My name is Bud Hinkle. I am 71 years old. I was a plumber in Marion County for 44 years and now I am retired in Ocala, Florida, where I would like to be left alone.

My grandson Kyle set this up. I did not ask for it. He said "Grandpa, everybody has a home page now." I said everybody had a Hula-Hoop once too. He did it anyway. I told him if I have to have one then make the letters BIG so I can read it. So they're big. You're welcome.

THINGS I LIKE

• Walking nine holes before it gets hot.
• Dorothy's pound cake.
• A pipe joint that doesn't leak.
• Quiet.

That's the list.

THINGS I DON'T

• Golf carts. It's a walk. That's the game. You hit it, you walk to it, you hit it again. Now everybody drives a little car to their ball and parks it on the fringe. Some fellas at my course haven't seen their own feet since 1985.
  
  
• People who don't replace their divots. You took it out, you put it back. My mother taught me that about everything and it goes double on a fairway. Same for ball marks on the green. Fix yours. Fix one other one. It costs you nothing.
  
  
• Five-hour rounds. If you need to line up a putt from four sides, the putt isn't the problem.
  
  
• Cordless phones. Dorothy bought one. It rings and it's in the couch. It rings and it's in the garage. One time I picked it up and heard somebody's baby monitor. The old phone was on the wall. You always knew where the wall was.
  
  
• Three dollars for one golf ball. I have a whole bucket I fished out of the pond on number seven. Help yourself. Actually don't.
  
  
• This computer. When it dials the Internet it makes a noise like a goose being stepped on. Then it tells me I have mail. It's never mail. It's Kyle, telling me I have mail.
  
  
• The Y2K. They want me to worry about the computers in the year 2000. I didn't need a computer in 1999.
  
  
• The Pokemons. Kyle's little sister explained them to me for an hour. There are a hundred and fifty-some of them. I don't need to know a hundred and fifty-some of anything.
  
  
• The Ryder Cup today. Grown men running all over the 17th green before the other fella even got to putt. I was pulling for our side and I still turned it off.
  
  
• Tiger-mania. Every time I turn on the TV it's Tiger this, Tiger that. They show him walking to the tee. Walking! I can walk. Nobody puts me on television.
  (All right. Between you and me the kid can play. Won the Masters by twelve strokes when he was 21, won the PGA last month, and you can tell he practices. I respect a man who practices. Don't tell Kyle I said so. He has the poster.)
  
  
• People who pour bacon grease down the kitchen sink and then call me. I'm retired. Call somebody else.
  
  
• Having a home page.

Kyle is 15. He fixed this computer when the store said to buy a new one. He set up this page, which I've complained about. And two Saturdays ago he walked eighteen holes with me in the heat without once asking for a cart, and he replaced every divot he took, and a couple of mine.

He's all right.

Don't tell him I said so. He's going to read this anyway. Fine.