Well After Ten
Thursday. To bed early, but a fitful night's sleep I must admit. Not sure how much real rest I may have managed, although I don't feel all that tired this morning. It's overcast, with a haircut appointment coming up at ten, so a bus to the ATM and then on to the appointment as the day begins.
I'm noticing how much better the main computer here is at modifying photographs in Photoshop over the laptop. I use the laptop for these trips, no reason to replace it just for that, but it's four years old and, no matter how good it may have been in its time, its two gigs of RAM don't cut it in a nine gig computer world. But what the hell? It's been obvious for a long time how quickly an expensive computer can turn to junk. We, however, frugal as we are when it comes to electronics, will live with this piece of junk for some time yet. (Hup!)
I still have some unpacking to do, the putting away of various camera components and such. I have this notion I might, you know, just “overdo” it a bit, get some of the apartment in better order, but we'll see if that's just another whim so soon to pass. We've said this before, keeping the place in order is a good indicator of how a person's head is doing, but one of these days it's going to happen.
And the skies will start raining rabbits and the sun will rise from out of the west.
Later. A walk to the post office to mail a CD to cousin Jon, a walk then on to the morning café for a cup of coffee as I waited for the bus to arrive, off on Broadway to the transit offices to buy a senior bus pass for the month and arriving for my haircut three minutes before I was due. Doodle-dee-do.
Anyway, a bright sunny morning, a run by the pharmacy to pick up a refill, and then on up Broadway to Grand catching the bus when it came by. Home now close to noon. How will the rest of the day go? We are on tender hooks here in the heart of the beast, yes we are!
You can stop now.
Later still. A call from Mr. S saying he was in town, could he buy me lunch down the way at Picáne on Broadway? Well, yes. I think he could do that.
A bus to Picáne to sit at their bar for maybe five minutes nursing an IPA, Mr. S arriving from San Francisco on his BMW motorcycle. Lunch out at a table along the sidewalk, a shot of bourbon recommended by the lady who turned out (for some unknown reason) to be familiar with underground comix (how did that come up?) to go along with the fried chicken and various side dishes for lunch. A three hour lunch? Something like that, it turned out rather nicely.
We'd worked together at APL in the nineties, he leaving in 1998, picking up his pilots license and now flying for one of the smaller airlines out of the south. I hadn't realized he'd left that long ago or that he'd become an airline pilot. Things happen, some of them you're aware of, some of them you're not. We have much in common with some of the old music from the sixties and seventies and some (for me long ago) interest in the stereo components we've acquired over the years to play them. Geek stuff.
A walk then back to the apartment passing by some of the usual suspects on Lake Merritt, home now listening to the news, a slight buzz from the two beverages. A bit of time on the guitar, I think, to see what I remember after a week goofing off. We'll take it as it comes.
Evening. A decent Sargent Lewis thing on Masterpiece Theater, one I realize I've seen before, but as usual didn't remember the who in the who done it until he was revealed at the very last minute. More work on the yet to get to photographs I'd taken going up the coast last week, so a good evening, although watching Sargent Lewis got me to bed well after ten.