Here's what I've been working on lately...

Eating

So, the bride and groom have bought us two Italian dinners so far. The wedding is tonight. Three free meals! This trip is paying for itself already.

Vices #3

I borrowed the in-law's car and drove over to the Monona Golf Course yesterday and hit balls on the driving range. Absolutely beautiful. The earth is so lush here. The grass seems to grow with a banzai mentality as if it wants to somehow out-run the coming winter. The clubhouse starter directed me to the driving range, "Just head out past the ninth green. It's out there," he said. I walked out that way, but had trouble finding it, because, amazingly, there was no path through the grass. The grass grows so fully and quickly that no path is formed. I used a bag of old clubs that my in-laws found after someone moved out of a condo in their complex. They were standard length and so an inch shorter than my long "plus ones." I had a hell of a time hitting the ball. I blame the clubs. I want to go play a round on Monday or Tuesday, but I may not have the right tools. No glove. No tees. No balls even. No balls? Maybe that's the key. I'll do everything the same. Just not use a ball.

"Did you see that one? A hundred and fifty yard eight iron. Damn. I don't hit like that at home," I'll say after watching the imaginary ball soar down the fairway.

Anyway. They have beautiful municpal golf courses in Wisconsin seven or eight months out of the year.

Today

So we are in the land of leaves of a thousand colors. Even with autumn just having come the weight of deep winter already bears down on me here, I think because I am so sensitive from having lived in the land that winter forgot.

Anyway. Madison is nice. We ate at Olive Garden last night.

Vices - Part 2

My exploration of reasons I'm transfering my vices to golf continues...

#2 It's beautiful. A golf course is a wonderfully beautiful place. Many times I have been overwhelmed with a feeling of peacefulness while standing in the middle of a fairway. The warm sun shines down on a greensward that is maintained for the very reason I am there. I am with my friends and we have no obligations for that time other than to do the thing that we came there to do. The feeling is something like the feeling from childhood of arriving at the park and having no goals or needs except to play. You want to run to that tree and back as fast as you can? Do it. It's similar. The many thoughts I've had throughout the week of wanting to hit a great shot will now finally be set free. It's also like when George C. Scott stands on the ancient battle ground in the film Patton. This is where it happened and this is where we will be tested. Of course men compare anything they do to war. But compared to war and vices, golf is beautiful.






















So this isn't the most beautiful course in America.


















However this is.

Vices

As the Coming of the Baby nears I find that I am moving my impulse for recreational vice into, yes, golf. Who would have guessed? There is a reason stereotypes exist and the Dolfing Gad must exist for a reason. Let's think about why.








Dangerous! Highly addictive!


#1 Addiction. Golf is hard. But rewarding. In that small space is the mating bed of compulsion. Golf rewards compulsive, repetitive, mindless practice and execution. Like a slot machine or blackjack table, one can sit down time after time with little success until hitting a jackpot or a good hand, or, may we all be so lucky, a streak. In golf terms this becomes playing a round and hitting that one perfect shot or putting together a string of pars (or bogeys or birdies, you know, better than your usual). It just feels so good. If this happens once, maybe you'll try to play again and not repeat your success, you never get another "hit," but maybe you do. Maybe you love getting that hit. Watching the ball fly through the air and land far, far away. Launching it from the fairway until it lands softly on the green. Then, miracle, just attempting to putt the ball close to the hole and watching and hearing, unbelievably, as the ball drops into the hole for a birdie. Once something like this happens you are hooked. It may not be fun for you as you may not reproduce it for a long, long time and like any junkie you walk around with a "jones." You jones on the practice tee trying to put a ball through the window of the poor demolition derby truck stranded, crucified by driving range balls. You jones while reading books and magazines packed with the "latest" tips. And, of course, you jones on the course as your tee shots fly off to the right ("for a right handed golfer"), your approach shots land pin high - twenty feet off the green ( add an extra shot or three for skulled chips and chili-dips), and you jones as that three foot putt that you just want to sink to get the hole over with becomes a six inch putt. Was that three putts? Or four?

work

here I am doing what I swore I'd never do - blogging from work.

all alone again. the others will soon return.



who am I? the puppet or the puppet master?