Beach was fun. Got to spend time with girlfriend. We made ice cream (Golden Oreo). We played Super Mario Galaxy, and yes, we even went to the beach, and we even went to the movies. (Wall-E is another Pixar homerun, filled with Kubrick homages, top notch animation, and that darn fine Pixar Wit. Despite this, Pixar makes what, for a "family film" is a deeply cynical vision of our future, but one with the ring of truth.) We got to be a normal couple for a while.
And Radar was a dog, spending his time in a way befitting a Scottish Terrier: barking at golfers. It was wrong and we wagged our fingers at him, but the filled me with impish pride.
In fact, by vitrue of shared heritage, Scottish Terriers should be the only living thing allowed to totally fuck up a game o' golf. If you screw up a shot or putt or whatever tough shit, you just got a scottish beatdown Radar style.
Think of the drama! You would never know when it would happen, only that it could.
"It's the eighteenth hole, Woods needs an eagle to win. He's about to--Oh! that scottie came out of nowhere!"
"Bob, the lil s.o.b was hiding IN the bag, he emerged from between the 8 and 9 Iron like some sort of demon"
"Ah, the ole Brown Sauce Voodoo , pioneered by that great warrior, Angus IV"
"It may be Brown Sauce Voodoo, but poor Tiger looks like he just received a big wet *Glascow Kiss!"
They laugh that snarky white laugh of the country club caucasian. I smile. You smile, and we all just grew a little bit as people. We've got the power to ward off Monday. Sports are back people, sports are back.
*headbutt, Radar has given me a few of those!
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