I’m not going to analyze what he said. He’s doing what he’s got to do. And that’s step one. Doing what is required of you isn’t always a cakewalk. Especially when you’ve royally screwed numerous pooches.

What’s compelling now is what happens to the rest of us. The combination of Tiger’s actions and his subsequent apology creates a very powerful personality filter for you and I. Suddenly, we are forced to be either too forgiving, too cynical, or too aloof. We get filed away into one of these public macro-categories, based on what we want and what our expectations are. For my part, I want to forgive. I believe that what he said is true, and I respect that he’s taking steps to live honestly.

Our heroes are dying. They’re being destroyed and they’re destroying themselves. And we get to watch, too, from a comfortable position as we see them strive for perfection. Life is the ultimate reality show. It’s hard to see how it will end, and no one knows if the values and hopes that are born in the beginning will remain to the end.

I bristle at the indignation that’s displayed by the public, when so many of us have parts of our histories, our habits, and our desires that, if made globally public, would shock and offend those that love us and think we’re the bees knees. Let’s stop manufacturing heroes. We’re no good at it.

And can we please be honest? We want to watch the guy play golf. He’s the best in the world. We don’t want him to wallow in rehab forever, do we? We don’t want him to have a horrible life, right? At least I certainly hope we don’t. It hurts to see what’s happened, because it chips away at our belief that we can rise above our humanity.

The pie-crust pedestal.

I’m going to have to get over this new transition in our society. I wish that pure heroes were possible. I suppose they never were. We just know more now. We’re going to have to start to change ourselves. We’re going to have to learn how to be less shocked that people aren’t perfect. Maybe if we change a little, the media won’t need to feed us so much of that poison we seem to love.

Get well soon, Tiger.

Ruth: Charlie, I know you’re a Coke Zero purist, but I’ve found a drink that might change your mind! My friend Eric and I met yesterday to discuss Friedrich Nietzsche and “The Unbearable Lightness of Being” over a Venti sugar-free, non-fat, vanilla soy, double shot, no foam, extra hot, Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha with light whip and extra syrup. Ahhh. That’s at least 33 syllables and 400 calories of percolated perfection.

Charlie: Coke. Ze-ro. Three. Count’ em, three syllables. E.B. White would be proud of me, I’m sure of it. ‘Course, he might simply request “tea” and trump us all with his damnable, beautiful simplicity. I’m sorry Ruth, but I don’t want to turn my drink order into a Twitter post.

Ruth: Go ahead, toot your own horn! As for the topic du jour: Eric shared an insight I certainly hadn’t considered before. When it comes to relationships, he said the partner most prone to walk away has the upper hand, or greatest power within the relationship. For the love of George Clooney, that doesn’t seem fair!

Charlie: Alas, Eric’s right, at least from what I’ve seen. SELF-THERAPY ALERT: One of the common threads of my past relationships has been my ability to be the one to walk away. I’ve always walked away first. Although I say it like I’ve let some big cat out of the bag, there are certainly a few people reading this right now who a) rolled their eyes and b) quietly intoned, “Mmhmm.” It’s really the only thing that Clooney and I have in common, other than a thick head of hair and a love for tailored suits.

Ruth: That loud popping noise was the sound of my bubble bursting! First you quit Facebook, and now this? But in all sincerity, Eric’s assumption zaps the magic of yin and yang. I’ve always thought of relationships as a pair of equal and opposing moves that keep each couple in harmony.

Charlie: There are few man-made notions that are immune from rebuttal at some point or another. And you’re quite right, dear Ruth—right relationships require equal commitment to maintain balance. I think that’s universal truth. But lest we forget, people have opinions. Wants. Desires. Needs. Fears. These things must also be tended to on the part of both parties, or else the balance will invariably tip in a certain direction.

Ruth: Down the proverbial slippery slope.

Charlie: I will say this: the appearance of power is not always indicative of its presence. The man who is always leaving relationships may seem to be the one “holding the cards,” but if the trend continues unchecked, he will find himself at the end of all things with no cards and no skin in the game whatsoever. The trick is not to make a habit or a virtue of departure, but—to rob from a famous playwright— “this above all, to thine own self be true.” Many seem to twist Shakespeare’s words to indicate selfishness, but I couldn’t disagree more. To be true to “thine own self” means to be honest to your own aims, your weaknesses, and to make conscientious determinations about your true heart’s desires. This is critical, gentlemen! If this never occurs, a man can be tossed about like a feather in the wind. No disrespect to Forrest Gump, but there’s nothing inspiring about a man who gets blown and tossed about by every changing wind. Roll with the punches, yes. An untended mind and heart? Tragic. He who doesn’t take the time to be purposeful may very well find himself without a life.

Ruth: Now you’re talking! Nietzche himself said ,”He who cannot give anything away cannot feel anything either.” It’s easy to be glib, to randomly go with the flow in a culture brought to you by The Bachelor. It’s infinitely more challenging to ride against the wind. To shield that soul who would never abandon your side, even in a maelstrom.

Charlie: We’ve developed so many pockets of comfort, haven’t we? Friends we spend time with, certain groups for certain purposes, places for different purposes. The world has become one giant a la carte carousel, and we happily ride. I think about the American pioneer sometimes. In those days, with only one or two viable romantic options within a hundred miles, you had to find a way to really learn someone. You know life is short and bravery is absolutely required. Now, it seems we are all paralyzed by choice. There’s always another person. Another try. Just keep rifling through the hope chest until you find the right fit, like a manic shopping spree. Ugh. I hope that true love is more than snatch-and-grab.

Ruth: Therein lies the paradox of love. It’s clammy hands and cold feet. It’s pheromones and fate. It’s struggle and letting go. It’s cognizant yet not having a clue.

Charlie: I like your style, Ruth. There’s a belief and a wisdom in your words that this particular fellow can learn from. Patience is key. Patience and purpose.

Ruth: Happy Valentines Day, Charlie.

Charlie: Happy Valentines Day, Ruth.

And yes, there are liars in the world, corrupt politicians, greedy businessmen, shady clergymen, drug dealers, thieves, and the rest. A sinner’s buffet, around us all the time. These things anger us, threaten to distract us from the fact that the helpless are dying.

Down in Haiti, right now, there teems the cruel result of the juxtaposition of extreme poverty, despair, and natural disaster. Insult to injury. A speedier death to those already dying. A fast-forward to a living hell.

This isn’t a guilt trip. This is a heaviness. It’s part of you too. Give yourself a moment to feel it. Allow yourself the gift of sharing the burden with them. It’s a heaviness there, crushing these people, these fellow humans into dust.

Give here, now.

This has been quite a year for all of us. I’m sure you have just as many ups-and-downs stories as I, and I’d imagine we’re all ready for a fresh new calendar in which to pen new triumphs and gather new joy. I have a good feeling about it.

Let me take this moment to compliment you.

I think you’re all bright stars, capable of anything and full of the most potent potential, brimming with life and well-equipped to burn your legacies into the night sky.

See you in 2010.

These seven words will be your best friends if you let them. They don’t look like friends, do they? They don’t look like the kind of statement that would come from a place of benevolence or wisdom. Sounds like something a crappy father would say, or the drunk Santa down at the Wiltshire Mall.

Think harder, though. Harder than you normally do when you’re sucking down yet-another-blog-post, or a slew of tweets, or a rash of statuses. Think about something deeper down, something further in.

You will never be rich or famous. Kinda sucks, doesn’t it? Like a bad medicine going down the wrong pipe, it’s not easy to take. For nearly all of you reading this, it’s a guaranteed prophecy. Rich and famous is only cool because so few actually obtain it. Fewer still obtain it and come out unscathed.

But the “Christmas is in your heart” sentiment is not what I’m going for this time, although very true. I’m going for something tangible this time. Not so much warm fuzzies as scratchy actualies (a word I just made up so Urban Dictionary wouldn’t feel lonely at Christmastime). Scratchy actualies are things that ring true and have a physical affect, like “She pounded the nail into the wood,” “He hit the ball out of the park,” and “The house he built for her was beautiful, and small, and perfect.” Stuff that simply is, needing little explanation.

“And this year, finally, he told his mother that he loved her.”
“They sang carols with one another that night, together.”
“And she kissed him, even though mistletoe was scarce and there were fewer presents under the tree.”

Small stories are no less amazing than big ones. Little miracles are still miracles. The joy and curiosity and ability with which you take on the tasks and relationships of your life are the stuff of real Christmas spirit.

Somewhere in Hollywood, someone rich and famous will surely sit at home with their family, bestowing gifts and eating good food. There won’t be any cameras around. No reporters will care. Just like you and me, they’ll curl up, wearing thick socks and extra layers, and watch an old Christmas movie. They’ll probably laugh at the same parts they always do. And they’ll botch their favorite quotes, but no one will care.

Go ahead and shake hands with these seven words. Give ‘em a hug and offer them a mug of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. Believing it will release you to be your better self. Rich and famous is a byproduct of talent and desire, of course, but mostly it’s about timing. And you can’t plan for timing.

May your love for one another be filthy rich. May you be famous among your friends and family for your kindness and generosity. May your wealth of friendship be boundless, and may you sit back, wherever you are, and know that you’re blessed.

I think Christmas is shrinking.

It also seems to be hungrier. Everything we ask for brings us access. Kindles suck down verbiage at light speed. Cell phones suck minutes and money. Laptops prefer tweets, status updates, and emails.

Toys used to be things that needed to be manipulated, worked on, or were instrumental in developing a skill or ability. Basketballs. Toy kitchens. Train sets. Blank notepads and pens, if you can believe it. These things came into our lives and forced us back out in the thick of things to succeed or fail. Christmas was a kick-start.

I’ve railed on this blog before about the perils of modernity, but I think I was twarking up the wrong twee. What’s troubling me more than ever is the lack of action that comes inherent with the things we crave.

I love the show Intervention on A&E. It never fails to be completely honest, and I find real connection with some of the people on those shows, not only the family members of the ones who are sick, but many times with the sick themselves. More often than not it seems that all of them fall prey to periods of protracted nothingness, brought on either by chemicals ingested externally or unattended internally.

It’s that nothingness that threatens us.

Christmas needs an intervention. Not holistically, for how would that even work? No, it’s a more intimate fix that’s needed. It has to start with me. I have to want not to deteriorate. I have to want to grip life by the jingle bells. I don’t know how much we can do about the way things are going in general, but we can certainly keep our soul’s fires burning in of ourselves.

This year, focus less on finding presents and more on being present. Let’s see if we can’t fatten Christmas up a little. She’s lookin’ a little thin.

We’re doing that thing again that we do. You know the thing I mean, when we go collectively berserk about something new and shiny without the first clue of how it will turn out. I’m not saying it’s a terrible idea, ’cause Columbus, Lewis & Clark, and even the Contintental Congress couldn’t have known what sort monsters they were helping make. Clearly there can be an intrinsic value to leaping without looking.

Once again, my question is simple: what’ll we do once there’s nothing more to connect? As I peruse Mashable.com, the web’s current most-popular social media news source, I see a neverending stream of articles touting new variants on an old theme. Nobody’s creating anything, really. We’ve become masters of derivation.

Everything is being created for the purpose of aggregation, gathering, harvest, and dissemination. We don’t seem to forge much anymore. I wonder how many books, plays, paintings, albums, and engineering marvels have been left unrealized, delayed, or simply preempted by a burning desire to fart around on Facebook at work? We’re spending an awful lot of time being mesmerized by connection.

Even in today’s era, innovators almost always have found a way to escape, to quiet the chaos to focus on a new invention, idea, or process. Clearly, there’s an intrinsic value in closing your door.

Finite worlds yield finite things. Specific amounts of oil. Exact numbers of humans. A determined number of Twitter followers. The specificity tells us how we’re doing, and where we’re going. I want to see more; connection means little without purpose.

It’s a season of harvest for the web kings, the unseen corps of social weavers who are tying us together in a series of electronic knots. To what end, I say? Are we ready to move on once we’ve all posted our posts and filled out our profiles and uploaded those photos?

I’m just saying, I’ve never noticed a moment for in need of Columbuses, Lewis & Clarks, and Continental Congresses.

Not sure we can have enough reminders that having everything means absolutely nothing, but this has to be considered one of the most poignant examples yet. Husband to a beautiful wife, father to beautiful children, and a secure place as one of the greatest golfers of all time. Not to mention, he earned $110 million last year. One of the most loved and supported athletes in history.

And then he went and commiserated with some makeup-caked bar skanks.

Tiger.

Youuuuuu dummy.

He released a statement on his website today, and for reasons passing understanding, left it open for comments. I spent some time perusing people’s messages, and found the vast majority of them to be positive statements of hope for a better future.

‘Course, some folks just can’t help themselves:

TheBurkster wrote:
Sorry or Sorry you got caught? Sounds an awful like the latter. If you like messing around with different women then WHY did you get married. Elin should take the kids and you for everything you got!
12/2/2009 11:05:15 AM

Then, there were chunks of experienced honesty like this:

CASurvivor wrote:
Dear Tiger: I know you made a mistake, but you should be able to accept the consequences. As a woman who had my first husband cheat on me; I divorced him immediately. Your wife, even if she forgives you, like I did my first husband, will never, ever trust you again…especially at night while lying in bed. It is over and she should divorce you and find someone that will love her and be true. You should move on and learn how to be a good weekend dad. My current husband of 33 years I met soon after my divorce from my cheating husband. His wife cheated on him as well. We both knew the hurt when we met. We married a year later after meeting and have had years of a wonderful relationship. It is a blessing to be married to a man I can trust explicitly and he feels the same. He is my best friend, husband, father of our two wonderful children (with him) and lover …. that I can trust. Your wife deserves better.
12/2/2009 11:09:24 AM

One of the reasons we find ourselves transfixed on these events is because we can’t fathom it. Most folks go through life thinking that if they can just earn that first million, if they can just sell that piece of property, get that cushy job, or write that bestselling novel (ahem), that it will be a magic elixir that anchors and preserves their lives in ways that day-to-day character can’t possibly accomplish.

Well, that’s crap.

The circumstances of Tigers choices are unknown. I won’t eviscerate him here, for he’s come clean to his family and is working to make things right. Enough said. Any burning desire to know the salacious details is nothing more than middle school gossip mongering, and those who can’t keep their paws off the tabloids should be heartily ashamed of themselves.

Tiger shanked this one good. Hooked it right out of bounds, big time. And he’s off into the woods to find his ball. I wish him clarity, wisdom, and peace.

Just before you burp, there’s this weird hiccup-inhale thing that happens. Hoop. Seems like the body’s way of preparing you for the little airburst that’s about to be released into the stratosphere. It’s a weird place, the pre-belch. It causes you to stop what you’re doing and wait. You realize you’re now at the mercy of this thing, and you’re better off to keep still and let it happen than to fight it. Hey, look at me, invincible guy, completely owned by involuntary bodily functions.

I think that’s hilarious.

I wondered recently how much time I spend trying to fight things in life. How often I think I can out-think or outflank life’s surprises. Usually I’m thinking of large events, like marriage and death, but I never stopped to realize that I can’t even stop a burp once it decides to make its way into the world. Sneezes, too.

It’s not a bad little place, when you think about it. Another way that we’re reminded of ease with which we can be buffeted. Not just by storms, diseases, unkind words, or little tragedies, but even by pockets of gas that we ourselves have created.

So that’s my thought for today. Next time you feel a burp coming on, feel the ride. Get used to being happily helpless. There’s a strength there we forget we have.

It’s that time again. Time to peek under the hood of this well-oiled machine and see how people are making connections. You may remember a couple months ago when I first started this delightful tradition. I must admit, there’s so much to be learned from what people type into that benign box on Google. There are a bunch of regular, everyday search terms that make the list, but the ones I’m singling out are without a doubt the cream of the crop. Enjoy.

1. douchebag last names —VonWilderhoffsen, Borger-Henrickson, McMasterhoo, Whipstatler, and all the like.
2. man outhouse sex stories — I mean, like, um, gross. Nothing, and I mean nothing good is associated with this. If this becomes a book, I quit.
3. sauerkraut smell bath — This is without question a disturbing search keyword, and conjured up images of tepid bathwater filled with backyard cookout condiments. A rubbery ducky covered in ketchup. A washcloth peppered with bits of green relish. Ew.
4. suck it hand gesture — Someone trying to introduce new offensive hand gestures into the vernacular. I applaud their originality, but think perhaps looking it up on Google reveals its inherent weakness. Possible alternate gestures: The Stick-It-In-Your-Piehole, The Eat-My-Shorts, and the Yeah-Well-You’re-Ugly.
5. fish n chip paper + kindle — This, honestly, I have no idea. And I’m a pretty serious Anglophile. Is this about fish ‘n chip paper? Is it about fish ‘n chips, a newspaper, and a Kindle? Is Kindle the name of some Swedish woman the man buys his fish ‘n chips from? Is he madly in love with her?
6. making wine — Whoever got to my site by typing this in was almost certainly disappointed. I wonder if they meant whine. Ohhhhhhh.
7. is emasculinity a word — Of course it is. It’s on one of my posts, therefore it’s real.
8. signs he wealthy — I love this one. Some girl obviously wondering if her new beau can afford to take her out to Red Lobster this weekend. Here’s my tip: If you have to ask, he probably ain’t.
9. cartoon characters with names — I enjoy this one for the fact that it made me wonder if there are any cartoon characters out there without names. Look, up in the sky, it’s *low hum*.
10. my wife is a douchebag — I can almost smell the whiskey that accompanies this search. I’ve got to stop using the word douchebag in my posts.
11. hiccups before death — The clinical definition of “the least of your worries.”
12. laser cakes — Oh, man, I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed this one. This could mean anything. This could be an interstellar term of endearment (“Come over here, lllllaser cakes”), a new offering from the Little Debbie R&D department (“Blast the cafeteria competition to bits with Laser Cakes!”), or quite possibly a struggling indie-emo band from Manchester.
13. christ is coming for dinner — Whoever she is, this is one terrified housewife. Martha Stewart can’t help you now.
14. sophia loren in–the nude — There’s nothing I love more than a pause for dramatic emphasis in a Google search. Sophia Loren. In the nude. Oh yeah.
15. black woman sitting on toilet — I honestly feel shameful that someone can find my site by typing these words.

So, yes, there we have it. Another fine installment of Charlie Pratt’s Search Word Roundup. I hope you enjoyed these as much as I did. Please keep ‘em coming, because honestly, it’s good for my soul.