Welcome to Wet.
Today launched the second of the major Bay Area seasons (the first being 'Dry'): Wet. Welcome to Wet, the part of the year where it rains constantly, just because it can. We're talking six months of rain, some years, although three or four are more common. We're talking 'they cancelled the closing night of the play I directed my senior year of high school, because the cafeteria flooded'. We're talking entire housing developments sliding off the sides of hills.*
And yet California drivers still lose all capacity to steer their vehicles when there's, God forbid, water on the road.
Now, don't get me wrong -- I'm the Rain King, I love the rain -- but I hate being wet. Being wet upsets me. Moreover, once Wet begins, my daily trips to the Metreon get highly curtailed, as I can't really walk there and back through a downpour unless I feel like pneumonia. Also, my buses and BART trains fill with rainy-day commuters, and while that's a great boon to the transit coffers, they frequently sit in my usual seats. And right now, the bottom six inches of my jeans are soaked to the skin.
Welcome to Wet. Grumble.
(*I mean this in the most literal, serious manner possible. The rainy season comes, and our cute little pre-fab hill-sitter condos slide down their hills and into the roads. This is why I object to further development of my already highly-overbuild hometown. I don't like stepping on your living room when I'm trying to walk to work.)
And yet California drivers still lose all capacity to steer their vehicles when there's, God forbid, water on the road.
Now, don't get me wrong -- I'm the Rain King, I love the rain -- but I hate being wet. Being wet upsets me. Moreover, once Wet begins, my daily trips to the Metreon get highly curtailed, as I can't really walk there and back through a downpour unless I feel like pneumonia. Also, my buses and BART trains fill with rainy-day commuters, and while that's a great boon to the transit coffers, they frequently sit in my usual seats. And right now, the bottom six inches of my jeans are soaked to the skin.
Welcome to Wet. Grumble.
(*I mean this in the most literal, serious manner possible. The rainy season comes, and our cute little pre-fab hill-sitter condos slide down their hills and into the roads. This is why I object to further development of my already highly-overbuild hometown. I don't like stepping on your living room when I'm trying to walk to work.)