ROMANCE AND GOOD FOOD

For the life of me I cannot figure out why there are so many people in town. The bus back to the city was packed, and traffic was at a crawl from before the bridge. Maybe they heard that unlike many other cities we're friendly and outgoing, and love tourists. I know they didn't hear that from me. Except at the best of times, I'm unbending, unfriendly, and unsocial.
The end of the workday is not the best of times.

It's the middle of February. Yes, it's Valentines Day. That can't be it. San Francisco is not about love. Don't y'all need to got Disneyland or Las Vegas for that? If anything, San Francisco is about serious commitment and drug-fuelled paranoia.

Who are these people, and why are they here?


After a full days work, my right leg is temperamental. Slightly swollen, oedematic near the toes, and feels a bit too tight in my skin. It twitches and jerks. Not so much that anyone would notice if they weren't sitting next to me, and I try to make sure no one does unless they are pretty and intelligent looking, although that would, unfortunately, add a surreal note to their trip to The States. The probably wake up weeping.

"Yeah, everything was lovely till we got to San Franciso, and there was this twitchy man on the bus across the bridge cussing sotto voce in something that sounded like hairballs .....
The nuts are everywhere there!"

Your San Francisco vacation should be both memorable and nightmarish.

It's only fair. You got to enjoy East Coast, Midwestern, and good old Southern hospitality, and eat fabulous things like deepfried pickled pigs knuckle elsewhere in the country, plus the sixty four ounce steaks and chicago dogs -- served greasily in a red hot iron skillet like everything else there that's worth eating -- and you know that flat earthers come here to watch the water flow over the edge into the abyss, so you might as well remember the good things. All the best people in this country have little tics. It's what makes us lovable.

The deepfried pickled pigs knuckle just didn't do it.

Here we can only dream of such things.

Candle light supper food.

Romantic.



Here it is, over an hour after I returned home, and my right foot still feels like a sumbitch. You can probably understand why on my first day off I don't get much accomplished, and sit on my xxx all day. I'd vote for my foot if it were running for congress just to get it out of town.
No, no townhalls, just stay in Washington and be a pain in the gand there. It's fine.



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