Yahoo Gawlf Chat

*I dig up a divot from the '06 archives, with one of my rather silly ventures into a chat room that went typically for me in a chat room*

To myself.

That's not how it was supposed to work, I thought...

During a spate of domesticity (aka, laundry), I was doing what I rarely do these or most days' past: meandering through the Yahoo chat rooms, seeing what was up.

It was exactly as I remembered it to be from a couple-three years ago: nuthin'. I visited several different categoried sites (Over 50 Romance -- quit smirkin' -- health topics, politics, recreation and sports), and in each case, save for one, it was the same: nothing but 20-somethings with webcams and smut sites, or bots (promoting more smut sites). Nearly every female in one 'over 50' room was in her early 20s, from Las Vegas, was listed as a "student", and had as her first hobby, "sex".

I can just imagine the tests in those classes, but I digress.

I've heard of seminar "callers" to talk radio, but seminar "cybersluts"? I was about to ponder how Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks ever found each other online in a chat room, 'til I remembered it was just a fictional chick flick. The only 'anything' that was going to find a soulmate in most of the rooms I visited was Rosie, the Jetson's maidbot. And she wouldn't be worth much for cleaning after one of 'those' encounters.

Then finally -- in the 'Sports and Recreation' portion of the Yahoo Chat community -- I found a room bereft of 20-somethings with webcams or bots: Golf Talk.

It was quiet. Serene. On accounta 'cuz it was empty. 'Cept for me.

Knowing I wasn't a bot, and didn't have a webcam (or an urge to show off my sagging backside or which part of my body I ain't gonna pierce next, on a cam if I had one), I sat there for a moment, almost luxuriating in the serenity of a bot-and-hormonal-free room. Besides, the subject of the room -- golf -- was one on which I could converse fluently and freely on, if not demonstrate on the course.

If there was anyone therein to converse with.

After a couple minutes of serenity, I began to see that there's a degree to which serenity is self-defeating in a chat room, when what should be goin' on here, was conspicuously absent: chat.

So I started some. To myself. About golf.

Here is a recap of the chat I had with myself in Golf Talk on Yahoo Chat (paraphrased as I remember it):

Welcome to Golf Talk. Barring an expert or moderator interceding, I'll be your host, Moosfeathers (my Yahoo chat ID). Let's talk about golf. My golf. It sucks. Yes, it does. Remember that "giant sucking sound" the little flying-nun-earred Perot babbled about? It wasn't free trade; it was my game. That sucking sound was IT. I haven't picked up a club in two years, save for once, and that was to kill a spider widdit it. Don't worry, the hole in the wall patched over just fine.

Yes, my game was bad. I never got a hole in one. I never got an eagle. I had few birdies. I never shot a par round. I never broke 40 on 9 holes, nor 90 on 18.

On the other hand, I never hit another golfer in all my escapades. Except for myself. Three times with my own drives. I was gifted. Such gifts can't be sold at gar(b)age sales or regifted at Christmas.

But I was also necessary in golf. Yes, necessary ( at this point, someone with the improbable name of LoveThumper2003 came into the room). Ah, we have our first golf chatterbox. LoveThumper 2003, step up to the tee, you're on Golf Talk with Moosfeathers (he/she/it bailed out faster than a balloon at a porcupine convention).

Oh too bad, our caller lost his/her chatcell. At any rate, I am a necessary evil to the golfing industry. I keep golf ball companies in business with my 4-10 per round lost golf ball ratio; I am the friend to lost golfball concessionaires, who find and resell what I spray hither and yon; I am a godsend to tee and ball mark manufacturers, breaking and losing both at a rate that is embarrassing, though it doesn't endear me to the Sierra Club or ELF, though I think they've arrested most of ELF, so who cares about those schmucks? I am a supporter of the golf cover-making folks, losing one about every other round; and where would the golf club industry be, without my needing a replacement for the club I bend around a tree or throw in the lake about every third round? Not to mention, the sod folks who have to patch work a fairway I leave looking like a mortar barrage just hit it, when I'm not exploring the more 'natural' terrain, also known as the rough, the trees, the lakes or the bunkers. Which is way more often than I see a fairway.

And let's not forget those hard-working, skimpily-clad beer babes in their "libations from Heaven" carts; I could damned near have retired on what I tipped them over the years.

We're ready to take another chatter...*insert sound of chirping cricket hyar*...no takers? Well that's okay, 'cuz we're out of time for this edition of Golf Talk. This is your host, Moosfeathers, saying "FORE!". Just wanted to see if you'd duck.

*More chirping cricket sound*.

I suppose that I could have applied some of my golf terminology in the "Over 50s Romance" rooms: throwing out terms like "ball", "stroke" and "firm grip on the shaft" would have set the bot-sluts all atwitter (2009 note: we've already established that I don't twitter).

But I don't want to be accused of shorting out the Jetson's Rosie-bot ;-)