Wandering yesterday, we passed a Masonic temple with advertisements for the Universe Within, which I remembered Weetabix adoring. A little research in the evening proved it to be not Weet's Body Worlds but a copycat; still, we thought, likely pretty cool. In this we were mistaken: it had potential, but the bodies, however plasticined, were falling apart; their parts were haphazardly, inaccurately, or not at all labeled; and it was quite small. So go see Body Worlds, but give the Universe Within a miss.
After that we walked down to the wharves so I could say hello to the sea lions. We might have made a few comments about how to distinguish between the sea lions on the docks and the ones on the quay (the latter had video cameras). We were strolling aimlessly and I am glad, because though we stayed too long on an unattractive stretch of the Embarcadero, when we decided we should head back to North Beach, the only thing between it and us was Telegraph Hill. This we climbed, using whichever set of steps leads to the summit right next to Coit Tower (which we gave a miss).
Partway up, I heard the distinctive screaming that can come only from parrots and looked up in time to see a dozen or score of the wild parrots of Telegraph Hill, which I knew about only from a trailer for their documentary. In North Beach, after eating scrumptious eggplant parmesan, we found City Lights Books, where I bought The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill. Heh.
That evening we took BART to Berkeley again, this time for PLT and STL's house. We had spaghetti for dinner, and I am totally moving to Berkeley, or at least somewhere in California. Sunday's corn on the cob was perfectly sweet and tender, and Tuesday's salad probably grew about two feet away, plus STL served yellow raspberries for dessert. I had never heard of these things. Also, RDC and I ate wild blackberries up and down Telegraph Hill. What a town.
I played with the sprouts, which is all I wanted to do, and when it was time for bed I wanted to read them their bedtime stories but apparently they wouldn't've settled down in my presence. I'm a bad influence. Also a good one.
Poo. Berkeley is too far away. Even within Colorado, dear little Gethen is all the way up in Fort Collins. We did discuss Thanksgiving in LeMans, that hotbed of traditional New English food, speaking of too far away.