Golfing grandpa

Wow, life moves fast at times. And being busy at work means not only less blogging, but less opinions about stuff–cause you have no idea what’s going on. I feel clueless right now, as if I’ve been on vacation and away from life-as-usual for weeks. Only life at a golf company has been anything but a relaxing day out on the links. The result is “Dean meatloaf starting to smell its so old.”… I’ve been seeing these two skate rats hanging around work the past few days. One day I walked right by them in the parking lot and they kind of looked at me like I was a golf dork. They were straight out of the insta-skater store at the mall. I was all “Business causal” Banana Republic. I looked down to see if I had my skate kicks on. Some day I will realize that shopping at the mallternative store for skate t-shirts and shoes when you’re almost thirty and don’t even skate anymore is… just pathetic really. Damn, New Balances. I almost tried to bro-down and be like, “Hey man can I see your board for a minute?” Then I would bust a kick-flip over this little gap in the parking lot. And they would give me the respect that this preppy golfer deserves. But I hesitated just as the words started to escape. I wasn’t worried that I would bail and look like a fool. In fact, I wasn’t worried that I would land the trick–and still look like a fool. I just remember skating at the park and random dudes asking to ride by board. It was so lame. Beat it grandpa. You’re not impressing me with your Hang Tens. I don’t care that you rode on Kryptonics or remember when boards were made out of… I would be that guy. And these Jackass-raised, mesh hat wearing goobers simply could not give love to a guy who doesn’t look at the stairs in front of the building as something to ollie over, but rather just a helpful tool for entering the building. I took a different way home and realized why skaters are hanging around. There is a ditch next door. It’s dry and has a pretty sweet rail to grind. Rather than thinking about bringing my board, I just though about how hot it must be out there. In a ditch, for crying out loud. It’s all dirty in there.

Forget frisbee golf. It’s all about real golf.

August 14th, 2003