It's been a full (fun) day with plenty of work for my flat feet. We checked out of here, acquired very yummy cornichons and deliciously stinky taleggio here, learned more than we ever wanted to know about peanut milk from the very friendly proprietor of this place, and examined fancy furnishings here and here and (yuck) here.

The two stops today of the greatest note were a trip to SF MOMA to see the Surreal Calder exhibit, which was nice (as Calder always is) but rather odd. Much of the strength of Calder's mobiles and stabiles is the shadow-play that comes from bright focused lights and bare white walls. But while a few of the mobiles were beautifully placed and carefully lit, the vast majority were haphazardly dazzled or stuffed up on pedestals. It was as if the whole place had been curated by two different people, assigned the exhibits by lot. (The actual point of the exhibit was supposed to be to highlight the "surrealist" roots of Calder. But true as that may be, the exhibit didn't particularly establish any new propositions.)

And regular readers know to expect a restaurant review. We both came down with ravenous appetites on the BART back to our neck of the woods for dinner, so went dashing from the station to the highly-recommend Taqueria Can-Cun, where we acquired burritos. As my griflriend put it on the phone to her parents, we didn't even realize that burritos could be like this. I think the secret was the heavenly tortilla, which was very fresh and (I assume) packed with yummy lard. But the avocado-chile salsa might have had something to do with it too. I have heard rumors that there are burritos this good someplace in Chicago, but I never found them.

Tomorrow: Berkeley.

Week in Review: Stab self, have repaired (to the tune of mega-bucks) transmission fail while driving co-blogger and his girlfriend from Elm City to former Idlewild Airport (my potential death, amusing, their potential death, infuriating), arrive home again with friend of Crescat only to walk in between a raging anti-Semite ("you should have died in the ovens") confronting a group of young women outside my apartment, resulting in my nearly getting into a fight on the street, until said friend of Crescat restrained me. Um. Magical realism -- stop invading my life. Please. Thank you.

I'm now safely in San Francisco, but my girlfriend is impatient for me to get off of the internet, so this post will be brief. If I were still doing the 50 Book Challenge, I would now produce thoughts about Max Barry's Company, and Arturo Perez-Reverte's Purity of Blood, both mid-quality books by top-quality authors. (I was procrastinating the task of reading Ackerman's Transformations for class.)

Extra-special thanks to friend and classmate Kelly (serendipitously on the plane) for giving us a ride into the city from the airport. I will leave the greater adventure of the day (volvo-transmission-redux-redux) for Jeremy to blog about. Or not, as he prefers.