Fret not…

…I didn’t get the crocs.  The biggest reason I was going to was because, well, they’re cheap, and I can’t be investing but so much into this golf.  It’s already becoming an obsession, but I ain’t got the money to be a golfer.  I can just afford to play golf.  There’s a difference.
Anyway, at the suggestion of my man BG, I went with some Footjoys.  And, I must say, I don’t feel like so much of an amateur at the range.  Granted, golf shoes don’t change the fact that I usually swing in a beater and hooping shorts, but thems the breaks.  To tell the truth, I can’t figure out why they don’t play golf in hooping shorts already.  It’s hot as hell out there.
(Random note — Max asked where I’m writing these days.  Right now, nowhere.  I’ve been meaning to freelance more, but it’s been hectic with the radio stuff.  I’ll do a longer post on that later, but know this — I write.  That’s what I do.  No matter how deep I get in this radio thing, I’ll always be a writer doing radio, even if people I ever wrote in the first place.  Times are just a little hard for writers, though.)