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?
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