Saturday Here and There

Julia and I went shopping at Ross and found new shoes and boots for her. Now she is taking her pet rats to get their first checkups.

Out in Missoula, here is Dylan wearing the colors of his college team, which has their first home football game today.

Though I am not an uncritical fan of football, because I do not like the violence, there is nothing quite like the campus spirit shared on football Saturdays. I remember this from my years at another U-M, and I'm happy for my sons and Zaira to experience it for the first time today.

But today's events also epitomize the difference of what you end up doing with your daughters, as opposed to your sons.

I'd like to imagine a world where gender differences didn't matter, but I'm not sure that day will, or actually should, ever come.

For me, I get as much pleasure shopping with my daughters as watching sports with my sons. Mostly, it's how they react -- their smiles. That's all I care about.

-30-

Little Friday Night Domestic Details

As the sun set in the west tonight, I asked my daughter what she wanted for dinner. She chose spaghetti.

So this is the first time I have cooked that meal since her brother Dylan moved away two and a half weeks ago.

Dylan loved my spaghetti. So did many of his friends, who stayed over here on many Friday nights. I figure I have cooked it at least 600 times in this flat. The dish has evolved over the years but it's pretty basic stuff, as anyone knows.

What I didn't know until tonight is whether I would still be cooking it going forward. I had the ingredients on hand. Julia made the choice.

-30-

Happy Labor Day

With all the work at the back of my house, old files have started to surface. Aidan lifted 16 or so boxes of papers from the laundry room to the back hallway, where of course what used to be at the bottom of a pile came newly to the top.

Above are some pages from my FBI file, obtained under the Freedom of Information Act when I was at Rolling Stone in the '70s.

These pages concern my time with SunDance magazine. That we were being spied upon was not lost on us at the time -- thus my FOIA request for the proof.

What is most striking about these old files is how mundane the information was -- mostly just who came and went from our office on Fillmore Street.

***

It's 68 degrees in SF, 57 in Missoula. The workers hammer and buzz away next door, as that construction project seems endless. Otherwise this neighborhood is silent, between Burning man and holiday getaways, the streets seem empty. I've been watering my neighbors' many plants as they are traveling.

I'd hoped my daughter might visit but no luck. I guess she is caring for her new pet rats. I miss my boys. The Giants have won five straight. The Mud Lake Mafia has risen to sixth place. I had scrambled eggs for breakfast. It's garbage pickup tomorrow -- I've moved the blue recycling bin and the black garbage bin to the curb. But not the green compost bin -- it's not full enough.

If I had the energy I could easily fill it with the fallen apples strewn throughout my backyard. I think I'll watch baseball instead.

Life's mundane details -- just like back in 1971 when the FBi was watching. Who's watching now? The NSA? I could have cared less then and I could care less now. I'm just a harmless old man passing time as he pleases, or at least as it presents itself to me. I would prefer some company, perhaps a BBQ, some activity. Then again, working so hard at my age (ten hour days at least) is taking a toll, so it's probably best to have a quiet weekend alone.

Happy Holiday everyone, or rather anyone who might read these words. My audience is miniscule since I took this thing private. Mainly I write now just for myself.

-30-

Sunshine Garden Sunday Morning

It's so quiet here today. The neighborhood empties out during Burning Man, of course, and many others go out of town for the long holiday weekend.

It's hot. There's no breeze.

I'm about to turn on the overhead fan. In a bit I'll watch the Giants game on TV.

My rent goes up $118/month starting tomorrow. Money. It comes and goes like the flowers.

-30-