Forgetful Richard Needs One (1) Laptop

I had something profound (or perhaps comical) to say about my time in Tucson, AZ this past week and for the life of me I can't remember what it was. Of course, in the Time Before Weblogs it was common place to keep a written journal or diary to hold valuable musings and errata and to keep track of ones thoughts. Why the fuck should I do that?

Anyway I DID learn -- or re-learn, as the case may be -- that I am a horrible golfer and not even the broad, clear fairways of the Dorado Public Golf Course could keep me from slicing off into the sage thicket. The rabbits and stone-grey doves feeding in the twilight didn't even flinch when my balls went whiz-skipping by their ears and wings and more often than not the thick rough had little to fear from my desperate hackings. I did manage to hit the pin from about 15 yards off a well-placed chip which I took as a sign that all was not lost.

The sore loser in me says that golf is a stupid, stupid game made up by lazy Scottish peasants and summarily co-opted by the rich British Aristocracy. The good sport in me says that even a shitty golf course like the Dorado (see the sign above for visual evidence of this bold claim) can be magical and great fun as the sun goes down.