Since you asked:
Not sure about you Slats and Ranchers, but I am one happy Gaucho that last week is over. Man. Last week was one for an Irish ballad. Just when you didn't think things could get more depressing, they did. (Remember Tornies and Nuggies, never, ever say; "At least it can't get worse." It can and, specifically if you say that, it will)
Looking back, I am not sure what was more depressing: The orange alert; the shots of fighter jets flying cover over our Nation's capitol; the government directive Honey-do chore to go to the hardware store and then duct tape and plastic sheet the house; the potential war with Iraq; the Osama tape; the stock market plummet, or the five days of steady rain here in San Diego.
Now, I know that - compared to the rest of the country - five days of rain doesn’t sound like much, but it is a classic case of you had to be there. San Diego and it's San Diegans simply look dorky in the rain. When it rains in San Diego, the entire city resembles a guy in a bow tie sitting on a train eating a banana. You can’t explain why, it just looks goofy. When you are standing under cover just out of the rain and you look at the expression on San Diegan's face's as they emerge from the rain, you would think the rain had been replaced with battery acid.
You know what didn’t look goofy in the fog and rain? Our nearby Torrey Pines golf course where Tiger and others were battling it out at the Buick Open. The course looked downright mystical on Thursday.
The fog shrouded the rugged valleys and cliffs replete with craggy Torrey pines. Why, you almost expected to hear Led Zeppelin’s “Cashmere” soar in the background as, suddenly, a Knight-in-white armor charged from the mist on a black stallion. (OK, so that description was a little too “Lord of the Rings” meets, “La Cage Aux Falles,” you got the idea)
And then, the next day, the sun did shone brightly and the course veritably sparkled from its rain washed soul-cleansing. Hang gliders soared, waves crashed, dolphins breached. If somebody had devised a drinking game in which you had to imbibe every time one of the USA Network golf announcers said beautiful, gorgeous or spectacular, you would have been hammered-drunk in a half-an-hour. Everyone from outside San Diego who watched that tournament would be green with envy of us who live here.
Well, trust me, as I stated in the second paragraph above, it was depressing around these parts. But it feels a lot better now. Now I am off to watch the Buick Open. I must be getting old. Not only am I going to watch golf, I am actually excited about it. Whew.
After the incident of Phil Mickelson’s put-down of Tiger Woods’ Nike clubs, the two are paired in the final group of the Buick Open at Torrey Pines. This epic showdown should have a name. How about The Battle of The Club Snub, The Nike No Likey or The Gear Smear?
The Struggle of The Technology Apology? The Apparatus Fracas? The Equipment Argument? The stick conflict? No, here it is. I got it:
The Battle of Tiger and Phil To Settle Which Club Should Hit the Pill.
Since you asked 2:
Not to sound like an old guy trying to be "hip" and "with it" but how about that Best New Artist Grammy Nominee Avril Lavigne? She is ridiculously young, but, to quote Jackson Browne, that girl can sing.
She writes her songs, she sings them well - not all "ewww, look at me modulate my voice" over-the-top - and she plays guitar and she doesn't try to show us how strong - or slutty - she is. She is a real refreshing change for a country that has been virtually Britney Aguilera'd to death. Trying to think of who Avril is like from my generation of music. I guess a skateboarding Stevie Nicks is as close as I can come. Or maybe Alanis and Sheryl Crowe channeling through an 18-year-old surfer chick. Might get her album.