Dirty Balls

We went mini-golfing Sunday. I'm writing about this because it is an experience I will not forget, and because it represents what I think of half of Seattle. To begin, the place is called smashputt, and via its own advertising, and word of mouth, is advertised to be some incredible, extreme, and intense mini-golfing experience. There is a waiting list to get in. What that means is you have to buy tickets online, and if you don't, you may get stuck outside waiting in line (which is what happened to us). For a mini golf course.

As it turned out, it really wasn't that special of a place. The most notable part was the unfinished warehouse room, the extremely low quality holes, mismatched ugly (but probably artistic) furnature, and everything seemed homemade. Well, the wrong things. The hold marker stands (that have the name of the hole, and some rules that the author thought was funny) were handcrafted from two by fours, which clearly took a substantial amount of effort. But then, the lighting on the actual courses themselves was mostly table lamps. They could have just bought some nice stands for the course names, and spend all their do-it-yourself time implementing better lighting.

Speaking of the courses, they were fun. And interesting. And broken. Most were powered by a combination of air compressors and power, both of which went out multiple times. The most notable course was an air compressor gun that fired golf balls at targets made from painted sawblades in front of a pile of trash. You didn't even fire it yourself--you just pointed the gun while a staff person front-loaded a golf ball and pressed the trigger for you. Still, you could have some fun, because the pile of trash included a piano, and if you hit the piano just right the ball would come flying back at you. Of course, this "hole" really had nothing to do with minigolf, other than using golf balls as munition. If you hit a target on the first try, you get a "hole in one" and if not, you get a two. So the most prestigious hole also had the least effect on your score.

The next coolest hole was basically a catapult aimed at a castle. The amount of golfing skill required to load the catapult roughly resembles the skill needed to pour milk into a cup via a large funnel. You basicall hit the ball into these rails, and it slides up the length of the catapult arm. Actually, the catapult built to look like a trebuchet, but it was powered like a catapult, and I've already typed most of this paragraph using the work catapult, so we'll continue. The catapult didn't work very well, though. I spent my five shots unsuccessfully trying to find the correct arm necessary for the impotent catapult to launch my ball into the castle. Luke ignored the catapult completely, and bounced his ball of the ledge behind it and into the castle on the first shot.

The rest of the holes were amusing, but unremarkable. They all involve things that either spun or knocked your ball off of a narrow path, just like every other cheesy minigolf place. The only different here, was the courses were just some felt glued onto wood planks, and playing half of the holes involved little use of strategies one normally employs in a game of mini golf. The final hole featured a machine that, I think, it supposed to drill a hole in your ball, and then crush it, and then drop it into a bin. Unfortunately the machine wasn't working quite right. It did drill a hole--so long as you put two balls in at once to force the first one under the drill--but a sort of...error in the crushing step caused the ball to launch out the side of the contraption, piercing the poorly secured mesh wall and roll along the floor. So I guess half the people took home golf balls with a hole on the top.

Most of the time, I was more bored than I get even at work. However the other people were enjoying it, so I didn't say anything. Years of high school dances, awkward dates, business meetings, Army trade shows and tolerating hot girls' lame [boy]friends have given me lots of practice at feigning interest with minimal effort. Also, there was a girl there who loves Firefly.

So, in summary, Smash Putt is everything I perceive about the weird stuff that you can find in Seattle, or at least Capitol Hill: its weird, artistic, pretentious, and highly overrated. Like the bar I went to that was supposedly awesome because there was a ton of art on the walls that you could buy.

Oh, and golf balls were ugly, dirty, miscolored, and some (like mine) were chipped. And they didn't have any putters large enough for someone of my size.

One of the girls in that group told me that they had tried to go Salsa dancing, but people were mean because they didn't know enough (in my opinion, this would never happen to girls in Philly). I think I'm going to offer to teach them some basic moves and try to get some dancing going on. Last night I got the impression that the entire group thinks of me as the weird kid who says "thats what she said!" too often, which, while true, is an impression I'd like to change.

Some other future activities on my mind include flying to Bremerton for dinner, learning Texas Holdem, doing the super cool japanese private-room karaoke thing, and going to a comedy club.

In other news.

There is nothing more discouraging--no harsh comment or criticism more demoralizing to me--than hearing my own voice in a recording. I started recording myself playing my Love Story song. It sounds awful. Part of it is because my method of recording involves laying the mike infront of my guitar amp, or on the table in front of me, and just recording into the mic port of my computer. Part of it, though, it because I can't keep a steady beat and my voice is just...pathetic sounding. I really am not sure I'll ever record this--I can't imagine the amount of singing lessons I'll need. I might get someone else to sing it--I don't know.

Also, we watched the new Star Trek movie over the weekend. It inspired me to watch an Original Series episode last night before going to bed. It...was awful. The dialogue, the special effects, the acting, and the plot were all well below what I am comfortable watching. The only redeeming aspect was that it was Star Trek.