Alarm At Six
Friday. To bed at midnight, up at nine not altogether sure how I was feeling, but better than I had any right to expect, I suspect. We did all get together at a nearby bar after the show, about ten of us in total, and I did have a Guinness. Just one. Served a little too cold. I'd thought about having one earlier and had decided - what the hell? - life is short, might as well go out with a buzz. Not that a single Guinness is going to drop you off any edges with or without the buzz.
Anyway, the Mannerhouse Manor improv was every bit as good as I'd hoped it might. We are cheering here for a cousin's son, after all, if only to be able to drop his name later in conversation when he hits it big. (So, looking good, but hurry up!)
Anyway, a good evening: people in from Seattle, from L.A. and their local friends from San Francisco. I'm now well established as the elder cousin, a loner who lives in an odd place called Oakland, but this has always been the fact. One difference is, at my age: the youngsters wouldn't take an argument and picked up the tab.
Anyway, a drive to breakfast, wasn't willing to walk, home now after eleven feeling (I must admit) pretty good. Some sun on and off out there at the moment, we'll head out later. To where I'm not clear, but a recurring thought has been to go by Jack London Square and pick up those white plastic hangers I could so easily use for the shirts in the bedroom closet. Take care of the big things and the rest will take care of themselves.
Somehow enough is never enough.
Later. There's another Berkeley Street Festival coming up in the middle of next month and so I checked the artandlife site to see what I'd done last year. Wasn't listed on the menu. Checked the artandlife files on my computer. Weren't any there. Found a link on the October the 15th, 2012 journal entry and there they were on artandlife, although again, there was no pull down menu link.
What had I been thinking back then? Where was my brain? And why were none of the web pages and photographs sitting on my computer here? That was the time when I had two mirrored hard drives self destruct and I lost a number of files and pictures, these scrambled files were probably a part of that damage, although the original camera images were located where they should be. So. We'll wonder. A year ago. Nothing lost. Misfortune or another odd brain glitch?
A bit of both?
Why not? A year ago. Now lost in the fog.
News programs in the background and playing guitar (please? guitar?) for the rest of the afternoon. I'd taken a short walk over to the lake earlier in a t-shirt that just about handled the brisk little breeze, but that's been about it for excitement. Otherwise feeling pretty good or I wouldn't have been tracking down more festivals to shoot and looking for lost files.
Evening. The French oddly named detective program at six, Blood On The Docks, was interesting this evening, so we're in a decent mood, the head clear, the morning and early afternoon far enough away now that I forget exactly how they'd gone. Not bad, so far, this day, I'd say.
Dalziel and Pasco now understanding about three-quarters of what they're saying. A bit of drift in our American interpretation of the mother tongue, I'm afraid, but I'll keep up. I mentioned Ms. C and the difficulty I would have for a couple of weeks after she'd arrived to catch all she was saying. Certainly well worth the effort when it came to Ms. C, so no complaints.
Interesting, though, to see Michael Kitchen play the master (cool headed) criminal in tonight's two episodes of Dalziel and Pasco, coming across quite similarly to his portrayal of Foyle the master (cool headed) inspector in Foyle's War that debuted in 2002, four years after his role in this one. Well, it was.
To bed before ten. Lets see if we can get up with the alarm at six.