So, up this morning after seven, skipping breakfast at the usual place altogether, feeling a bit funky, but otherwise halfway coherent. A bus downtown after ten, hopping on BART for San Francisco at eleven (after an iced coffee out on the patio at Peet's and a visit to an ATM) to hook up with seven of the usual suspects for lunch, eight of us at Osha's in the base of the Embarcadero 4 building overlooking Justin Hermann Plaza.

I thought a very nice lunch, three crusty old dudes and five attractive young women in comfortable unhurried surroundings. I admit to not focusing enough attention on the taking of pictures. A walk then over to Harrington's with Mr. E and Mr. S for a Guinness, the attitude just fine, a second Guinness, because that's what you do when you've had a first Guinness, a walk then back to BART (the train to Oakland arriving thirty seconds after I got to the platform), a bus home (the bus arriving thirty seconds after I got out of the BART station - Kismet? When's that ever going to happen again?), home now feeling pretty good at four.

It turned out I'd missed FedEx by twenty minutes, of course, when they attempted to deliver the iPhone and a portable folding stool I'd ordered from Amazon (a necessary item, I've discovered, when you attempt to photograph a concert or a crowd where there are no chairs about and you have to stand waiting for long periods), but what the hell, they'll be coming again for delivery tomorrow. We can do this, wait another day, although I admit there's a certain anticipation in the arrival of the iPhone. One doesn't like to admit being excited about such things at my age, but - what the hell - not a unique reaction. After using this failing phone of mine over these last years. Or not using this failing phone of mine over these last years. To be honest. Best (sometimes) to be honest.

So, we'll skip the sake this evening, we've done our periodic blur the world, listen to old farts’ rock and roll for a while, the Guinness this afternoon not counting in this late night business. I did learn, however, that Mr. S went through a period of ocular migraines himself back in his days at APL, his symptoms similar to my own. For him, sitting in front of a computer screen was a trigger. I've wondered about that myself, computer screens, a factor in bringing them on? It was for him. Still, he had them for about two years and then they stopped. I felt better, hearing they stop.

So, the evening approaches, the head is clear, the attitude good, we'll look forward to an iPhone tomorrow, although I have no doubt instead of FedEx arriving at ten-thirty in the morning as they did this morning, they'll arrive late, me sitting here chomping at the bit to get outside for my walk, wondering when, when, when.