Bonjour (I was going to say bienvenue, but that means welcome. Who am I to welcome you to the vast expense that is the internet? Not Al Gore that’s for sure.).
But seriously, hello everyone. I hope you are doing well.
I want to apologize to the Sun Current intern for missing the interview at Caribou. I hope yet to sit down together.
I would start this post in my cherished tradition of apologizing for my infrequent communiqués, but I’ve been reading a medley of blogs lately and it seems that inconsistency is an inherent trait in on-line musings. So I’m not sorry. Boom.
We last spoke in April, meaning that summer has come, lasted for a while, disappeared, and now has returned. It truly is amazing how time floats by. To think that it was more than 2.5 months since my last post makes all the days in between a montage. But we all know and can relate to the acceleration of time as we age, let’s talk about stuff we all might not know about.
During these past few months, I’ve hit a few milestones which I will share with you in this and a subsequent post. None yet the keystone, but significant stones nonetheless. I would probably call them rubies or sapphires, pretty awesome, but no unobtainium. Here is something interesting about the coming of summer: I can’t sweat anywhere but my feet. This means that all the heat in my body remains inside, so I just get very cranky and basically look like a cartoon character where he/she gets angry (body red, mercury in thermometer quickly rising). But my feet still sweat, so that’s good if you want to think about it that way. Ironically, I use to be ashamed of my perspiration issues, so much so that I wouldn’t raise my hand in class if I were wearing a gray shirt. Oh how I long for those days of robust skin water.
Jason Curry visited my fair city in the beginning of June. It was then that he paid witness to my daily routine, my severe and loveless relationship with poor quality television, and my guiding hope that is the ABLE therapy program. He and my Iphone 5 accompanied me for three days to observe me smashing iron, medicine balls; treadmills; and peoples’ expectations of guys wearing sleeveless shirts. With his great skill and ferocious emo-ness, he put together a video depicting a typical day of therapy. Check it out here-(vimeo.com/69206779 ). Nice work Jabba.
I’m never one to let a paragraph just to come into being. I love segueways so much I adorned one of those terrible helmets and rode one. In honor of that sacrifice here is thin grammatical transition riding…. Speaking of Jason, his dad come up to Minnesota three weeks after Jason to play in the inaugural TC Classic held June 21-22. You can check out pictures of the Classic on my website ( www.tcloyd.com). But because of the Classic’s shear magnitude of success and overwhelming support, allow me to share the highlight reel. Actually before we begin, I want to thank everybody for participating, assisting, donating, playing, drinking, eating, dancing, biding, and most importantly for being a part of my life. Everybody played a part, large or small; and my family and I can never truly express our gratitude for all that you have done to support us. Thank you.
Now close eyes… Actually you will have to open them to read what is below. After you have read what’s below, close your eyes and imagine the stuff you have just read.
Open on golf course clubhouse with daunting storm clouds approaching.
Interior shot of main room: an impressive spread of silent auction items all generously donated, a fine sampling of Minnesota appetizers, and many friends meeting new people.
Fast forward three hours.
Ten-15 well groomed individuals dancing heroically to the live band’s (Bob Manning and the Real Deal) cover of Sublime’s “What I Got”, torrential downpour beating against the windows and ceiling as if a musical instrument, the faces of the crowd expressing the entire range of known human emotions as they observed the majesty on the dance floor.
I would like to keep going in screenplay form, but I think we all know that is not a good idea. As the storm subsided, the band shut down and people started leaving, there was an air of excitement not unlike the day after Thanksgiving when you are preparing a sandwich of leftovers, because everyone knew that the next day there was golf to be played.
The next morning was as beautiful as one could ask-low humidity and clear skies. We had about 100 golfers playing on all 18 holes with athletes ranging from grade school friends to my father’s colleagues and everybody in between and the same number of fans at the clubhouse. I was able to tool around in a golf cart and witness to the shear altheletism of my friends. Nobody got a hole in one to win the Chevrolet Malibu, but I’m guessing that those who attempted did not noticed the Saran wrap that I put over the hole. After 5 hrs on the links, the players came in; we roasted a pig, and golfers and fans raised enough money to cover my medical expenses for the next year. Hell yeah.
The tournament was known as the inaugural TC Classic, where inaugural infers that there are more to come. In coming years, I’m going to try effing hard to raise money for others; because I won’t have none of them medical expenses.
And thus ends Part I of the two part series “A Midsummer Nights Dream 2-by Thomas Cloyd” . With the exciting conclusion to be delivered Thursday, sometime before the Colbert Report.