Which means summer is making it's bright and cheery face known in Northern California. Which means it's hot. Which means all the beautiful vibrant color is quickly fading from the once verdant hills, fire season approaches, and it's hot.
I hate hot weather.
I once lived in Las Vegas for a little more than a year, and got the singular experience of a summer where I was glad, Glad, GLAD when it was under 105 degrees. Needless to say it skewed my poor California sensibilities. Granted, I had about 80 more pounds of insulating fat, but I lament the poor dead brain cells of anyone who chooses to live in such a wasteland. No no no, it isn't that I think Nevada is inferior, nor anyone who chooses the air conditioned way, I just think the relentless sun and pollution and lights have permanently injured the poor little neurons.
Did I mention that I hate hot weather?
Fortunately, it really only lasts two months here, and one can go spend some time in San Francisco to cool down, and it rarely reaches anywhere above 90. Give me the lovely summers in Seattle or Ireland, which, from my handy dandy browser window, is a comfy 57 degrees at this posting, with a light rain.
Fog, drizzle, overcast. Keep me pale and keep me OUT OF THE DAMN SUN!
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