♫♫ It only takes a tiny corner of, this great big world to make a place you love ...♫♫ It was looking to be a wet and stormy Saturday, with things looking bleaker as the day would wear on. It was also time to get my hair cut. The same person has been cutting my hair since 1985. Since I moved from San Francisco in 1988, I have still been returning to her shop for my haircuts. And despite the nasty air delays coming into SFO, I really didn't worry much. I fired up the Acura and drove to the nearest BART station, which has parking. I parked the car, put on the puffy and warm North Face jacket, put a brush in one of the pockets, grabbed my Saturday SF Chronicle, and was accordingly, all packed up and ready for the trip. Within about 40 minutes of parking, the BART train arrived at Powell St. Station. San Francisco had a very "Londony" feel to it on this holiday, maybe low 50s, windy, drizzly, and overall, pretty dreary. After a short walk, I arrived at the barber shop to get my mop chopped. It was a really quiet day, as I think a lot of people just decided to stay home during the crappy weather. After the haircut, I walked (yes, walked) in the rain, which was increasing in severity, to Eighth and Market Street, where the Grand Dame of Holiday Inns is situated. That is to say, if the Grand Dame was really an 80 year old hooker. Why here, you ask? (Or maybe you didn't ask?) - a stay for a Priority Club promotion. I haven't been to this hotel in years, and when I walked in the front door, I was rather impressed. The lobby has undergone a major remodel, and resembles a first world hotel of a fine (but not luxury) quality. I kid you not. I was impressed by this lobby. It was as if the 80 year old hooker went to Brazil for a face and body lift. That is, to say, the lobby will never resemble a nubile 25 year old, but for its age and prior condition, it was in excellent shape. Check in was prompt and pleasant. My platinum gift was a drink coupon for the bar. Fortunately, the clerk didn't ask if I needed assistance with my luggage. Maybe or maybe not did he see the lack thereof. I wonder how frequently guests check in without anything. In any event, I went to my room and took a shower to get rid of that "salon smell." This was the reason for packing my brush. The room was pleasantly remodeled. It was on a "you need a key to get to" floor, so my ego swelled as I stuck the card in the elevator slot due to the exclusivity of it all. While the Brazilian plastic surgeon didn't do as good of a job on the room as (s)he did on the lobby, it was adequate. Nevertheless, it was exclusive. I have read complaints about the quality of the internet service at this hotel. As all I packed was my brush (at this point, the newspaper was long disposed of), I have no idea how well the service functions. I then went down to the bar. I was the first customer of the afternoon, and had a pleasant chat with the bartendress. It was an "impressive" coupon, too, because it included anything the bar stocked, as long as you didn't get a double. After a short but pleasant visit, I returned to my room, grabbed one of the bottles of water, headed out to a wine bar, had some liquid, returned to BART, left San Francisco, and eventually ended back up in my car and then home, with shorter hair. And that was my trip to San Francisco.