I can only imagine what the little bird was thinking, because I will never know why it had the strange urge to explore our house. There I am at the computer when I hear a rush of fluttering and flapping and turn to see a golf ball sized bird hovering in the living room. He hurredly made his way into the kitchen and my only thought was that he would see the huge window and fly straight into it, thinking he had found freedom. Luckily he merely got trapped behind the curtain. So this little bird which was stuck on a window sill and couldn't get enough room to flap his wings to fly turned and saw this monsterous human walking towards him with a white garbage bag. He probably wasn't too happy with the scenario he had gotten himself into. I was going to try and get him into the bag to let him loose outside, but this just ended in failure after failure. So I reached in quick, cupped the bird in my hands, and walked outside. I opened my hands and he sat there for a split second, looked at me, then flew incredibly fast out of my hand chirping loudly. That bird is going to go back to his friends and tell them how he was abducted by this strange creature...and he will probably be laughed at and told that he has too much free time on his hands.

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People say that hitting a few balls at the golf range helps them to relax and wind down. Not me. I went today with my dad and found the experience to be completely the opposite of relaxing. I knocked all hundred balls off the little patch of grass, which was slowly being filled with huge divots, and felt no release. Maybe it is because everyone else was hitting that blasted white ball multiple hundreds of yards every swing, and my normal swing would wrecklessly cause the ball to land a mere 30 feet away. So I decided that if I ever needed to be angry and just couldn't muster up the ferocity inside of me...all I would need to do is hit a few balls at the range and *presto* I'm ALL riled up. It also made me think of the huge untapped potential of sports super heroes. Think about it...9 Iron the super golfer could drive around the city in his suped up golf cart, fighting bad guys. He would stand proud in his too short shorts, retractable spiked golf shoes, and alligator logo polo shirt. Clubs strapped to his back like samarai swords. He could target a bad guy from 300 yards away, pull out his trusty 1 wood, and pop the guy in the head with a speeding golf ball. And each time he triumphed over evil he would leave one of those little ball markers that snap off of golf gloves on top of his latest victim...and the little marker would just say 9I. Maybe Tiger Woods will play 9 Iron in the movie.

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Heh...somebody voted that my site "sucks" on that little bloghop thingy I put in over on the left hand side of the page. 8 people put "love it", and 1 person put "sucks." Well, at least I know their not sucking up.