Wow. What a week. John Ritter died, which seemed kind of shocking. And Johnny Cash, though that is much less shocking. Both kind of sad, in different ways. Of course, the really big news is that we passed the two year anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center, which brought out a surprising amount of rage in me. I think it has to do with not living in New York City anymore, and hearing the local take on America, and what they think is wrong with America. But it wasn't just jingoism that got me going. It is a combination of hearing the republicans and their plans and cynical schemes, which are more and more clearly shaping up to be the greatest rape of a country since Putin privitized the Soviet Union. But with two wars spiraling into a mishmash of intentions, and of course Israel, repeating the same policy, which of course gets criticism out here, but for the wrong reasons, since no one is lining up to say that the suicide bombers at the Pentagon and World Trade Center should get land concessions.

What a mess.

Also making me crazy is that September in San Francisco is like June in New York. Not summer exactly, but unpleasantly hot. People around here call it the nicest time of year, but they are insane. It is hot and muggy and making me insane. Though at least it gets cool at night. But of course no one here has air conditioning, so it makes it seem hotter, since public buildings are hot.

Looking around at real estate in a casual way, I found an ad for an apartment which looked good, though, of course, outrageously expensive. We went by and the doorman started talking about the building's history, and his own history, which goes back 29 years as doorman there. Turns out the building was the building in the Maltese Falcon and the woman who owned the apartment lived there for 50 years, etc. The apartment was nice, though somehow it engendered a long argument/discussion with my hoiny about whether that elegance would subsume the animal instinct toward expression, as well as artistic expression. Which blossomed into a larger polemic aobut the the esthetics of colonialism, and whether there was something wrong with wearing a seersucker suit and straw hat to walk your Westie. I maintain there is not, though such choices are accrued from a general tradition which generally falls under the missionary tradition of forcing people to dress like Victorians. Anyway, that chat lasted two days.