Sunday. It's the weekend, so I stayed up for my Korean historical soap last night getting to bed at eleven, up this morning without the alarm at eight-thirty. Should about do it, I'd think. Eight hours, anyway. At least. To breakfast at the usual place and back, the table where I usually sit with a reserved sign sitting on it as I entered over two hours later than usual, nice of them to do that. Back now before ten, the day overcast but I'm assuming there's a sunny afternoon ahead.
I believe the AIDS Walk is underway in San Francisco at the moment, no thought to take BART and then a bus to photograph it this morning, that decision made yesterday. Probably not a good sign. Whatever energy and ambition I still retain isn't enough to get me up to make the trip. Then again who knows? I do drone on.
Later. It's now late afternoon, having spent some number of hours going over the photographs I took for the Gay Pride Parade, wondering if there were others I'd skipped over, but deserving to have been put up on artandlife. I ran close to forty of them through Photoshop. Not all of them are usable, but there's certainly another page of twenty-one among them and I'll get to that tomorrow. I've spent more than enough time today sitting at the computer.
Another bit of a nap, up to mentally blind man bump into this and that before finally deciding to set out to have lunch down at the usual restaurant, the sky now clear and sunny.
A picture or two of a kind I've taken a thousand times walking through this area, a decent lunch at the café where I met the fellow who had the current set of photographs on display in the dining area, interesting to meet him. He asked me about my camera and we got to talking when I saw he was carrying a Nikon mounted with a long Sigma zoom lens. He's into a different kind of photography, hasn't done much in the way of street shooting (of people), but I understood that from his photographs inside. So good. Will it help me get off my duff? Probably not. In this life.
A walk back, less energetic than the walk to the restaurant, stopping to sit briefly in Splash Pad Park across from the theater and then on by the lake, not sure why I was dragging along after so short a walk exercise. Still, we can stew on it if we want. Home now, guitar practice ahead, these weeks go quickly and I've got to keep up. Hup. Hup.
Later still. Down to the sushi place for dinner and sake. I won't say another word.
Time then on the guitar, slowly making progress. I have essentially three assignments in the current lesson, three assignments of songs/riffs/chord progressions to learn and they're taking me up and down, out and around, and giving but an inch of progress. Maybe that's the idea, how it works, so we'll keep after it. Them. What the hell, I started this thing when I was sixty-eight, no reason to suspect it would be any different.
Than if you'd started at eighteen?
I'd guess at my age I'd be slower in many ways, the brain and the nerve connections that need to be made occurring more quickly when you're younger, but otherwise age may have some advantages. Doesn't really matter, we'll just keep on plodding along.