SF, etc

Into San Francisco yesterday: first to a matinee of Tales of the City (the musical). Which is not a great musical, at least in its current iteration (tho' Joey says it's evolving through the run), but it is pretty much exactly what I'd hoped for, which boils down to "lots of fun, with a few outstanding moments". Granted that you'd have to do it pretty badly to turn that book into a flop in this format in this city - but actually they've done it very well. The two mature female leads, Anna Madrigal and Mother Mucca - Judy Kaye and Diane J Findlay - have gift roles and fabulous voices, and are outstanding. Musically the second half's more interesting, if only because it gives the cast the chance to cut loose & belt.

Anyway, enjoyed it utterly. And Armistead was there, looking sleek and well-fed and successful, as he is.

And then we went to dinner - Henry's Hunan restaurant: we're not sure who Henry is, but you should try his smoked ham and green beans, if you get the chance - with the SF in SF crowd, then on to hear Nick Mamatas and Lisa Goldstein read and talk with Terry Bisson. For we are cultural vultures, and we take big bites.

This morning Karen is sleeping in, and I am pretending (to myself) that I am working. I might go out soon and grub a dandelion or two, but I might not. Sunday indecisions: they're the best.

Throw a stick at any California summer, you'd hit a dozen of these

Oh dear, is it raining in all the world else? The Grand Prix is suspended, and people in England are grumbling at me.

It's, um, utterly lovely here in the South Bay. We've opened all the windows and eaten canteloupe to the sound of birdsong; now Karen is reading a week's worth of newspapers on the sofa, while I consider frying bacon because it is after all a Sunday and some things are just traditional wherever on the planet you may be. Besides, that bread needs toasting...