Shabbat was quiet. I was invited to daven Carlebach on Friday night, which was nice. Dinner at the Rabbi's house. Lunch was given by someone at the shul. The rabbi and his wife know the family that my nephew married and were at the wedding (as was I). The guest speaker and his wife knew me (or at least my parents) since they live in my old neighborhood in Beit Shemesh. I'm no longer even surprised by things like this. The eruv does not extend to the ocean or to Golden Gate Park, and I didn't feel like bothering the guy who owns the house to keep the key for me.
With not much to do in the afternoon, I wandered around until I came to a laundromat that had some magazines around for people waiting for their clothes. One was a New Yorker with a lovely story from Nathan Englander: What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank [PDF]. Shabbat was out so late that there was not much time to do anything (leastwise, when you have no one to do it with).