(Feel free to skip to the Instagram part)
Kids, I was down 2 games to none in pickleball to Corey (we’ll call him that since it’s his real name and it’s only pickleball). Corey is a racquetball stud (if that’s a thing), and has fallen in love with the game just like I did last summer. He’s newer, but he’s really good. he got a fancy paddle too. During vacation my friend Paul (the old guy I destroy every game now) said Corey beat him badly and I was in trouble. I was starting to believe Paul and surrender my title as CCC (our condo community) champion. But towards the end of the 2nd game I figured out how to beat him. I also noticed he was getting tired. This morning, Paul and I played 5 games (I won all 5), so it’s not like I was exactly fresh, but I try not to show fatigue (there can’t be anyone still reading this, but I don’t care, it’s my place to feel good about myself). I won the third game, finally, as Corey’s wife watched on. She was snickering a little when I messed up easy shots. I know her well enough I guess, but it bothered me. Corey is ambidextrous and switches hands during the point, but he never comes to the line to volley. All I had to do was hit it deep then go in to volley and it turned things around. I was up 10-2 in game 2 and he was gassed. I won 11-5. After I evened things up he asked for a 20-minute break because his belly was still full from an omelet at lunch…which apparently didn’t bother him the first two games? You’ll never hear me make excuses like that by the way. So while he rested in the club house, I worked on new serves, hopping around like it wasn’t 90-some degrees (yes, we started at 3:30 in the afternoon ’cause we’re dumb). For the deciding game five I started hitting balls on each side of the court making him run. I got up 10-2, match point. He tried a lob shot over my head but I smashed it back at him and when he tried to hit it…it knocked his paddle out of his hand and his wife laughed at him.
I really wish I’d have discovered this sport in my 20s. I don’t know if I could’ve ever played competitively, like, for money, but it’s a neat fantasy to have. If I can stay in shape and keep playing, maybe by the time I’m 60 or 70, I can dominate old men.
I was never physical enough to play much in varsity basketball. My running career peaked, but I never ran faster than a 17:52 for a 5K. I stopped playing soccer and baseball in middle school (I miss both of those sports so much). I’ll never be a great golfer, because if I spend that much money–yikes.
My body type, frame, is actually best for pickleball. My reach actually works well, and I’d love to get some actual coaching in it this winter. I wish it had a cooler name though.
And now Instagram. I took some cool pictures at Gringo Jones today. That store is awesome, and you should definitely go for whatever. Pottery, mirrors, antiques, junk that isn’t junk, etc. It’s amazing in there. It’s in an old house too. They have giant giraffes for sale! We bought a few things today: a mirror, the big pot, and a cross. All three were from Mexico and had a nice colorful design. I found a desk lap that I LOVED (which I posted on Instagram), and hopefully my wife buys it for me for my birthday. Normally I don’t think stuff like that is “beautiful” enough to pay for, but this lamp just did it for me. It’s got the glass on top and all those colors. Heck, if I knew it was safe, I’d put it in my classroom. (Not with freshmen though.)
Anyway, so Instagram. If your account is private, I feel creepy “requesting” access. it’s like, “Hi, I’m 40, can I so dem der pictures.” I know it’s not creepy, but I haven’t felt comfortable with a lot of people that follow me. Plus, with my older peers, they post them on Facebook anyway, and I really don’t want to or need to spend more time on another form on social media. That being said, RobDurhamComedy is my Instagram and it has pics from today. You don’t even have to follow me. I’m not private on there. Facebook’s another story, but I’ll add you if you’ve graduated. I do have a an alum who is dating a girl I have next semester in creative writing…I may need to unfriend him. Or maybe she’s changed, I don’t know. Dammit, I’m already thinking about school again!