Some tourists flagged me down outside the 4th and King Caltrain station to help with transit directions to Golden Gate Bridge. Their app had them walking up through the TL to catch a bus. I got them safely loaded onto a Muni to Powell to make that leg of it a lot easier. I hope. I wish they’d just taken my advice to get a cab or rideshare.

I took my wife and kid to an outdoor swap meet for a few hours around lunchtime today, and now I’m reminded that the sun hates me and wishes to smite me at every chance.

Today’s agenda:

5:15AM: Up for a video call with Eastern Europe. (Context: I’m in California.)

7AM: Commuting to work.

4PM: Leaving work.

5PM: Meeting up with the backpack cult for a 5 mile weight-carrying hike around the Golden Gate Park and beaches a bridge area.

8PM: Commuting home.

9PM: Animal Crossing until I fall asleep harvesting coconuts.

I haven’t finished the morning commute yet and already have five p0 things to do before lunch.

So it’s gonna be that kind of day, huh.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I’d give everything to be able to tell you I love you again.

I love playing soccer. I’m good at it, not professional or even college level, but still pretty good. I also enjoy watching live soccer and observing, rapt, until a crescendo when the crowd goes wild. And yet, there are few things I’d less rather endure than watching soccer on TV or streaming recordings of it.

Replace “soccer” with “classical music”, and every word of that is still true. I always feel guilty about that, but you’ll never catch me listening to Bach. I’d much rather be playing.

Sometimes recent loss means being in the middle of a meeting and your body deciding, hey, know what, this would be an excellent time to consider crying.

Ow, ow, ow. A car pulled mostly through the crosswalk before their light turned and they got stuck. I started crossing the street behind it when the owner panicked and started to back up. I reflexively whacked their trunk with my hand to make them stop. The driver rolled down their window and yelled at me for slapping their car. I resisted the urge to practice amateur, ad-hoc orthodontia.

I think I bruised my wrist, though. Ow. Ow. Ow.

I am disappointed that we still have to have this conversation in 2026, but apparently we do. Listen and heed:

When you get off an escalator, get the hell out of the way.

I don’t want to have to say this again.

Happy birthday, Mom. This is the first time I haven’t been able to tell you that. 💔