But I Ramble
Thursday. A run over to San Francisco late yesterday afternoon to meet with the usual crew at The Shields, a bar on New Montgomery Street that I've passed by many times over the years as my old company sent us to training now and again in the building next door. Looked from the outside like some kind of franchised place I generally try to avoid, although it turned out to be a funky place with an old wood bar and booths and really cheesy art something-or-other light fixtures.
So there we met with a plan to eventually set out by cab to Kennedy's, an Irish bar on Columbus Avenue in North Beach serving quite good Indian food. Oh, and has a $2 Guinness happy hour that runs until seven. The young man above is Ms. S's son who happens to work in an office building down the way and thought he'd come by to see what the old folks do when we're out on our own without adult supervision.
Well, we arrived at The Shields between three and four, we arrived at Kennedy's around six and I believe I bailed after seven. At least I got back to Oakland before eight, noticed the last bus had run and grabbed a cab in front of the Marriott. A good evening, not all that much Guinness consumed, Mr. E picking up much of the tab for the evening. No complaints, although I'm not sure I'm at an age where consuming Guinness should be a main focus of the evening. A Guinness here, a Guinness there: pretty soon you're singing Irish songs days after St. Patrick's Day is gone and, when you get home, you find your kilt all a-kilter.
I don't think the Irish wear kilts.
That's good to know cause neither (to my knowledge) do I and never, certainly, in downtown San Francisco.
The air this morning is crisp, the sky clear. Sweater weather; weather to sit by the lake and watch the runners walk by. Well, some of them were running. Breakfast at the usual place, the papers read, ten minutes sitting on a bench by the lake on the way home, up here now finishing this with an afternoon before me. What to do? I suggested to the crew last night I was contemplating spending a month in Hawaii. I have family that lives there and they might know of a sublet I could rent near a beach and people who party in colorful photographer friendly places. I don't care about sitting on a beach and, for all my writing about Guinness, I'm not interested in colorful drinks with their own umbrellas. I've done colorful drinks with umbrellas. They're fun, but they're predictable in how you'll feel the next morning when the sun has turned into a blast furnace and you yourself have turned into a vampire.
But I ramble, here in Oakland.
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