I was a mess in my open-eyed youth…

So before I go through the usual media reports and reviews, I gotta write about my weekend. Friday night, I decided to go to the driving range at 9pm, like a psychopath. Since they closed at ten and it’s a haul away from my house, I did not make it. At about 9.50, when I was driving 60 down Old Hickory wondering if they’d let me hit a basket of balls while they closed up, it occurred to me that I was really burning up some gas in the midst of a semi-crisis. So I bailed on the adventure with several miles left to go. That trip pretty much took up much of the best part of the evening, so seeing as I had nothing else to do, I cranked up Powerage and drove home soaking up the brilliance of the Young brothers.

Saturday, I did hit the range and hit pretty well despite hearing a pop in my shoulder on every backswing. What the hell does that mean? Also, riddle me this: why can I hit my 3 Wood as far as my driver yet straighter? Again, I vowed to remove the clubs I can’t hit from my bag before the next round I play. However, given that I’ve played one round in the past four years, this is a useless resolution.

I ate dinner with my parents and aunt and uncle who were in town from New Orleans. They live on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain and their home wasn’t affected by the flooding of the city, but they had left before the hurricane came through and couldn’t return to no electricity, no gas, no stores open, etc. So they detoured up here. After dinner, I went over to hang with some married friends. One couple expecting a child, one couple having just popped one out. Babies that I have no responsibility to raise make me happy.

Sunday, I don’t know what the hell I did. But I went to dinner at my parents’ again since my aunt and uncle were still in town. After dinner, I went to Freddie‘s house for a little gathering. It was a good time. And then some drunkard decided to embarrass the two most sober attendees by playing The Carter Admin‘s back catalog. Thank God there’s no video footage of the band from when I was in it. Hearing your toneless vocals coming through a boombox in the quiet night air is torturing enough. And good Lord were we hectic. We listened to about 20 songs in half an hour. It was chilling. Seriously.

I stayed up far too late and got little sleep. Monday, I was a zombie. I worked around the house all day and picked up Monty around 5.30 to head to a party hosted by the girls of the Girls and Boys crew. That was pretty hilarious for many reasons too complicated to explain.

As it got dark, they turned spotlights on to the backyard and began some competitive “Horseballs” competition. What could Horseballs be, you ask? Well, it’s like Cornhole.

At least that’s what they kept telling us. When we’d ask, like you are surely doing, what the hell Cornhole was, we’d just get a bunch of mumbling. Believe me, Monty and I had no idea what we were about to see. Especially when someone dumped a bunch of disconnected PVC pipe in the yard and some golfballs tied together with string.

A moment later, someone had constructed two standing “gates” of the PVC tubes, each with three rungs. They set these gates about ten feet apart in the yard and started lobbing sets of two balls strung together at the gates–the object being to make the balls and string wrap around one of the rungs.

I know, it’s the craziest thing you’ve heard of. Well, peep this, the Horseballs Game site. That may help you get a visual. Now, the Horseballs Game people have differently colored gates and score cards. Our party had nothing of the sort. Just spray-painted balls and white pipe. Like in the good ole days.

The scoring was way too complicated. Apparently, you play to 21. The top rung counts 3 points, the middle 2, and the bottom 1. You play in teams of two, and if both players throw their balls on one rung, the points are negated. Also, you have to hit 21 exactly. If you go over, your score is reset to 15.

And if your balls hit the ground and bounce onto a rung, it’s called “dirty balls” and no points are counted.

As you can guess, a game, played after several beers and/or glass of wine, takes about two days to complete. Nonetheless, the fun of saying “horseballs” as much as you do makes the time pass much more quickly.

At the party, Monty and I may have recruited a couple more ping pong competitors–which would be a good thing, since the two man tourneys are kind of silly.

I’ve been listening to ass-loads of newish music and I must write about it, but with work and other things, I’ve had a hard time getting to everything. Priorities, you know. Or as we say, that’s the way the horseballs bounce.