Dukes at the entrance to Ocean Beach.

A sneak peek at my latest sock critter creation. Just call me Dr. Frankenwally.

This one's a demon named Dante. Quin took this pic while dining on scrumptious food at Ethiopian Diamond with Duke and i. I had been there once before for a David Eggers party, but i didn't eat and i didn't get to talk to him. I'm a huge fan of Ethiopian cuisine, and i love that magic spongy bread that sucks up anything you put in it. Who needs forks?

We usually order one chicken dish and the rest veggie. And i can't help it, but i always love the chicken dish mostest of all.

Poor Dante, though. I thought he might like a sip of Ethiopian beer, but he spit it right out and said that it burned like holy water.

Then i remembered the beer was called St. George. Ooops.

More pix of my adorably goofy demonspawn soon.

A closeup of the windmill. As you can tell from the birdie perched upon the blade, it wasn't moving.

Concrete Blonde comes through on my iTunes shuffle this morning -- "Tomorrow Wendy." I used to love that song so much, and i remember freaking my cousin out by singing it to her.

"Tomorrow Wendy is going to diiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeee."

Her name is Wendy.

If i had been a girl, my parents said they would have named me Wendy. Now, obviously Matthew ain't the most original moniker out there, but i'm glad i was born with a pecker, for many reasons. And besides, my cousin Wendy IS a darling.

Now that i think upon it, though.......it's surprisingly close to my adopted name, innit? Wendy, Wally. Disgust among yerselfs.

The lyrics of "Tomorrow Wendy" always hit home with me. In my angst-ridden collegiate days, i'd sit in my dorm room in my freshman year and play this song over and over again, scribbling the words down in my journal.

"Underneath the chilly gray November sky, we can make believe that Kennedy is still alive."

Sort of hits home nowadays, eh?

And this zinger, which always appeals 'cause i went to Catholic school:

I told the priest, "Don't count on any Second Coming -- God got his ass kicked the first time he came down here slumming. He had the balls to come, the gall to die and THEN forgive us. No, i don't wonder why. I wonder what he thought it would get us."

Then Rogue Wave's version of "Puff the Magic Dragon" comes on as we're getting ready in the bathroom, and Duke asks, "Is this song really about pot?"

"Nah," i say. "That was probably just the whole 'puff' connection. Listen to the last part and you can tell what it's about."

We wait for the final stanza:

"Dragons live forever, but not so little boys. Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys. One gray night it happened -- Jackie Paper came no more. And Puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar..."

"No more," Duke says, and i can see that his eyes are actually tearing up. He can't cry over "Friday Night Lights" as i do -- my record is three times in one episode -- but "Puff the Magic Dragon" sets off the waterworks. Go figger.

"My mom used to sing me all these sad songs when i was a kid," Duke says, "and i'd always cry."

"It's like the end of Winnie-the-Pooh," i point out. That final scene always got me. Who really wants to grow up?

Then, suddenly again, Christopher Robin, who was still looking at the world, with his chin in his hands, called out, "Pooh!"

"Yes?" said Pooh.

"When I'm --- when --- Pooh!"

"Yes, Christopher Robin?"

"I'm not going to do Nothing any more."

"Never again?"

"Well, not much. They won't let you."

Pooh waited for him to go on, but he was silent again.

"Yes, Christopher Robin?" said Pooh helpfully.

"Pooh, when I'm --- you know --- when I'm not doing Nothing, will you be here sometimes?

"Just me?"

"Yes, Pooh."

"Will you be here too?"

"Yes, Pooh, I will be, really. I promise I will be, Pooh."

"That's good," said Pooh.

"Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred."

Pooh thought for a little.

"How old shall I be then?"

"Ninety-nine."

Pooh nodded.

"I promise," he said.

Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh's paw. "Pooh," said Christopher Robin earnestly, "if I --- if I'm not quite ---" he stopped and tried again --- "Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won't you?"

Yep. Gets me every time.

"Let's go to the coffeeshop early so we have time to have a bagel and hang out," i suggest.

We get to Pause, and Jeff is back from a brief tour of Upstate New York with his metal band, Empire State Troopers. Penny Farthing is working, too. She's the newest barista, dark-haired, adorable, thick-framed glasses, a tattoo on her neck of one of those olde-tyme bicycles that have one small wheel and one ginormous one.

Penny Farthing is excitedly expounding about Craigslist. "I'm from a small town, and no one uses Craigslist! But i had the craziest Craigslist day on Saturday!" She tells us how she's looking for a roommate, but she wants to live with a guy 'cause she knows she wouldn't get along with a girl -- she makes a scrunchy face at the thought -- but the only people who come to apply (audition?) are these cute hipster bike messenger types. Which is trouble. One of the guys, named for a certain daughter on Gilmore Girls, was a total hunk.

"But that's not gonna work out," Penny Farthing says.

"Too much sexual tension?" Duke asks.

Penny Farthing smiles a naughty smile and says, "Well......no, not anymore," and she laughs.

Another candidate was a pot-dealing bike messenger, who carried an assortment of weed of various varieties. That wasn't going to work out either, though she did get a free sample of the goods.

"I love the big city!" she exclaims.

"What you need is a nice homo," i tell her, and she says that only one has shown up and he was queeny and clingy and was all, "We can totally do our shopping together!" and he was quickly flung onto the Reject Pile.

Duke and i are sitting at a table in the corner, and i'm on a lumpy curved booth, flipping through free papers trying to find movie showtimes while Duke looks at Elle Decor (pronounced "Dekka," like the chick on Top Design). We hear Penny Farthing shout, "You are so mean, Jeff!" She darts over to inform us that yesterday Jeff yelled at an autistic man. I know who they're talking about -- although it turns out he doesn't really have scabbed-over sores on his bald head as he does in my imagination. Jeff protests, saying that the dude was interrupting a line of customers to ask if he could get a muffin for free even though there weren't any in the basket of day-olds.

"The poor guy is so totally autistic!" Penny Farthing says.

"He's artistic?" i ask, and the young woman at the counter erupts in laughter.

"You're mean, too!" Penny Farthing says. "I'm surprised at you."

"Hey," i shrug. "I'm not always an angel. I can be a devil, too."

Penny Farthing says she used to work with an autistic guy so maybe she's more forgiving, and Duke compliments her on her empathy, and Jeff mutters, "Fine, i'll try not to beat up any retards today."

Duke and my newest holiday tradition is getting sick. At least this year it was a chest infection as opposed to projectile-vomiting lobster in cream sauce on Christmas Eve. I was feeling rundown and didn't want a day of nonstop walking, so i suggested we go to Ocean Beach at the end of Golden Gate Park. There was a giant windmill at the edge of the woods. Some random started talking to us about it, how it's supposed to generate power, how it was only recently renovated, how it was vandalized and had homeless people living in it. We weren't sure if he was a park employee or what, but he sure knew a lot about the windmill.

Office building at the bus stop just north of Market.

Are you friends with Peter Michaelfi on Facebook? Neither am i.

In fact, i boycott Facebook. I just can't get on board with this erosion of our privacy and free time. Just 'cause it took all the old fucks three generations of social networks to catch on (R.I.P. Friendster. Do you hear those death knells, MySpace?), doesn't mean i should jump on the bandwagon and spend hours following all my so-called friends' online activities. The idea of reconnecting with some school chums did appeal, but i've forgotten most of them anyway.

Over Yuletide, i almost gave in to Facebook. Instead, i just signed in as Duke and left some French comments on Kunt's page. Shit like that. It's out of my system. I won't succumb to the siren song of Facebook.

For the time being.

Besides, i have a spy who sends me all the good stuff. Um, i'll call him "Feline-y."

It's funny 'cause my coworker Heems was just telling me about how this 25 Things About Me was making the rounds on Facebook. I'm at the point in my life where that just seems like another waste of time. I'm sure i'd've loved it in high school and even college. But nowadays i'd rather watch an ep of "Mad Men" and create silly sock creatures.

That doesn't mean i don't find other people's lists highly entertaining. Like this one:

The Strand opened in 1916 and for years was a successful playhouse for revival theater. It made the transition to movies in the late '70s, and became known for its rowdy renditions of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show." In '94 it became a porno theater and began its rapid descent into decay. A haven for crack dealers and hookers, the Strand was shut down by the city six years ago.