Nothing at All

by lex

Wed – July 20, 2005

To report thus far today:

Slept in until nearly 0700 – it felt like a wicked self-indulgence, but as I have been on leave for the better part of three weeks now, I felt I owed it to myself.

And then I went and played golf – at Torrey Pines. Met up with a couple of very nice gents and one fetching young lady, name of Courtney, currently a senior at Pepperdine, number 2 on their golf team and the second place finisher at the recent LA Amateur. Yah – she was good. Long and straight and hit the ball well too. I out-drove her of course, because I’m all about distance. Distance and hitting the ball hard, which are not always the same thing, So yeah, I out-drove a girl. But not by much, considering I probably have a good 70 pounds of meat and gristle on her, and she was in the fairway every farking time. Which I, gentle reader, most assuredly, was not. Being all about distance, and hitting it hard.

I’ve been playing golf longer than she’s been alive, she whipped me well and soundly (from my tees!) fair and square and for four and one half hours, and I, constant reader? I was enchanted. Oh, yes. Very.

Seen in the kitchen at the Lodge at Torrey Pines, stamped in copper: “Lyf, it is so shorte, and the game so longe to lerne.”

Just so.

Hot today, for San Diego. Got up to 85, and we was all of us, severally, simply wilting, precious. I submit that I actually perspired today, on the golf course. After the round was complete and handshakes exchanged, I went into the local brasserie for an adult beverage (being as that I have been on leave for the better part of three weeks, I felt I owed it to myself) and shared with the barkeep (yclept Corrine, and fetching as well, in an entirely different way) our mutual understand of just how derned hot it was! Today. Also present at the bar was a gentleman from Knoxville (whose only words up until that point were to argue with the CNN announcer, àpropos de l’annoncement presidentiel au sujet de son choix pour la Cour suprême. Saying it like he meant it. He took a little exception to our characterization of the weather as “hot.” Said it wouldn’t be 85 degrees again in Knoxville until October, maybe. Never mind the humidity.

And Corrinne and I could only look at him blankly, as though to say: “That means what to us?”

Because we are not living in Knoxville, are we precious? No. We most decidedly are not.

And! We are now a part of the TiVo generation! Ordered it just t’other day, and there it was in all it’s splendor after I returned from my round o’ golf. Which was a damned quick turnaround, if you ask me: Two days. And I? Oh, my geek Kung Fu was all a-twitter, gentle reader: There were “read me firsts” and “quick starts” and in-depth “manuals.” And wires, and CD’s in splendiferous profusion, and I was very, very happy. Until I discovered that the phone line (which must, absolutely must, be connected for the very first time only!) was a good two feet too short to reach from the entertainment center to the only realistically achievable phone jack.

Two words: “Radio. Shack.”

Hah!

So the connection has been made, and the TiVo unit itself is happily crunching away at all the information it has downloaded and we are now required to entirely change our remote control customs. Oh yes, it’s a brave new frontier. Not all of us will make it, maybe.

And! I got a wireless thingy to help my TiVo join the local Airport network, doncha know? With 128 bit encryption (so very much better than 64 bit). Twice as good, when you think about it. Which should not be often.

We are going to record: Deadwood. 24. The Sopranos. Battle Star Galactica. Law and Order (I know, recording space is limited, but still) and all those other cool shows shaping the cultural battlefield that I haven’t got any idea when they are scheduled because I am so a member of the DVD generation, who wanted it not only “my way,” but also “at my convenience.” Even before we had DVDs.

Yes. Rhythms. I know. Tonight maybe. Maybe tomorrow. I can almost promise you another installment tomorrow.

If not tonight, blame Corrine.

Back To The Index