Clown Shoes

Did you know there is a site on the web called clownshoes.com? You can’t find clown shoes there but you can sign up to go to shoemaker’s school and there is a link there that will take you to a web site where you can actually buy clown shoes. Since I am not one of those people who goes out looking for be bizarre websites like twoheadedcow.com or turkeydroppingsjewelry.com you well may ask how I found the clown shoes site. I will enlighten you.

I had been telling my brother for some time that if I was going to seriously get back into golf I needed to update my technology. I have always been somewhat of a purist when it comes to golf equipment, but over the past couple of years I noticed that I was giving up yardage. Especially off the tee. So for my birthday my brother sent me a new driver. He told me it had the largest legal head size and was made of space age materials so technologically advanced that NASA and the Department of Defense were using the same materials in some of their programs. OH Boy. I couldn’t wait.

My brother kept calling and asking me if the package had arrived. I assured him it had not. He could not understand why it was taking so long but when it finally showed up I found out the reason for the delay. Because of the size of this thing it had to have special permits for over the road shipping. It also had to have pre-clearance to come into the area from the County Sheriff’s Department as it is apparently on their list of potentially lethal weapons. Lord knows, in my hands that could be true.

And, like even the simple church key (manual can opener for those of you too young to remember soda and beer cans before the pop top) it came with a forty-two page book listing all the warnings regarding use of this golf club. Such as, do not use to retrieve kites trapped on high power lines, do not use to demonstrate sword swallowing to your children, and, do not use shaft end to un-stick a garbage disposal while it is turned on. Still, after reading the entire list of warnings, I remained undaunted and was determined to add the driver to my arsenal of links weaponry. There was, however, an implied consent clause included on a card attached to the driver. It stated by using this club I agreed that if I was playing or practicing within thirty miles of a commercial airport I had to call Air Traffic Control before teeing off so that they would not mistake my swinging of the club for a wildly out of control jumbo jet in their airspace.

I went out to the driving range and made sure that there was no one else around. I bought a bucket of balls and cleared myself with ATC at Okaloosa Regional Airport. I did a few stretches to limber up, pulled out the driver, and teed up the ball. I encountered my first problem. Sitting on a regular tee the ball was barely visible. In fact it looked like it was halfway down a mine shaft. I scrounged a downed tree limb (obviously missed in the post Hurricane Ivan cleanup) and whittled a 9 inch high peg out of that. Now that the ball was teed up at the proper height I was ready to go.

I took the club back slowly and my center of gravity shifted so much that I fell over backward. Jumping up quickly I looked around to make sure no one had seen my exploits, because I thought I had heard a voice yelling TIMMMM-BERRRR, as I was falling. As it turned out I was still alone. After practicing on how to maintain my balance on my backswing I addressed the ball, took the club back, paused at the top, and transitioned as beautifully as Jack Nicklaus or Tiger Woods to my downswing. Unfortunately I had neglected to consider the aerodynamics of the club moving at a speed more than two inches per second (understandable as the only BS I hold has nothing to do with science). The vacuum created by an object approximately the size of a VW Bug caused a vortex that literally sucked me after it - 14.5 feet out into the driving range - where I ended up flat on my face. Fortunately no one saw this episode either but I’m sure people out on the course noticed a stiff breeze rippling through the trees at that moment.

I packed up and went home. I remember calling my brother right after the club had been delivered to tell him I had received it and remarked on the size of the club head. He said, “Yeah, it’s big. If you’re gonna walk out to the first tee with a club that big you probably ought to be wearing clown shoes as well. Kinda divert their attention.”

So that’s how I came to find clownshoes.com. I’m pulling out the trusty old credit card and am going to place an order. After that I think I might look for clownclothes.com and clownmake-up.com. That way when I walk up to the first tee and the other guys say “look at this Bozo” I won’t be offended, and, no matter what happens on the course, the other people won’t know who I am unless they manage to get my plate number as I speed out of the parking lot.

Truffles

I have never been on the “inside” of anything. My perspective has always been somewhat from the outside. I guess you should know that my views tend toward the conservative. You will not find my name on the subscribers list of Politically Correct Monthly. In fact I think that if I go through a day with offending someone then I haven’t been trying hard enough. I don’t apologize too often. I am Polish and if I took the time to apologize for every insensitive or stupid thing I said or did I wouldn’t have time to ask, “Dondez esta el bano?’ and I would have to start wearing depends before my appointed time.

Now, with that out of the way, it’s down to business.

I have a relative who has been living and working in some foreign countries for the last several years and they have all been countries where it seems the mainstay of the carnivorous is pork. I can’t tell you were he has been working (well I could tell you but then I would have to shoot myself - I know, I know, but I told you, I’m Polish), but considering the pork thing you can pretty much rule out the Middle East, Pakistan, Tres Tragique-istan, Captain Kirk-istan, Make a new Plan-istan, and any other of the stans that popped up about 20 years ago.

But it was weird because just about every time I would talk or “chat” with him it would be about his dinner time and he would tell me he was fixing ribs, or pork chops, or pork roast. I think one time he actually told me he was fixing chicken, but then it turned out it was wrapped in bacon. I started to worry. I kept remembering the old saying, “You are what you eat”, and it sounded like a little snorting had crept into his laugh when I would regale him with the occasional joke or humorous anecdote.

I told myself I was being silly and had pretty much put it out of my mind until he came to visit a while back. One afternoon I came home and found him in the back yard down on his hands and knees crawling slowly along with his snout (er I mean nose) a half inch off the ground. I asked him what the heck he was doing. He looked at me like only an idiot wouldn’t know and said, “Hunting for Truffles”. I was stunned. I ran for the phone book. But in that moment of hesitation while I was trying to figure out whose number to look up first – a psychiatrist or the ASPCA – I realized he looked really happy out there. In fact you could say he looked “as happy as a pig in – well you know the rest” so I just let him be.

When he came in he looked a little disappointed that he hadn’t found any of the fungus (I later learned they don’t grow in Florida), but overall still happy. While he was visiting I ate my year’s ration of ribs, and he continued his “hunting” every afternoon.

After he left I did some research and, Holy Moley, those dang white truffles can bring $1,600.00 a pound. However, in the US, they only seem to grow in the Northwest so I am thinking about moving to Seattle or Portland and inviting him over for a visit next fall during the height of truffle harvesting season. In the meantime I am going to keep in touch with him overseas (and I still can’t tell you where because if I did I would have to drink a bunch of shots) and for his birthday send him a copy of “The World’s 500 Greatest Pork Recipes.

I have my eyes on the new Lexus convertible if it pans out.