Friday. The 13th, but the sun is bright, the sky clear, the temperature a bit cool this morning, so we'll assume this third Friday the 13th of the calendar year is one of the lucky ones. I don't think you'd ever make a movie with 13th in the title without the expected bad news and mayhem, but this is real life (he said with confidence) and it has its surprises. Friday. A weekend coming.
Dinner last night in Hayward, finding a parking spot near BART in a well lighted spot, a good dinner with Mr. E and Ms. R (there are three Ms. R's, as it happens, a disadvantage - or an advantage - of using single letters to identify them), a table up front to hear Pladdohg perform at the Bistro. I took more than a few pictures using the low light high ISO D3 and the 85mm f 1.4 lens, good for portraits and close ups. I've had this particular lens for years and I wonder sometimes when it seems to focus slowly if you need to have them periodically cleaned or tuned up or something as you do with cameras. Seemed OK last night, no hiccups or bumps. Which is good. Problems, when they arise, is probably the photographer, wondering why this or that, with his thumb pressed against the lens. Reliability is good to have in your equipment even if you can't get it in your person.
You're reliable enough.
Yeah, I'm not sure how that started.
Ambling along, up this morning just after seven, to bed last night at a decent hour sleeping straight through after three, three and a half drinks last night, Guinness at the club and a glass of decent Merlot with dinner. Not sure what I'll do later, but walking to and from breakfast made my mood even better, maybe something more ambitious than usual a little later.
Later. A bus ride to the 19th Street BART station at Sears, some thought to go across the street for coffee and chocolate muffins (have I mentioned those chocolate muffins?), a decision to get on BART and take the first train going north, Rockridge or Berkeley, the Rockridge train pulling in as I was descending on the elevator, a long walk around Rockridge (been a while), BART back, a bus to the apartment feeling, well, tired. Enough excitement for a Friday, anyway, now that it's four in the afternoon. Maybe the somewhat later night last night cut me a bit short, who knows? Maybe the age. Still, the mood is tired but good, stressing the good, and the evening is ahead. A movie, maybe, if I've got one from Netflix here worth watching.
I took a look through the food fair across from the Rockridge BART station thinking maybe I'd find something I wanted to eat. I'd been hungry since late morning, but hadn't been able to think of anything I liked, passing restaurants as I was walking with every kind of fare, none of it particularly enticing. I've mentioned this before, this “hurdle” I've developed as an appetite. One reason I enjoyed dinner last night is we ate at a relatively high end establishment that served small portions. Excellent, pleasing on the plate, but small, hinting there are others in this world who find getting their appetite in gear an effort. I've always thought thin was achieved with a certain level of self flagellation. Anorexia and such. Always on a diet. A new door has opened. I opted for a small wedge of relatively hard Italian cheese with a nice edge to it, deciding to sit at a bus stop bench up the way and try a piece. Roughing it in Rockridge. I sat there vaguely embarrassed.