A cab after a Guinness or two to The Buccaneer, a bar out near Polk and Van Ness. I say this with only minor certainty as my companions were giving directions. A small not quite hole in the wall bar with a pool table in the back, the people who were playing without a clue, but seeming to enjoy their game. A younger crowd, of course, the place a local hangout for singles and couples, one or two conversations striking up between strangers, interesting to see, a chapter from the past. Well, not totally, but certainly for me and women as young as these. Always a picture or two (of course), some things don't fade with age.

We then went to a place just off Van Ness, a phone booth sized place jammed packed wall to wall with less than twenty people (How small is a bar that can only comfortably hold less than twenty people? It's small, let me tell you.), everybody having a good time. More pictures, of course. Another beer of some kind, I don't remember what, but it came in a bottle and was brewed in San Francisco. That's what the bartender said. No reason to doubt him, of course, although he didn't look old enough to be buying let alone pouring a drink.

We ended up at The House of Prime Rib. I haven't been eating all that much red meat over these last several years, more chicken than anything else when it comes to meat, your occasional turkey sausage in the mornings for breakfast, so it was nice to have prime rib with decent horseradish on the side. I ended up eating more yesterday than I suspect I've eaten in the last two years, but it's Christmas, it's the holidays, so no complaints. (Their creamed corn was nice.) Oh, and the financial crisis? The place was packed with people waiting in line until eleven in the evening. I have no idea what that means. Maybe buy horseradish stock.

Back on BART, the car in good shape, back to the apartment by midnight feeling a bit tipsy, but nothing to worry about. Looking back it went well, I kept on track, had a good time, a good dinner and got home in one piece. Hooray (for me)! Really.

Back now from the vet. Ms. Emmy had a follow up visit for a blood test scheduled at nine. She seems OK with it now that she's back, wasn't so happy while I was transporting her to and from, but this is my last scheduled appointment of any kind now until next year (not counting the trip up to Portland and Seattle for the family get together next week). The sky is clear, breakfast was fine (lighter after last night), the day is ahead. I think I'll take a nap.

Later. The Land's End package containing the new (smaller!) pants are out for delivery, so says the UPS web site. Good. I'm not thinking of going outside anyway, take it easy and allow the horizon to thoroughly level itself after last night.

Oh?

Just talking. I'll get out for a walk after it arrives. Unless it's late. Meanwhile I'm sitting here wondering why the mailman appears to have come by without making a delivery, mildly wondering, it's the season, who knows what goes on at the post office? XM radio has been playing in the background, what they call their classic vinyl channel which is almost, but not quite right. We freaks listened to such stuff, most of what they're playing I have in my record collection, but it's too slick, a bit too shallow, needs to go further down under the hood. Still, it's playing, I don't seem to be turning it off. Although I'm whining, am I not?

I believe old freaks listen to their “deep tracks” channel. You've been listening to the pop stuff.

Ah. Right. Embarrassing. I'll listen to that, see then if I continue to whine.

Later still. It's dark. No UPS truck. They have come in the past as late as after six. One hopes they deliver on Saturday if they don't make it today.

Five-thirty. It arrived. They fit.