June by any other name...is still June, but colder

In San Francisco, from which we have recently returned, the weather is lovely, if you think November weather in June is lovely. I personally prefer my June to feel like, oh, I don't know, maybe June, but then I am quirky in that way.

San Francisco, of course, is close to numerous world-renowned vineyards, where lovers of wine go to discuss the complexities of wine flavors: "This wine is earthy, with grippy tannins." "No, no, I quite disagree. it is more fruit-forward...What do you think, Jimmy?" "Uh, definitely a hint of gym socks." Etc. 

In contrast, the climate in SF is not nearly so complex. Technically it is known as "temperate," which basically means it is warm in the winter, and cool in the summer. This is also known, to some people, as "completely wrong."

SF owes its completely wrong climate to its location on a peninsula between the Pacific Ocean and the San Francisco Bay. That, plus the fact that somewhere, in some secret location, there is a Perpetual Motion machine aimed at the city that ensures there is never a wind-free moment anywhere. 

But for those for whom the wind is too tame, the city also offers several attractions to enhance your wind experience, such as trolley and ferry rides. On these rides, particularly on the ferry, wind speeds reach up to hurricane proportions, such that it is not uncommon for tourists to be blown overboard and be washed up on the shores of Alcatraz. No one has ever been proven to have escaped from there, but plenty of people have escaped TO there, quite without intention on their part.

The prevailing attire worn by individuals in the city reflects a dichotomy between the actual weather and the weather they feel MIGHT come along if they just dress the right part long enough. Thus, the upper half of their persons is outfitted for November -- several layers of shirts, tunics, sweaters, dressy scarves, hats, parkas -- while the bottom half is ready for June -- shorts, capris, bathing suit, etc. 

This is completely wrong, of course. One should totally dress for June on top and November on the bottom.

But then, this is not a real place. Everyone is young, thin, immaculately dressed in very chic fashion, and possessed of an extraordinarily good hairstyle.

"We must be on a movie set," I finally said to the Hero after several days of seeing people matching this description.

"What part are we?" he said.  

"This is not our movie," I said, eyeing our fully November, non-chic outfits and untamed hair. "We got dropped in from The Beverly Hillbillies."

Eventually the movie ended and we returned to our hillbilly roots, relieved to be back where June is June and people are all shapes and sizes and my hair does not feel inadequate.

Well, maybe that last one is too much to hope for, even in Hillbilly Land. Say, what season is a paper bag appropriate for?

Two + what = WHAT?

According to those who monitor such things, Americans are falling further and further behind in such subjects as math, although in other areas, including the ability to eat large quantities of food, our skill is unchanged and, indeed, may even be growing.

This lack of a grasp of everyday math concepts appears to be widespread. This observation comes from our recent time spent in airports, where one's ability to use math can come in handy -- for example, to discern whether line A is shorter than line B at security, and whether one can sprint over to line A before anyone else can get there first and deprive one of the advantage of getting in a shorter line.

The math challenge comes when attempting to comply with today's complex airline regulations. Most airlines, for example, limit the number of bags passengers are allowed to carry on the airplane. This limit, which is arrived at through complicated algorithms as well as numerous rounds of Rock, Scissors, Paper, is generally: 2.

This number often causes some confusion. So here, for readers' benefit, we offer a Q&A to help clarify what "two bags" means:

Q: I have three bags, but two are stacked. So that counts for --

A: Still three bags. Lose one.

Q: I travel with a lot of stuff, so two bags means, like, four, right?

A: Not unless you want us to count you as two people.

Q: I have my pet in a carrier. If I get two bags, and she gets two bags, then --

A: No.

Q: I have two smallish bags, so can I add a third smallish bag to equal the two allowed bags?

A: Two large/medium/small + one large/medium/small = THREE.

Q: So, I can have one personal item...that means, like, my car?

A: If your car can fold up and fit in the overhead bin, then yes. Last we checked, these hadn't been invented yet.

Q: If I drape my garment bag around my neck while boarding, I think that should count as clothing, not a bag.

A: As long as you wear this "clothing" for the duration of the flight, be our guest.

Q: Wait, I'm sure I can stuff my guitar case into my purse...just a minute...almost got it...

A: Doors are closing! Sorry.

We hope this sheds some light on this complicated math matter. We are sure that once Americans more clearly understand airport math, we will surge ahead in the international math polls! As long as we're allowed more than one pencil in the testing room.

Where is the Princess?

The Princess ventures to the west coast for a week for work, pleasure, and to try out Tony's Pizza place, which has been highly recommended to her. Blog posts may or may not appear while she is gone, but there will likely be plenty to discuss when she returns.

The cicadas are coming!

If you don't live in the East, you might not know that a kajillion 17-year cicadas are about to invade here. If you do live in the East and don't know this, well, maybe YOU are a cicada.

Today we offer a Q&A to provide helpful information on this event.*

Q: What, exactly, is the 17-year cicada?

A: A hideous monster insect that hatches in trees and emerges after 17 years to exhibit its disastrous flying skills and produce ear-splitting cacophonic noises in the hopes of attracting a mate and producing another generation of hideous monsters that will hide for 17 more years.

Q: Wait, isn't that the plot of some horror book...?

A: Probably.

Q: So when are they coming out?

A: When the ground temperature reaches 64 degrees, or they begin to smell Doritos at the Dorito factory in Florida, whichever comes first.

Q:  They eat Doritos?

A: Actually, they do most or all their feeding inside the tree, before they hatch. Afterward, they don't have much time to think about eating.

Q: Uh, how do they get Doritos in --

A: Delivery.

Q: So are they a danger when they emerge?

A: No more than having smelly hailstones with giant red eyes flying erratically and smashing all over the ground, we'd say.

Q: Are there any other groups of multiyear cicadas?

A: Yes. This particular group  of cicadas is known as "Brood II," or, affectionately, "The Frequently Bad Fliers." But other groups come on different schedules, such as the 9-year cicada, the 13-year cicada, the 54-day cicada, the 2-1/2 minute cicada, and the every-other-Christmas cicada.

Q: It doesn't sound pleasant. How bad will it be, really?

A: As one veteran cicada survivor advised us: Wear a hat. 

Q: Ewwww.

A: Yes.

*Although we offer no assurances about the actual helpfulness of this information.

Traveler beware

Many people, when planning a vacation, take advantage of the vast resources online for hotels and "must-see" sights. Sites that offer other travelers' experiences and perspectives are particularly helpful, pointing out pros and cons of whatever you are investigating. On these sites, for example, you can read that "This is the best hotel EVER! You must stay here!" and also, about the same hotel, "If you stay here you are a dimwit."

Such has been our experience with searching for a place to stay during our upcoming visit to San Francisco, a city that contains roughly 5,763 hotels. To be certain of finding the best accommodations for the lowest price, I have scrutinized each and every one of these hotel websites. Or, more likely, after scrutinizing several of them, they all started to look alike, and I ended up looking at just the same 8 over and over again.

Here is where reviews by others who had stayed at the various hotels came in handy, as I learned things like "the walls appear to be made of Staples 26 lb, 96 bright multipurpose printer paper" and "the bathroom will accommodate either your front end or your back end, but not both at the same time."

Some reviews carried ominous warnings. "Avoid the area behind this hotel," several said. This is an area known, apparently, as the "Tenderloin," although no one mentioned WHY it is called the Tenderloin. One must employ one's imagination for this, although one should probably not employ one's imagination too much.

To help other travelers avoid this area, several reviews advised turning left when exiting this particular hotel, never right, and I immediately pictured a hapless traveler, such as myself, leaving the hotel and trying desperately to remember "Do I turn left? or right??" -- and in this distracted state, stepping off the curb and getting run over by the trolley. 

Which brings us to a beloved feature of San Francisco: the trolley. The trolley is a convenient way of getting around the city, with its ubiquitous steep streets that go straight up in the air and then just -- end. Many reviews advised travelers, no matter where they stay, to be sure to request a room facing the street so as not to miss a single trolley bell clang through the night. This is called "experiencing the city" or, by some, "experiencing insanity."

So as we embark in our trip, we are indebted to the thousands of fellow travelers whose reviews and advice will no doubt make our trip more enjoyable. Just as long as we remember to turn left.