Whenever I plan these trips home (this is my fourth) I look at my calendar and see lots of open days ... I imagine sipping coffee in the morning while checking my email, then taking a leisurely subway ride into the city, walking around and checking out the old neighborhoods on my own before meeting up with friends for drinks and dinner. In my mind, there's lots of time for everyone, plus lots of solitary downtime.

It never works out like that, though.

I can't remember what I've done in the past week without looking at my Palm for clues: Oh yeah -- dinner at my brother's house last Friday,after Friday morning with my friend S and her new baby. Saturday I did in fact take the subway into the city, where I did, yes, check out the changes in the old neighborhood (for five minutes). The lot across from beloved Bedrock Billiards is now a Design Within Reach store. Tell me, $500 deck chairs and $400 birdhouses are within whose reach, exactly?

I was very happy to see that Comet Deli is still open even though Sid Drazin, the owner, died earlier this year. Apparently his widow Bernice (who is 76 and walks with a cane) is running the place and hoping her daughter 51-year-old daughter Lisa will take it over. In the meantime,

... among her first decisions was one Sid might not have liked. She turned over to the police his two licensed handguns, one of which he always carried, including the night of the Mount Pleasant riots in 1991 when he stood at the door ready to defend his shop against looters. "I would say to him, 'Sid, do you really have to wear it on Sundays?' and he wouldn't answer me," she said. "I never liked the guns."

I love that she especially objected to him carrying one on Sundays. That was the day we went to Comet, to get the New York Times and maybe some bagels. My favorite thing about the store -- aside from their their wonderfully retro sign -- was always the faded poster in the window announcing a "Cheese Sale!" I also coveted the Comet bicycle jersey hanging up in the store but never asked if I could buy one.

Anyway, after noting these things, I made my way up Mt. Pleasant Street to my friends' apartment. We took a short walk in the early evening -- it was a hot day and one of us was eight months pregnant -- and dined at Radius. I ordered a calzone and a salad and finished it all, even after a couple delicious pieces of an artichoke appetizer special. My body had so much to digest that I couldn't even form complete sentences anymore; I just walked upstairs and fell straight into bed.

I woke at 8:00 Sunday morning and immediately tried to work up a fresh appetite, since my friend JR was picking me up at 11:00 for brunch. He took me to Colorado Kitchen. I can't believe I've never eaten there before. The waitress told us about their crabcake Benedict special, which I had to order -- I was going to wait for seafood until I got to the Eastern Shore, but how could I resist? Crabcakes! For breakfast!

JR and I goofed around town for a while, parking in Georgetown and walking down to the canal, then the river. We both confessed that we liked walking on Water Street, under the Whitehurst Freeway overpass -- "it feels like Gotham," he said -- and we hope they don't tear it down. I also love all the beautiful bridges in this city, so we walked down to Jack's Boathouse and looked at the Key Bridge.

The entire time, I was trying hard to work up yet another appetite, since my friends JJ and A were grilling buffalo burgers specially for me (and not for Tavy, who thought the meat was for her):

JJ and A bought a house in the part of Washington realtors are calling "SoFlo" -- south of Florida Avenue, near the New York Avenue metro. It is what you would call a transitioning neighborhood, but their house is adorable and we had a lovely time just sitting around in their living room and on their back porch.

Sunday I took the Red Line back out to the suburbs, where Dad picked me up in the Miata. We rode home with the top down and I quickly got changed, got in the car, picked up my friend J, and drove to Merriweather Post Pavilion to see the Pixies.

I don't remember how I got introduced to the Pixies but I remember playing Doolittle over and over and over when I was in college. I can recall talking about particular songs with particular people in particular places. For example:
- In 1990, my friend Kevin and I were driving to Davidson College on I-77 and he laughed every time Kim Deal sweetly sang "debaser" in the background, after Black Francis' lines about slicing up eyeballs. (You know, it was probably Kevin who introduced me to the Pixies. He was appalled by the classic rock I listened to as a freshman and took on my indie rock education as his responsibility.)
- In 1993, in the Lancaster University pub, I told Ewan the redheaded drummer that "No. 13 Baby" was my favorite song, and he asked me, "Are you in a state?" but with his impenetrable Welsh accent I could not understand what he was saying the first three times, and even when I did understand him, the fourth time, I didn't recognize that it was a reference to the song.

You know that feeling you get when you break out an old album you loved and haven't listened to in years, and you realize that not only does it bring back memories, but it really is great music? It's the combined sensations of nostalgia and appreciation. Well, the Pixies really are that good. Frank Black looks like a tubby Buddha, and they're all getting old, but they still rock.

The show made me feel old too ... Maybe it was when I saw someone E's age -- with his 12-year-old son. Or maybe it was when I walked up to the concession stand and said, "Ooooh! Chardonnay."