Sunday, September 16, 2007

like a pro

I find myself here again, Sunday afternoon. And after a long week of putting up a semi-professional façade, I am finally able to put on the sweats [which I wish I could wear at work] and lounge lazily in my Ikea sofa with my legs over the arm rest and my head propped up on a pillow, watching nothing other than golf. I can’t, as I sit here, believe that I am willingly watching this slower than molasses, running down a horizontal surface, sport. But it’s true; I have become one of thoooose people, and am getting into this Scottish born game.

I know it all started when I was continually asked if I played golf in various job interviews, in places ranging from Boston to Dallas. Each time I unfortunately responded with a regrettable ‘no.’

But now there is hardly a weekend that goes by that I don’t ‘hit up the range.’ I have stopped putting my Aunts old clubs away in the closet after each trip, but rather making them a permanent fixture in my living room. Where, on a few occasions I pull out the 3 iron and practice my swing in front of the television. Thanks to what little furniture I have in the space, I can swing away without fear that anything will go crashing to the floor, walls, or out the window.

After contributing my $7.50 to the pine ridge driving range, I take my medium bucket of off brand golf balls and head to the most secluded spot I can find on these sunny afternoons. However this seclusion lasts for maybe 30 seconds when some big shot, dressed head to toe in Titleist gear, insists on taking the slot right next to mine. It isn’t until the third ‘warm up’ shot that I take that he realizes that the space next to me isn’t his wisest decision. This mostly is due to the fact that I have consecutively hit the last three balls straight into the knee high partition with as much force as a F5 tornado shoots a 2x4 through the air. This ¾ inch piece of plywood has proven to be the saving grace in separating shear and utter pain and complete and totally humiliation.

But once things get going and the practice shots are over things start to straighten out and I can shoot for the 175 maker. I sometimes make it, sometimes not but if feels great to make solid contact with that small plastic ball. Each time I pull my arms back and raise the club over my head I anticipate the sound that comes out of the club when it hits the ball. It has a certain ‘ping’ to it that I strive for each time. I know it when it happens, but can figure out why, when it doesn’t. I try to remember what my cousin, coach RT, said about a proper swing, and how to fix it when it isn’t. But this, the guessing game, is [at times] more frustrating then not.

Then when I get home and flip on the tube and watch the pros hit the links I carefully observe, I try and figure out how they do it, hit is so far and so straight that it always ends up exactly where they planned it. However the sarcastic side of me usually kicks in and I think to myself... ‘I bet they can only hit it in that ONE direction,’ but me, oh no. I can hit it SO many directions without even trying. Even though I might have the same setup, stance, and swing, the ball can end up either to the left or right of where I was aiming, and on occasion it might even keep on a straight and narrow path. I suppose this shows how much of a versatile player that I can be.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

'the office' and 'the view'

view into the Harbor

this is what i see every day as I walk into my building



my building 901 S. Bond

it is a bit distracting to see these boats cruise the harbor throughout the afternoon

Monday, September 10, 2007

i love Minnesota

United States Courthouse grounds crew


i felt the same way

the old mill



looking out on the Mississippi.

the guthrie theater
architect: Jean Nouvel..... and some interns (ha-ha)


lake ore-be-gone


to grandpas house we go...Virgina ave.

darn right this is the home of hockey.... and the biggest stick ever
humpty-dumpty sculpture in Minneapolis



coolest sink ever @ the guthrie