Mother's Day on Sunday. I sent my mother flowers over the web, a faceless way to send flowers, but boy howdy does it do the trick. Click, click and mom's tickled. I don't recall such thoughtfulness as a child, not the buying of flowers, particularly, money doesn't matter, but making the time and the effort to remember with a proper stand up "this kid really loves his mom" gesture.

My father would remember at the last minute and I would tag along with him to buy a potted fizwick or something similar (they were both into gardening) learning how one handles Mother's Day at my father's knee, so to speak. Later I realized something planned would have been more appropriate, something demonstrating thoughtfulness and consideration, but this was a lesson for later days when I'd had more time and experience in the world.

Today I ate like a pig. Started with breakfast across the street from the office. The bacon, egg and cheese on toast "breakfast" sandwich with orange juice and coffee. Not unusual, don't recommend the cholesterol involved, but that and a regular lunch and I'm OK, the usual whiskey and water for dinner. Got to the office and they'd laid out every sort of bagel, muffin, croissant, Chinese bun and four different kinds of cream cheese for our half of the floor (they're working us to death, of course, and we're up tight and angry, so now and then they're smart enough, more then, than now, to throw us a bone). I can usually forebear, but not today. Today was disaster. Some days are meant for disaster.

The morning degenerated into gluttony and then some more gluttony, and then, well, it was time for lunch and a gluttonous afternoon. You understand. Hi, ho. I haven't been losing weight, particularly, but I haven't been gaining it either. Day to day things have been OK, no cravings in the evenings for pizza pie and triple fried chicken. Today was different. Happens, I guess. Not to worry. I guess.

Saturday. There appears to be a free concert today with Boz Scaggs headlining in San Francisco on the bay near the BART station. I'm thinking of going. We'll know with the next sentence.

Later. So much for free concerts in San Francisco. A quarter of a million people attended last year. Taking BART to sit in the middle of 250,000 people scared me off, so I drove downtown and had a sandwich and a Coke (Coke pays me $37 whenever I mention their product here in the journal) out at a table on the sidewalk and then walked over to the GAP and bought two t-shirts and three pair of socks. Good. I need t-shirts. I probably need socks.

Drive home, sit in the livingroom, tired, look out the glass balcony doors (my next door neighbor, I notice, has another sign posted in his window complaining about his landlord again), think "what am I doing here", pick up the lighter weight F3 this time and catch a bus back downtown instead of driving. Walk around. A classic MG car show in Jack London Square. Buy a bag of spicy dehydrated peas in Chinatown, eat them over a Guinness at the brewery pub, wander by Zen City Records for the first time (I've passed it on my way to work in the mornings and wondered).

I do not recognize a single artist. I didn't even know the format. Twelve inch 78's, the old disco format? Don't even know the genre. "Deep House, Progressive, Tech-house, Break-beats, Techno, Down-tempo, trance and hip-hop" it says on their web site. The walls are filled with lp size records rather than CD's with labels and artists I've never heard of. There are two turntables with earphones near the door if you want to sample a record. Nobody does that anymore. Three young (record freaks? Zen record freaks?) are discussing a particular disk. I take a chance when the guy asks if he can help.

"I have no idea what this music is", or words to that effect, say I. "But I've got a wall full of old rock and roll and blues from the 60's and 70's. If you were to recommend a single record that would give me the best introduction I could have to these sounds, what might that record be in your opinion?"

You live here in Oakland?

"Yeah, over by the lake."

Good. Lot's of good music in Oakland.

I nod my head. I'm sure that's true. Haven't a clue where to find it.

He thumbs through a bin and takes out a disk, puts it back and says it's on CD, goes through a small stack of CD's and hands one over. OmLounge 5 is the title. I realize this is probably more than a small record shop and they probably did the production. I have it here in front of me.