Quote of the week:
"The supply of women was endless. It was like heaven turned on its tap and said, 'Take whatever you need.'"
--Gene Simmons, on being a rock star.
Is "Rock Star" one-word as the Red Bull-like drink would have us believe? Rockstar? Hmmmm, not sure. Maybe "one-word" should be oneword? Maybe.
Where the heck have I been? Well I played golf on Monday, so of course there was no blogging that day. I haven't really been playing in the last year, so 18 holes is actually tiring. And despite the fatigue, it was a gruesome day anyways. I shot quite a bit over par. I did putt the least out of our foursome though, so that was kinda nice. 33 putts. Not ballbusting, but not too shabby either.
Hole 16 was a 135 yard par 3 elevated about 35 yards or so above the green. A more than slight wind, but not quite a stiff wind was at our backs. The group decided this was an 8 iron, but I knew it was a 9 for me. Not that I'm a bigger hitter, but the yardage, with the drop in elevation was an easy choice. One of the players tried to talk me into believing that the wind from behind was forming a funnel that would keep the ball up. He was a much better golfer than me, so I almost fell for it.
So the first hitter knocks it straight at the pin. Dead on......just 15 yards beyond it. Now my 9 iron is looking good, right up until I don't quite get my club face closed and shank my shot 35 yards to the right of the green. Pin high, I will add. Another player tosses me a ball and asks me if I mind if he tries something with my swing. If it helps my game, I'm all for it. So he re-adjusts my grip, and begs me to do just one thing with the club. Although this feels so utterly awkward, I give it a shot. My ball divots the green no more than 5 feet from the pin. Fucking A. Looks like I still have a shot at the Senior's tour.
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