As the sun sets on Day 7 at The Scottsdale Links Resort, I can’t help but feel I owe the assholes at the Legacy Golf Resort of Phoenix an apology for considering them — during my stay last week — the most virulent form of Knothead to ever flip-flop their off-season holiday feet across The Valley of The Sun.
I’m not entirely ready to issue said apology but I see that their conversation making in loose clusters in the parking lot pales in comparison to the loutish braying-from-balcony to be found here at The Links. And another thing, I know The Scottsdale Links sounds fancy but in fact, no.
Imagine if you will, Bedrock’s Butte Crack Public Housing development designed by Mr. Slate; throw in a fountain with the water dyed Distilled Windex No. 12; a pool area with teen-shopping music emitting from faux rocks; a large television that on a recent evening had swimmers and loungers enthralled by a Bonanza episode plus smaller satellite TVs all tuned to a hockey game and you have the paradise that is The Scottsdale Links.
Also the golf course isn’t even their golf course. The least of amenity-deficit scandals in my opinion.
But at least they’ve got Turner Classic Movies so I don’t see what all this bitching is about. At this very moment I’m watching a Shirley Temple movie (she’s about to lose the Civil War; fucking Yankees! But wait, there’s one good Union soldier, well not good but not a monster…) with the volume off while listening to a Blues show on the radio; plus eating spaghetti and drinking heavily. (Later the heavy drinking turned out to be two-thirds of a glass of Bonterra Sauvignon Blanc — yet another cry for help.)
However, I have made a friend: Barry the Barrel Cactus. It’s a shame we did so poorly at our family activity.
He blames me, I can tell.