Here's an action-packed semi-interesting review of my weekend.

No, I didn't feel it. At 7:47 a.m. I was either walking down the steps into the 24th & Mission BART station or was somewhere nearby. Got down to the platform and the guy comes on the intercom and says there's been a quake and trains will be delayed. NOW, what's your first thought? Oh, I might be late to work or Wow, earthquake! or Listen to this jackass calling someone to say there's been an earthquake? Well, my first thought was to look around at my fellow passengers and think Are these the people I want to be trapped with if there's a bigger one coming up? Because if it looks like they're going to be no help, I'm going back up to the street and taking the bus.

ANYWAY. What a weekend! Pavement Friday night. Here's an outstanding review from the delightfully named Ian S. Port. I've been talking about this show pretty much nonstop since Friday night, and now I don't really feel like going on any more about it, but here are three observations:

1. Lots of aging hipsters have adopted the Adam Savage look: big, chunky glasses and unruly hair.

2. Gary Young probably shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a drum kit.

3. It was probably better than I expected.

Saturday was the Dyke March. It's exactly what it sounds like.

Picture may include non-dykes.

Yesterday I went to the Giants-Red Sox game. It was awful. Look, I get that the Sox have incredibly loyal fans and everywhere they go their people show up in force and blah de blah, but there is something uniquely and supremely annoying about being in your own ballpark and having people around you cheering at your team's failures. And believe me, the Giants failed extremely well yesterday.

Hi, Red Sox!

Also, it was about a million fucking degrees out and I drank too much. Betcha didn't see that coming!