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.

Our hotel was a few blocks from Union Square. Travel just a short distance away on Market Street, though, and you'll see strip clubs and xxx theaters, which are always close to my heart. I like my cities a bit rough around the edges. The suburbs can have their sanitization; gimme some grit.

I liked the dichotomy of the new condos or office building with the old-school sleaze.

I've never had a coffeeshop like Pause before. I loved Gourmand, right across from my office -- it was hip and had great art and was a cool space to hang out in -- but i never got too close to the baristas, save for the awesome chick who would charge me random amounts, but never full price. It's gone now, anyway, replaced by a Mediterranean restaurant with sucky overpriced food.

Aside from Duke's arms wrapped tightly around me, and the loud purrs and ridiculously soft fur of our kittycat, the coffeeshop is the best part of waking up.

When Duke and i walk into Pause, we see the baristas' faces light up. It's cute being their favorite customers. We head in one morning, and Holiday is at the counter, and she chirps, "I have a book for you!" and she gives me Pixy, which promises to be weird and wonderful.

We're both really into graphic novels and decided we're going to share our faves with each other. First up for her was Duke's suggestion: Charles Burns' Black Hole.

And in the corner i spot two other erstwhile baristas -- Lisa, who's quick with a smile and has a piercing in her cheek and a tattoo of a To Do list on her forearm; and Louis, an F2M who speaks in a quiet, soothing voice. Louis is telling us how he's studying religion, and in particular, is really getting into Christian mysticism. Medieval monks and nuns would often write about their sexual relationship with God.

"Lots about rapture," Louis says. "And ecstacy."

Lisa is in school, too, taking all of these economics classes that do nothing but freak her out. Viewing the world solely from a profit-and-loss perspective dehumanizes people -- and her whole goal is to learn public policy to help develop community outreach and social programs.

Eventually, i reluctantly lift myself out of the lumpy armchair to catch the el to work. As we head out the door, calling out our goodbyes, i say to Duke, "Pause is totes our Luke's Diner," referring to the place Lorelei always had a leisurely breakfast on Gilmore Girls.

Secretly, i've always kinda wanted to be like Lorelei.

I've never wanted to watch a presidential inauguration before. In fact, i didn't even know they took place during the day. But of course this is one i just can't miss.

When i get to the office, Dawn has the TV up front turned on, and she's glued to it. The rest of us are working and we can hear her call out periodically, "Oh, just look at Laura Bush! Is that Caroline Kennedy? What's Aretha Franklin doing here?!"

(She's crooning a freaky version of "My Country 'Tis Of Thee," that's what.)

And River runs up to hear her evangelical role model's prayer, returning to her seat for the actual swearing-in and speech, and Mullet's in the boss' office chatting away, but the rest of us (all three of us, that is) crowd around the television and when Biden got sworn in, i was thinking, That's kind of a lot to say at once; it's sort of like getting married, and then, when Obama puts his hand on the same Bible that Lincoln said his presidential oath on, i get all panicky. I somehow know he's gonna botch it, and it's really such a bummer that this historic moment -- First! Black! President! Ever! -- was somewhat marred by a verbal blunder. And really it's not Obama's fault. He paused, eerily, after repeating, "I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute," indicating that he needed a verbal cue, like Jerri Blank as the lead in "Raisin in the Sun" -- "LINE!" -- but the chief justice messes things up, which further messes Obama up. At any rate, i'm glad he ended up going through the process again the next day. We don't need anyone saying he's anything but too legit to quit.

When he starts his speech, all is forgiven. He's only human, after all, as hard as that might be to believe. He was nervous, which is endearing. I'd've spent some time learning that oath, but it seems he was focusing on his speech.

And what a speech it was! I actually tear up as i listen to our new president, with his message of hope, of peace. How America's melting pot background only makes us stronger, more unique. His message to the Middle East was powerful: "People will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy," and i let out a little cheer when he said, "We will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist." He sounded tough but understanding, willing to fight but preferring to be open-minded. It's so different from the rhetoric of evil and hate and fear that was Dubya's M.O.

Every once in awhile the sun would catch upon the button pinned to his lapel, like a small, glinting star.

There's a ming-boggingly large amount of things to do. Maybe he's naive, but Obama wants to tackle them head-on; he wants to dive right in and try his damnedest to get this country back on track.

Good luck, Mr. President.