In Which Inconveniently Placed Man-Made Streams Are Discussed

The strange sound of various crows and birds filled my ears and alerted my senses. I soon awoke and realized I was miles away from home, on the couch in the home along the Atlantic Ocean. Two days before, I had recieved a voice message on my telephone from my old radio co-host, Cory, who told me that he was picking me up at 11 the next morning, Saturday. We were going to Bob's house, in New Jersey, for a little college reunion of sorts.

So I woke up on the couch in his family room, with the peaceful sun basking in my face and the birds yelling in my ears. As the morning progressed, we prepared ourselves and eventually set out for a place called "Blackbeard's Cave," which hat a strange assortment of activities, including go-karts, batting practice, water balloon fights, and mini-golf.

We all mutually agreed on mini-golf, which, admittedly, is one of the more regrettable decisions I've made in recent memory. I can't remember one hole that actually made sense. It was 18 holes filled with absurd gimmicks. Maybe I'm just getting old, but why can't we have at least one hole where I can actually see where I should be aiming my putt? I guess it didn't bother the crowds of kids both ahead of us and waiting behind us, who seemed to manage these ridiculous tasks with relative ease. If it wasn't hitting your ball up a sixty degree incline with an immediate dog leg left, then it was hitting your ball over a stream, because naturally, there's no other way to the hole than over the rapids.

But even that wasn't the most troubling aspect of the course. Unlike in most courses, where there's a distinct, sensible path from one hole to the next, the pirates working for asshole Blackbeard had a different idea. I literally had to climb over giant rocks and carefully step over the streams to get from hole to hole. Why? Nobody really knows. It might have something to do with the course being built on something resembling a small mountain, but as a certified handicapped American, it was more strenuous and difficult than the actual golf holes.

Eighteen holes done, I've conquered the beast, right? No. For some stupid reason, this course actually has 19 holes, and "Hole 19" wasn't a clever name for the place where you get drinks afterward. It was another hole, in the same fashion as the previous 18, only a little less complicated. Flat surface Dog leg left. Sloping curve to the right. Unusually simple, at least for this place. The only noticable pitfall I can see is that there's no barrier on the back of the green guarding your ball from the bordering, man made stream.

So I make use of the slope on the right for my tee shot (if you want to call it that) to curve my ball gently within a few feet from the hole, a safe distance from the stream. So I stand in the corner behind my ball, waiting for my colleagues to make their initial shots.

I don't know how it happened, or why, but I could feel my feet tipping back. Before I fully realized what was happening, it was already too late. I tumble backwards, and my behind plants itself straight into the stream behind the hole.

God damnit.

With my ass dripping wet now, I attempted to sink my putt and end this dreadful session. Unfortunately, I rushed the stroke and it ended up in the drink. I'm done.

Lunch:
After we returned our clubs, we went to a small restuarant just across the parking lot from this golf course. I got a cheeseburger, medium rare, American cheese. I didn't like the bun though. Too hard. Thus, the final product was decent, at best.

We went back to Bob's house after this, and our adventure in New Jersey pretty much came to an end. Bob needed to drive Vinny to the train station, 3FD needed to get back home, and Cory and I departed just as these two groups left. How convenient that I return home just in time for dinner.

Dinner:
Mom made me a hot dog, with chips on the side. Very tasty.

And as I sit here, writing this entry at 8:07 PM, I can safely say that I am finally dry. Rest assured, though, when I started this blog, my pants were still damp. Stupid Blackbeard.