Accomplishing nothing around the Bay.

This weekend I had lunch with my friend Lindsey, who I used to work with at the Contra Costa Times. It's funny how after high school, you end up being true friends with people who are nowhere near your age. Lindsey is probably around 50, with a daughter who just started college. She and I have the same attitude about a lot of things, and she's just a sweetheart, so we've stayed in touch since I left the paper. We don't talk often, but checking in every couple of months seems to work. So we caught up on work stuff, and then she filled me in on her home stuff, including the recent disappearance of her kitty, Wally (age 17, may he rest in peace). I expected her to be upset, considering the cat had been with her as long as her daughter. But she was surprisingly pragmatic:

"You know, if he got caught by a coyote, it's instant karma. That damn cat tortured so many small animals in his life that this would be very fitting."

Well. So much for not speaking ill of the dead.

After lunch, I went into SF to go to the library (that building is gorgeous, and I feel more educated just walking around in there) to get a copy of a magazine article. I know, why not just go online? Because Gastronomica is the one magazine in the world without Internet access to articles. But small sacrifice, to trek all the way out to my favorite city. So after a heart-pounding trip up five flights, I got the article, then figured since I'd driven all the way out there, why not stick around a while.

I usually get lost in SF; this is just the first time it was intentional. I was looking for North Beach, the area I think I might want to live (come on, big money!) if I move into the city. But first I saw Fillmore, and figured that sounded nice, so I turned left and found the mecca. That street is full of adorable shops and cafes, and lots of cute people to match. I'd really need to step up my game. So I drove around a while there, then ended up near the Presidio, so I figured the fastest way back out was the Golden Gate. Kids, don't try this at home:

Such a better idea if you're a passenger. But fun.

Anyway, I went into Tiburon, because I had time and I'd never been. It's actually a really dull place. Like one road that winds around, and no views of anything except the bay. Which is fine, but when you're used to shopping emporiums and the like, it's a little lacking. But I knew I was out of my element when I looked around at a stoplight and there was a BMW and a Benz in front of me, and an Audi in the other lane. I was relieved when I saw a Ford truck, until I saw it was the pizza guy. I do love Marin, though, because it's pretty low-key. All the rich people are hippies. It's like, when you're about ready to give a buck to the homeless guy walking toward you in a parking lot, he gets into the BMW you're parked next to. But money can't buy taste:

Do you really love your dog so much that you'll defile a beautiful Porsche? The dog probably pees on the wheels every morning and she has no idea.