I’ve got one foot in Sonoma, but this is why I still love San Francisco. From living in other major cities when I was a kid (NYC, LA, Washington DC, etc.) I came to associate heat waves with three things: 1) firemen would open a hydrant or two so kids could play in the water 2) some idiot would fry an egg on the sidewalk and the local news crew would film it and 3) riots. It always seemed like some part of the city would go up in flames if we had an extended hot spell.
Well, here I am in San Francisco, sweltering in the fourth day of a week-long heat wave (with record breaking temps.) I’m rushing to class, but not for the air conditioning — there’s no air conditioning in San Francisco because, well, we never need it do we? Besides with the current State fiscal crisis, Arnold would make us turn it off anyway.
Anyway, I’m thinking about riots and I’m glancing nervously around me to see who is most likely to “go postal” and set one off.
But things are different in San Francisco. It gets hot and people start to dance. Or make music. Specifically these Samoan kids who set up an impromptu dance out in front of the Arts Building. And one guy is so cool, he’s keeping his socks and sneakers on.
So this has to be my new association for heat now. Not hydrants or fried eggs or riots. But chanting, dancing Samoans.
Thanks guys, you really lifted my wilted spirits.
And, by the way, in one of the rooms of the Art Building, a Mariachi band was practicing. Just to complete my “It’s a Small World, After All” moment.
