or impressions are sometimes reported.

For example, the Dial Bar and Lounge, where Ortiz was shot, was initially described as a bar and/or nightclub, leading to social media comments questioning why he was at a place like that and asking where was his family. Reports now describe the establishment as a "fashionable open air cafe," where he was sitting with a Dominican television producer,  a totally different image than the one first presented.

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Great reporting on the Ortiz shooting from WBZ-TV's Anaridis Rodriguez, who was born and raised in the Dominican. She obviously had sources in the country that made her reporting some of the most accurate among Boston media.

A few weeks ago, she shared via social media some of the racial insults she receives on a regular basis because of her heritage. For example, one comment to her began by calling her a "spic."

And that's one of many things that's wrong with social media.

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As someone who has worked in the media business for more years than I care to count, I knoicw the importance of being sensitive to the sentiments and opinions of your publics. So, Major League Baseball's decision to change the designation "Disabled List  to "Injured List" was certainly long overdue.

But, this one I don't get. Apparently there's been some talk in NBA circles about the term "owner" being inappropriate. I fully understand the possible sensitivity to the word in a league where most of the owners are white, while the majority of players are minority.  But, what word or phrase could be substituted for "owner" without turning the language on its head and creating a term that's just plain silly and pandering?

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My daughter recently took me to a Red Sox game for my birthday. Great seats in right field. The Sox lost, but a fun night with Megs!

I'm always amazed at ticketed events how people can't seem to find their seats. There was all kinds of shifting around in the first few innings as people sat in the wrong rows or just plunked themselves down in vacant chairs only to be forced to move when ticket holders arrived. I'm not singling out a couple of guys with a beer in each hand, who just decide to sit somewhere. I'm talking about families -- Dad, Mom and three kids -- just randomly finding five seats and hunkering down. How hard can it be to read the row and seat number and find the correct spot?  Apparently quite difficult for some people...
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I'm  a firm believer in the cliche that the best hockey is play off hockey. That being said, I regret not watching the Bruins more during the regular season. I didn't realize they had the potential to reach Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals.

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When he was managing the Red Sox, Jimy Williams somewhat famously said that the season was a "marathon, not a sprint." So there's no reason to give up yet. Right??

Fathers, Sons, and Golf

I first became aware of the game of golf as a kid when I saw my Dad leave the house at 7:00am on Saturday mornings with his golf bag over his shoulder. I can still picture his orange ball cap, but I don't remember the course name and can't see the logo in my memory.

Dad was an avid golfer when he was younger. He bought both my brother, Jeff, and I our own set of clubs that we proudly took to the driving range with him.  Unfortunately, they were stolen from his car while parked at a downtown Boston garage near where he worked. I never owned another full set until about 15 years ago, when we began playing with friends.

I don't remember when my Dad stopped playing golf on a regular basis. I suspect it had something to do with his perpetually bad back and/or being too busy with life as his first two sons grew and a third somewhat unexpectedly arrived.

My Father still played every now and then. When friends would visit from Indiana they would always spend a weekend at what was then the Sheraton Hyannis near the Melody Tent. The boys would play golf at the hotel course, Twin Brooks, while the girls would cruise the Cape Cod Mall and have a leisurely lunch.

My Dad's been gone almost 11 years, but I just recently went through all the pockets in his golf bag and found several pencils from Twin Brooks.

He also would play on occasion when he and my Mother would visit us on the Cape. Nine holes at our home course, Holly Ridge in Sandwich, with Mom riding shotgun in the cart, followed by lunch in the Clubhouse. He also played when we vacationed for a few summers at the Jack-o-Lantern resort in New Hampshire. Ironically, my parents took us there when we were kids, but I don't remember him packing his golf bag.

Dad would be rusty when he teed it up, but you could see that he probably had a very respectable handicap in his younger days. I'm sure he played at other times, too, probably with my youngest brother, Eric. But, he never got back to anything consistent.

He still passionately followed the game and would attend pro tournaments when they came to the area. My daughter has fond memories of going to the Senior Open in Salem, MA. with her Grandfather, Uncle Eric, and Dad. We got there in time to see the pairing of Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus tee off and sat in the stands with David Duval, who was there watching his Dad play.

My Father was the best at getting autographs and my brother has several hole flags and program books filled with signatures from everyone from Donald Trump to Greg Norman.

He was excited for a number of reasons when my folks finally left the Brighton section of Boston and moved to the suburbs in Natick, where Eric and his wife live. One was that the driving range where he took Jeff and I when we were kids was just minutes away. He talked of practicing there and hopefully playing again at a nearby course.

Unfortunately, shortly after moving Dad learned that the pain he was experiencing wasn't his back acting up again, but cancer. He passed a little more than a year later having never got to the range.

Mariana with Holly Ridge teaching pro Darren Falk

I know he'd be pleased that his seven year old great granddaughter is taking lessons at Holly Ridge; can drive the ball 100 yards; has good club speed, and is an excellent putter.

Since it's summer and golf season, my reading list has featured several books about the game. It seems that more than a few have been written about sons, their Dads and golf.

One particularly touching book is Final Rounds written by golf writer and biographer James Dodson. It's mostly the story of a trip the author took with his ailing Dad to golf courses in Scotland and England, some of which Dodson's Father played as soldier during World Way II.  But it's also about Dodson's memories of his Dad, golfing buddies and final days. If you've lost your Father, the closing chapters might be a little gut wrenching. They were for me.

If nothing else, Dodson's experience made me promise myself that I will take the time to play with my granddaughter. Weather permitting that's what I hope to be doing Fathers Day, nine holes with Mariana and Mari, then lunch at the Holly Ridge Clubhouse.

I'm hoping that someday I can finally visualize that logo on my Dad's hat and take Mariana to where her great grandfather played.  Lasting memories are made on the golf course and that's one I don't want to miss.