Happy New Year

THE APARTMENT INVITATIONAL LOOKS BACK AT 2010

Nothing says Xmas Xtasy, Chanukah Chazerai, Kwanzaa Kwazyness or God, I Hate New Year’s Eve quite like the unsolicited, nearly intolerable annual letter detailing the meanderingly mundane year of a friend or relative who writes with the aplomb of a GED dropout and of whom you hadn’t give a thought since their last monotonous missive. We are rarely amused. Fine, your child was paroled, your ferret learned to play “Nearer My God to Thee” on the xylophone and you had your grandmother euthanized, mummified and put on display in your den with your favorite book: "Bathroom Habits of Early Native Americans." WGAS?

Then again…. It is the New Year and everyone wants to celebrate the best & worst of the year gone by, so screw it. Suffer.

The AI is, as any major organization is, meticulously protective of its image, or as the marketers currently prefer, its ‘brand.’ Day upon day, year upon year, the AI showcases the finest America can offer – a college professor whose college is still called "New" year after year, a teacher of history who can only continually repeat the past, a retired math teacher who inexplicably continues to teach, a gadabout, a business tycoon without portfolio, several small children and the world's most tolerant woman – as role models (we do not shrink from the responsibility) for those who look to us for guidance, leadership and the car keys.


IT’S ALIVE

2010 began in January, to almost no one’s surprise, and with it the AI began to stir from its nearly 9 month torpor following the annual 4 day stupor. AI-XIV was alive, like a first term fetus. Teens put away their meth, clowns frowned, Glenn Beck and John Boehner shed a tear, John McCain came out against it, Sarah Palin shot an elk (multiple times), Tiger Woods had breakfast at Perkins and sent Brett Favre a text, Nancy Pelosi tried to smile, Mel Gibson burned a Torah, Lindsay Lohan entered/left rehab, Rex Ryan washed his wife’s feet, Charlie Rangel withheld taxes and Oprah gave out copies of “AI-OCD” to her audience.


THE BUILD UP

As usual, I meticulously planned for the big day by conscientiously assigning the work to be done to others. Creativity cannot be burdened by responsibility. There would, of course, be plenty of time to accomplish everything on the AI-XIV wish list in the intervening 2.5 months. That’s 10 weekends; 75 days; 1800 hours. How long could this shit take? Like the previous XIII tournaments this one would be a paragon of efficiency and planning.

If there were rewards in life for being ‘almost done,’ I would be among the planet’s most decorated persons.

Evenings, weekends and most importantly, work hours, were turned over to AI-XIV preparation. This is Kathi’s favorite time of the year: My ‘months of solitude' period. The crack staff at the ODM empire also appreciates their annual opportunity to doctor photographs, create puzzling, if not, troubling signs, and deface awards. They particularly enjoy it when I email them at home with my latest brainstorm.

I pulled the cover off the hot tub for the first time in nearly a year to make sure that nothing was living in it. Then I took the funny colored water out and replaced it with something more resembling a liquid.

It is during this period that the four blockheads of granite begin to pepper one another with witty emails. Several of us have even mastered the intricacies of the text message, tweeting and blogging, while others continue to stare at their VCRs wondering why it’s always 12:00.

Let’s take a stroll down e-memory lane:

1/29: Heimsch reports on his conditioning
I realize I've been on the Seefood/Eat to Win diet since Nick's wedding, but nonetheless...I did not expect to enter AI XIV 15 lbs heavier than John Daly...

2/5: Reef tries to inspire Gordon, his 4-Ball Partner
Dear “Pardner”:
The last time I played it was with Mitch, in July of 2009, at a Billy-Goat course in the Poconos, aptly dubbed “Hideaway Hills”. After an excruciatingly long round—behind, as it turned out, a busload of cretinous seniors—we finished up on 18 less than a minute before a colossal cloud-burst and, relieved, I turned to Mitch and said, “Good timing: I wanted to play so badly today” He said, simply, “You did.”
James B.

2/10: Here Gordon strays from golf to explain my ineptitude at the keyboard:
But seriously folks, let’s take a look at some of the great jazz pianists:
Oscar Peterson—Fat
Art Tatum—Fat
Fats Waller—surprisingly, Fat
What do they have in common? The problem Mitch is that you are not fat enough.
Stan

Reef agrees:
The late great Richard Tee, also, never met a meal he didn’t like.



2/10: Reef prepares for his annual 3 rounds of golf
12” of new snow and counting…supposed to keep this up until past midnight. Driving ranges are closed indefinitely, so I am creating some domestic tension by, occasionally, hitting a few dozen six-irons in the living room.

2/15: Gordon & Reef plot their 4 Ball Strategy
Hey Partner,
I am continuing on our program of lulling our opponents into a false sense of security by shooting 100 in my most recent round. I shot a round of 88 just before Christmas. Each round since then has been worse then the previous one. I should be shooting in the 190s by the AI. The only hope for my game may be the Tiger solution—mistresses.
I hope you are getting lots of practice, with golf, that is. I am thinking that 5 ft of snow should minimize excess motion in your swing.
We should be unstoppable, maybe not very good, but unstoppable.
It will be an honor to play with the AI record holder for longest drive in competition. As I recall it was about 375 yds—about 100 yds longer than the previous record.
-Gordon

Gordon:
Ah yes, the AI’s Longest Drive, a sure-fire sign that statistics are like loose women: you can do anything you want with ‘em. It was exactly the same swing and finish I put on the tee shot that severely wounded the winged creature on #4 at Bay Hill the year before. Only difference with the award winner was the inescapable fact that the hole was as steep as a 90 meter ski jump and bent sharply to the left to accommodate my screaming snap hook.
Regarding an AI practice regimen, have no fear: casting a defiant middle-finger to a whitened outside world, I have begun to get ready (risking domestic peace) by hitting six-irons into the sofa in the living room. I have, on a few occasions actually hit the sofa. More importantly though, I have begun to do two additional things to ready myself for AI-XIV: driving past bowling alleys and saying, maybe I should roll a few games in preparation to defend my title; and slowly but surely building up my tolerance for red wine so that I don’t spend the three hours of warm-up time at Bay Hill barfing into Arnie’s geraniums.
Bring serious drugs,
-James B.

2/19: Heimsch laments the number of holes that must be played
We should have a side competition…best 15 holes.

& looks for ways to torture Reef
I also have been trying to think of some ways to enlarge…(or belabor, from Reif’s point of view) the Lack of Skills. I watched the NBC show again this year and loved it…



2/20: Gordon calculates his handicap
...So you might consider this a 16 handicap. The course rating is 71.3 and the slope is 120. Of course this is a little deceptive because my scores go up disproportionately on difficult courses. So, for example, I am about a 40 handicap at Bay Hill.

3/3: Gordon gets a lesson
Stan,
I was at the driving range at lunchtime for my final pre-AI warm-up. The pro, someone I do not know and have never seen before, either took pity on me or was so tortured by my atrocious swing, that she came over to offer me a tip. I like to think that she was attracted by my paunchy virility, if so she hid it well. She actually said that she heard my shots and felt compelled to do something to correct my swing. I would like to think that this was code, but in fact, I think the sound of my contact with the ball was like finger nails on a chalk board for her.



And that takes us to…..
THE EVENT ITS OWN SELF

Heimsch is the first to arrive &, this year, the only one to arrive by air. Upon his arrival, I immediately took him to Costco the Battery Store and a mid-afternoon showing of "Tora, Tora, Tora" thus removing him from his AI comfort zone: talking about golf, watching golf, going to the range, making a visit to the local club fitter &/or browsing Edwin Watts. When we arrived at AI HQ, Reef & Kate were parked in the driveway having just arrived after completing their retracing of Sherman's March in a Toyota Avalon with Hack (the dog), occupying the back seat. They chose not to follow Mitt Romney's method of traveling with a dog and didn’t strap a crate housing Hack on the roof of the car. It was, however, suggested that perhaps Reef make the trip in that position.

Hack thus became the sixth dog to attend the AI and although no dog has ever played, many have played like dogs. We drank, we ate chicken and lentils, we walked the dogs, we drank some more, we played with the dogs and then we drank some more and after taking the dogs out, we went to bed.

I love the first morning. No one's head hurts or anything like that. We did some yoga and ate some pills and like everything was fine and all but then we had to play golf. We piled into the Official Car and we even had Heimsch's shoes and golf balls with us this time and when he got to Falcon’s Fire, Gordon had somehow managed to arrive at precisely the same moment. That turned out to be the most coordinated thing that happened all day. We were like 6 over par on the really easy first hole and that's how we knew the tournament was underway and the hours of planning, practicing and visualization met with the harsh reality of playing. It's like the difference between what I know I look like and what pictures of me make me look like. I don't know why pictures of me always make me look so weird. Plus, the cognitive dissonance of having to root for one’s partner who, in 24 hours, will be one’s mortal adversary, takes its toll on the players except for the socialist social sciences professor Dr. Bauer who thrives with the help of the village.

Me and Heimsch were really nice to Gordon & Reef and lost to them again; but, we didn't mind because that's how we were raised. Then we headed back to HQ paired in the traditional manner, which this year coincided with the pairings on the course. What it is that Gordon & Reef discuss each year on their ride home from the 4-Ball has never been revealed, although my speculation is that the conversation is centered, a la Hansel & Gretel, simply on finding their way back to HQ.

We arrived back at AI-HQ to the sound of one hand clapping. No one even wanted to hear what happened to each one of us on each shot. We couldn't believe the people were so mean, so we splashed some water on our faces, along with some wine, beer & bourbon & moved out for the traditional night out of dinner &, of course, Bowling for Sotweeds. This year’s restaurant, Texas de Brazil, featured waiters roaming the room with meat. It also had a large salad bar comprised primarily of meat. The wine was a special meritage of malbec, cabernet and meat. The chairs and table were made of meat as were the napkins and silverware. The waiters were dressed as different cuts of meat. Everyone had fun with their meat.

Bowling for Sotweeds was boring. Reef & the Weedith won again. Big fucking deal. Bowling is stupid. No one cares about bowling. Anyone can go bowling, even really little kids. Bowling sucks. Osama Bin Laden likes bowling. Then we went home and tried to stay awake, but bowling had made everyone really tired from being so bored because it's so stupid. So, we went to sleep. Even the dogs think bowling is dumb. Me? My bowling score was about the same as my golf score.

On SATURDAY we played golf again. Round 1. This time everyone had to finish every hole. That always makes for fun times. Sometimes it took like forever to get the ball into the hole. The best part is all the laughter. You know those bromance beer commercials where a bunch of sexually repressed guys get together and do guy stuff and someone says ‘it doesn’t get any better than this?’ – this wasn’t like that. More like the exact opposite: where guys, your friends, are laughing AT you, not WITH you. Some of the shots were really cool though, and we always get to see obscure and interesting parts of the golf course and even places that aren’t actually on the golf course – like swimming pools, driveways, patios, lawn furniture and stuff like that. Someone was winning but we couldn’t tell who it was because no one can understand the scoreboard that I carry around in the cart.

After golf, we played more golf. Heimsch loves the Skills Competition that NBC shows every winter on a Tuesday at 3:15am right before reruns of ‘Locked Up: Midgets in Jail’
He loves it so much that he suggested a new structure for the AI’s annual (Lack of) Skills competition that would increase the amount of events and shots so that we would be at Bay Hill from dawn to dusk. Reef contemplated performing a self-vasectomy hoping that would allow him to leave early. The final results showed that Gordon had won, so you know it must have been fucked up.

Then the people at Bay Hill told us to go home. The Banquet Director made us eat Italian food again this year. Where she comes from, people call the tomato sauce ‘gravy.’ That’s weird. Nobody really likes it that much – but we like her so we pretend real well by eating until everything is gone and then licking the plates so that we don’t have to put them into the dishwasher.

Then I forced everyone to watch videos that I made, like ‘High Hopes’ – a parable of the American Dream on crystal meth. We also watched the uncut video from AI-XIII. Everyone really likes that, except for when they’re not in it, then they get bored. Then we watched Bruce Springsteen really loud because Heimsch was tired and can’t sleep if it’s quiet.

Everyone bolted awake on SUNDAY and enjoyed a traditional AI breakfast of Advil omelets. Gladys came over with her massage chair and tried to find any muscles to massage. The hard part was getting people to get out of her chair. At that point, had it been put to a vote, a round of Bloody Marys and more massage would have trounced the scheduled second round of the AI. But, since the AI is an oligarchy, there was no vote. The players were anxious to get to the slaughter known as Round 2. The Final Round. Reef was feeling particularly chipper that day. The 1200 mile drive had rendered him akin to the Tin Man after the rain. He was sore. He was stiff. Not the good stiff. The kind of stiff where you think you might actually break in two if you move in the wrong way. Like playing golf. Especially like playing golf if you never play golf. Even though you're the fucking golf coach at a prestigious boarding school and people sort of think you maybe should actually occasionally play golf. But, as he was only 12 shots out of the lead, he, inspired by his boyhood hero General Custer, tried to mount a charge. He couldn't. He finally succumbed to the painful reality and became the second player in AI history to leave the competition after 27 holes. Sensing a familiar opening, Gordon immediately declared himself the champion.

We go on. With the Reef relegated to AI videographer and pundit, the remaining 3 players found themselves separated by a mere 2 shots with the final 9 holes looming like the grim reaper. Reef took to the video camera like a pelican to oil. After like an hour or so of witty narration and player interviews, he confidently said, "This is easy. It's really helpful that the red light comes on when the camera is off." So we have some interesting verité footage of the floor of the cart and of the grass with a soundtrack that evokes an electric lawn mower randomly turning on & off while people chat incoherently in the background. But, Reef was in real pain and plus he kind of felt bad about his golf and having to quit and everything and I didn't really want to make him feel any worse so I made believe I thought it was funny and then I made him get out of the cart.

Meanwhile, we kept playing golf. I think Gordon got confused and thought we were playing a variation of craps, because he kept making 7's and saying 'shit' which I thought meant 'crap.' I kept laughing 'cause I thought he was trying to be funny but he wasn't. Heimsch was walking around pacing off distances and standing still trying to guess how hard the wind was blowing and then I thought maybe he holding his breath or something because his face was getting really red but it was just because he doesn't like to wear hats or sunscreen. Anyway, we finally finished and I won. Everyone rejoiced and congratulated me. Well, they should have if they were good sports. But they're not. Instead of an interview, Reef took some video of his shoes while Gordon removed his neck brace, back brace, shoulder harness, knee brace and arch supports. Then we got in the car to go home, but we couldn't because Rich was in the Pro Shop buying more golf shirts.

But eventually we left for….

THE BANQUET

When we got back to HQ, there was a commotion at the door as we were greeted in rapturous fashion. By 3 dogs. The people were in the kitchen and outside and they finally noticed that we were back but they didn't really seem to care that much. Reef had a Maker's Mark. Then he had another one. He says they're really good as a Vicodin chaser. He was in a lot of pain. Then he felt better. Kate was proud that he made the courageous decision to put his health first and withdraw even though the easy thing to do would have been to give into the peer pressure & keep playing. Me and the other 2 guys told him how much we respected him, too.

Then we told everyone else how we're really much better players than they would think from looking at the scores and everything and how if we could just stop getting all these lousy breaks and didn't have so much else to do and could practice that we could all just relax and enjoy the game; but, someone said that the premise was wrong. So we had the Awards Ceremony where we recorded each other saying stuff that sounds really funny and witty and it's a really good thing we never watch it when we're sober because then we might not think so and that would be disappointing. And life is full of disappointment and so the AI is predicated on the opposite of disappointment which I guess is appointment.

Our next appointment was eating. Yay. Everyone loves eating, especially the eating we do at the Banquet where this year Kathi used the Sous Vide, which is like a small French hot tub for cooking meat vacuum sealed in plastic to make the best paella ever. She worked really hard on the Banquet again this year and we were thankful. Not reflective, sentimental thankful. Gorging, gluttonous thankful. It's always fun to see how fast we can devour what took weeks to prepare. We did so good this year. Nora made a cake. We ate that, too. We also drank some bottles of wine. It was so much fun that I hardly even got that feeling I get when I start to realize the AI is almost over.

But it was. But first, or last, I made everyone listen to the AI 'songs' again and Edie even woke up when she heard Tony and her in the last one. Then everyone was thankful again - that it was over. But it wasn't. I showed them the movie that Kathi & I made about a fictional character who is obsessed with the AI and can't stop thinking about it and might actually be borderline sicko and should probably seek some guidance. We couldn't decide who should play that character, Kathi or me, but I said I would do it because that would be a good surprise for everyone. It worked! Then we watched some more music videos really loud, but Kathi and Sean said I wasn't allowed to show Brian Wilson again, no matter how drunk I got. So we watched Bruce & Billy and other old guys instead. Then we all went to sleep, or whatever you call that when you can't keep your eyes open and are sleeping on furniture that's not a bed. I just thought of something that's weird: we sleep in a bed but on a couch. Unless it's Heimsch, he actually sleeps in a couch.

Then it was…
THE END OF AI-XIV

Gordon drove off early to teach a class. That must be a fun class for the students. Jim was so happy because he & Kate & Hack got to get back in the Avalon for the drive home. It's hard to find that kind of quality family time these days, but kudos to them for making the hard choices. I dropped Rich at the airport and, just like that, it was gone. Except for the 29 posters, 3 banners, 614 AiPads, 234 coasters, 312 paper plates, 291 napkins and the underwear that Conner had stolen over the course of the 4 days. Kathi and I started dragging all the stuff out to the garage or tucked it away somewhere and gradually the house returned to its normal condition: food, boxes of wine and copies of the NY Times.

Emails flew furiously for a week or so and then gradually tapered off to where entire messages didn't mention the AI. That's sad.

So it was time for the…

REST OF THE YEAR

Kathi and I killed some time by going to the Masters and watching Tiger pretend everything was normal. We watched some TV. We went to NYC and ate. Then we drove to San Antonio in Sean's Honda Civic because we were inspired by the example set by Kate & Jim. We need better examples. Sean lives in Texas now. So does Heimsch. Texas is pretty big though, so they never see each other walking around or anything. Later in the summer we went to Montana where Kathi began to get hooked on golf. The Mets didn't win the World Series - again. Christ, what a pain in the ass it is to root for that bunch of losers. We went to NYC again and ate some more. Then it was time for Thanksgiving which is fun because we can eat. Once Thanksgiving comes you know you're only 50 or 60 college football bowl games away from Christmas and New Year's. Those are fun holidays, too. Especially Christmas, because we like to celebrate by eating a lot.

Anyway, that's pretty much what happened. I thought you'd want to know. This is so interesting, talking about me and sharing it with all of you. If you want to spend more time rehashing the year with me you can see pictures here:
http://tinyurl.com/6eq3cpa

I hope this finds you all well. In fact, considering who's on the mailing list, I hope it finds you at all.