San Francisco is not like Russia, though there is a part of town called Russian Hill and there is a river called Russian River which flows north of here. There is also a supermarket, in which I found myself, which has that Sovietski green flourescent lighting, long rows of partially empty shelves of goods and a young, oily Muskovite proprietor who stared at me with his thick brow as I looked for something to buy. There was no one else in the store, so I took my time, grooving to the muzak. Finally I picked up a mackerel, which I liked because it was totally unadorned. Just a dead fish, smoked, not wrapped or packaged, just sitting out on a shelf.

The humorless proprietor, dabbling in levity, said "it's about time you made up your mind" when I got to check out. I feel sort of Russian, eating alone in my empty apartment on a wooden chair. Maybe it also has to do with eating herring and fish, which I do not so much because I like it, as I figure my waning bachelor days might as well involve some excess, and once the boss shows up I can hardly stink of fish in good conscience. I also feel a little like an assassin, in my empty apartment. I just bought a DeWalt screw gun, which is something I have always wanted, even though out here I have no real need for tools. I had it delivered at work, and then I poached a pair of g-string panties with red hearts on them from the sample clothing drawer, to wipe down the tool. Because you never get a second chance to make a first impression and I want my colleagues to see me wiping down my 450 pounds of torque screw gun with a pair of panties when they see me in my office.

Last night was a corporate meeting as a pep rally/state of the business, followed by a party at a nearby restaurant. They went all out at the meeting, complete with Kareoke and audio visual support, then at the after party they had people dancing Shake a Tail Feather in a conga line. I did my best to have three drinks in quick succession, so as to maximize my headache the next day. I also sampled the food, which was not very good though it did amuse me to eat berry tart dessert and discover it still frozen solid, as I could sort of suck on it.

Afterwards I went over to Mark's house afterward, still lugging my DeWalt. He had a closet door that wasn't working right. But I couldnt' use my drill to fix it, as it turned out to be one of those hollow doors and would require reinforcement of some sort to get it to hold it's hardware. He did, however, have a vcr that had eaten a tape of the word cup, and so I had the opportunity to take out virtually all the parts of the VCR to get the tape out, while he watched. Although his VCR was a pile of rubble when I was done, I did get the tape out. So that's sort of victory.