For the second or third time in the past couple of weeks, I’ve encountered an odd phenomenon here on Stony Brook Road. As some of you know, the rugby club has its pitch (that’s “field” for those not “In the know”) on Stony Brook Road. The rugby pitch is actually just an old converted football field, with the old “H-style” goal posts and such, and it’s pretty much unused when the rugby team isn’t practicing or scrimmaging on it.
Unused, that is, except for one man. Apparently, there’s a crazy old man that lives nearby that has decided to make the field sort of practice golf course for himself. Aside from the sheer idiocy of knocking golf balls around an area with a high volume of traffic nearby, where any errant drive (yes, he practices driving) or chip shot could land on someone’s windshield or even cause an accident, this just strikes me as really fucking weird. I mean, you can’t go pay the $25 to go play on a par three course every week? Not only that, but you feel compelled to hit golf balls around a fucking rugby field? Get a life, dude. And this is coming from someone who counts drunken karaoke and Munchkin among his big thrills in life.
I sincerely hope my own life never degenerates to the point where I’m 60 years old and hitting golf balls around an open field for shits and giggles. I may go to the batting cages until I’m not physically able to swing a bat anymore, but that’s different. Totally different.
Thinking about this guy actually reminded of a dream someone had of me. In the dream, there was a bitter old me living by myself in a massive house full of baseball memorabilia. I’m thinking that this outcome seems more and more likely all the time. I may be old and miserable but by God, at least I’ll have my autographed David Wright game-worn jersey from the 2011 World Series to keep me company!
As for my current life, my present time waster is Final Fantasy 3 (or 6) which I’ve picked up for the first time in a couple of years. My current plan is actually to beat FF3 (the greatest RPG of all time) and move on to Chrono Trigger (the second greatest RPG of all time). That should give me something to do for a while…other than the mounting workload for my graduate school classes, of course.
In an unrelated story, I also work out three times a week now, and I was sore as fucking hell all day today. That’s the price one days to become a super-buff sex/softball/ass-kicking machine, or at least that’s what I’m going to continue to tell myself. If I start wearing muscle shirts and admiring the way that sweat glistens on my toned biceps, though, you all have permission to shoot me. Repeatedly.
Other than that, it’s a lot of the same around here. Can somebody’s life be both totally unspectacular and utterly ridiculous? I can’t really think of a single word to appropriately describe my present state or how I feel about the world, so I will keep it simple and stick to the obligatory “bleh”. I’m moving along, I guess, but I don’t get the feeling there’s anything spectacular on the horizon anytime soon.
As I conclude this writing, a couple of cars outside just begun honking at each other, no doubt furious over the monumental challenge of conquering a two-way intersection with traffic lights. People amaze me sometimes.
Stay tuned for the “Idiot Happy Mets Fan’s Guide to the 2007-2008 Offseason”, coming whenever I feel like it. I’m not sure how I feel about these rambling stream-of-consciousness posts I’ve been making lately, but whatever.
Now if you excuse me, I have a Kefka to deal with.
