A couple of days late, but I hope y’all in the U.S. of A. enjoyed your salmons and snow peas (that alleged New England 7/4 tradition I ain’t never witnessed).

Here in the lovely Bay Area neighborhood of the city by the bay, which has a lot of nicknames, like SF, douchey-sounding ‘Frisco (which I’ve only heard from the mouth of a douche), the City, the City by the Bay, San Fran and the fucking apt as all get out, Fog City, they do up the usual city fireworks over the ocean thing that city’s on the ocean do. BUt, did I mention it’s called Fog fucking City?

Driving into town, we saw the clouds rolling in over the airport and South San Francisco.

M. had gotten us a couple of tickets on the San Francisco Belle floating out of the Hornblower fleet. As we walked along Embarcadero, the Transamerica Tower pretty much was hidden. The giant nozzle that’s the Coit Tower, which sits on a huge fucking hill, was the only visible landmark.

Walking against the crowds to our dock, rather than the dock where mere landlubbers would be watching, we thought maybe there was a chance of a wind shift and clear skies. Yah, not in San Francisco.

Nope, we froze our asses after a buffet dinner and some free wine and beer. Look at how chilly my boy-o looks.

And the fireworks, they were mystically beautiful, I sensed but couldn’t see. Here’s the best of my actual attempts at fireworks.

And here is beautifully colored fog.

I had fun. Felt bad for the Brits behind us, who were also cheering on the color-changing fog.

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