Up With Pee Wee

By now, if you've been reading this blog for any amount of time, you know that if there's anything I don't do, it's talk about myself. I've always been more of a "waiting to listen" feller than a "waiting to talk" feller... plus, honestly, I'm really not all that interesting.

But all of that changed today, my friends. We spent today at Golfland! And there was much rejoicing!

Nancy and I had the pleasure of pee wee golfing with Lindsay & Alex all afternoon... and I'm here to tell you: if Lindsay and Alex ever invite you to Golfland? GO. Conversely, if Jack Ruby and Bruno Hauptmann ever invite you to Golfland, DON'T GO. And not just because they're dead, and they'll probably smell bad in the heat.

Lindsay and Alex, though, are perfectly charming golfing companions. You couldn't ask for better. They are also, by the by, pee wee golfing aces. Alex has a keen eye for the geometry of carpeted spaces (I'm guessing he's a huge fan of Donald Duck in Mathemagic Land), and Lindsay? Well, aside from having utter mastery of the windmill, she has an unerring ability to sink most brightly-colored golf balls in 3 strokes or less... it's like a blessing. Yes, it's just like a blessing! As though God herself came down one afternoon and said to Lindsay: "Lindsay? I'm going to give you the ability -the 'God-given' ability, if I may... and we both know I may, because I'm God and all- to sink most brightly-colored golf balls in 3 strokes or less. No, no, don't bother thanking me... but could you be a dear and hand me that Airzooka?"

We went with no plan other than to watch Nancy kick my ass at pee wee golf. That's always been the Depper/Rose pee wee golf system, and it works for us. We wound up golfing two rounds, one mano a mano, and one team vs team. By some miracle, I squeaked out the win in the mano a mano round... and I just realized: I have no idea who won the team vs team round! By rights it shoulda' been Lindsay and Alex, 'cause quite frankly, Nancy and I were stinkin' it up out there on the North Course today. Well, me more than Nancy... but less than Jack Ruby.

Lindsay had the brilliant idea to wager game tokens on holes in our second round. Well, to be fair, she tried to mention it before our first round, but these damn kids were shuffling through the motions of singing "Happy Birthday to You" -to some other kid whom I guarantee was far less interested in the song than he was in the hot dogs and crepe paper that were just out of his reach in the only patch of shade to be had at Golfland today- while the rest of us were trying to concentrate on our swings, and, well... look: I'm not against kids or birthdays (What am I? Jerry Lewis?), but when people are trying to play some serious pee wee golf, maybe, I dunno, kids shouldn't be in the area. They should be singing hymns or whitewashing fences or something, right? Not at the pee wee golf course. That's no place for kids, dammit! Am I alone on this?

What was I saying?

Oh yeah! So Lindsay came up with the idea of wagering on the occasional hole (Quit it, Smutty mcSmuttsmutt; get your head out of the gutter). We'd wager game tokens on any given hole, and the team who got the best score would reap the faux gold benefits. I learned three things from this second round of golf:

1. Alex is a pee wee golf hustler, but the kindest, most polite pee wee golf hustler you'll ever cross clubs with.
2. Nancy and I choke under the pressure of betting tokens on pee wee golf holes. Again, me more than Nancy, but except for one measley hole, any hole we bet on? We lost.
3. I have a gambling problem. By the, oh, second time we wagered I was willing to put up the entire contents of our apartment, and tokens we didn't have. I'da wagered my car, but -I'm such a fool- I'd already told them that my car was not-so-fresh these days... dammit. Note to self: I should go back there and find a sucker... a patsy... a mark, and play for pinks.

By the end of a fine fall day, we'd played a buttload of pee wee golf, Nancy and I had won 12 tokens, Alex and I had saved the President (who knew he was a captive in that compound, anyway?), and Nancy and Lindsay had scored countless Tootsie Rolls and a bunch of charming, countable toys that looked a lot like circus animals on tiny, plastic wheels... good times.

It all reminds me of something the elder Gods, the wise ones, Up With People and Kelly Ripa used to say: "Yippee!"

PS: Oh, and by the way? Big Log is not at all about poop.