Entries from September 2008 ↓

• I went to the Giants/Dodgers game in San Francisco on Friday night, and that shit was kinda scary. I’d been told they were rivals, but I didn’t know it there would be actual threats of violence and people being removed.
• I saw Pineapple Express and Burn After Reading. Pineapple Express is funny, but weird and incredibly uneven. I zoned out plenty during overly long, horribly choreographed fight scenes. Burn After Reading I really liked, but I won’t love it til I see it a time or two more. Too much going on. Also, I did my first movie hop where you sneak into something else after the film you paid for is over. Somehow in three decades time I’d never broken that rule. Here’s too late bloomer rebels.
• I went to San Diego, and it ranks as one of the best weekends of my life.
• While in San Diego I attended a birthday party for a seven year old that was, in a word, awesome. It was Hairspray-themed. The kids made protest signs and picketed. Most were about wanting more money, like the one that said, “More Money for Jack (that’s me).” A little GOP protest. There was also the excellent “Gum for Too Years Old.” Then we all marched down the streets of Mission Hills chanting things like, “What do we want? CANDY! When do we want it? NOW!” This was, obviously, great fun.
• I had a blogger party at work, and it was a hit.
• San Diego has a lot of poser dudes in cars with giant rims who play very loud music. As if its 1997.
• I haven’t been home since Friday.
• My traveling companion for the weekend is one rad individual. I am one lucky lady.
• Tomorrow is my birthday month.
• Hooray for short weeks.

“I used to think I didn’t want children because I’d be too busy with my big time career in some big city…,” I said, before stopping in my tracks.

San Francisco has an Indian summer they tell me. It gets warmer in September and October before winter, otherwise known as the rainy season, sets in. I arrived in the Bay Area to live and work in November. This means I haven’t seen anything resembling a summer season in a full year. And I’m not going to, I don’t think.

It was broiling hot a couple of weekends ago when I attended an outdoor party in the middle of the day, for which many people from the East Coast flew in, and the conversation largely consisted of, “It’s so hot. I can’t believe how hot it is. It’s never like this. Everyone is usually wearing jackets. Oh my God, I’m sweating everywhere. Hold my sangria, I’ve got to take this off.” But those handful of days came and went, and now fall is setting in.

The air lately carries the smell of crispness that happens that time of year when, in places that don’t have palm trees, leaves turn hillsides into a kaleidoscope of warm colors. Autumn is here, sort of, but in a way that seems far away.

I’ve been waiting for summer. Patiently waiting for that season that feels like pulling on wool socks after a long night with no blanket. I’ve been waiting for the sun to tan my forearms and lighten my hair. Waiting for September or October, for that late breaking warmth. But again today, like days in January and July, I wore a coat and a scarf.

I came knowing there weren’t four distinct seasons in San Francisco, like there are back home, where I lived my entire life. Logically, it all adds up. But my body expected sunshine. My skin expected sustained rays that paint on tiny freckles.

I wonder if when it rains again–it hasn’t since March–if it will feel like winter time.

Camping is great fun. I’m not the first person to observe this. Hiking out for miles, pitching a tent, then sleeping beneath nothing but a thin layer of vinyl between you and the heavens–is nothing short of terrific.

But rarely are tents more fun than when you were a kid. Even better if the tent was set up in the backyard. It was always an unexpected adventure just feet away from the back door. This photo reminded me of how magical tents could be when one is very young.

You can watch it anywhere in the world via the magic of the web.