In very San Francisco fashion, I ran two miles today to have dim sum with friends. To appease the need to run, the guilt of not running and the Gods of Running (it's sunny and warm today in SF), I had no choice but to run.

Then it was 2 hours at TongKiang.

After replenishing my body with the calories that I was supposed to have burned while running, I sat in an SUV all the way back to the gym.

I am truly becoming a Californian. Shit.

On a truly San Franciscan night out yesterday, I had dinner at the Indonesia Restaurant on Post. Their Rendang and Tahu Telur are to die for. Curry chicken was a little to salty but the meat was done right. After dinner, it was off to see Shirley Horn, grand old dame of jazz, perform at the Nob Hill Auditorium.

Super chic event. I'm glad I wore my chic heels and chic pants with a chic pashmina wrapped around me.

Super white event. I could count with one hand, people who were not white. I stuck out like a sore thumb. Or felt like it at least. But probably not, since I had my chic pashmina wrapped around me and was wearing my chic heels and chic pants.

Bunch of white folks (and one orient) paying big bucks to watch a black woman sing. Nice. We've come so far.

Shirley Horn was wonderful. Like a grandmother telling her grandchildren stories about love and relationships. Almost didn't feel like she was singing at all. Her voice simply flowed. Truly classy.