It's technically fall, but it's the end of the summer here and the grass in the foothills is that bleached grey that comes either right before the rains or right before a fire.
The weather is gorgeous, and I can't wait for it to cede to the coolness and more saturated colors of fall. Why?
Yesterday we went to the city in an attempt to have mrguy's birthday, observed. Thwarted at every turn, I say.
We wanted to go the the modernism show to ogle furniture, but couldn't find a parking place within a quarter mile of the water. "You *people* and your happiness and your frolicking and your bicycles," said mrguy in his best old man voice. And as we left that neighborhood and tried others, it seemed as if the whole town was warm, bright and packed to the gills. Who took my city and turned it into Rio?
We finally took refuge in an izakaya, just as it was opening. Some rice balls, fried peppers, chicken hearts and beer set us right. Eventually mrguy craved the nest. Instead of the nice Japanese restaurant we'd picked out, we went home, ordered a pizza and watched Flight of the Conchords.
We'll come back on a gloomy day, when we can have the place to ourselves.
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