Wage and War

Like a femme fatale, the curves here proved deadly.

The 3rd Annual Ice Cream Invitational.  Every summer in Disney, Rodney and Ryan compete with Shannon and ‘yours truly’ in a sacred triathlon that tests the very limits of our body, our heart, and — dare I say — our sanity, a contest fit for gladiators (American or otherwise).  The contest consisted of three rounds.  The first grueling challenge sets brother against brother on the miniature golf course, and then the fiery hell of the tennis court . . .

Wait, why are you rolling your eyes?  Seriously, whatever you THINK you know about miniature golf, forget it.  Disney’s Fantasia Fairways is a theme park asylum covered in undulating green felt, reminding you why men have loved and cursed the bloody game for centuries.  No cartoon castles litter the course.  The pathway to the hole rises and falls like waves on a storm-tossed sea so there’s no ‘trick’ or ‘perfect putt’ to secure your hole in one . . . just luck and the pity of God.  This was to be our battlefield — our Ragnarok, some may say days from now — and waiting for us at the end, a rich waffle cone, filled with soft-serve and seasoned with the blood and tears of our enemies. Continue reading

Care Package for Charlie

Nothing says Summer like minigolf . . .

Some Spoilers in this post about Suzanne Collin’s Mockingjay and the Hunger Games trilogy.  Just a warning for those still reading the books!

So . . . Charley, Shannon’s best friend and my adopted brother, has decided to stay in Ohio this summer after completing his exams to line both wallet and resume. And although we, his surrogate family, support his decision, a rather sizable chunk is missing from our usual cast of degenerates and reprobates. Shannon alone has taken to stumbling alone down the stairs and speaking in strange tongues, mostly because of the daily consumption of alcohol and his upcoming Russian exam; however, if Charley were here now, Shannon would have abandoned Russian to slurred English and celebrated the beginning of summer while mixing Irish car bombs downstairs with the rest of his brothers — see Mom, these are the kinds of rumors and tidbits you miss when you don’t read my blog.

Unfortunately, like most interns, Charles is bored at work, spending most of his morning scanning his browser for sites his company did NOT block, and mostly becoming really truly irritated with the results.  Through several text-exchanges, Chuck explained that his desperation had driven him to read anything.  Even my blog!  Clearly something needed to be done . . . Continue reading

Old School Tennis

In the year of our Lord 2011, several young lords have gathered to do battle on this ground.  Lord Shan, Berserker King, hath paired with the gallant Murph Dragonsbane against Lord Leo the Magnificent and Ryan, last descendent of a noble but cursed race of giants.  At the evenin’ repast – a culinary delight featuring the finest Italian cheese of the Mac, stuffed Arctic sea bass, and meat of the loaf – the gauntlet had fallen among these lusty young men, eager for battle and opportunity to prove their worth. Not since the Versailles Oath of 1789 have such a momentous occasion graced a tennis court.  Lord Leo and his partner Ryan the Stouthearted quickly announced their readiness to play while Shan the Great and Dragonsbane braced their spirits with a rowdy shout.

“We await your serve, sir,” speaketh Murph Dragonsbane, champion of the Undead Court.  “Lest you be a coward as well as a knave.”

“No knaves we have here, sir,” Ryan sneereth.  “We come to play with men not babes lost in the woods.  Play on!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leo mutterest in the common tongue.  “If you ladies are finished playing knights or whatever the hell you call it, we can play some tennis.”

The sport of tennis is a sacred one in these parts.  To the Murphey family it transcends the mere appellation of ‘game’ or ‘sport;’  tennis is life here, robbing young men of glory as it bestows it upon another.  Thus, the common tongue cannot adequately illustrate the gore-strewn horror and beauty of the game.  I, your humble narrator, shall describe the game in the kings-speech, the language of God’s living representatives on this sin-soaked sphere. Continue reading