Blue Angels Go Home

It’s that time of year again. Fall (or pre-Winter as we in San Francisco call it) has touched the leaves and they’ve begun their change to colors less green. The nights have a more quiet quality to them since the weather is cooler and it’s harder to run around in a thong these days. And yes, it’s Fleet Week. A time that is rather enjoyable all but for the sound of five jets screaming overhead at insanely fast speeds, shaking your apartment and making you think that the West Bank sounds like a good place to Summer.
Not sure when it started, probably sometime after WWII as most of these things did, but for the most part, Fleet Week is pretty normal. People who want to go to the ships can, but the F16’s or whatever they are fly through the buildings, rattling all below.
Honestly, I wish it would stop. I have my moments when I’m all for a good time, but this is not a good time. This is the sixth one of these I’ve experienced and as I get more jaded, they get less fun. Add into that the fact that every San Franciscan I talk to who doesn’t wear a “Scorpions” concert shirt ain’t digging this whole screaming jet thing.