I have seen a few things in my day, but up until this morning, I never saw a guy before who would do impressions on the street for money. He had a board that listed who he would do, at 50 cents a pop. He looked kind of like he was about to die, so I figured that it would be worth a shot to have him do a quick Woody Allen impression. 

Which he did, and surprisingly sprang to life for. In fact, it was spot on, only it was Woody from the Cid Cesear Show days, circa about 1952. But it really did sound like him, and somehow, even though this guy was tall and had white hair, he immediately became the character, taking on the stoop and the nervous cough and the whole thing. On the other choices of people on his list, I had a harder time. Who really wants to see a Ross Perot impression? But I didn't really want to get 50 cents change, so I had to pick someone else. Finally I settled on the Fonz, only he said he couldn't do it without two "chicks". I tried to ask to women if they would participate, but they clearly thought I was some kind of criminal maniac and fled. So I had to settle for my next choice, Sly Stallone. Unfortunately, that turned out to be a bad Rocky-era slurry voiced thing that I couldn't understand a word of.

I should have asked for Ted Baxter, from the Mary Tyler Moore show. But it was all over.

Anyway, the impression thing followed a boat trip out to Alcatraz, which is always a delight. The water was really nice today, with big, slow swells, and it was really bright and beautiful out, where the light is fractured on the water. Nice cinematography, one might remark if this were a movie or were inclined to confuse versimilitude with real life. And that followed an early morning trip to work. Which followed an even earlier session of work at the computer, which followed a still earlier wake up from my psychotic neighbor pushing the New York Times under the sill of my door at 4:10 am, which caused me spring out of bed and assume a fighting position.

And all that was precipitated by some lovely Ahi on Polenta, semi ruined by a cream-lemon sauce, at a place called Semolina. I had dinner after a lovely visit with Stan and Selma, wherin I videotaped him walking around, to get him enrolled in a special rehab medicine program at a place called Taub Center for Rehabilitation or something like that.

Anyway, that is only a partial accounting of my action packed weekend, which also involved my washing and waxing my car, which is not exciting enough to mention, but then I was driving around with my wife's rib under the passenger seat. Which is worth mentioning only because it made me feel guilty, like I killed her or something, or would have to explain to a cop why I had a human rib in the car. The reason was, apart from the surgery, was that it was in the fridge, and she told me to get it out of there. So I did, but now it is in the car and I'm not sure what the next move is, rib-wise.