Sometimes I wonder what I'm gonna do,
There ain't no cure for the summertime blues.
--EC
P took me to see Elton John at Shoreline. The last time I saw Elton was 15 years ago in Central Park with half a million of my closest friends. I hear that he no longer needs the duck suit!
I've know P since my earliest days at NASA when she was my catcher on the company softball team. We were so polished after a few years that we were one of the best batteries in the league. In fact, P's skills improved so much over several seasons that at the company picnic, she needed only one round of ammo to sink me in the dunk tank. I think it was repressed guilt many years later that inspired her to bring seven other girls to help escort me to the Elton John show. The irony of having 8 girls help me enjoy the performance of a renowned bisexual intrigued me, but P encouraged me to not let it keep me up nights.
Oh Bob!
--The Bob Newhart Show
The latest Men's Singles tournament was fun, and not just because I won. I played well under my usual heat exhaustion-inspired delirium. I also benefited from the presence of my lucky charms and props including my new US Open hat, and my Wimbledon clothes.
I was so busy before the tournament, that I was able to schedule only one practice match. Dr. C and I were unable to find a time to play beforehand, so we made (and kept!) plans to meet in the quarterfinals. Remembering my penchant to rent an inspirational movie to assist with my tournament play, Dr. C teased me about my selection this time around. I told him that if he weren't nice to me, I would watch The Omen before our match. That persuaded him to rewatch his tape of the Open finals; at that point, he knew he would need all the help he could get. Fortunately for me, his VCR was broken, so I won a very enjoyable match.
I played all but one of my matches against guys who agreed to serve on my Board next year. I was worried that losing to me might cause them to bail on their agreements. Fortunately, none of them did; I think we all realized that they could cause more damage by sticking to their agreements and giving me grief next year.
Although I played my first few rounds on court 1, the finals were relegated to a back court. Consequently, the crowds had trouble keeping track of the score. Without much fanfare, but plenty of soreness, I quietly appeared in the stands with a trophy.
Upon noticing me with my new hardware, MD started waxing nostalgic about the old days when I was a child and she discovered me under the bleachers cold and hungry. Now I'm winning tournaments and setting the clock on her VCR to her favorite time! "Only in America," as she says. Captain Carol was impressed too. She made me promise to set up her VCR before it reached its fifth birthday.
Oh Mr. Grant!
--The Mary Tyler Moore Show
For six years, October meant it was time for me to watch the Head of the Charles Regatta, and the Halloween pumpkin drop from the Green Building. For the past few years, I've made one of my biannual trips to Pajaro Dunes, on Monterey Bay, during October. I always treasure these trips as I love the sound of the ocean, and I particularly enjoy it when I don't need the aid of a conch shell or a cantaloupe.
As is our custom, we met for dinner at the usual place in Pacific Grove. Although Scooby would not be spending the weekend with us, she joined us for dinner. Scooby has many feline qualities and is at least as finicky as Morris the cat. She demonstrated this trait for all at dinner by complaining about a bug crawling on her salad. I was not sure whether the bug itself spooked her, or whether she was simply annoyed that the bug violated the sanctity of the salad compartment on her plate. Being my usual helpful self, I tried to assure her that the bug would not eat much, that it was high in protein and low in fat, and that it was an indicator of freshness. These efforts were not appreciated and she sent the salad back. The rest of us realized that the kitchen staff would merely flick the bug off the plate, and then retoss and reserve the salad, but Scooby appeared oblivious to this outcome. We tried to score her at least a free dessert as a modicum of compensation, but the restaurant would not comply. This was despite the fact that we were spending $300 on dinner. This restaurant is out of the way, and they always keep us waiting outside, but at least the staff is surly, the place is pretentious and they don't take the American Express card so we'll probably keep returning.
For a few weeks before our trip, I had been struggling to think of a way to top my Storm the Castle conquest from our last trip. Then it hit me right before we arrived: there was a new Budweiser bottling facility at our exit on Route 1. Since I'm very eco-friendly, I immediately began plotting Who's Next to recycle some ingredients in a signature outside. I thought this would be a good task for EC, this trip's rookie, and he seemed prepared to undertake the challenge Farther on up the Road. We met some drunk partiers at the tennis courts the following day, and they were intrigued enough by the description of our nocturnal adventure to agree to meet us at midnight at the bottling plant. However, as the midnight hour approached, I became concerned about the safety of our group driving back home on the narrow road with deep ditches on both sides, so I canceled our participation. I hope the other team spelled our names correctly!
We had a different house this time, but we enjoyed it just the same. The evenings were a lot of fun, although Silent Jim kept me awake in the Boys' suite for two nights with his out-of-tune percussion instrument. I think he just wanted half a chance to beat me in tennis and he needed all the help he could get. Even though I very blatantly put my whistle and flashlight on the nightstand between our beds, I didn't have the heart to give him the train treatment as I had threatened.
At our Saturday night party, MD was still beaming with pride over discovering me beneath the bleachers and teaching me how to read and write. She brought copies of my previous chapters to share with those who had not yet paid the toll for the information superhighway and therefore had not received email copies. She remarked how proud she was to know someone as "unique" as me. (I think "unique" was just a euphemism for "nuts.") I reminded her of her own singular qualities and she modestly accepted my points.
Sunday morning, Captain Carol entertained us with her sticky buns, as is her fashion. They were sweet, tasty, and oh so soft! Despite the stickiness, I still had trouble holding onto my racket. However, they more than made up for her leaving the seat down, didn't they Jim? [Is this worth $0.20 yet, Coach?]
Oh Archie!
--All in the Family
At the October General meeting of the Mountain View Tennis Club, we vote for our officers for the following year. As Vice President, I am responsible for hosting our Meetings. Since I was running for President, I brought in over $500 worth of Chinese food and alcohol. I learned from my lobbyist Dad that getting people good and loaded with food and drink is the best way to ensure that they vote responsibly. This technique worked and I won unanimously. George Washington would have be proud.
