Northern Comfort - Southern Apologies

There is a nice fog lingering over Twin Peaks. It's in the upper 50s with perfect Mediterranean blue skies in The Mission. I'm enjoying the perfect caffeine fix in my nifty new "Sugar Bugger" cup that I nabbed (translate: bought not stole) at Currents last night. There's almost a healthy chill in the air on the first day I'm wearing one of the three to four short sleeve shirts I own. In other words, it's an almost normal day in San Francisco again after wacky, horribly hot weather. My virus is about 90% gone now that the temps have lowered in concert with my improved health.

Meanwhile the Hollywood Hills burn. Spooky. Something for some reactionary politician to say Sodom brought on itself.

I think an earlier post may have been misconstrued when I made reference to San Francisco feeling like a "shithole city in the South," suggesting that this statement was a generalization about "the South." Living in a state that has Needles, Barstow and Antioch, I am in no position to make such broad generalizations. There are plenty of cities in the South (Atlanta, Austin, San Antonio, New Orleans, Charleston, Savannah) that I truly love, but then there are some that truly qualify as shitholes. But I will refrain from naming them or trying to guess if there are any that could top Barstow for the s-town honors. If I've offended any Barstow readers, I am sure you're lovely folks but I won't retract my statement about your town.