I flew into San Francisco this morning about eleven o'clock. I'm staying at the Hotel Des Art in the middle of everything. My room wasn't ready until three, so I went down to the wharf to hang out. The short version: I got a haircut, went down to the Buena Vista for lunch, saw some art and listened to some music. First, the haircut. I was a little flattered when my new barber told me I had a great shaped head. Who knew! My parents have often told me that they turned me over every six hours just like the doctor said to make sure I didn't wind up with a lopsided head. Finally, we all have the proof that it actually worked! Next, my barber commented that I have a lot of hair. Cool, I guess where I still have it at all, there is quite a bit of it. All of this was well and fine until about the fifth time he told me the same things. I hadn't been paying attention. I looked up and realized that apparently he had taken it as his personal mission to display my ...