A Thank-you Note

Dear Everyone,

I'm sorry this is so late. Mom & Dad always said it was important to thank people for what they've given you, and I realized just recently that while I've thanked everyone for the stuff they've given me, I'm badly, badly behind in thanking everyone for the information they've given me--news about books, music, restaurants, you name it. So here's a late note. Thanks to:

Dan S.--I was sitting at the computer listening to a Fountains of Wayne CD when I realized you'd introduced me to the band. What a great thing for you to do! Thanks, man! And thanks for Ascendancy, too--it's a great game even if it does have one of the most predictable A.I. opponents I've ever faced. When my tendinitis acts up from spending hours beating up the galaxy, I think of you.

Mrs. Rashkis--Ninth-grade English wasn't the half of it. The Great Books Club wasn't the half of it. Even the exchange with the Swain County High students in Bryson City wasn't the half of it. No teacher's done more for me. You gave me Romeo & Juliet, Homer, Harper Lee, Chaim Potok, and a firm belief that putting words together was a worthwhile pursuit. And that teaching was another one. Thanks.

Kristjan--Boy, do I owe you a big thank-you for sending me to Readerville.com! Seriously, the last two years would have been very different and a lot less enjoyable without the 'Ville to hang out in. The books and the dragon-shaped nutcracker are very cool, too, but the online home means more in the long run.

Rob D.--for a former student, you've taught me a lot. The list of bands you've introduced me to is enormous: Radiohead, Ben Folds Five, dada, Ned's Atomic Dustbin, Weezer, Counting Crows, the cranberries... it's a pretty long list. Much obliged, sir.

Scott M.--thanks for all the cool comics work and the secret of Queen's "'39," but thanks mainly for mentioning Fight Club to me. Boy, was that ever a rush. The ads made it look like something decidedly not up my alley, but I've rarely been that floored by a movie. I owe you one.

Sarah R.--Oh, boy, did you ever get me into trouble. I would never have known about the Gordon Avenue Branch booksale in Charlottesville without you. My shelves are still groaning with the stuff I got in 2001. By next year, they may burst. I'm very grateful.

Kevin M.--I haven't been in touch in a looooong while, but I owe you a big debt and its name is "Alan Moore." If you hadn't made me pick up the Pogo tribute Moore wrote for Swamp Thing, I'd be... hell, I'd be a totally different person. So thanks. Drop me a line if you get the chance.

Nan M.--Speaking of being a different person, Nan, where would I be now if you hadn't told me Technical Theater was a good class to take? I'd sure as hell have never learned how to drive a nail, splice a tape, quote Monty Python or bring rice to Rocky Horror. I tip my hat to you, ma'am.

Derik B.--You've pointed me toward the extremes of high and popular culture, whether it's Ovid, Queneau, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. This whole summer's been one long wallow in the first two seasons of the latter, thanks to you...

Ginny & Flyboy--...And the Buffy tapes you guys have sent have added to the mayhem. Not only do you guys have exquisite taste, you know our tastes cold.

Readervilleans--Too many of you to name, and too many books, too. Without you, I'd have missed half the things on my shelves now: Being Dead, Ex Libris, The Wooden Sea, The Botany of Desire, The Talmud and the Internet, The Lecturer's Tale, Hope is the Thing with Feathers, A World Lit Only by Fire, The Periodic Table, Fast Food Nation, Longitude, As Nature Made Him, Salvation on Sand Mountain... And that's not counting the books a lot of you have written...

Mom & Dad--I'll just make this a quick thanks for On the Beach and John McPhee, OK? Oh, and also for Chuck Berry, Dave Brubeck, the Kingston Trio and Sgt. Pepper. You guys are really cool parents.

Kaethe--If not for you, we'd never have eaten Ethiopian. Worse, we'd have missed Good Omens, and that means we'd have missed Terry Pratchett altogether, and then where would we be? Muchas gracias.

WOCM--It's almost impossible to imagine what my CD collection would look like without your guidance. I'm betting it would have a lot more Styx, though. I thank you for that.

Karen T.--All you've done is introduce me to half of the people above, give me an online presence, and put a lot of names into my personal radar--including that of my publisher. On your personal karma balance sheet is a very big number with the initials "P.C." on it. Collect on it anytime you want.

Kelly--Sure, you've given me sixteen years of married life, two wonderful kids, and a lifetime of companionship, but I also owe you for finding They Might Be Giants, the Balancing Act, and Barenaked Ladies. And Quarantine, Microserfs, and Possession. And Northern Exposure was yours, too, now that I think about it. Thanks.

But you owe me for Robyn Hitchcock and Local Hero.

Yours gratefully,

PC
8:00 PM

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I went golfing yesterday for the first time after a long hiatus, a hiatus that's kind of stupid, really, since I live across the street from the school's golf course. It's a truly bizarre sport for many reasons, most of them having to do with either sociology or fashion design. For example, at this weekend's British Open, Duffy Waldorf got a lot of press for his "outlandish" ensemble, a tropical print shirt which consisted of exactly two colors, blue and white, and a cap to match. If that's outlandish, then Newt Gingrich was a drag queen. Frankly, I think the "no shorts" rule is ludicrous, and I'm just hoping that I never have to see a golfer other than Tiger Woods or Vijay Singh at the beach; the contrast between his deeply tanned arms and face and his grub-white legs will probably cause me to stare in horror.

From a sociological standpoint, golf is in a very interesting place right now. After years of being, well, grub-white, its most dominant and popular figure is a man whose ethnic background is a veritable rainbow. Though the sport is traditionally tied closely to the most exclusive country clubs in the nation, this year's US Open was held at an actual public course, one where there are no arcane requirements for membership and anyone with a few bucks (and a car to sleep in while waiting for a tee time) can play a round. And despite its "gentlemanly" aura, the pros are starting to have to deal with hecklers on a regular basis, rather than being able to count on perfect silence as they approach their tee shots.

This last, I'll admit, doesn't bother me much. Sure, it's hard to hit a tee shot straight when someone's yelling at you--heck, it's hard for me to hit one straight in perfect silence--but it's hardly impossible. The ball is sitting quietly, inoffensively, right in front of you, and you're taking a bloody great hack at it with a big club. Compare that to the challenge facing, say, Ken Griffey, Jr.

Junior also has a big club, and he's also trying to hit a ball--a slightly larger ball, granted--but the job is rather different. For one thing, the ball is moving. If the person who started it moving is Randy Johnson, it's going to be moving at a great speed for only a short time, and in that brief moment, Junior's got to recognize the pitch, pick his spot, and make his swing--he doesn't get to walk up to the ball, waggle for 45 seconds like Sergio Garcia, and hit the ball when the spirit moves him. Moreover, while he's doing all this, he's got to consider the game situation (Is he trying to advance a runner? Is he swinging for the fences? Is he laying down a bunt? Is he just trying to make contact?) and adjust his stance and swing to produce that desired result--all with the same bat. He doesn't get to use a putter for bunts, or pull out a wedge to give him some loft over the infield. Speaking of the infield, let's not forget that Junior has eight guys in front of him (and one behind) who are going to try their best to prevent the ball from going where he wants it; Sergio doesn't have to worry about Tiger Woods standing in the fairway to seize his ball and throw it back onto the tee box.

Given all of the above, which athlete is the one most in need of total silence? Right. The one with 50,000 fans screaming at him to go back to Seattle.

Needless to say, I find some of the rules and expectations in golf to be pretty absurd, but I do enjoy going out to hack my way over the course every so often. It's a good walk, spoiled or no, and you can spot any number of bird species on your way. Yesterday's total for nine holes: goldfinch, robin, cardinal, chipping sparrow, green heron, barn swallow, European starling, blue jay, killdeer, house sparrow, eastern phoebe. Don't ask about the number of strokes.
8:07 AM

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