It's Hard to be Instantly Awesome...

...at disc (or, as I still prefer to call it, frisbee) golf. While I remember Ransom and I developing some pretty sick frisbee-chucking skills back at the dot bomb we worked at in 2000, hucking those things the length of parking lots during our repeated very-long-breaks every day, my skills have obviously atrophied. This morning I joined three formidable companions on the 28-"hole" course up in the hills over SC and discovered that it's really freaking hard to make one of those things go straight, especially between trees.

On returning home, I scrubbed down with alcohol so that B wouldn't have to spend the rest of the week in abject terror about Poison Oak cross-contamination.

It makes me reflect, again, on getting older. When I was a kid I couldn't understand why my parents wasted so much time doing yard work; why would they deliberately buy and bury and fuss over plants rather than doing something more fun, something more indulgent? I realize now that a huge part of getting older is the ability to derive intense satisfaction from time-wasting. What I love about settling in to my thirties is the ability to whole-heartedly abandon concerns about whether what I'm doing in my spare time really matters as long as I'm able to do it while drinking coffee or beer. Clambering over hills and chucking a borrowed plastic disc across a field definitely counts.