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Jack London Square, Oakland.

February 12th, 2002

Maybe Not Beirut
A good day, but god, there were a million things to get done and I'm zonked. Wuss had pooped in the hallway and peed over half the kitchen by the time I got home. Cleaning kitchen floor linoleum is no big deal and it's practically impossible to stain, but light colored rugs can only take so much, um, shit, before it's obvious what's going on. Since I'm zonked, I'll put this off and think about it later (in a year, in a century, in another life). I have an urge to take Wuss off his drugs, just the barest urge, mind you, the barest tickle to let nature take its unimpeded course. He has not a clue about any of this and lies with his back to me right now, curled up on a chair, sleeping.

The new job is falling into place. It is new in the sense that my daily routine is different and my duties are different and my days are longer. Not that much longer, I still leave around five in the afternoon, get home half an hour later, but I'm getting in at seven and the day goes by like a rocket. Breakfast at the desk these days, no more bacon and eggs across the street. Now it's cold cereal, banana, orange juice and coffee, which is good. No, really. It's good.

The San Francisco Chinese New Year parade is coming up Saturday evening, the first major parade of the year, time to shoot some pictures. The weather people say OK. I've gone over my old parade photographs, the negatives anyway, and thought about changes I need to make. This is good. The new year rides in high, a horse on a horse.

I want to vary my routine. (Those of you familiar with this journal can tune out now, if you like. You know I talk about many things, all of them uplifting, worthwhile, trustworthy and brave. And then I crap out, but before I crap out I turn them over and over and over nigh on to forever. Here.) Keep shooting the parades, yes, I like shooting the parades, but I need fresh meat. Go out on the weekends, attend races, attend small town festivals, don't crap out because I discover it's, you know, too far, too crowded, too different. No car excuses. The car is fine. I don't have to buy a new car. I can stay at motels. Leave on a Friday, come home on a Monday, burn up some vacation. They tell me that's what it's there for. Take weekend photography classes in Maine, in Hawaii, in Beirut. Maybe not Beirut.

The banner photograph was taken at a Festa Italiana held in Jack London Square last summer.