Woods for Peace

I’m coming forward.

No, I’m not number 14. That being said, I do have a few words to say bout Tiger.

He’s the greatest golfer of our time, to state the trite and obvious. But in the light of the current debacle of angry women, drug accusations, lost endorsements and missed tournaments, it may seem like there are few left in Tiger’s corner (er, den?).

Don’t lose hope, Tiger, a few of us are still rooting for you. Just this morning, the associated press named Woods the ‘Athlete of the Decade,’ scandal and all.

Well, I’d like to take that a step further. I’m nominating Tiger for the Nobel Peace Prize.

Let me explain. This isn’t simply a reaction to this years’ selection and the fact that recipients no longer have to actually create peace, but a testament of Tiger’s concrete determination to make and keep harmony in the lives of those… connected… with him.

If we study the chronology (which I will sum-up for any readers without access to trashy entertainment mags), we see that Ty kept his debauchery quiet for at least 31-months. THIRTY-ONE MONTHS. Now, in my mind, anyone who can keep 13 morally-casual-and-self-motivated women satisfied, silent and secret for nearly three years might have what it takes to qualify for sainthood.

Not to mention that Tiger’s a protector (insert jungle metaphor here). While travelling the world as its most prominent athlete, endorsing products and role-modeling as husband and father, he still found the time to consider other people – protecting the reputations of the defenseless and lowly: doctors, porn stars, celebutantes, and wives who beat the hell out of Escalades with golf clubs.

So let’s not just give him another chance. Let’s give peace a chance – just like Ty would.

Once Bitten. . . All a Lie.

Let’s take a minute and talk about Twilight (you knew we couldn’t go on avoiding this). Unless you’re living under a rock (or beyond a 1,000 mile radius of Forks, Washington), you’ve seen the gaggles of preteen-slash-full-grown-women dressed in their gothic best and swooning over one Edward Cullen.

I’ll be the first to admit: the guy’s got some magnetism. That whole brooding-intellectual-too-complicated-for-you-and-filled-with-passion-he-can’t-even-express-but-kinda-wanst-to-so-he’ll-simply-set-his-chiseled-face-to-a-lust-inducing-scowl really works for him.

I have, in fact, heard many a giggly woman exclaim, “Edward is, like, the perfect man!”

Well let’s back up for just a second here, ladies. Sure, he’s the quintessential tall, pale and handsome hero. He smells like warm vanilla and his skin sparkles like the treasures of Cortez. But insert Eddie into the real-world life in which we live?

Loser.

No, beyond that. Loser, loner, and serious (and I stress SERIOUS) creeper.

Let’s start out with what we know. He’s 107 and still scamming on high school chicks. Now, I’ve dated my share of men that just couldn’t grow up, but even I haven’t experienced the depth of this kind of immaturity.

Beyond that, perhaps Bella should have taken adequate precaution when she started hangin’ with a guy who has a history of serious violence. Now, I don’t know where you stand, but I tend to draw a line at homicide (unless he’s a professional athlete).

Let’s move on to the creep factor. The last time a guy let me know that he stayed awake to watch me sleep, I suppressed the urge to vomit and ended any romantic ties right then and there. And he didn’t even sneak into my room to do it.

And for those of you who find this behavior romantic, perhaps we should further analyze what romance Eddie really offers. Hopefully we too can someday experience a man with so much love that he acts aloof, withdrawn, angry, cynical, and keeps mentioning the urge he has to kill us.

Let’s not forget his tendency for abandonment. The guy just can’t be counted on. Save your life one minute, leave you to the wolves (ahem, literally) the next. Hot, cold, in, out – Ed’s dependability factor is about as promising as Colin Farrell’s on St. Patrick’s Day.

So let’s just cool it off, ladies, and maybe give your guy a kiss on the cheek and thank him for being a little less like Edward Cullen.

* the author would like to clarify that the above commentary is directed toward a literary character, and in no way quashes her intensely passionate feelings for Robert Patterson.