January 26, 2003

Odd occurrence last night in my sleep. I dreamt that I was crying (can’t recall why, of course). I woke up in the middle of my dream to find my green pillowcase wet and my eyes blurred with tears. Strangeness. Talking to Melissa in the morning, she remembers being woken up in the middle of the night and hearing me cry and say something. Apparently I talk a lot in my sleep, in Spanish sometimes, too.

Woke up to a good day, notwithstanding my soporific crying. Had a let’s-recreate-as-much-as-we-can-before-school-starts-kinda-day.

After a few errands and clips of This American Life, Melissa and I stopped by the Randall Museum for Mushroom Day. The museum sits atop a hill in a neighborhood north of Castro and Market, which makes for arresting views of the City. And arresting views were to be had today, for sure. The weather was amazing, sunny and warm, nary a cloud in the sky; about 65 degrees. And we were surrounded by mushrooms at Randall Museum. Edible and non. Had a really great little something to eat there–mushroom soup–a steaming brown concoction of shiitake and crimini mushrooms, herbed chicken stock and wild rice. Wonderful. Melissa and I shared a mushroom marzipan afterwards. She almost choked on the cocoa powder. Death by cocoa powder.

We then met Brian at Scharffen Berger for our long-awaited tour of the company. Sat for an hour while the tour guide detailed the vicissitudes of the cacao bean. I’ll spare the details. However, I will say that the smell of 200 pounds of cacao beans roasting is intoxicating.

Later, we dined al fresco at Plouf, a French restaurant on Belden Place. Belden Place is little alley in the Financial District closed off to street traffic. It’s lined with small European restaurants cheek by jowl, and on one end of the alley, a basement Burger King of all things. Anywho, eating dinner outside under strings of white lights was formidable, but the food left a little to be desired. Relaxed conversation tho, and interesting people-watching.

Now, am watching My Wife Is An Actress, a French film. All the music in the film is composed by Brad Mehldau. Right on! Pleasant surprise considering he’s one of my favorite jazz pianists. He gets it. He really does. So many of his compositions are thoughtful and melancholy, almost mournful. Conducive to contemplation, def. His treatment of old standards is great, too; deft and complex. A great musician, all around. So young, too.

One and a half more days until the start of the spring semester. *sigh*

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