Fan the Cool, But Don't Fan the Flames

We're not quite sure why, but Lauren of Mindful Things has added Junk Thief to her Facebook group Fan of Fans. Considering that her first feature is a Hello Kitty fan (with blades and a motor, not just an enthusiast), it seems like a dandy little group to have joined.

Junk Thief actually likes fans and once had a collection of some really nice pre-Mid-Century fans. Fans should be black and chrome not colorful and plastic. They should be so noisy that you can't hear anything but their roar and should have at least a couple of spots mended with black electrician's tape. There is something very hypnotic and all consuming about a nice noisy fan on a balmy summer afternoon.

Fans scream out old money Boston Brahman shabby chic. One thing that bonds New Englanders, Europeans and San Franciscans is a disdain for ice cubes and air conditioning. Junk Thief isn't very fond of air conditioning, but he prefers it to heat. Ice cubes, of course, remind him of his twin nemesises -- colas and sweet iced tea.

Worse than air conditioning are those damned heaters for eating al fresco in California. If you can't stand the chill, stay out of the outdoor dining room, Junk Thief always says. Maybe he's a northern European, where people have elegant (low heat index) candle-lit suppers in chilly dining rooms in heavy evening finery. Or maybe he's just peeved that San Francisco is having unseasonably hot weather in November. Fortunately it's supposed to start cooling off and should be nice by Wednesday. Bring out the top hats and silk scarves!

Too

Cities cooler than it is in the Mission today: New Orleans, Miami, San Diego, Honolulu, Nashville. This is wrong and miserable. I want my money back. Tomorrow is supposed to be a tad more civilized.

Kangerlussuaq Dreamin' on a Hot, Nasty Day

MANTRA FOR
A SUNDAY:

You can
never be --

Too thin


Too rich


or

Too cold

Cracker attack!

Gay marriage? Whatever. Is everyone so blind that they did not notice that the court's announcement came just as temperatures hit 101 in San Francisco? I'm no fan of televangelicals, but clearly this is the work of that evil weather juju man of San Antonio, John Hagee. Think Jeremiah Wright is nutty and dangerous? Hagee is clearly not only insane but also possesses some evil powers that brought suffering to New Orleans via Katrina, Indonesia and Myanmar (primarily non-Christian nations) via the tsunami and cyclone respectively, and now the boiling of San Francisco. This is one fat cracker that spells serious trouble. It's barely 11 a.m. and it's already hotter than hell. Oops, I said hell!

I'll gladly join Jews for Jesus, participate the Exodus ex-gay boot camp and eat a platter of fried slop at the Cracker Barrel if it will bring back civilized weather to San Francisco. Mr. Hagee, I appeal to you on my knees. And, yes, I agree with you that the Pope is a big whore.

Hell Is Creeping Out of Town

I survived! The past two days have been living hell in San Francisco. The dreadful, skanky, killer weather I moved here to flee is beginning to leave. For 48 hours everything and everyone stank, and it was impossible to be outside which really sucks. I even spent Friday in Santa Rosa where there was a round of cheers as, over the course of just an hour, the temperature went from 102 to 95. Imagine being thrilled that it was only 95. Friday night in SF was still too hot, and there was a cracked-wacked out kid in front of the St. Francis Fountain who kept coming in and disturbing everyone. After multiple attempts to kick him out, the lanky staff finally called the cops. In the meantime, an hombre in a 49ers jersey from Pop's bar across the street got a bucket of ice water that he threw on the kid twice. I was sure that our little corner would explode into a re-enactment of Do the Right Thing until the cops arrived.

This afternoon, I met up with a group for lunch at Skates on the Berkeley Marina, easily distracted by a lanky Cal grad out for commencement lunch with the family, ignoring them as he read Proust in his rumbled blue seersucker jacket and crisp pink oxford shirt. Was I ever that adorable? He was much tastier than the chorizo in my Spanish omelet.

Though the weather was nastily balmy when we entered, by the time we left, the fog had swallowed the Golden Gate and was off to Richmond to hide its refineries. As we walked along the marina in the park that was once a garbage dump, walking briskly, no one had the audacity to say "It's freezing!" (Uh, that would be 32 degrees less than what we're experiencing.)

I'm just glad it's almost reasonable enough again to return outside, do gardening, take long walks and look at the sky again. For two days the sky was an angry yellow fire breathing ball, and now I feel far more appreciative of where I live. I may not have to put in for my transfer to Greenland after all.

How many times did I use fog and lanky in this post?

It's Here...

After a very pleasantly cool night last night and a morning where I kept telling myself that the heat was not that bad...hell has descended on San Francisco. The only reason to go outside is to douse the plants lest they not survive. The above is my recommendation for the next asshole I hear whine about how "It's always so cold in San Francisco."

Hell Week

Is it too late to send a message of apology to John Hagee? Apparently not, since just as he maneuvered Katrina as punishment to cancel a sinful event in New Orleans, he has arranged for a heat wave coming to San Francisco. One of the few reasons I stay in San Francisco is the weather. It never gets cold here, and the hot days are mercifully few.

For those who don't know the Junk Thief temperature definitions, here they are:
Cold - 12 Fahrenheit and below
Cool - 13 - 28 Fahrenheit
Pleasant - 29 - 42 Fahrenheit
Perfect - 43 - 58 Fahrenheit
Warm - 59 - 61 Fahrenheit
Hot - 62 - 72 Fahrenheit
Hell on earth - 73 - 81 Fahrenheit
Death - 82 Fahrenheit and above

I thought I'd post this early, because I know that in 48 hours, I will not be able to touch the keyboard. You can see the horrible news here.

On the Edge of Civilization

I never thought that I would describe Gilroy as an urbane, sophisticated place with great restaurants and shops and a mild climate. But after the past two days of weaving through the desert, it sure feels like paradise as I make my final stop before returning to the JunkPlex and unload the treasures from Lazy Acres.

Ah, those final miles of the towns on Route 66/I-40. Don't forget Winona? Oh, I sure wish I could. Having been on the road non-stop since last Thursday and weaving through a total of ten states and more miles than I want to tally, I must say that the folks in those little desert towns were the spookiest. For all the reputation that Arkansas, Missouri, Kansas and Oklahoma have for being backwards, they look like Paris compared to Kingman, Needles and Bakersfield. Never have I heard so much crappy country music (yes, a redundant phrase) as I did in those towns. And bad food and horrible radio stations. Arriving in Barstow at 8 a.m. where it was already nearly 90 degrees I had a caffeine orgasm if there is such a thing when I spotted Starbucks. After two days of McDonald's coffee, my java g-spot had me quivering and would have dropped my scowl if it hadn't been for all that friggin' sun. Supposedly McDonald's has upgraded their coffee, but they still use those hideous foam cups that make you feel like you're being baptised in a vat at a Dow Chemical plant.

And Barstow actually had radio stations that were a variation from the only two options during the past 300 miles -- horrific twangy country or screaming evangelicals. Hearing Duran, Duran ask "Is There Something I Should Know?" made my heart race even before I hit Starbucks. Nothing like '80s pop and caffeine to start a good day.

Regardless, I look forward to heading north and home tomorrow. Let's pray no one breaks into my UHaul tonight. UHaul. I hope I don't call that 800 number for at least another decade.

And what i thrill it is to be in even Gilroy where it's in the 70s compared to Ludlow which I went through at 6:20 a.m. before it reached today's high of 116.

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.

Melting in May

Egads, what a miserable weekend it was in San Francisco. Saturday was almost tolerable, but today it was nearly 90, and at 10 p.m. it's still over 70. It feels like I'm in some shithole city in the south, with slowly lunkering lunkheads hanging out of their windows and on the stoops. No relief until mid-week, and I am still dealing with the aftermath of my virus, so every temperature point feels as if it's been tripled.

At least it's not has horrible as that heatwave back in July, but it still is not fun.

Before the heat hit, I managed to make it to the new Flora Grubb. I have to love a garden center that has an Edsel in among the perennial and an espresso bar next to the upscale gardening books. They're just settling into their new digs off the 3rd Street corridor, so I'll give them time before deciding whether they are style or substance, but I came away with far less than I did at the more practical albeit less glam Flowercraft. There's something to be said for their no-frills atmosphere and mix of cute Latino boy and crusty Sally-gal staff members.

I hope the heat does not scare away the butterflies that I saw all day Friday. They helped cheer my spirits during the main activity of my weekend -- writing proposals about Apurimac, Peru, and Bihar, India, thought got delayed from being flat on my stomach the first two days of the week. Though being the Peruvian Andes right now sounds great -- it's late autumn there right now.