Somehow my perfect plan went awry. And isn’t that what John Lennon said about life and making plans?
Okay, Fourth of July weekend and I’m gonna golf, take spin class, get some work done, and await the next Trump jackass moment over a glass of Sangiovese and some eggplant parmigiana. Sound like a plan?
But somehow my perfect plan went awry. And isn’t that what John Lennon said about life and making plans?
On July 1, I torched Santa Anita Golf Course; played like I had the talent I thought Mickleson would someday display. Saturday I played like Mickleson again; only this time it was Harold Mickelson, root canal specialist. Yesterday, on July 3, after studying my game for a looong 18-holes, one of my foursome wanted to know if I could actually use a manual toothbrush all by myself.
And it’s funny how a prissy country club game, requiring all the athleticism of seniors driving electric carts around Leisure World, can impact my attitude, quality of life, and, worst of all, my tendency to be negative about stuff.
But for a signature sunshiny Newport day spent with friends alongside the magnificent Pacific on the lush fairways of Pelican Hill Resort…and with a freakin stick in my hands and a miserable multi-dimpled rubberized version of a ping pong ball at my feet, I wouldn’t even be thinking about the movies.
And as I re-play every sad excuse for my flaying at Mr. Titleist Pro V1 as if I was a mosquito slayer/piñata buster armed with a blindfold and a Popsicle stick (even while trying to avoid thinking metaphorically), why am I feeling so negative about the same film experiences that have been my escape from death, taxes, the Clippers, and the Republican Party for lo so many years?
I think everything would be different if only Hollywood could generate a molecule’s worth of the same kind of creativity that it took for me to not duplicate one single golf swing yesterday; maybe then I wouldn’t gag the next time another comic book superhero showed up on the big screen…just when I needed more.
Good grief Charlie Brown, if I see one more Batman, Superman, Iron Man, Spider Man, X-men, Wolverine, Avengers, or just one more Sylvester Stallone combat flick regurgitated, I may never stop screaming and projectiling at my shoes…especially after a beautiful walk, ruined by an uncoordinated, discombobulated round of golf.
A trusted mentor once recommended staying in the bubble that keeps you connected with only the things you can control. Who wants to be influenced by all the negative stuff you can’t control?
So right now, golf and the movies, my historical tickets to the bubble and escapes from negative real life stuff aren’t really working like back in The Day. But I guess there’s always TV. And who isn’t totally engaged in HBO’s Game of Thrones?
I, for one, can barely tolerate friends/family/co-workers/co-spinners who somehow refuse to keep up with the Game.
But Game of Thrones isn’t exactly some kind of fantasy picnic escape. During the last two seasons (SPOILER ALERT!), a little girl was burned at the stake by her father; a mother and baby were fed to the same dogs that later chewed the face off their despicable master, and countless hundreds have had their heads chopped off or have been incinerated by foul-tempered dragons. The smartest guy in the kingdom stands about 3-feet tall but managed to shoot his father using a crossbow on the Old Man as he remained seated on a functional, porcelain version of the Throne. First episode of 2016: a 200-year old woman took her clothes off.
And I’m not sayin’ I’m feeling negative; I’m just sayin’ who doesn’t wanna watch that reality show sequel of “Deliverance” also known as the Republican National Convention? Don’t know about you but I’m getting butterflies just thinkin’ about it. Is that wrong?
Or is there a doctor in the house? Or maybe I’ll just hit the driving range for a while. Or maybe I’ll just drive through In-N-Out… Yeah, that’s the ticket.
No, why not walk a few blocks to the Pasadena Laemmle and see a heartwarming indy film like “Hunt for the Wilderpeople?” I took the walk. And after being swept away by two unlikely characters, reluctantly embracing the possibility of family during their own escape through the New Zealand bush, I’ll be ready for the real world tomorrow.
