We just paid nearly $40 (tickets, drinks, popcorn, and parking at 5th and Mission) to see American Dreamz. Which was a nice movie. Not earthshaking, but entertaining and maybe a little thought-provoking.
With that in mind, I didn't think for a second about tossing some bucks towards Robert Greenwald's (WAL-MART: The High Cost of Low Price, Outfoxed) new film in pre-production. It's called Iraq for Sale. I donated, and I'll buy the DVD. It's easily worth that much more to me.
If you can spare the dollars, I hope you'll do the same.
He not only snuck out and rented a convertible Sunday morning, he magically made the sun come out for our drive through (and lovely lunch in) West Marin. BBQ Oysters and chicken-with-brie at the Olema Farm House.
Everything was lush and green and gorgeous. Guess the hateful rain has been good for something. The roads on Highway 1 were mostly still intact. We spent the afternoon mostly in sunshine, slid under sparse raindrops while crossing the Golden Gate, then pulled the top up to escape the deluge that hit right as we entered San Francisco proper.
Wrapped up the day with a (successful) hunt for books on Ruby and Rails and a trip to the gym. Both hopeful things, these. It's time for better health, better gigs, and better downtime with my guy.
Yay.
The! Sun! Is! Finally! Out!
I want to cling to that shiny yellow orb like a three-year-old before mommy goes to a party. Don'tGoooooooooooWaaaaaaaaaaahDon'tLeaveMeeeeeeee!
Sunshine helps. I'm still hanging in on this unbearable gig, mostly because I have a fat invoice outstanding (been freelancing long enough to know that people — well-meaning or no — are most likely to pay promply when they want more from you). And because I'm cleaning up some of the worst crunch-time spaghetti code so my replacement doesn't have to suffer at my hands too. Poor bastard will have enough to worry about.
W was away for the weekend, on a sad errand. I logged 25 billable hours in 2 days while he was gone. Want it OVER now.