A catchy tune

The anti-Bush campaign (whomever the nominee may be) could use a catchy tune; I think I’ve found one.  Yeah, this one works for me.

Talkin' 'Bout a Revolution

Don't you know
They're talkin' about a revolution;
It sounds like a whisper.
Don't you know
They're talkin' about a revolution;
It sounds like a whisper.
While they're standing in the welfare lines,
Crying at the doorsteps of those armies of salvation;
Wasting time in the unemployment lines,
Sitting around waiting for a promotion.
Poor people gonna rise up
And get their share;
Poor people gonna rise up
And take what's theirs;
Don't you know
You better run, run, run...
Oh I said you better
Run, run, run...
Finally the tables are starting to turn
Talkin' bout a revolution.

-- Tracy Chapman

From self-titled album, 1988

(Yes, I'm still on a Tracy Chapman jag; it's just going to have to run its course!)

3:49:25 PM    comment []

Post-game analysis

Just in case you were wondering:  I sucked. 

Big time.  I whiffed on the first tee, in front of two-thirds of the attendees.  F*ck.

It didn’t help at all that we’re all obligated to tee off with a ceremonial driver and not one of our own; the mandatory driver is about five inches too long and too whippy for my game.  Losing the feel of the club head because of the whippy shaft and light club head, I instinctively try to push the club head and whiff.  F*ck.  What a way to start off the match.

My teammates rally behind me, though, ordering me a Bloody Mary.  It helps immensely, along with a couple ibuprofen; the knot in my lower back was loosened enormously.  I manage to make a usable shot for nearly every hole (we were playing a scramble format, thank god).  Although they were offset by incredibly pissy putting, I actually had some very nice usable drives.  Go team!

It was an incredibly gorgeous day, picture perfect with only a few clouds scudding by and a pleasant breeze.  A wonderful day to slum on the golf course, drinking beer and gabbing with friends and family.

Until I got stung by a wasp – in the mouth as I took a second sip of my second Bloody Mary on the fifteenth hole.  F*ck.  Where the hell did that come from?  It wasn’t there when I took my first sip only seconds before!  Fortunately the combination of a rapid swatting away to remove the offending wasp and stinger, followed by the application of ice cubes from my cup and a swish of alcohol-laden beverage prevented me from looking like I was literally beat up on the course.

We had a little formality of speeches and photographs, then a light supper.  Everyone agreed to meet later at the house of a cousin with whom we’ll be spending the night.

I made it through a glass of water and two more ibuprofen before a migraine kicked me in the head, progressing rapidly to stabbing pains and a lost of sight in the middle of my field of vision.   

I’d felt it coming on after dinner, a dull pressure starting between and behind my eyes.  Too much sun, more drinking than usual (I don’t do more than a glass of wine of late – two Bloody Marys, a beer and an obligatory ritual shot of Greek brandy over the course of the day were over the top for me), far too little sleep the night before, the stress of herding two kids and driving like a mad woman for two hours, all contributed to the butt-kicking I got that evening.  I went to bed at 8:30 pm, crawling under the blankets and pulling a second pillow over my eyes and ears to block out sensation.  That’s me, the life of the party. 

I stumbled out at 12:30 am after the party broke up, to check on my kids.  What good that did I don’t know; they were already in sleeping bags, tuckered out and snoring.  I stumbled back to bed to nurse my dully throbbing head and take two more ibuprofen before passing out.

A great time was had by all.  Or at least by most accounts, all but me.  I do have to wonder whether my premature retirement dampened the party; our annual festivities usually run until after two in the morning.  Most guests had left by 11:30 pm.  (I thank my stars the migraine wasn't as bad as Mike's -- it could have been far worse.)

Oh well, better luck next year.

12:22:53 PM    comment []

First Day of School

Happy, pensive, anxious, eager, bored, tired, sad, you name the emotion -- it's crammed here in this room, awaiting the ring of the second bell.  Not in this picture, slowly backing out of the door, is a corresponding passle of parents easing their way out of the room.  They wear the same emotions on their sleeves, mirroring the little faces taking their assigned places. 

Even as I post this it's already snack time.  Wonder what everybody packed to munch on today?  Somebody in this picture packed a cup of peanuts in the front pocket of his backpack.

Behind me to the left is a girl who is bawling her eyes out, her mother fighting tears of her own as she tries to settle her daughter into the classroom. 

Only twelve more years of first days to go...and then some.  I'm sure he won't let me take pictures every year.

10:22:32 AM    comment []