An observation.

So, I tell them I'm a pro jock, and who do you think they give me? The Dalai Lama, himself. Twelfth son of the Lama. The flowing robes, the grace, bald... striking. So, I'm on the first tee with him. I give him the driver. He hauls off and whacks one - big hitter, the Lama - long, into a ten-thousand foot crevasse, right at the base of this glacier. Do you know what the Lama says? Gunga galunga... gunga, gunga-lagunga. So we finish the eighteenth and he's gonna stiff me. And I say, "Hey, Lama, hey, how about a little something, you know, for the effort, you know." And he says, "Oh, uh, there won't be any money, but when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness." So I got that goin' for me, which is nice.

Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts. How about a nice, cool drink, varmints? Scum! Slime! Menace to the golfing industry! You're a disgrace. You're varmints. You're one of the lowest members of the food chain and you'll probably be replaced by the rat. Well, I have been pushed. It's about time somebody teaches these varmints a little lesson about morality and about what it's like to be a decent, upstanding member of a society! Come to Carl, varmint. -- I guess we're playing for keeps now. I guess the kidding around is pretty much over. I guess it's just a matter of pumping about five thousand gallons of water down there to teach you a little bit of a lesson. Is that it? I think it is!

Di-Lynn, I saw His Holiness The Dalai Lama speak at the University of Michigan a few years ago. I saw Larry Leonhardt speak at Red Lodge a few months ago. Larry is better.

Tom , I don't doubt it, thats why I spend my time at kc not DL

Sandy [with heavy Scottish brougue]: Carl, I want you to kill all the gophers on the course.
Carl: Correct me if I'm wrong, Sandy, but if I kill all the golfers, they'll lock me up and throw away the key.
Sandy: Not golfers, you great git! Gophers- the little brown, furry rodents!
Carl: We can do that. We don't even need a reason.
Sandy: Aye! Well, do it, man!
Carl: OK, but why don't we do the same thing, but with gophers? [Sandy storms off] It's not my fault I Don't understand what your saying

Did you have similar problems with grassfarmer in Montana?

Grassy all of the sudden got to be real funny on day three. I don't know if it took him that long to come out of his shell, or if it took us that long to figure out what the hell he was saying.

A preacher friend has been explaining the Buddist religion to me on our Friday night dinner routine...It`s not having much impact on me; not nearly as much as hearing from DV today on a quick break from getting winter preparations done on the ranch; DV`s note inspired me to re-read

The Charge Of The Light Brigade

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Memorializing Events in the Battle of Balaclava, October 25, 1854
Written 1854

Half a league half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred:
'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd & thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack & Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
Shatter'd & sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse & hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!