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this week marks the start of a series of photos that my dad took while he and mom and my sister were vacationing in europe. he called this one "caged polish grandmas."
currently, hank kuehne owns the statistic for the longest driving average on the pga tour with a distance of 318 yards. for perspective, that's hitting a white ball the size of a baby's fist about one-fifth of a mile. i mention this because i played golf yesterday and beat my personal long drive best by smacking a 300 yard rocket off the tee, down the middle of the fairway. if i did that every time that'd place me at about fifth amongst professional golfers on the american tour. of course, if the pros all played stoned, i'd be guaranteed to kick their asses.
its pretty safe to say that i had a sports-oriented weekend. saturday afternoon was spent at a barbeque at the beach. my fried chicken was a hit and all 24 pieces disappeared in about an hour. i followed up my culinary mastery with some athletic feats during a game of football, rallying the team back from a 14-0 deficit doing my best michael vick impression (hey we're both virginia boys) eluding defenders and going vertical, throwing the ball downfield for a couple of scores. we lost on the last play of the day, the other team scoring a fluke touchdown off a deflected pass, the setting sun being a merciless time keeper. i don't know if i could have maintained the rally because my throwing arm felt like jello towards the end and goddamn my arm is sore today.
this week marks the start of a series of photos that my dad took while he and mom and my sister were vacationing in europe. he called this one "caged polish grandmas."
currently, hank kuehne owns the statistic for the longest driving average on the pga tour with a distance of 318 yards. for perspective, that's hitting a white ball the size of a baby's fist about one-fifth of a mile. i mention this because i played golf yesterday and beat my personal long drive best by smacking a 300 yard rocket off the tee, down the middle of the fairway. if i did that every time that'd place me at about fifth amongst professional golfers on the american tour. of course, if the pros all played stoned, i'd be guaranteed to kick their asses.
its pretty safe to say that i had a sports-oriented weekend. saturday afternoon was spent at a barbeque at the beach. my fried chicken was a hit and all 24 pieces disappeared in about an hour. i followed up my culinary mastery with some athletic feats during a game of football, rallying the team back from a 14-0 deficit doing my best michael vick impression (hey we're both virginia boys) eluding defenders and going vertical, throwing the ball downfield for a couple of scores. we lost on the last play of the day, the other team scoring a fluke touchdown off a deflected pass, the setting sun being a merciless time keeper. i don't know if i could have maintained the rally because my throwing arm felt like jello towards the end and goddamn my arm is sore today.
are they just catching a ride in the hay cage?
cruel torture?
a weekly ritual?
a trip into town?
talk about a thousand words!