September 26, 2020

Our long national nightmare is over. I was puttering around the house this afternoon when all of a sudden the thought came into my head, “I ought to go hit some golf balls.” So I put my sneakers on, threw the clubs in the trunk, and headed out to the Kokopelli G.C. driving range. It had been a looooong time since I’d been out there. The COVID-19 shutdown hadn’t hit yet. I was still employed in IT. I was still a Goodboy. The idea of being a pool supply guy for the summer was as far from reality as “Slo’ Joe Biden’s mental acuity.

The signs of fall – and I mean, like fall were everywhere as I lugged my clubs to a spot on the vacant driving range. I’ll grant her this: Jill Biden’s campaign rally in Nebraska attracted more voters in Nebraska than folks I saw while at the driving range:

The sun, while still hot, had a lower than usual angle to it, which made it difficult to see where my shots were going. The lush green green winter rye I remembered from March had long gone brown, then replaced with Bermuda, and now the Bermuda was all brown, awaiting the winter rye treatment. So go the seasons. The only difference from March was that I paid for my large bucket with a mask on.

The range was quiet; just me and the sounds of mourning doves and geese by the pond adjacent to the #9 green. The usual 70s music I remembered from the last time was still playing over the clubhouse patio. I poured the bucket on the ground, grabbed my 5-iron, took a practice swing, and proceeded to stripe one straight down the middle. Easy peasy Japan-ese. So my brain still remembered the swing thoughts I was working on six months ago. Simplify. Stay on top of the ball. 3/4 swing. Compress the ball and take a divot.

The rest of the bucket was hit or miss (more hits than misses) but the only important thing was that I was back out there. After the bucket I did a little short game work and some putting, and I walked back to the car with a sense of real peace. There was no pressure: I just wanted to hit some balls on late summer afternoon. I might try to squeeze in another bucket before I go out and play nine holes at “The Koke”.

It has been a good day. I figured out the last remaining problems with the new laptop: the 100% disk utilization and Windows Media Player hanging after twenty minutes or so. Turns out, uninstalling the McAfee security software that came with the machine (I prefer Malwarebytes) and tweaking some settings with WMP seemed to do the trick. I found some beautiful stargazer lillies for Tracey (our anniversary is Monday), and, hot and sweaty after hitting balls, enjoyed a refreshing dip in our 80-degree pool before making myself a Hemingway daiquiri. I mean, how much better can life get? If there is one thing I am learning in these days of early retirement is enjoy everything for what it brings. Because once you’re eligible for Medicare things ain’t necessarily going to get any better. As Jim Morrison once sang, “the future’s uncertain and the end is always near.”

I think this picture captures the 2020 presidential race in just about the starkest terms possible:

Tuesday night is the first presidential debate. Will “Slo’ Joe” show? In the immortal Frank Zappa’s words, “I figure the odds be 50/50.”

If you truly want to see the difference between Democrats and Republicans in this year’s presidential cycle, look no further than this fine Don Surber article. In addition to contrasting loons who go beserk over Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s death, there is this money quote:

And as the headline says, Trump supporters are having all the fun. They get to hold rallies. They get to see their candidate belittle the media. They get to enjoy watching Wile E. Coyote Democrats blow themselves up again and again. I truly believe now that all Acme Products are made in Red China.

…Biden supporters aren’t having fun because they don’t exist. If they existed, he would have won in Iowa and New Hampshire instead of finishing fourth.

…Oh, there will be people who vote for Biden. Millions of them. But they are voting against President Donald John Trump, not for anyone. They have no candidate, and that is not fun because they have no team really. So in their anger, they tear up cities, they tear up campaign signs, and they tear up their own cars.

I think this is right.

Finally, after much testing I have perfected the Pusser’s Painkiller, finely tuned for The Great White Shank’s (and your) discerning tastebuds. Here’s the recipe:

1. Mix 1 oz of pineapple juice, 1/2 oz. orange juice, and 1 tbsp of Cream of Coconut together until smooth.
2. Add 2 oz. Pusser’s British Navy Rum into shaker 3/4 filled with ice.
3. Add fruit juice mixture to shaker and shake vigorously.
4. Pour into a whiskey glass. Add twist of lime and a dash of nutmeg.
5. Enjoy!

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 19:55 | Comments Off on Weekending
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