At Home in the Desert: Glen07 Day 1

I don’t know if this really happened, but I know that it is true.

It’s a wonderful thing to feel at home in a place you have never lived at which you have never spent more than 7 consecutive days. Granted, this is my FIFTH year spending 7 days in Santa Fe at St. John’s College. But this year I was worried that I would feel different because people I really look forward to seeing weren’t going to be there. Some of the trepidation I had in my second year when I was going on my own–not part of a group–returned. Yet, when I pulled up to the campus, the rhythms of the Glen took over and comforted me. Going to the registration table, losing my breath while toting luggage, unpacking the suitcase into the varnished pine dresser, assessing the bathroom situation, collapsing after travelling since the wee hours, walking past the koi pond to the first meal, wondering yet again why my college couldn’t have served food this good, listening yet again as Greg Wolf introduced the Glen and Julie Mullens told us how to get around campus, and mingling with folks in the Santa Fe night sipping wine and reuniting with old acquaintences.

There are, of course, new and different things at each new Glen. This year I spent my whole travel day immersed in the latest Harry Potter book, which I started in the Cleveland airport and finished on Monday morning. During the opening remarks, Dana Gioia, Chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts, gave an impromptu and stimulating speech about the place of arts in a culture that thinks it doesn’t need them. He finished by reciting from Shakespeare’s As You Like It

Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,
The seasons’ difference, as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter’s wind,
Which when it bites and blows upon my body
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say
’This is no flattery. These are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.’
Sweet are the uses of adversity
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
(II.i.1–17)

The past two years I have been the lone disc golfer lugging my discs to NM trying to decipher the course at St. John’s. This year there are two other brave souls, one in my workhop, to join me in this quixotic task.

And then there is this year’s theme. In past years, it has seemed to me that while there was an advertised theme, it didn’t have terribly much to do with the day-to-day experience of the Glen. This year, however, the folks at IMAGE have not only identified a timely and uncomfortable theme, but they have found some ways to confront us with it. The theme this year concerns the relationship of the Abrahammic faiths–Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Not only is the theme uncomfortable in that there is so much tension between them, but, as a Christian conference, it’s hard not to bump into the issue of our belief that there is only one way to God. Talk as much as we might like about how the one thing we all have in common is that we are trying to interact with God, each faith, in its foundational documents–documents considered to be holy writ–asserts not only that it is a way to God but the way to God.

Apart from plenary sessions featuring speakers from the Jewish and Muslim faiths, the worship services are also incorporating some important texts from all three traditions. A very stretching experience. Yet, given the state of our world and our call as Christians to love our neighbors and to spread the Gospel and to be ready in seasona and out, I cannot disagree with Rodger Kamenetz when he says that one thing we must do is learn the language of the Other; we must learn what questions the Other asks.

He also suggests that the way to encourage a dialog is not to begin with the BIG issues but rather to start small and work up to them.

When you’re angry, you’re spiritually contaminated.

In terms of the workshop, I’m looking forward to the group this year. Our first meeting went well, and it seems to be a group of people truly interested in learning how to write better fiction. About half the group appears to be from Paula Huston’s Spiritual Writing group from two years ago including Paula, herself. There are more than one fairly accomplished writers who are coming to fiction as a new genre; it will be interesting to see how they are stretched and how their expertise in other genres adds to the conversations about the pieces. Moira Crone, the instructor, has the course well in hand and exhibits a keen insight not only into what might get published but also what, as fiction, can push a work deeper into truth.

Crone, who lives in Louisiana near New Orleans, was talking during the break about her experience with Katrina. When asked if she was going to write any stories about it, she replied that she hadn’t yet metabolized the experience. Earlier, while we were introducing ourselves, Paula Huston was recounting a bit of how she was returning to fiction after a long layoff. She described a crisis in her life as the “shattering of an adult identity.” The notion of the shattering of an identity immediately resonated with me and caused me to think not only about my Georgia experience but also about its aftermath. The idea of metabolizing also was helpful, as I’ve often thought that I’ve got this huge ball of something working its way through me like a snake digesting a swallowed-whole dinner.

In other news, I ventured out into the city today and purchased a ticket to the Patti Griffin concert Wednesday night. This will mark the first time that I’ve partaken of the rich cultural life in Santa Fe outside of the Glen (although it appears that at least two other Glennites will also be in attendance).

Our Morning with Patti

At 3:40am Pat pulled into our driveway, I tried to pick up my mug of coffee, and Sherry bounced into the driver’s seat. We then proceeded, like crazed teenagers, to drive two hours to Cleveland to watch the production of the CBS Early Show. No, we weren’t really all that excited to get seen on national TV or meet Harry Smith or even watch Bobby Flay. No, we were going to see Patti Smith perform in front of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

CBS=Completely Botched Staging

As we drove east, lightning and periodic rain followed us. The info from the Rock Hall said that the show would go on “Rain or Shine” so we didn’t worry. Too much. Knowing that traffic downtown was going to be a bear, we parked at the West Blvd Rapid Station and caught a train into downtown. BTW, Cleveland’s RTA sells single day passes for $3.50–the cost of a round trip–which turns out to be a great deal. At any rate, we arrived at the Rock Hall a little before 6am and in full need of my golf umbrella. We found what looked to be a stage and found a small cadre of eager people standing in the rain.

No one seemed to know who Patti Smith was.

We could see guitars and drums on the stage. We could see director’s chairs where it seemed Harry Smith and crew would conduct interviews. We could also see rain and more rain. But we stood where we were told by the nice security man. At this point, we didn’t know anything was amiss.

As the 7 o’clock starting time approached, we began to get worried. For a show that was supposed to begin soon, we saw little activity. Did I mention that while we were standing near the Rock Hall, our view of the entrance was completely blocked. That becomes important. At about 7, some guy in a tie comes over and tells us that we all (about 75) should go inside the Rock Hall; the show has been moved indoors due to the rain. Ok. We all flock over to the entrance.

What we saw dismayed us. Not only was the show in full swing inside, there was also a large crowd of people. While we had been standing out in the rain, the producers had moved the show inside and let folks just walking up enter the building without ever bothering to tell the faithful throng that had showed up early. Thus the first were to be last, but out of general stupidity rather than divine justice. As we filed in, the unimaginable happened. With more than half of the people still outside, they shut the doors and said that noone else could enter. There we were, folks who had driven two hours to be there, folks who had arrived in the wee hours, there was even a full Girl Scout Troop who had received a special invitation from CBS to be there, shut out of the show, still standing in the rain, even though we had been the first to arrive.

Worse for us was that our group got split up. Pat made it inside, but Sherry and I were outside. Sherry was beginning to get really upset. Not only is Patti Smith one of her favorite artists, but we’d done some serious rearranging of busy schedules to make this happen. To be shut out now was painful. Pat rejoined us outside but also had some words with the security guy about the situation. His words–and the words of a practically murderous Girl Scout leader–must have had some effect. We were shortly asked sheepishly to go inside.

Once inside, we began to experience the full chaos of the Early Show. If anyone really wants to know why there’s so much ADD in our culture, one should look no further than our Early Morning Network “News” shows. We found ourselves spots by the indoor stage. We were constantly harrassed by producers telling us to look this way, move over this way, “hug the crowd.” “If you want to be on television, move here.” It was at this time that what had seemed like an odd pairing–Patti Smith and the Early Show–really started showing its incompatibilities. The Early Show clearly had no idea what Patti Smith and her fans were all about. Sure, the Girl Scouts and various other civic groups were happy to dance around on cue to whatever the plastic-faced “celebrities” played for them. But the folks who wanted to see Patti Smith were so not interested in “being on TV.” And, quite frankly, after needlessly standing out in the rain for an hour and then having the door shut in our faces, we were really not pre-disposed to pay any attention whatsoever to the pleas from corporate television to wave our hand in the air like we just don’t care.

At 7:15, after a brief respite inside, the announcement was made that Patti Smith would be performing OUTSIDE in 5 minutes. Run, run, run, you people. So, the rain evidently now passed, we moved back outside. We were told repeatedly that Patti would play, but that then there was going to be a serious “one-on-one” during which there would be no signs allowed, no yelling, and no mugging for the cameras. Yes, we want you to be a rabidly cheering crowd, but only on our special cues. Of course, like the rest of the morning, none of this plan was adhered to. The band came onto the stage for a few minutes, but then stopped. Evidently the “one on one” was happening now. So Harry Smith (no relation to Patti) interviewed a local woman whose sister had been killed and was now responsible for the nephew. Then cut to commercial!

As the skies cleared, our moods improved, and we finally got to hear some music. The rest of the morning was still odd however. Having never watched these morning shows, Sherry was completely baffled by the frenetic rushing about and the constantly moving hosts. Patti and her band would play half a song then stop. The producers would wave frantically for music, only to gesture equally frantically to cut in the middle of a song as they no longer needed “bumper” music.

Grandmother of Punk

What was most fun was watching Patti “People are the Power” Smith play with the crowd. Sure she’d give an impish grin as though we weren’t supposed to make noise, but then she’d make small gestures or say un-mic’d things to the crowd that clearly showed she found the whole exercise as silly as we did. During a segment on the comeback of hippie fashion featuring offerings from J Crew and other extremely NOT-hippie companies, Patti made a modeling gesture to her jeans and t-shirt which were marked on with permanent marker. Ironically, the incredibly non-fashion minded Smith looked much more put-together than the runway models onscreen. I think it had something to do with honesty.

As fun as poking the corporate beast is, we all just wanted to rock and roll. As we neared the end of the show, we did get some full songs, until they finally were done teasing the national audience and us as well, and unleashed the hounds.

Once they were allowed to play, Patti Smith and Her Band put on a great show. It was clear they were enjoying themselves immensely on the small outdoor stage. Whatever screwups the CBS crew had made, they knew how to set up the sound equipment. Finishing up “Everybody Wants to Rule the World”, Smith ad libbed some lines about how we’re not ruled by corporations or governments. Everyone cheered, and the Early Show people clearly had no idea what to do with people outside of their target audience. The interview with Harry Smith was extremely comical as he tried to sound knowledgeable about rock culture, but clearly his understanding of Patti Smith’s place in the rock pantheon was as shallow as the rest of the morning show.

Case in point: Early in the interview, Harry Smith tried to ask some “meaningful” question. Patti would have none of it. She was having too much fun. Why? Because after watching Spinal Tap for “9 million times,” she just wanted to “Hello, Cleveland!” To his credit, Harry Smith knew the reference, and even seemed to enjoy remembering that bit of a very funny movie. But he couldn’t help himself from ruining a good line. He immediately tried to get “everyone to say ‘Hello, Cleveland.’” Most of the crowd just looked at him funny.

There really is nothing so sad as when someone in the presence of cool, trying to be cool, is failing but thinks they’re succeeding. The only person who came off worse was Dave Price the Weather Guy who tried to get the crowd “up” for Smith’s cover of the Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shelter”. He encouraged the crowd to “really get into it.” The director wanted to see lots of dancing and hands in the air. These directions were of course delivered with an air of urgency and energy that one might associate with a flight attendant urging people to move towards the exits of a burning plane. After the breathless instructions were given, Smith calmly took the mike and told us that we should do whatever we wanted to do.

At that point, we didn’t really care about how silly the TV people were. We were enjoying the music. Which despite CBS’s best efforts, was tight, punchy, meaningful, hot, and entirely subversive. In the end we heard:

• Everybody Wants to Rule the World
• Gimme Shelter
• Because the Night
• Gloria (snippets)
• People Have the Power (snippets)

The clips from the performance and interview sound bad but they’ll give you some idea of what was going on. Oh, and Sherry and I are briefly “on TV” despite our not paying any attention to the instructions from the producer people.

I now need to go back and re-read Neil Postman’s “Now…This” from Amusing Ourselves to Death.

Thank you, Patti!

14th with the Indians

So, Tuesday, Sherry and I celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary. (Yeah, us!) We celebrated by attending back to back Cleveland Indians games. Before the eyes roll back in various heads, it must be understood that going to ball games and following the Indians has been one of those “couple” things that we do. Sherry loves the Indians as much as I, and we love loving them together. Also, one of the big events of our honeymoon was attending a Toronto Blue Jays/ Orioles game. So, the Indians games were both enjoyable in their own right as well as a reminder of our nuptiual celebrations 14 years ago.

My folks joined us Tuesday night, and we ate at the phenomenal Flying Fig restaurant in Ohio City. Mom claims that her short ribs were the best meal at the table. My gnocchi, seared scallop, and veal meatballs wanted to argue, buy Sherry’s soup, seared tofu, and scallop were clamoring too loud, and Dad’s amazing hanger steak kept waving a hand and saying what about me?

After catching “The Fatty Wagon”–a shuttle bus run entirely on recycled vegetable oil–to the game, we settled in for a nerve-wracking pitchers duel. In the end, both pitchers were outstanding, and we went home disappointed with a 1-0 loss. The evening ended with a nice walk across the Lorain-Carnegie bridge, which gave us beautiful views of the Cleveland skyline.

Last night, we returned to the Jake, meeting up with some friends from TU. The rain stopped just in time for the game to begin, and we once again settled in for a tense pitchers’ duel. Fausto Carmona turned in a brilliant performance, and the Red Sox’s Beckett was almost as sharp. This night however, we were rewarded with an Indians victory, 1-0.

Two games, two nights, two 1-0 ball games. Some stat junky figured out that the last time the Indians lost a 1-0 game and came back to win with another 1-0 game was in April of 1942, 65 years. Not a bad way to celebrate an anniversary, watching a once in 65 years event.

I now have to go have my left ear drum replaced. Sherry is not afraid of root, root, rooting for the home team.

PLEASE, oh PLEASE

Don’t talk to me the least little bit about the final installment of Monsieur Harry Potter. Being somewhat snobbish on the issue, I’ve ordered mine from the UK, so I probably won’t receive it until next week, but then I’m leaving for the Glen. And Sherry and I like to read them together aloud.

Until then, I’m (hopelessly) attempting a media blackout on that subject. No spoilers PLEASE!

Dinosaur Tour: Bob Dylan and The Police

The latest edition of PASTE magazine features a review of a The Police reunion show that turns into an essay on the entire “reunion” tour culture. Oddly, Bob Dylan ends up in the sweep of the essay. I say oddly first because Dylan is not actually reuniting with anyone. Secondly, I find it odd that PASTE would put Dylan in this category because while The Police are reuniting to perform old material (very energetically and well, I might add), Dylan is no laurel rester; he is still producing meaningful new material.

Over the past few years, Sherry and I have been on what we have called variously the Geezer Tour or the Dinosaur Tour. In that time, we’ve attended concerts by The Rolling Stones, The Who, The Pretenders, The Cars, Blondie, Arlo Guthrie, and over this past weekend Bob Dylan and The Police (with tix to see ZZ Top next month). With the exception of Dylan, all of these artists were largely riding on the coat-tails of their previous success. Sure, the Stones have put out new albums, and The Who featured a new mini rock opera, but none of the new work provides anything as riveting, relevant, or revolutionary as their earlier works. Most don’t even make the pretense of creating something new, and just trot out their Classic Rock Radio playlists. This isn’t to say that the performances haven’t been good–some even great. Debbie Harry can sing with the best of them, and Roger Daltrey turned in a yeoman’s performance on a night when his voice was clearly being wrecked by a cold.

All of which raises an interesting question about what it is that we expect of musical artists. If all we seek is a night of excellent performances, it matters little if the material is old or new. Certainly the Arlo Guthrie show is an example of a wonderful performer and storyteller sharing old songs in an intimate setting and was a night I don’t want to forget. However, it seems to me that especially for the denizens of the 60’s the music was always something more than just performance; it was about having something to say. And while nods to the past are certainly enjoyable, and can even be appropriate when the song is saying something that bears repeating, we do long to hear something new.

So it is with those ideas in the back of my head that I came into the past weekend. We heard Dylan on Saturday night and The Police on Monday. A full third of Dylan’s show featured material from his last two albums. The old material, reaching all the way back to “Times They are A-Changin” and “Route 61 Revisited,” was so re-worked that some in our group didn’t even recognize the songs until the chorus. Here was an artist refusing to stand still even when revisiting old glory. Shattering the most common zeitgiest image of Dylan as the guitar-pickin, harmonica-blowing songwriter, Dylan ditched his guitar early on and spent most of the concert poised behind a keyboard, occasionally picking up a harmonica for some well-placed fills. The band was tight, if not overly exciting, which allowed us to focus on the main star and his songs.

Monday night we saw the other side of the “reunion” rainbow. The Police haven’t written a new song together since their break-up, and even though all three have put together any number of solo recordings, all of the tunes were pulled from The Police catalog. Fortunately, they dug rather deep into catalog and didn’t simply play a live version of Every Breath You Take: The Singles. PASTE magazine claims that this tour is as close to the real thing as you’re going to get if you weren’t alive in the late 70’s/early 80’s, but that it lacks something. That may be true, but I thought there were only two really dead spots in the show. The opening “Message in a Bottle” has never been a favorite of mine, but the dull muddiness of this version bode ill for the night. Fortunately, whatever issues they had were fixed as “Synchronicity II” was nearly perfect. The other dud of the night was an absolutely boring rendition of “Don’t Stand So Close To Me.” However, two mis-steps can be easily forgiven when the rest of the evening was so electrifying. Copeland’s percussion skills were on full display as he scampered from drum set to giant percussion rig for several songs, notably “Wrapped Around Your Finger.” Kudos need to go out to the sound engineers for effectively amplifying the subtle notes from the various cymbals and glockenspiels and other percussive doo-dads.

The most revelatory moment of the evening for me was that Andy Summers guitar work highlighted the fact that Der Stingle has an incredibly limited melodic range. As the evening wore on, it became clear to me that the increasing dullness of Sting’s solo work can perhaps be explained by the fact that he tends to always have the same answer to melodic challenges. Given the same chord progressions, the notes always seem to go in the same direction. In contrast, Summers consistently revealed new answers and interesting new paths to be found in the chord progressions. I left the arena just a bit saddened that the two of them couldn’t have done more collaboration over the past years.

As for the famous distopian atmosphere that enveloped the last Police tour, I saw none of it on display. Stewart Copeland was obviously having a blast celebrating his birthday in Cleveland. Sting was caught repeatedly in the act of smiling. The only sign that the trio hadn’t been continuously touring for the last 20 years was Summers. While Sting and Copeland appeared to be in sinfully good physical condition, Summers looked all of his 64 years. For most of the night he looked a bit lost, like he couldn’t keep up. It brought to mind those movies where whatever team is being featured gives the old, washed-up, drunken uncle one last shot, and he shows some of the old flashes of brilliance that were tragically lost to hard times.

So, on this leg of the Geezer Tour, I’ll give the round to Dylan for not only performing like a champion but also writing new material that is alive and vibrant while re-energizing old favorites. That said, don’t count out The Police; they’ve still got some exciting chops.

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Bob Dylan and His Band
07/14/2007
Plain Dealer Pavillion in Cleveland, OH

Cat’s In The Well (Under the Red Sky, 1990)
Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right (The Freewheelin Bob Dylan, 1963)
Watching The River Flow (Greatest Hits Vol. 2, 1971)
It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding) (Bringing it All Back Home, 1965)
To Ramona (Another Side of Bob Dylan, 1964)
The Levee’s Gonna Break (Modern Times, 2006)
My Back Pages (Another Side of Bob Dylan, 1964)
Honest With Me (Love and Theft, 2001)
Spirit On The Water (Modern Times, 2006)
Things Have Changed (The Essential Bob Dylan, 2000)
When The Deal Goes Down (Modern Times, 2006)
Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again (Blonde on Blonde, 1966)
Nettie Moore (Modern Times, 2006)
Highway 61 Revisited (1965)
(encore)
Thunder On The Mountain (Modern Times, 2006)
Blowin’ In The Wind (The Freewheelin Bob Dylan, 1963)

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The Police
07/16/2007
Quicken Loans Arena in Cleveland, OH

Message in a Bottle (Regatta de Blanc)
Synchronicity II (Synchronicity)
Walking On The Moon (Regatta de Blanc)
Voices Inside My Head (Zenyatta Mondatta)
When The World Is Running Down (Zenyatta Mondatta)
Don’t Stand So Close To Me (Zenyatta Mondatta)
Driven To Tears (Zenyatta Mondatta)
Truth Hits Everybody (Outlandos D’Amour)
Bed’s Too Big Without You (Regatta de Blanc)
Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic (Ghost in the Machine)
Wrapped Around Your Finger (Synchronicity)
De Do Do Do De Da Da Da (Zenyatta Mondatta)
Invisible Sun (Ghost in the Machine)
Walking In Your Footsteps (Synchronicity)
Can’t Stand Losing You (Outlandos D’Amour)
Roxanne (Outlandos D’Amour)
King Of Pain (Synchronicity)
So Lonely (Outlandos D’Amour)
Every Breath You Take (Synchronicity)
Next To You (Outlandos D’Amour)

Outlandos D’Amour–5
Regatta de Blanc–3
Zenyatta Mondatta–5
Ghost in the Machine–2
Synchronicity–5

Just What Exactly Is The Temp?

One of the difficulties of living on the edge of nowhere is that it is something of a challenge finding out what the actual temperature outside is. Sure, I can go outside today and say, “It’s hot.” But how hot?

My personal digital thermometer says it was 100 degrees here in Tiffin. However, checking various web weather sites gave me temps ranging from 91 to 96. The main problem is that when I dug a bit, not one of those readings was actually from Tiffin. They were all places NEAR Tiffin, but far enough away that, for instance, a four degree difference would be perfectly believable.

So, today in Tiffin, the high was either 91 or 93 or 96 or 100.

Regardless, it was hot.

Feteing the Trumpet Child

Last night had a group of friends over to hear the webcast of Over The Rhine’s upcoming release, The Trumpet Child. Most of the folks there hadn’t heard of OTR, so it was a nice intro. Mainly, though, it was a great excuse to get some folks together, have some good food, tell stories, and laugh. Even if the music wasn’t heard loudly, it brought together people in a happy place.

As for the new album, it sounded like more excellent music from great people. Can’t wait til August for to get my copy playing.

T6: American Pale Ale: The Plan

I’d purchased this ingredient kit when I thought I’d be able to reuse the yeast from T5. However, one must roll with the punches. Inspired by the difficulties of the last batch, I picked up some new equipment that I am keen to try out. Namely, an aerator, a stick-on thermometer, an auto-siphon, and a thief that allows for taking gravity readings without losing the sample.

Getting back to scientific principles, I’m going to be experimenting on one aspect and one aspect alone. So, this G&G ingredient kit will get made with no modifications. Likewise, the next batch, T7–an American IPA–will also be made with no modifications. The variable will be the yeast. I’m making T6 with a very fresh, new Activator pack of Wyeast American Ale yeast. I will collect the precipitated yeast and repitch it into T7.

So, the evaluated items will be:

• Repitching yeast: How easy? Produces a lively fermentation? Hoped for outcome: ability to reuse liquid yeast strains thus reducing costs.
• Thief: Ease of use. Does it reduce losses caused by testing?
• Fermentation aids: Thermometer, aerator, yeast nutrient, fermenting in the basement. Do these products/locations encourage healthy fermentation?

T5: Limping Dog Pale Ale

My fifth batch of homebrew turned into something of an Odyssey: what should have been a short two-week proceeding stretched out into two months of bother. What follows is something of a journal of that odyssey.

5/3
What with the Grand Cru and Porter in the cellar, I think I need something normal-ish, so I thought I’d try an English Pale Ale. (Although I had an American Pale Ale at a tasting that got me thinking…). This should be somewhat interesting, (more…)

Vienna Park Open

Subtitle: What did I do to cheese off the Disc Golf Gods?

I last played at Vienna Park in Temperance, MI when the Morefields visited us shortly after we moved to Tiffin. Returning, I appreciate it as a nice, little course, but I also understand why I haven’t made the effort to go back: way too many right-curving shots.

I arrived early, got checked in, and–Glory Be–found a KC Pro Gazelle for sale at the merchandise table. The Gazelle has been one of my “go-to” discs for some time, but they’re now only made in DX plastic. Finding one in the more durable Pro plastic was wonderful. The price-list on the table said that Pro plastic was $10 (I couldn’t believe I’d get away so cheap!) but when I went to pay, the guy said that the Gazelle was more since it was out of production and rare. He wanted $14. I didn’t even blink as I pulled out the extra tender. The only problem with the disc is that it’s on the light side at 147g. But I’ll live with it.

I spent the next hour or so warming up and stretching, trying not to be nervous. As we got closer to tee time, I learned that they’d added three holes to the course, so instead of two 18 hole rounds, there would be two 21 hole rounds. While waiting at our first hole for the round, I expressed to my group my grumpiness about adding holes. Someone mentioned that they had been expecting more players; more holes = more space for players. I get it. I still don’t like it.

The first round wasn’t superb for me by any stretch, but it wasn’t awful either. I had a 5 and some bogeys, but I also had two or three birdies. Given that I was essentially playing the course for the first time (The layout had been changed since the Morefield’s visit.), I felt pretty good. In the end, I walked off the first round shooting +4. After the scores were posted, I saw that of the 11 AM3 (recreational) players, one guy was way out front, two were way behind, and the rest of us were all within 2 strokes. In fact, the four guys on my card all shot the same score during the first round. This was all good. I was being competitive.

Then came the second round. (more…)