This morning we’re watching war TV. We turn it off to go about our lives. Upstairs, our neighbors are watching war TV. Downstairs the landlady is watching war TV. For the first time, the thin walls are a comfort.

The guy with the shaved head is pretending to fight with his fraternity brother. They do a few drunken karate-ha! kicks before the bald guy decides head butts would be more effective. He removes his plastic Leprechaun hat, charges up the alley, rebounds off of his friend’s stomach, and retreats to charge again. One of the shamrock stickers falls from his cheek.

Later that evening, the DJ’s bass will blow just as the crowd has gotten frothy over Come on Eileen. At 4 a.m., Bryan wakes me with a jug of water and two Advils. This is a man I could spend some time with.

This gentleman is walking fast and bad. He has his hair teased out, his tracksuit just so, and he’s looking around for someone to shove. He decides to clear out the nasty taste in his mouth and jerks his head left to spit. The spittle doesn’t quite clear his shoulder. He pretends not to notice.

My sister bought me a set of bath stuff for Christmas. When I took it into the bathroom, I realized that the bath gel matched our shower curtain. I was much too pleased about this.

Did you ever have one of those days where every little thing just fell into place? Friday was like that for me. I got to my car fifteen minutes after I should have moved it for street cleaning. No ticket. I climbed in and rolled the windows down. It was February, but it was balmy; the air tasted good. I was on my way to lunch with a new friend, one of those people you keep meaning to make time for. Every light was green; pedestrians waited for me to pass before they tried to cross; there was a legal parking space right in front of the cafe. I had a tuna sandwich with coconut, and seaweed, and a mild vinagrette; the ice water was particularly crisp. My friend and I talked about small, good things; we sat on the back patio where flowers were in bloom. And as I was driving home,Groovin came on the radio. If I’d had some good chocolate in the glove compartment, I probably could’ve ascended.

About a year ago, Bryan and I started walking all the streets of the city together. Last night we stepped around some wet cement. Someone had scratched antelope on its surface. And that’s, you know, a good reminder to us all.

On Saturday we went out for breakfast. The cafe we chose is owned by a cordial Asian family. The menus say EDDIE’S SOUL FOOD above a set of dancing penguins wearing bow ties. The red beans and rice are good.

Every year, someone sends me the list of stuff that this year’s incoming high school freshmen won’t remember. I know it’s supposed to make me feel old, but usually it just makes me feel sorry for them. This year’s sigh-inducing items:

• Roller skating has always meant inline for them.
• They don’t have a clue how to use a typewriter.
• Jay Leno has always been on the Tonight Show.
• Popcorn has always been cooked in the microwave.

Three best signs from the anti-war march in SF:

Calm down, Mr. President.

Iraq is Arabic for Vietnam.

This guy right here don’t want war.

Also, Tom Ammiano barely catches himself:

“We’re here!

We’re present!

Get used to it!”

Blondies is a lovely place. It’s a martini bar where they give you the shaker with your drink. This means that you have the first martini in your glass, and two more waiting for you in the shaker. Three martinis for the price of one makes it an excellent place to get to know people. Mostly drunk people. Or the 300-pound man in a pink leotard and tutu with heart-shaped deedleeboppers on his head. He seemed to be on his own, chatting with the door guy for a while before moseying off down the street. That was when I noticed his leg warmers. So I guess they are coming back.