When one moves from the venerable City to Marin, one finds that it's often difficult to get friends, acquaintances, and other previously-frequently-seen folks to come and visit. People who will easily hop on BART over to Oakland, or drive to San Jose, seem to have trouble traveling north that five miles over the bridge, out of the fog and into my apartment.
So, it's with great enthusiasm that I'm looking forward to a little dinner party I've put together this evening: four friends, a lamb roast, some good beer, and a discussion of the first seventy pages of The Communist Manifesto. It should be fun.
I guess the only way I could attract visitors from the People's Republic of San Francisco is to offer a book group based around Marx. Alas.
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