Then At Ten
Friday. The alarm at five forty-five, yes: turn off the alarm and sleep in for another forty-five minutes. Up to breakfast and back on another overcast morning, the sun due later as is its habit. Our habit.
A nap. Another hour's nap, up now with the sun having arrived at ten-thirty. The engine starts up again. OK, a standard start, takes a while so we're still a bit fuzzy, we'll see later how this day pulls itself together, if the local terrain now holds some excitement now that we've been away for a week. Almost a week.
Later. A walk over to the lake with the long lens thinking I might get lucky and find a pelican again, but found the lake clear but for a few birds in the distance, so went back to the apartment, changed the lens for a shorter (less cumbersome) one and took the bus downtown for lunch. No need to sell myself on going downtown as I was hungry.
Passing Telegraph along Broadway I noted a group of people - they didn't look as if they were city workers - painting the section of Telegraph where it feeds into Broadway. What was that about? A walk to the City Center to have a salad and a piece of chicken (we do occasionally eat vegetables) out at a table and then a walk back to Telegraph to see what was up.
I admit to being surprised. As the Latham Square sign says up above, it's an experimental recreation area, something more ambitious than I would have given credit to the local government for trying. So we'll track its progress. Good. Pictures.
The windows were boarded up at the Youth Radio building after they were broken by demonstrators during the Treyvon Martin demonstrations and they've now painted a mural on the plywood similar to the mural they painted in the Oscar Grant era. So a picture. Of course. What the hell? Two. Shame on all parties across the board for breaking the windows of a school for aspiring young journalists, but the location isn't the best for avoiding rocks and hammers. In Oakland.
Bad old Oakland?
Nah. We'll make it. What with creating a pedestrian zone in the middle of the downtown. Be better if we made similar efforts out in the meaner streets of the east and west, now and again, where something like this might too be appreciated. But I'm an old, retired, never seen the mean end of the stick guy with no idea of how the world turns out there beyond the veil.
Evening. Nothing on at six, so a session running portrait prints just because the mood struck and I, clever I, realized, now that I've been using this new version of Photoshop for almost a month, that I haven't gone through the initial steps necessary to set up color management. This realization occurred, clever I, because one or two of the prints were clearly off color. The idiot at the wheel, I'm afraid. How many times have I set up Photoshop? How many?
A British series, Dalziel and Pasco, was on at eight, two episodes of which I'd seen for the first time two weeks ago Friday (last Friday being away in Portland). It's sometimes hard to follow for the English accents, but palatable enough to play along with on guitar, two chapters in a row, getting to bed then at ten.