There's something called a PedalFest happening in Jack London Square this afternoon and early evening, so something I can photograph that's close enough I won't find an excuse to bail. I talked about heading over to San Francisco to look for signs of the upcoming America's Cup, but haven't been able to get my act together, but we will one of these days soon. I know. We'll go. We will.

Otherwise, what the hell: a sunny day, decent temperature, feeling reasonably human. What could go wrong? Get a move on. (hup!)

Later. A nice long nap. Takes care of those throw away late morning hours between nine and eleven, up now beginning to get feeling back again in my arms and legs and left side of my head. All good things. We'll see if we can't catch a bus before twelve and see what's happening in Jack London Square, get some of that fresh air that seems to be out there, fresh in the sense of clearer and cleaner now that Saturday traffic is lighter. Hup.

You are still half asleep.

Half asleep is the new awake, here in these early days of the new century.

Later still. Lots of walking, back now at the apartment as it approaches four. A bus at noon to the ATM on Broadway, then walking on to the City Center to have a dessert crêpe out at one of the tables (strawberries, sour cream and ice cream), then a walk on down to Jack London to see what PedalFest was about, a large crowd and plenty of noise as I approached.

I must admit my head wasn't in it, but I did walk the line of booths up and down and around taking pictures. You know when you're sensitive to your surroundings, seeing and taking reasonably good pictures, and I wasn't doing much more than going through the motions, but what the hell? Good exercise on a bright, and comfortable day.

I managed to knock over an abandoned paper cup half full of coffee that was left sitting on the ground near a recycle bin and splashed the coffee all over the bottom of the left leg of my pants. I'd been moving with the camera and taking pictures and not watching where I was walking. What the hell. It happens.

So back on a bus (and then another bus) to the apartment to change pants and spray the coffee stain with soap (we'll throw them in the wash before the day is over) and set out again walking to the morning café for toast, ice cream and lemonade, three critical elements in our personal food pyramid. (I'd managed my sour cream earlier with that dessert crêpe if you weren't paying attention.)

A walk then back home, but slowly, very slowly. Tired, more than a few miles clocked today. You walk long enough and your back will hurt and buses will start to look inviting.

Evening. A slow evening, although I've gotten in a fair amount of time on the guitar. I probably went over my scales and some of the old exercises too many times, could have spent more time with those needed for the coming lesson, although I'm getting to the point I can play some of those old ones now on the beat without miss-fingering.

Maybe something is on television at nine, maybe not. The Beck at six was another repeat, they're repeating old shows they were running when I first stumbled on the series. Again, an odd, often maddening series, but quite a bit better than some of the Italian examples they've been showing. None of it leads you in any way to think you'd have lived a better more balance life as a police detective, of course, not that Beck has anything to do with being a policeman.

You're drifting.

I am. Not sure if there's a cure anymore, just type on and forget it.