Sunday, July 02, 2006


Assorted notes from a weekend getaway:

I. Tacky weddings are great, so long as you aren't invited. Seeing the unnaturally tan Bridezilla arrive at the ceremony by golf cart is great fun. The moment a few minutes earlier where daddy polished off his Corona, looked around, and stashed the bottle in the bushes... that was priceless. And yes, somebody was watching. The photo shoot, earlier in the day, went on and on and on, with Bridezilla ordering everyone around and posing them however she liked. The elderly cleric droned on and on, while the family members sweated in the hot sun. Several of the female guests dressed like it was a cocktail party, not a wedding. Even I know you aren't supposed to wear black to a wedding, even if the outfit is tight and clingy. And you can't lighten the black outfit up by pairing it with flip-flops, either. Sorry. And guys: Denim is not ok, unless maybe you're doing a Western-style ceremony, in which case you wear a nice shirt with a bolo, and your best boots and hat. Levis plus a random J. Crew shirt, untucked, doesn't cut it. Oh, and the wedding march at the end was drowned out by a passing train. Later, another photo shoot at sunset, and at the end Bridezilla strides through the hotel lobby, dazed tubby smirking fratboy groom in tow. Both are even uglier than they were at a distance, and both chose wedding wear at least a size or two too small, and not in a good way. He's clutching a therapeutic Corona as if his life depended on it, which isn't out of the question. Several of the groomsmen kept their shades on throughout the whole ceremony. At first I thought they were trying (and failing) to be cool, but once I got a better look at the sort of person we were dealing with, I realized they were probably still hung over from the bachelor party. I'll grant that it was probably a really great bachelor party, so far as those things go, if you're into that sort of thing.

I give 'em four years. They had the ceremony videotaped, so when he fails to return home after poker one night, she can watch the thing on DVD while sniffling and snorking a pint or two of Ben & Jerry's.


II. As a non-golfer, as someone who's bored to tears by watching or even thinking about golf, I'd like to make a few observations about the pastime, including some constructive thoughts about how to improve the sport, because if it bores me, it obviously needs work.

  1. The clothes have to go. What is it about ugly polo shirts and belted pleated knee-length khaki shorts that lights a fire in the soul of the average middle-aged man? Who tells him he looks good that way? Are you really obligated to wear this dork suit if you want to hit the little white ball around?
  2. Golf carts have to go. It's a sport. People should have to walk, no, sprint, between holes. If you don't work up a sweat, it's not a sport (and that goes for baseball too, while I'm at it).
  3. Caddies have to go. You get exactly one golf club to play the whole game with. What sort of club that is is up to you, but you don't get to have a servant carrying a big bag of clubs around for you to choose from.
  4. Thirty second shot clock. You can't stand around and agonize about how to take the shot. If you do, you get penalized somehow.
  5. Borrow a little from miniature golf. On at least one hole, you need to hit the ball through a spinning windmill, and eventually into the mouth of a flaming skull. That would be cool.
  6. Also have part of the score based on a driving range segment, where players are ranked by sheer distance attained. This will reward golfers who actually work out and try to build upper body strength. Eventually golf will get its very own steroids scandal, and that's how you'll know "real sport" status has finally been attained.
  7. Fans are supposed to shut up when someone's trying to make a shot. That's silly. In real sports, you're expected to do your job properly even when opposing fans are screaming obscenities at you. That should be encouraged. Stop trying to make the sport family friendly. Kids don't give a crap about golf, and they probably never will.
  8. Cheerleaders. Gotta have cheerleaders.

III. How many rural northwesterners does it take to change a lightbulb? Based on an observation today, the answer is at least three. One to notice the problem, and have no clue what to do about it. One to be in charge, know what to do, and yet fail to delegate the job to anyone. One to mind the front desk while the first two go off to investigate the light bulb situation. Perhaps even more people were enlisted in changing the blown bulb before things were all through.


IV. Brewpubs in Washington keep peculiar hours. Or more to the point, the two we tried to hit on the trip were closed when we visited, and I'd really like to draw general conclusions from this limited set of data points.

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