Apparently not only have I been too busy to write for two whole months, I haven’t even noticed it’s been two months since I wrote a word in here. Real life — consisting of going to work, studying for work and bringing work home — took over (as did frequent laziness). Actually work is pretty awesome right now. I’m learning a truckload and when I’m not I’m basically doing more coding, which is all good. I’m on another project as well, but I suppose that’s even more confidential than the first one. Curse this whole doing-cool-things-and-not-talking-about-them business.
In other news, however, Thanksgiving consisted of V coming up to see me and us wandering around the Bay, most notably to San Francisco and then Berkeley. There was a lot of storage-unit-ing involved, but never let it be said that V (or the contents of her storage unit) was poor company. As a matter of fact the entire thing grew to be quite an adventure, complete with shady dealings in the seedier side of Berkeley. I ended up seeing more of that fine town than I really expected to.
On the other hand I got some hangers and appalam off her, so it was all good.
A tad more exciting, even if there was less shadiness, was our San Francisco trip. I admit that at first I couldn’t see why the Bay and SF in particular were all that exciting; I mean, it’s all California, yes?
But I think I had to take a good long walk along Haight-Ashbury to convince me that there’s just something wildly persuasive about SF. We went to lunch at a place with Indian pizza, of all things, and it was glorious. The amount of food consumed over the weekend, by the way, has to be seen to be believed. I think I’m still carrying excess poundage around.
You know the other thing about SF and Haight-Ashbury? It has the best shops — fun and eclectic, but never pretentious, welcoming and kooky. There was the place with lovely scents, knicknacks and accents:
And of course, bookshops. With books you might never have heard of, shelves with defiantly non-mainstream literature, dreamy artwork, random people recommending your next to-do on the literary list.
The thing about SF is that it’s open, inviting, insane but not self-consciously so. Even on a dreary November afternoon it’s buzzing with people all determined to find and do something cool.
Also, I like its general philosophy: