Warning: I am in a hotel in Seneca Nation.
Warning: A quick road-post. You know those can be whack. Loose as __________.
People un-become themselves on the road. Like when I am in an airport, any major airport with architecture and red balloon-like seagull razor-wing sculptures from the ceiling and piped-in music like a feather falling, all that, and I always get a stiff drink at the bar, and while drinking–in the spiraling blue blur of strangers, coming, going, coming by, going–all this LIFE in flux–I get this idea/wish/un-wish that I am a character in a novel of my own twisted devising–zombie versus spy versus romance versus existential Important work of the canon (boom!).
A person who does not feel detached in an airport is not a person.
I will not drink with thee, lady. Or with you, sir.
Square still, as a stranger in an airport? Now that is truly square.
I will not cackle with you, or play Sharpie-Jenga (each wooden brick a command/request), or even watch your little dog as your large niece is battling that awful man Fred.
Warning: If you, like most rational humans, think disc golf is fucking dumb, do not stumble further. I LOVE disc golf. And still, realize it is most likely fucking dumb.
To be honest, the only disc golfer I detest in my life was this braggard-ass dude in Mobile, AL, years ago. He had a disc printed up to look like an 8 ball. What? I mean it looked EXACTLY like an 8 ball. Ok. Then he threw it, and he sucked. It hit the ground like a radish, meant for earth, never flight (as in its purpose). And this guy with a $50 disc he paid to get dyed like an 8 ball. Wow. It reminded me of the ball-golfers with $1000 titanium drivers who shank it into the landscaped pond of Koi. The pharisees like urns, etc…blah.
Here is a picture of Ander Monson playing disc golf today. Actually today. It is so weird and dorky-ass as a pic I kind of actually like it. To me, it was all WestWorld. I mean I thought he was actually riding some form of horse. I texted him. I said, “Are you riding a horse?”
He said, “No.”
That was just perspective, and even the crisp, anesthetic dig-cam has not quite figured out perspective.
So surprises still happen, thank gods!!
I mean art. So.
Hey, what’s that Crystal Gavel magazine all about? I heard a relatively major publishing company texted a member of its editorial board. There was money mentioned. I heard a certain company might want to make the joke into a concept, an “idea,” with lawyers and beautiful people ( no one beautiful is involved now, only a few interesting people). And that the “board member” kept that like a crystal secret for a long while. Like 16 days, by my count.
Who is the joke on now, MotherFraker?
But I digress.
I could go on further, but let’s keep this blog clean as a full-sink-basin-2-shave, a feline in the rucksack (for now).
I disc golf today. I played a course in Buffalo NY that was apparently sculpted by Dante. Are you kidding???
Devised by the insane….
Here is hole, uh, 14.
1.) Even the tee sign is bullshit. It diagrams a fishing pier into the shot…(more later).
2.) Throw across a river, a vertical river (meaning banks go straight down into inky deep water-absolutely no chance of someone getting their disc back). (Aside: Most “water” disc courses I have played you can get your disc back. The water is shallow, or clear and most disc golf players play with bright discs, white or pink or whatever–u can see them underwater. Only an ass-nard would play with a dark disc, like navy blue, or worse black. Black discs can be lost against anything–green fields, under brown leaves, etc. It’s a matter of light, of contrast. But you can not predict the human mind. I met this dork once on a beginner course in Alaska [Birch Hill] and he actually played with every discs blue or purple or black, including a disc in the shape of an 8 ball.)
3.) The sign for the hole actually directs us to throw over a “fishing pier” and also to eat chicken fingers at McDonald’s before we start the round. Huh? I don’t eat at McDonald’s and chickens don’t even have fingers, not really. Also, I think to have a disc golf hole where you throw over a fishing pier, across a lake, through trees, just as everyday normal play of the round MIGHT invite confrontation. Let’s see: disc golfers versus fisherman…hmm? Fillet knife versus water bottle? Catching your own dinner versus Mexican restaurant and a discussion of seasonal beer…?
What if the fishermen cast a lure full of hooks over our heads while we drove each hole, disc-golfers?
Is that copacetic?
4.) I have no number four (4) and I am tired. But I do have a photo of my drive over number 8. I hope this photo proves everything I have had to say about this course…Could you work in these conditions?
Lastly. I just got this in the mail today…I love it!