… I have played - and as usual I use the term “play” very loosely - the game of Yu Mao Qiu (you-mao-cho).
This is badminton. Real badminton. No swinging a racket with your right hand and hold a cold beer in your left hand during a Labor Day cookout while burning bratwurst on the grill.
This is blood and guts badminton. The take-no-prisoners badminton. The stuff Olympics are made of. I wasn’t sure it qualified as a “sport”. Maybe now I think otherwise.
I lost.
Not to a guy; they wouldn’t play with us. They were too good.
To a girl?
No.
I lost to FOUR girls, thank you very much.
Even when they let me cheat (and cheat blatantly), I got trounced, smashed, whipped, beat, spiked, pulverized, and in general smacked around to the highest level.
My arms hurt. My legs hurt. My back hurt. And did I mention no beer?
My daughter says I am sexist, but she’s wrong. A sexist wouldn’t have lost four times to four different women. A sexist would have figured out a way to win to save face. No, I’m just a badminton loser.
… A Walk through “Poets Park”.

It is named in honor not of a Boy named Sue, but a Man named Shu. I think this is him. Nice park.
But if you get the job offer, be sure to inquire about the equipment in advance. Good balance is a job requirement. And maybe, just maybe, it would
It sort of bothered me why his equipment budget was so low, until I realized that they
Oh, so that’s where it comes from.
… I also saw “A House near a Creek and a Bridge”

I was walking down a street and there it was. A house near a creek and a bridge.
I have racked my brain and can’t even think of even one funny line to go with it – it was so oddly placed - but I can't. So I invite you guys in the spirit of audience participation programs worldwide to help me out here. It needs a caption. I need a caption.