Checklist

Extra Huge Bag-O-Tees: $5.99

New GPS SmartPhone Application (that doesn't work on two courses I'm playing) $32.50

Two dozen golf balls: $40

Hotel, greens and tourney fees: $380

Headed for Cape Cod tomorrow for 5 rounds of golf with friends and family: Priceless

Vacation Plans

After years of some elaborate (read: expensive) vacations, my family and I are taking a rather simple one this year. Since the Mrs. has always wanted to see Niagara Falls, we're going to drive out there and check it out (I've been) and then we're going to hit up Hershey Amusement Park on the way back, although its slightly off-route. We have to be back by Thursday evening to catch the Creed concert since I bought tickets for Mrs. N. for mother's day (stupidly not thinking it was our vacation).

Then, I think we'll head out to Cape Cod and visit my brother and his family for three days or so before driving north so my mom can take the Little One for the next week.

That's all. Nothing crazy or super-special but we'll have fun with it no doubt!

Golf Holiday

Next week I disembark with 35 other guys on my annual Cape Cod golf outing. Casino and other responsibilites have drastically limited my number of rounds this year so I'm not holding out too much hope for playing well.

We'll be playing Bass River, Bayberry Hills (twice), Ballymeade (one of my personal favorites) and Cape Cod Country Club.

Success in golf often comes from confidence, as do many other things I suppose.

One thing frequently preached about golf is being committed. As in, be committed to the shot and your club selection. Good golfers know they can hit the shot they want and are therefore committed to executing it. Bad golfers are not and often think of what might happen if they hit a bad shot. Good golfers are also committed to club selection. They know the club in their hand is the correct one wherein perhaps bad golfers are not.

Commitment reminds me of an old coaching phrase (which I recently heard on the radio). The phrase is "Be Committed". Simple, huh? But they break it down further. "Say you have a bacon and egg breakfast. Sure, the chicken was involved. But the pig was committed. Be the pig!"

So next week, can I be the pig?

Cape Cod

Late tonight, I embark and an annual trip to Cape Cod for a golf outing with roughly 35 other guys. Cape Cod, the easternmost part of Massachusetts, is quite a popular golf destination although its primarily a beach resort that inspires many great artists, novelists and writers as well as houses quite a few celebrities. There are terrific quaint towns and miles and miles of beaches and its perhaps nationally known as the epicenter of the Kennedys.

The heart of the Cape is about two and a half hours from my home although the first time I ever went there (that I remember) I was nineteen years old. Since then, I estimate I've been there roughly seventy times. I have two brothers that moved there about fifteen years ago so I have many, many fond memories of visits, golf outings, a few vacations, weddings and other assorted family fare.

The water is cold, the weather can be iffy, but on the whole its a wonderful place with old school charm. Be it shopping (they don't have a Wal*Mart yet), sight-seeing, golf, Cape Cod baseball (where excellent college players summer), water parks, fishing, biking or just hanging on a beautiful beach, there's something for everyone.

Have you ever been?

From space - Boston would be extreme upper left

Sunset on Nantucket Sound

Cape Cod National Seashore

Hyannis Harbor

(pictures "borrowed" from Wikipedia)

******

I will be playing Ballymeade, Cape Cod Country Club, Cranberry Valley (twice) and Olde Barnstable Fairgrounds if anyone cares. There's money to be won and I'm pretty much at the top of my game. Raining today, but weather looks to be perfect. Wish me luck!

Bees!

Bees! Bees! They're everywhere! Your weapons are useless against them! Run for your lives! -- Chris Farley's character Tommy Callahan in Tommy Boy*

The first time I was ever stung by a bee I was about twenty years old. I thought I had been stung when I was younger but I then realized I had probably just stepped on something sharp. I remember thinking then, "What's the big deal? It not that bad!". Well, its pretty bad.

That first time occurred when I was home for summer break from college. I was bringing the garbage out to the dumpster at my parents recently purchased condominium and as I slid open the metal door and tossed the bag in I was met with a searing pain in the back of my neck and my right hand. I slapped myself silly as I ran away.

"Fuckers!" I yelled as I stormed back into the condo. My younger brother saw my anger and hurried manner and asked what was up.

"Revenge" I said. "Watch and learn".

He followed me into the bathroom and as I grabbed some of my mother's hairspray and a grill lighter. He chased me outside and across the parking lot as I proceeded to incinerate the entire hive which was hidden away in the forklift hole.

"Fuck with me you bastards? Take that! Huh? You like that? Then do it again, fuckers!"

The end result was hundreds upon hundreds of charred bees and hive material piled up on the ground as the metal began to glow red. I stopped only when hairspray ran out. Good times!

My brother was laughing the whole time. Probably at my lunacy. The pain lasted a little while but was still not too big a deal.

This past September there was a big deal.

I hooked my drive left on the third hole of a golf tournament I was playing on Cape Cod. My partner hit his straight so I dropped him off in the fairway and took the cart into the sparse wooded area. I had a clear shot out and as I addressed the ball I was stung on my right arm. Right in the fleshy top part at the crook of the elbow. Damn it hurt.

I walked around a bit shaking my arm and swearing. No big deal. I stepped up and addressed the ball again expecting to hit it out quickly and get out of Dodge.

Well, I hit it out quickly and that's when it happened: sting after sting after sting after sting (you get the point). Above my right eye, on my right cheek, on my right eye's crow's feet area, and multiple times on my neck, my arms, my back (through my shirt) and my hand - all told 15 stings at least. I jumped into the cart smacking myself and riding through the woods as fast as that thing could go. I didn't care if there were logs, rocks or whatever I was going to Duke-Boy over any obstacle. My Titleist-laden General Lee did just fine. When I reached the fairway I jumped out of the still moving cart and took my shirt off. Since they were stinging me through it I thought they must be inside it and for all I know they might have been. My counter-attack left at least half dozen dead bees on the seat and the floor of the cart. In the meantime, the rest of my foursome had no idea what was going on. "Fucking bees!" I yelled.

After I was sure I wasn't getting stung anymore things calmed down and the game resumed. I even parred the hole. I hurt but was otherwise ok. Then the swelling started. In less than 30 minutes I could barely see out of my right eye and my cheeks and forehead were swelling too. My right arm looked like someone had inflated a surgical glove and the sharp pain was replaced by more dull pressure pain, as in swelling, and itching. I had some Advil in the bag and popped those which definitely helped.

Furthermore, I finished the round of 24 more holes. I felt ok for the most part and was glad I didn't feel sick. As far as I was concerned I didn't see need to go to a doctor or do anything different. I think my swing was affected a bit due to my arm/hand but I wasn't about to give up the match and go back to the hotel and sit around.

In the parking lot afterward we gather for a few beers and jokes and chat about our rounds. Well, needless to say, I was the talk of the town. There were a lot of nice guys, showing concern and asking how I felt and the like. To me, that was only marginally better than the stings. I HATE that kind of attention. I hate having any injury or cast or bandage and having others ask what happened. I don't know why, but I hate pity like that. I just want to go back to normal as soon as possible and be invisible until I say something funny/stupid.

Anyway, as its was getting dark and many of us were making dinner plans and such the next day's pairings were being discussed. Dennis learns he's riding with me. Wiseass says, "Ummm....can I have another cart?". Har-dee-har-har!


*not sure the exact quote, but its something like that