An Ode To The Guy In The Golf Cart

Two and half blocks from my house, there lives an old man. On the outside, he’s a typical, unassuming, grouchy-in-appearance old man. He wears a hat that proudly displays his devotion to the United States Navy, he wears pleated slacks and loafers, he wears aviator sunglasses. All commonplace amongst many male senior citizens, which would lead you to believe he is just another generic geriatric.

But you would be wrong. Because this old man drives a golf cart.

There is a golf course within walking distance of here. But as near as I can tell, this old man happens to own his golf cart. He owns it. He drives it around town, one leg allowed to hang out of the left side of the cart, his foot dangling less than an inch from the gravel. There are no golf clubs, he wears no cleats, he just… drives his golf cart around town.

The police officers drive right by him, many of them smile and wave at the old man, which leaves me to wonder; Is it illegal to drive a golf cart on a public street? I’m not implying I would like to drive a golf cart down the 405 in L.A. traffic, but am I allowed to get my cart on in small town Minnesota? It may be the size of the town, it may be the age of the cart owner, it may even be a combination of both, but I’d like to know who I have to talk to about owning my own golf cart. It’s listed amongst my life goals now.

During the long winter months, he’s nowhere to be seen. I imagine golf cart tires don’t handle icy roads too well. (I’ve no idea what he does with the golf cart when it snows. Maybe he has a special golf cart tarp, maybe he has a shed where he keeps it, I don’t know.) But as soon as the weather warms up, the second the ice and snow melt, you can hear the distinct whine of his golf cart motor as he crawls down the road at what could be no more than five or ten miles an hour. And it strikes me at that point… I actually miss that sound.

The old man is nice enough. He’ll nod in your direction if he sees you, a greeting I feel is as warm and fuzzy as he’s willing to get with strangers. I’ve even seen him go so far as to wave at children. And I’m sure he’s done many things in his many years worth mentioning. He was probably in the Navy, he may have actually saved lives. He probably has children and grandchildren, of whom he is proud, to whom he may very well be a hero. I’m also fairly certain he has a name.

But I will never know him as a war veteran, I will never know him as Frank, or Bob, or Bill. I will always know him as “Golf Cart Guy”.

In Which The Writer Writes. Er, Blogs.

This is going to be one of those eratic blogs. The kind that’s all over the place, with no real rhyme or reason.

You’ve been warned.

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The “Service Engine Soon” light came on in our car this afternoon. If you had seen our bills this week, you would know what horrible timing that little red light bulb has. The wife has requested I call around to some auto parts store in the morning to ask if they will scan the car and tell us what the problem is for free. We can then decide how soon we will have to address the problem.

Unfortunately, I’m not sure with what money we will be fixing the car.

Life goes on.

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Neil Gaiman warns people away from Windows Vista in this blog entry. From what little interaction I’ve had with Vista, I agree with his warning.

I’ve had people try to get me on the Vista bandwagon. It has yet to work and with increasing blurbs like the one at the above link, I’m not sure it ever will.

Of course, I’m the one who was dragged, kicking and screaming, from Windows 95 to Windows 98 (the kicking and screaming continued through 2000 and, finally, XP).

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I’ve begun reading Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury. And by “begun reading”, I mean I’ve read the first thirty or so pages and have then proceeded to have no time whatsoever to read any further. Such is what happens to most books I read.

I should really set aside “Reading Time for Rob”.

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After a winter that lasted five and a half months, spring has finally arrived. The snow has melted in most places, it’s been replaced with green grass and mud. The sound of lawn mowers humming in the distance, people wearing t-shirts instead of heavy coats, being able to walk to work without the concern of my face going numb along the way.

Welcome, spring. I’ve missed you.

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It’s five in the morning, I Love Lucy has just ended and I think it’s time for bed. My cat agrees.

(I am generally a boring person.)