Ambiguous Sexuality, Implied Nudity and the Driving Range

We've got it all here in my little corner of the world.

Emily and I attended a pretty sophisticated production of Hair at the HCST High School this afternoon. While gobbling a Kit Kat bar during intermission I was moved to floodgates of peri-menopausal weeping by this vision: our painful high school years as theater/art/orchestra/French Club social rejects were not in vain, because we paved the way for this group of kids to put on a version of Hair that takes place either in a rehab facility or psychiatric hospital, with lots of boy-on-boy action, off stage nudity and no cardboard guitar props! And in fact no long hair, either. In any event, it was a pretty good show, and we always like to spend at least part of a nice day indoors.

Earlier, though, I did get out to hit some balls at the Jersey City driving range. It felt real good to be out doing a golf activty. This year, I am practising taking the swing back just a little bit further than I started out.

And, of course, keeping my head down.

And my knees bent.

And my left arm straight.

And my feet closer together.

And following through.