It’s Carnival today in the Mission, which made it a major pain in the ass to get back from Natasha’s hair appointment in the lower Haight, which I will refrain from mentioning the cost of. It was a birthday present for her anyway so, oh well.

Major streets were blocked off for food vendors and the parade. I had to pull the “but I live over there” line to get through a couple patrol manned barricades. But we made it back, and now I’m at home, sitting on my bed, typing away instead of going outside to partake in the madness of the culture shock known as Carnival San Francisco. I’m actually not going outside because I’m sick, or at least that’s the excuse I’m using. It seems like I only buckle down to write a blog when I am coming down with or getting over a cold, fever, or flu of some variety. I should get sick more often, then I would write more blogs, and people wouldn’t think I am such a lazy bum.

Right now there is a band playing four blocks away on Mission Street. The speakers are turned up so loud it sounds like they are playing right in front of my house. “Want to hear one more song?” Shouts the lead singer, over and over, a little louder each time. His voice echoes over the high-pitch twang of an electric guitar. People of all sizes, ages, and colors walk by wearing every kind of outfit you could think of from pirate’s costumes to African tribal wear. Scantly clad women in sparkling bikinis, make up, ornate headdress, and high-heels scamper by in the overcast, sub 50-degree weather. Someone at the park across the street drums on a set of bongos while I gulp down the dregs of my now-cold lemon zinger tea. Urban youths toke up in the alleyways and stairways of my neighbor’s houses yelling into their cell phones every now and then.

Yes, this is my city. And I love it, but I’m still not going outside.

Now I want to tell you about a certain heavenly being that I spotted at the animal shelter about 10 years ago. Yep, I’m talking about the family feline known as Inky Zorro. Those who were blessed by his Godly presence and his unforgettable grace were left with an everlasting smile on their face. So, I would like everyone who met Inky to take a moment of silence to remember him, the good and the bad, the young Inky as well as the old and senile, because that’s what it’s all about right? You have to take the good with the bad, because without the salt in your eyes, the sugar just wouldn’t taste as sweet.

Speaking of salt in my eyes, the surf has pretty much been onshore dribble for the last month and a half, except for the odd, windless mornings, which I have definitely been taking advantage of.