Missing Miss Luse
Well I'm a sucker for undercover blog reporting situations and when the LPGA coincided with my vacation week at home (the latter is always 53 weeks from the previous one for reasons I won't bore you with) I knew I'd be scoping out the scene, if only for blog fodder. Which is not a particularly good reason of course. I'm becoming something of a blogslut. Any time you alter your vacation plans one iota for your blog then you know you're in trouble. Documenting experiences tends to distort experiences, which is why so many people take a vacation less for the trip than to look at the pictures when they get home.
But I digress...I wouldn't miss her in the tournament of course, but today seemed a long shot as far as meeting Miss Luse. The word on the street was that you might meet a pro on the practice hole or the putting green and it was a pluperfect sunny day. (I was thinking that these pros will never realize how rare these kind of days are in Central Ohio.)
I felt a bit self-conscious arriving alone in this golf mecca not far from Jack Nicholas's Muirfield. Old money can sniff out no money, so I had no illusions that my carefully selected Izod golf-ish shirt was going to fool anybody. But I wanted a fighting a chance. Lacking a proper golf visor, I went with my Tennessee Vols cap. After the walk from the parking lot I slunk up to the putting green in front of the well-appointed Clubhouse. Watching the girls, I felt like a stalker. I surely fit the profile: unshaven white male mid-to-upper 30s (I like to gild my profile's lily), here in the middle of the week when most white males mid-to-upper 30s are working. And since I'm in favor of profiling I didn't have a problem with it. Yes I am mostly likely to be a stalker - I don't want my Grandma being looked at suspiciously by security guards. It didn't help that I was carrying a camera and walkman in my pockets, which made me look like I was packing heat or glad to see them. Or both.
This one's for Bob. Eat your heart out!
I wandered to and fro through the Clubhouse to the first hole to the putting green. And then it suddenly occurred to me: I don't know that I'd know her if I saw her! I've only seen one good picture of her face, the one on the LPGA website, and I've found that as I age all attractive young women are beginning to look the same. When I was a attractive young man there seemed to be large variation in looks, but now anybody under the age of [redacted due to the possibility of older readers reading this] looks darn good.
I'm sure meeting her father's middle-aged blogging buddy is not high on her list of things she'd like to do. I missed her today, but that only builds the anticipation. Wouldn't Ahab have been disappointed if he'd found the whale immediately? (Not to suggest any similarity of course. And I do find that sentiment much less applicable to God, Who I'd prefer to meet immediately if not sooner.) Here are some pics for your viewing entertainment. Maybe I got a picture of Bern inadvertently:
Bern Lookalikes, Fooling the Eye
Not Bern either