Sweating the small stuff

A week in Joplin Missouri post tornado will put things in perspective. When I first got there I was still thinking about myself, that I didn’t want to be there, I would rather be at home, that I could be golfing right now. After hearing the stories, seeing the people, seeing the destruction, you start to realize how short life is. In just a few minutes so many people lost their homes, their cars, all of their belongings, their way to make a living, and sadly some lost their lives. In the blink of an eye their entire lives were turned upside down. It makes being stressed about the fact that my brakes are making a terribly embarrassing noise, or that my apartment feels too small, or that I can’t hit a drive straight down the fairway consistently, seem ridiculous. You feel silly for having let those become stresses. Unfortunately, for the human brain it’s out of sight out of mind sometimes, just hours from returning home I got in my car and the squealing started and I got irritated and annoyed that I still had to deal with the situation. Maybe I should have done like the 21 year-old volunteer from Chicago I met, and got a Joplin tattoo on my forearm to help me remember to not sweat the small stuff.

Four missionaries and a Honda

I turned the corner into my parent’s neighborhood and I saw the four of them converging on a Honda Civic. All of them in matching black slacks, white short-sleeved button-down shirts, black ties, and LDS name tags. As they all climbed into the Civic I wondered what the car ride conversations of four Mormon missionaries must be like. When I get into a car with three of my male friends the conversations usually consist of things that I don’t think would be appropriate for missionaries. There is quite a bit of swearing, fuck is a word of choice for many of us, there is talk of drinking, cage fighting, sex, masturbating, the impressive shit you took that morning, amongst other things. These topics obviously accompany many other normal conversations but inevitably one or more of these topics come up. As much as I would love for it to be true, I can’t picture a Mormon missionary talking about rubbing one out in the shower after taking a satisfying dump. Just for a day I want to be the pine tree air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror of the missionary-mobile and hear what subjects fill their conversations.

One hundred and counting

On December 29th, 2009 I posted my first entry on my new blog; my last entry was my 100th. In the year and a half since I started this blog it has changed quit a bit. It began as a place for me to share my random thoughts and observations I’d been saving in my Blackberry notes, now I post my writing, videos I’ve produced, and photos I’ve taken. I no longer even use the Blackberry that started it all, though I still have it in case I ever need to look at those old notes. I have always written with the mindset that no one is reading so as not to censor myself or pull any punches, but to the few of you that do read this, I would like to say thank you and I hope you continue to enjoy what I am doing.

A day in the desert

After some tweaks to the race car and the acquisition of a new GoPro camera ANJ Motorsports took to the desert last weekend to continue to prepare for the Baja 1000. Here is a short video I put together.

Enjoy.

Exercise makes you hotter

No matter what age, shape, or size, when I see a woman exercising she instantly becomes at least ten percent more attractive. I think the first time it really occurred to me I was driving around and I saw a slightly overweight woman jogging. She appeared to be struggling, she wasn’t moving very fast, but she just kept going. Something clicked in my brain and I started to see her differently. I find myself noticing it a lot while out hiking as well. Women who aren’t my type, they’re sweaty, in gym clothes, not at all looking their best, but the fact that they are out putting in the effort causes a slight attraction in me. I guess it’s the fact that it shows that they care enough about their health that they are out their trying to make a change, to better themselves, to improve their quality of life. Now as I drive around I can’t help but notice all of the women out making the effort. Keep it up ladies, exercise instantly makes you hotter.

Why I missed that putt

I missed an easy putt on Wednesday, as punishment Phil told me I had to go home and write a 600 word essay describing how I missed the putt. I had to do it though without using the words “the” or “ball”. Below is that essay.




Why I Missed That Putt

By

Bryan Van Diggele


It was a putt that never had a chance; it was going left as soon as I hit it. I had a good round but that putt was a bad miss. My final round score was nine strokes over par, if I hadn’t missed that putt, it would have been eight. When we approached hole three, which usually plays as a par four, it was shorted to a par three due to sprinklers being installed. They just picked a patch of fairway and called it a tee box. It wasn’t more than a pitching wedge’s distance now from tee box to green; yet I still managed to miss. I’m usually confident in my short game, playing a lot of smaller par three courses, I’ve had a lot of time to hone my approach and short recovery shots. Unfortunately on this hole you wouldn’t have known my short game was my strength. After hitting a not so good short tee shot, I didn’t hit my chip as well as I wanted either. I struggled with my short chip shots all day. I was on in two but had a lengthy putt for par. I misread how uphill my first putt was and didn’t hit it nearly hard enough. I left it short with about two feet to go to now save for bogie. I placed my marker down and picked up my Bridgestone Treo Soft. After taking a few steps back I squatted down, surveying this particular greens features. Fullerton has greens that I find tricky to read but it appeared to be sloping right to left and I was still going uphill. Put it about a half a cup right, hit it solid, and I should be happy. I picked up my marker, confident in my line. Stepping up to that putt I knew I could easily walk away with a bogie and still have a chance at my goal of shooting bogie golf for my round (Phil and I have been playing Fullerton golf course every Wednesday for the past month with the goal of shooting a round of bogie golf). This is a putt you have to make to be a successful golfer, foot and half to two feet out, you need to make these. I set up for this putt like I do every other putt. Get my grip, step in with my left foot, place my putter down, slide it towards me until it’s crisp white aiming line meets a Treo Soft logo with an arrow in front that now points a half cup right. My right foot moves into position, followed by my left. Once I’m set, I take one last look at my line, easy backstroke, no break in the wrist, and then a firm follow through. Only this time, I just pushed it left, plain and simple. I could blame an unrepaired divot or a stray leaf; I could even try and blame the wind. There are plenty of excuses to be made when you miss a putt from that distance. You never want to admit that you just hit a bad shot, especially with your putter, which has the appearance of being the easiest club to hit. But at the end of the day, I just pushed it left. Some times as a golfer you just hit bad shots. It’s better that I own up to the bad shots and learn from them, rather than try and fool myself into thinking it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t keep my putter on line and I paid the price, that bogie just became a double. Thankfully I didn’t miss my goal by a stroke, now I can move on and put that putt behind me.

Bombs bursting in air

As I moved my car late in the evening on 4th of July to a spot in front of Josh’s parent’s house I had to make my way through a neighborhood that strangely resembled a war zone. There were fireworks in the streets that I had to weave my car through, explosions in the sky rain down ash, car alarms going off from the concussions. Is it not the strangest thing that we celebrate our freedom in this country by recreating the hell of war? Shooting fireworks into the sky that resemble the “bombs bursting in air”, buying packs of explosives that resemble pipe bombs, and firing off guns into the air. Does anyone else find it strange that a day of celebration resembles news footage from the beginning of the Iraq war?