Friday. And indeed lights out by ten, sleeping straight through but for one brief period to turn over to relieve an arm that had “gone to sleep”, awakening after what I'm guessing was a good night's rest at six, thirty minutes before the alarm, ready on this overcast morning.

A walk with the small Nikon model 1 camera this time. I experimented with it some years ago when the line was introduced, looking for a smaller camera to carry more unobtrusively on the street, not so much for safety as convenience. Interesting camera, but not one to replace the others was the decision, even for uneventful drives/walks to the store (or breakfast).

They've come out with later models of the model 1 and I've been watching their specs, the comments users have made on how they like them, but haven't been moved. Still, this morning, the much smaller camera around the neck hidden under a light jacket. At least I wasn't paranoid (nearly as paranoid) as I'd been yesterday.

And, since the gas prices had changed, a picture of the new prices, one from across the street, another from the usual location at the station. Not the same quality when looking at them later, although that could be due to less familiarity with this camera's settings. It's never going to match its larger brothers, but, well, who knows? The picture of the pandorea flower turned out well. Better than expected.

Later. A bus downtown without taking along a camera to pick up the police report and add the serial numbers to their database. Odd to be out without a camera, made me realize how ingrained they've become in this life, walking through the Washington Street farmers market without being able to take a picture. Would I have taken a picture if I'd had a camera? I don't know. Sometime do, sometimes don't. An element of “odd” now added to my environment.

Anyway, twenty minutes standing in line, the report updated and in hand, back to the apartment to then print out a cover sheet and walk it down to the local UPS store and fax it to the insurance people. Thirteen dollars to fax eight pages. It's obviously been a while since I've sent a fax. Next time we set up the computer here at the apartment to fax through the scanner. Pretty sure you can do that.

Anyway, the tasks of the day done. Will I take pictures across the way at the apartment construction site? Might, but I can see this current disconnect lasting. Feel better than I did yesterday, less on edge, but interesting to see how one of these things can affect you.

My sister, two decades ago, lived in L.A. and advertised the sale of a musical instrument (I forget what it was now, but it was music related), and two people responded. They came to the apartment, overpowered her, tied her up and stole the instrument. Talk about psychological readjustment. I better understand what her experience must have meant after my comparatively minor incident.

Evening. A Democracy Now followed by a New Tricks I've seen before, but of course couldn't remember the final scene until it played. I figured it had at least gotten me to spend time on the guitar. All this while the laptop updated Windows Vista and rebooted adding a new window to the desktop screen. I'll check it out tomorrow. Or next week. Or never. What are those people thinking?

Skipped Midsomer Murders. Another one I've seen before and don't need to see again. Why I keep repeating myself on this I don't know. Charlie Rose was interesting in its place at eight, another program I find I can watch only now and again when the subject rings my bell.

Are you writing off your disdain for these programs to increasing discernment or increasing mental deterioration as you age?

I read a Jon Carroll column in the Chronicle this week in which he says it's known most people stop knowing who's on the popular music charts when they reach the age of thirty-three and I was surprised to realize that's about the time I stopped paying attention to new groups or releases, even though I'd been passionately into new music by then for two decades). Maybe there are other red lines that most people cross at a certain age and I'm just following a well beaten path with these programs, stumbling on with the crowd.