Peter David == Genius

How do I celebrate you, o Peter David? Let me count the ways...
Might I take this opportunity to put in a plug for the latest book in the adventures of Sir Apropos of Nothing? I think I shall. Actually, rather than inserting various spoilers, I think I'll merely say: "Farfell and the Gay Mousser," and leave it at that. Never again, will Lankhmar be the same... Fritz Leiber must be shocked, appalled, and well, I suppose in a way honored. Hell, I know I'd be honored if the reputations of my beloved literary characters were being thoroughly sullied betwixt the pages of a seedy new bestseller. Okay, perhaps not seedy, but certainly irreverent and purely satire to be sure.

Speaking of satire... my golf game is a joke. This afternoon, I spent some time kwality time with dad at the golf course, whacking around a ball and, well, mostly making divets. Despite my clear lack of skill with this game, we decided to keep score anyways, and I ended up only 14 points behind my dad's score, which was interesting because it looked like he was putting a reasonable effort into hitting the ball in the right direction and generally succeeding (par 3 course, 9 holes. We won't mention that my score was 64... oops, wait a minute...). So, that was that. Apparently, I haven't improved any in terms of golf since the beginning of the summer (well, I did shear off about 17 points from the first time I golfed this summer, but really, going from an 81 to a 64 isn't much of a difference when par is 27). But at least this time no one got hurt. Well, I can't say that. Some guy further up on the golf course cleaned my clock with a stray ball while I was putting with the munchkin putter - but I can't say Dad didn't give me fair warning that there was an incoming ball.
Oh, and speaking of cleaning clocks, I think I finally learned why people shout "Fore!" when they tee off. A group of teenage boys were golfing at the 9th hole tee, when suddenly one of the boys manages an _impressive_ whack with a driver. Unfortunately, the 9th hole at the Montclair Golf Course has the distinct honor of being uncomfortably close to the customer-frequented pro shop/restaurant/practice putting green. Such being the case, said impressive whack sailed well over the green on the 9th hole and proceeded to end its trajectory on the putting green, in exceedingly close proximity of an old man practicing his mad (read: arthritic) putting skzillz. Apparently, "fore" is a warning shouted by the offending party moments before an incoming ball is schedule to clonk the receiving party over the head. It's a rather nice courtesy... come to think of it.

Righty-o then, I suppose this would conclude the summary of today's excitements - or at least suffice for the time being while the author goes to sleep (today was the day my brother and I decided to renew my faith in Saturday morning cartoons, and indeed, the Kirby show and Ultimate Muscle have proven that Fox can indeed breathe new life into the Saturday morning lineup. Unfortunately, renewing one's faith in such things requires sacrifices including waking up at 7 am).

Further bulletins as events warrant.