My guitar lesson has been moved from Wednesday mornings to Thursdays at noon, so we're not under the gun to do a last minute brush up on this week's lesson. We'll do our last minute brush up tomorrow morning. Same brush up, same thoughts of why didn't I do this or do that when I had the time to practice, but too obvious and trite to other than observe the fact. We'll be ready. We will. Hup.

Later. A walk to the morning restaurant along the lake, the day clear, the temperature perfect. An apple turnover and a glass of lemonade out on the patio, another walk then to the ice cream shop on Lakeshore for a green tea cone. A successful lunchtime assembly of three important food groups. We persevere.

A walk then back by the lake passing a wedding party photo shoot going on under the columns. I'd passed the bride standing alone by the library as I was walking toward the restaurant, obviously waiting on others to arrive. I liked the A's hat on the groom. I don't know if it bodes well or ill for their future.

I was packing the 270mm equivalent lens (the 180mm f 2.8 on the Nikon D2X) taking one or two additional pictures, one of a palm from the café patio and a quick snapshot of a Cormorant taking off from the lake. Would have been nice if it were in focus. Made me realize how much better the new equipment is than the older camera and lens combinations from the film and early digital era. The newer focusing systems on the latest digital cameras would have probably nailed the focus and the newer long lenses with vibration reduction in conjunction with the higher ISO's would have allowed for a faster shutter speed freezing the action. But what the hell, a decent outing.

Home and to bed, a good long solid nap, coming up now slowly now as the afternoon plays itself out. Some guitar before it ends to get a head start in my current habit of getting in most of my practice in the evenings, an earlier start resulting in a longer set of sessions. So much for the exhortation, we'll see if it works.

Later still. OK, decent time on the guitar watching the end of the Deadwood third season. An odd and quirky story told in extremes. Were there any characters that weren't psychotic monsters from William Randolph Hearst to the various famous others - Bill Hickock, Wyatt Earp, Calamity Jane - to the town doctor. Well, the town doctor comes off reasonably well, an island of sanity in the middle of hell.

Most of the women were treated like cattle - if they're making money on their backs for someone, well then, keep them around - otherwise throw them into the pig sty and add them back into the food chain. The term organic doesn't come to mind. I don't think I'd have eaten a bacon breakfast in that town. Anyway, interesting series, one I suspect many various and better critics have written about.