For someone who rarely drinks anymore, and watches his diet religiously, it's been a week of feasting. I think I've had steak three times in seven days, numerous glasses of wine, and several cocktails. I mean, I did want to start eating more, to gain weight, but by the end of the week, there was a notable thickening of my midriff. The new tradition continued Saturday night, where I met Gary and a couple of friends of his in the Castro for dinner. We went for Thai, where I ordered Thai french fries for an appetizer. They were pretty disgusting, actually. It was the worst of the many Thai places in the Castro, but the only one we could quickly get a seat in, an important factor considering we were all very hungry.

I believe Gary's friends, who are a couple, must have had a recent argument, since there was notable tension at the table, and they both left early for home right after we ate. So Gary and I wandered down to sheeshy Mecca and I drank my favorite cocktail, a negroni, while Gary drank beer. It was a fun and laid back way to spend Saturday night, just hanging out in the bar, critiquing the pretty boys while we sat comfortably at the circular bar. Gary, in case you're wondering, is the lovely guy I went out on a few dates with early this year. We knew from the get go that friendship would be no problem, but there wasn't enough physical attraction on my part for our relationship to be more romantic than that. Gary's a mature, intelligent, dignified, funny guy, and I'm looking forward to hanging out more with him in the future.

Sunday promised so much, but it got off to a fowl start. No sooner had I gotten onine when my laptop suddenly crashed inexplicably. I called Quantex (the maker of the laptop) tech-support, which was supposedly "24*7". And I remained online, in the waiting queue, for almost two and a half hours! In fact, I never got through since the batteries on my cordless phone went! I was furious. The time on the phone had totally screwed up my plans for the day, and I still didn't have a working laptop.

Needless to say, by the end of this, I was not in the best of moods. I'd missed my run, and I'd also realized that I'd somehow committed myself to three different social engagements with three different people at the same time Sunday evening, and knew I had to figure out how to sort that mess out. I went running to give myself a release. It was a gorgeous Spring day - warm, and sweet, and it did the trick, fully restoring my humor. I ran all the way from Folsom and 2nd, along the Embarcadero to Fisherman's Wharf, and around Pier 39 (I think it was), past the crowds of badly dressed tourists ogling the grinning sea lions. It's great being able to run regularly in such pictaresque neighborhoods - you get to experience it without having to search for a parking space!

Looking rather seedy, perhaps, in my sweaty t-shirt, I stopped off at Trader Joe's on the way home to get some supplies. The cashier on my line was such a cutie - probably about 20 years old, long eyelashes, wearing a ratty blue sweatshirt. I could almost hear him thinking "what kind of diet is this?" as he looked at my bottled water, my pile of 34 protein bars and, the only other item, my pre-cooked meatloaf.

I gobbled down some meatloaf quickly, and went off to the gym, this time working out by myself while listening to Ives Symphony No 4 on my CD walkman in an attempt to drown out the relentless gym music. It's completely inappropriate music for such purposes due to its alternating periods of quiet folksy jauntiness (where you need to crank up the volume to hear it) and sudden, fortissimo dischordant clashes and bangs (which make you suddenly wrench the earphones from your head - the tunes are meant to simulate multiple marching bands playing totally different tunes at the same time!). It also contains some singularly beautiful, expressive hymnal phrases, like the one that solemnly resolves the third movement, a phrase that can't fail to move you, precisely because of its juxtasupposed familiarity. It's a quote from a well-known hymn (Ives was the most inveterate quoter of other tunes), and it's woven in to the tapestry of the piece so skilfully that it takes on a whole new meaning while simultaneously retaining its original one.

The evidence of springtime was everywhere that afternoon - in the altered noise ambience from all the open windows in the gym, in the crowds outside Peet's Cafe, in the smiling, contented faces of passers-by. When I got home, I found myself singing "It Might As Well Be Spring," and went out to sit on my fire escape for a while. Ah, I wish I had somewhere more pictaresque to sit while at home than my fire escape, but it does in a pinch.

While at the gym, I'd figured out how to resolve my social schedule problems, but the resulting plan didn't leave me too much time to enjoy the Spring afternoon. I had to stuff myself quickly with the remaining meatloaf, and skidaddle over to the AMC Theater to meet Stephen to see "Topsy, Turvy," the excellent new Mike Leigh movie about Gilbert & Sullivan. I have to admit that Gilbert & Sullivan is not AT ALL my style, but the movie was just a work of brilliance - great dialog, characterizations, wit and human feeling. On the way home, I stopped off briefly at Bryan's (the guy I've been dating recently) to say goodbye to him before his week-long business trip.

Okay - what is this? It's the inner-ring of the parking lot I park at each day. I thought it was interesting, anyway ... :)