Otherwise to bed a little later than is my habit last night, some trouble getting to sleep, up this morning an hour later than usual, but in a good mood with the head screwed on straight. Ms. Emmy ate the Salmon labeled cat food with some gusto without regurgitating it onto the rug, often her habit with the Salmon stuff when she's willing to eat it, a drive over to breakfast to read the paper, the sun poking out, the birds singing (somewhere on the planet), the attitude (as I mentioned) good.

I read about a “Lovefest” parade they had in San Francisco yesterday, bad form on my part not checking the paper Friday. Not easy to find the lesser known weekend events in The Chronicle, I've discovered, but that's no excuse, I know where to look on the web. I have no problem photographing something called a “Lovefest” parade where I might draw the line on something else. The boys and girls in leather, come to mind. No reason not to have reservations about boys and girls in leather, we all have our little hangups we need to work out, but for someone who pretends to play at the artist, avoiding events with emotional baggage isn't the way it's done. You learn when you push. Or something like that. Sounds right.

Hell: talk about stepping on your dick. In looking at the events being held in the city today I see an annual Castro Street celebration of some kind starting at eleven. By my rule (set forth with great confidence) I should go to the damned thing. There's also a street festival in Japantown, although it won't be anything on the scale of Castro Street. I should just rewrite and dodge the issue, pretend I never said it, but I won't because, well, I have this conceit babbling truth about yourself (to yourself) opens up your life, something I've been thinking about attempting since I was twelve. Call a spade a spade, a dork a dork.

So, you're going?

In this journal format we're soon to find out.

Later. Not much later, but time enough to drive down to Jack London Square, park and get a cup of coffee at the Starbucks & Just Deserts in the Barnes & Noble building, taking a picture of the palm trees they've planted in the middle of the Square. Well, close to the middle of the Square. I was thinking about them last night, the palm trees, how they seemed totally out of place. Sure, palm trees, I like them. Most people like them unless they're growing in their back yard: I have no idea what their upkeep is like, but out of place next to the stairs leading to the water between Scott's and Miss Pearl's Jam House, a new restaurant with a sickenly cute name in the Waterfront Hotel building. They've added additional outdoor tables at both Scott's and the new Pearl's, which I like, but the palm trees just seem out of place. Such is life. They didn't solicit my opinion and my big bucks every other month Starbucks purchases probably didn't suggest a need to ask.

I'm not going to Castro Street or Japantown later this afternoon. I remembered Ms. T's comments: sweaty naked bodies in the heat, or in heat. Not today. Same with Japantown. No regrets.

Testy, by the way, a little speedy walking around Jack London Square. The head doing its thing, not good, not bad, but testy both walking and driving home. Why testy? Why speedy? Since I was in the Square I dropped by the nearby Beverages & More and bought a six pack of various 300ml bottles of sake I've not tried before. They had a promotion going: you buy a six pack of assorted bottles in a clever little promotional carton and you save six dollars. How could I possibly pass it up? Now, the idea is to consume NO MORE THAN ONE in an evening, the equivalent of two of the little Ozeki bottles, the equivalent of two glasses of wine. I also picked up a decent Cheddar to consume with the sake, one of these sakes I've not tried before. I'm sure it'll be fine.

You kidding, right?

Life would be simpler if I could consistently keep it to one.