Deep rough

Watching televised golf is an old stoner activity of mine that has lingered into my clean living. I find the broadcasts hypnotic: the courses are lush and beautiful, the announcers hushed, the players--generally--calm.

So I flipped on the U.S. Open this morning and indeed saw some compelling golf, especially the agony of the seventh green at Shinnecock (ahem). Golfers were triple- and quadruple-bogeying on that green, which was so dry that missed putts rolled on and on and on.

But really, who has time to watch golf if they're not smoking weed? It was gorgeous here in Madison today, and although I'm sure six hours of golf on television would have been very exciting, I just had to get out there. I went for a bike ride.