Another real Saturday, this time with Sara Elberg to the German Tourist Club on Mt. Tam for beer and Sequence. I tried not to bring up the beautiful boy or his toothbrush too many times. But I am seldom so excited about anything, it's hard not to go tell it on the mountain. Likewise at work I have restricted myself from going on too much. Happily, almost everybody at work has seen Ari because his sister is there, so I don't feel the need to constantly remind people that he really exists.

I realized that I almost never cook outside of work anymore. I want to change that. I miss my day-long recipes and impractical preparations. Remember when I made an extinct liqueur that called for exudate of cochineal beetle? Or when I secured Jenny as a friend for life with rose geranium ice cream? I fear that laziness and lack of a dishwasher have made me stop cooking for pleasure only. I don't want to be a whore who never does it for free anymore. Nor do I want to stop chasing down my own obsessions, because I am worn out from executing someone else's.

I am having difficulty finding my best dude outfit. It seems like there are a million chocolate brown sportcoats lining Thrift Town until you're actually in the market. Or maybe I have watched too much W.N.T. Wear to accept scouring-pad acrylic as a material. Where do I go for slightly more grown up than H&M clothes, but not yet Brooks Brothers? Stacey, Clinton, I need your help finding a structured jacket.