I was overly amazed at how all the houses were attached, which is not something you see in the south very oft-ever. A. pointed out that many of the houses in the Northeast are also attached. He points out lots of things. I countered with a flimsy argument and went back to being amazed by domestic proximity.

The surfers at Ocean Beach surf even when it is freezing cold. Which it was. So they were surfing. I enjoy doing things. I enjoy running. Even biking (back in the day). Hiking. Camping, even. But I have a lower temperature threshold that, once breached, will prevent me from running into the Pacific Ocean in a rubber suit and a large fiberglass board. Not so with surfers.

A. is in better shape than me. So when we rode across the Golden Gate Bridge to Sausalito, he didn’t have to stop and take deep, gasping breaths and feel his heart pounding in his chest and realize he’s getting old and really, really needs to start running again as soon as it gets warm enough or maybe deciding that he finally needs to join a gym or something. No, he didn’t have to do that.

Old Vietnamese women are racist. Assuming that just because you are the only white person at the table, you need a fork with your noodles while everyone else (who ordered pho) gets chopsticks is racist. It is.

When the older gentleman on Muni does not realize that he has dropped his very large kitchen knife, the proper response is to quietly return it to him instead of spending 10 minutes wondering if he is a murderer and is taking public transportation to his next victim because even the homicidal maniacs in San Francisco are trying to reduce their carbon footprint.

I usually hate old movies, but “The Trouble With Harry” seen in 35mm at the Castro Theatre at 2:30pm when you have missed the bus (twice) to go watch a podcast up in Petaluma is absolutely wonderful. All old movies should be seen that way.

Sitting at the window on the 17th (or something like that) floor staring at San Francisco at night is one of the best ways to end a day. Try it.