Saturday mornings

I love Saturday mornings. The possibilities enabled by the simple act of opening your eyes and taking your first conscious breath in seven hours: the weekend, pregnant with potential, gym time and shopping time and museums ranging across the calendar like a multiple orgasm, and maybe the satisfaction of actually finishing some work while the phones are on Stun and you're away from the office. It might even be the secret of a happy life: make every day feel like Saturday morning.

And best of all, this weekend's a three-dayer.

So what to do with this endless Mobian ribbon of potentiality?

I'm going out with a pal to meet American tourist girls. I'm in the perfect mood for some of the wide-eyed child-woman aspect of young female US citizens abroad.