Come, come. Late night antics. Too soon to be devolving into that.

Well, up on a sunny morning to drive over and back from breakfast by eight to do the usual last minute edit on yesterday's entry. The guitar practice went well last night, although I need to continue today and play along with the recorded songs, rather than just go through the riffs on my own, unaccompanied. But I know that, I've mentioned it so many times that even you know that, we'll move on now to other much repeated nonsense.

I admit to feeling good and looking forward to heading out somewhere new or old, warm or cold, to find life, adventure and more photographs. Yes, (hup!), start the day with a dose of DIY propaganda, sell myself, blow smoke up my own rear end (which is easier than it might seem from the description), but so what? Life's like that out here in journal land, let me tell you (twice or thrice).

Later. An hour lying down drifting in and out listening to the radio to then get up - hup! - to take the bus downtown. What to do downtown? A cup of coffee out in front of Peet's, a bus to Jack London Square, a walk through the warehouse area taking one or two pictures, a bus then back up Broadway toward Grand to then walk the rest of the way home. Just like that. A picture or two, again nothing to write home about, but the day going well for an old crock.

Later still. Some time on the guitar, the news droning on in the background. Some thought to head down the hill for sushi and sake, but I seem to be holding out against it. For the now, anyway. If there's anything of interest on the Scandinavian police procedural program at six I'll be safe. If it turns out to be Italian I'm a goner.

I've been going through a Lightroom “how to” book, finally giving in and setting out to properly learn the damned thing. It's intuitive enough, I'm much enamored of their burning-dodging tool, but I have too many questions that need answers before I can trust that I'm not screwing up stuff that will come back one day to haunt me. This book totals almost seven hundred pages and seven hundred pages is a lot, even when most of its pages are covered with pictures. I'm mildly surprised how far I've actually gone without quitting.

Evening. Watched a Maigret episode at six, playing along on the guitar, and watched the last half of an early classic Japanese black and white samurai-horror film of some sort on a Netflix disk. The last of my Netflix movies, I'm afraid, as I canceled both it and my Sirius XM subscription last week. I haven't listened to Sirius radio in months, no reason to be paying for a subscription, and Netflix had sent me a string of three unplayable disks - replacing them quickly and apologetically, of course - but catching me in a cranky mood, so I canceled. Maybe I'll take up their inexpensive online subscription option later, but we'll see, I didn't use it earlier when I had it. I have the online Amazon movies too and haven't watched them either.

That does sound cranky.

Does to me too, although I've been getting better lately about canceling things I don't use. I have the storage locker on the cancel list, been on it for the last five years. If I can actually clean it out and get rid of it too I'll have made real progress.