On Friday morning I had two appointments–at 10 a.m. and 11:30 a.m.–to visit the studios of painters in Sacramento. I left home in Oakland for the 90 minute drive in a steady but light rain. The night before I had googled the directions for both places as I’m still learning the Sacramento sprawl, and noted down the phone numbers of both artists just in case. I even have gotten so cautious about this kind of thing that I remembered to google directions from the first studio to the second one, and then back to the freeway for the trip to UC Davis, where my office is.
Google sent me to Carmichael, on the far side of Sacramento; the street was one block long and the numbers were 4400, but Google insisted that my 3300 address would be there. It had never let me down so horrendously, so stupidly. I congratulated myself for noting down the artist’s phone number but when I called, the man who answered said it was the wrong number. As my heart sank–remember itR... More