Thursday A long day. Makes for sloppiness, makes for less than a best effort. Makes for fuzzy headed thinking, bouncing off walls as you're multi-tasking, triple-tasking, reactionary techie gone postal-tasking, but the work is done, the sun is bright, not too hot, unless you live over the hills to the east, and, for many, an over the hills ninety degree too hot day for me is to them just the best, the balmiest, the beginnings of comfort, so everyone gets a lick. Or is that too opaque? Near the lake? In Oakland? (I did say a "long day", did I not? Why are you wincing?)

MRJ, who rolled off the road on his motorcycle last February was broad sided today on his way to our burrito Thursday lunch. Not his fault, but it's his broken leg, his trip to the hospital. Yes, when he was finally able to crawl out of his bed after that first incident - a whoops! where's the road? lapse of attention - he plunked down the cash for another (BMW, I think) and he's been up and running for these last few weeks. I've had friends who've done this in the past, body casts and the rest, months of hospital time, turns too tight at a hundred and thirty, but they were bachelors, between spouses, no kids. That will be the rationalization they'll use at the company to let him go. "Tsk! Tsk!"

Do you know what you're talking about?

Nah. Not really necessary to know, you know, here in Oakland.

My horoscope in the Chronicle this morning: