Indian Summer is a period of unusual warm, dry weather after the end of a traditional summer and was first recorded in 1778. It was, perhaps, so called--Indian Summer-- by American Indians...or because Indians were the first to describe it to Europeans. Indian Summer is the American version of the British All Hallows Summer.
Weather during Indian Summer in San Francisco (Sept - Nov) is milder and warmer, particularly in daylight and the usual fog and chill at night, except for one or two weeks in October when temps soar into the 90s and 100.
During this time of year and just before autumn and Halloween an array of Film and Street Fairs take place in The City like Fringe Festival, Taste of Greece, Folsom Street Fair (Sept 28) and Castro Street Fair (first Sunday in October). San Francisco Giants and Oakland A's fever take over the Bay Area when both teams make playoffs or play in the annual World Series between the American and National Baseball leagues. Various company picnics, barbecues and outings are prominent during Indian Summer.
In The City by the Bay at One Maritime Plaza on Clay Street, it was perfect Indian Summer day for One Maritime property management's sumptuous annual barbecue in appreciation of the buildings tenants, which was celebrated on West Lawn. Tenants enjoyed mouth-watering ribs, chicken and burgers by Bay Area Back Forty Texas BBQ and live music.
Science Fiction: Qualify
By Vera Nazarian
From a Nebula Award–nominated author comes a sci-fi thriller: In the year 2047, an asteroid threatens Earth’s extinction. Aliens offer protection, but only the most perfect candidates will qualify. Can bookish Gwen beat the odds and pass the test?
Science Fiction: The Gray Man
By Mark Greaney
A fleet-footed covert op has just met his match: his own allies. Join this ultimate killer-for-hire as he outwits and outmuscles a host of corrupt villains. “Hard, fast, and unflinching — exactly what a thriller should be” (Lee Child).
Thrillers: A Cold Treachery
By Charles Todd
From a New York Times bestselling author: Caught in a violent blizzard, Inspector Ian Rutledge races to solve one of the most savage murders of his career — before the killer strikes again. “Superb” (Publishers Weekly starred review).
Mysteries: The Housewife Assassin’s Deadly Dossier
By Josie Brown
Agent Jack falls head over heels for Donna, widow of a fallen comrade. But Jack’s agency is looking to recruit an assassin — and Donna is about to become much more than a grieving wife. From an author whose writing is “laced with venomous humor” (The Wall Street Journal).
Mysteries: A Matter of Choice
By Nora Roberts
From a wildly popular, #1 New York Times bestselling author: When sergeant James Sladerman sets out to uncover a smuggling ring, he finds himself face-to-face with Jessica Winslow — a wealthy heiress whose antique shop could be the key to finding the kingpin. But his growing feelings for Jessica could ruin his cover...
Bestsellers, Contemporary Romance, Romantic Suspense
Eventually destiny for some become the late being. Others the very late being. That's life between Heaven and Hell.
When the being becomes a late being, the spirit transitions into Heaven or Hell.
Saturday night as I walked a Tenderloin street I was oblivious to my surroundings since I was conversing with delightful, always happy but intense Saleem over the phone; though really, I had no intentions of talking live to Saleem on the other side of the planet that evening...save my Android decided I would. It, without proper permission, dialed up Saleem's number when I was tucking it into my front pocket and was in the middle of doing something else.
So I am talking to cooler than a cucumber Saleem, my favourite nouveau person on the opposite side of earth. Hearing his great voice really does soothe the savage beast ticking inside of me like a time bomb and, yes, the spirit is calm and bliss afterwards like a gentle sea breeze stirring over Baker Beach on the hottest day. I am invigorated by our tireless conversation that is ageless between the gap of generation and colourless with intense curiosity and interest of each other's different cultures. I am both fascinated and uplifted by Muslim devotion. Much more extreme compared to Christianity who don't pray as much so many times in one day. Amazingly he seems to know more of me than I do of myself, never judges or make annoying suggestions which comforts me. So easily I forget I am here and not there.
Eddy street bustles on a Saturday night of people of every race, colour, creed, ethnicity and gender. A hip and somewhat nerdy white majority linger outside Exit Theater after a performance, a black majority of late teens and early-20 somethings make noise outside of a Arab-owned moms and pop that serves fried chicken. In front of Pandora and Underground 181, a large crowd of young Asians, mainly Filipinos and Japanese, gather with other Americans and Europeans, transgenders and gays. The balmy night is hotter than a firecracker and without a stirring breeze or fog to cool the skin.
In the distance another crowd at the corner of Eddy and Taylor, more young black and mixed race are leaning against a chain-link fence and every drug user and neighborhood alcoholic is seen here; there is a line of drug dealers/pushers, dominated by young black girls draped in winter coats with their black and blonde dyed-hair slick and stylish like they just got out of a beauty parlor. In their persons they hide a thousand dollars worth of happy rocks and pills for sale; guarding them and seemingly nonchalant about it, but really not, are boys and men who smoke blunts and sweet thin cigars laced with 420 and cocaine, and their over-sized pants hang half- down their backside exposing the brand of their macho underwear. I am wearing light blue shorts, a tiny darker blue short-sleeve knit shirt, flip flops and a beanie to help keep the headphones on that I purchased a few days ago.
I am trying to explain to Saleem why I did not intend to call him...and he wants to know why I didn't intend to call him. Why would I not want to speak or call him? Why? Well, I do want to talk to you...but I wasn't planning to talk to you just now. But why, he insisted. Why? Why not just now? That voice is like a truth serum. The way it probes me completely, I cannot tell Him a lie. Not like all those others...
Suddenly I hear a loud boom directly in my left ear. A pop that sounded like someone had gotten shot. Voices. None Saleem whom I could not hear anymore but noticed he sent a text: "soooo much noise...are you at a party?" Someone screamed, "you all right?" I wondered for a second did that person mean me. Then realized it was I who had been struck.
I figured then I had been shot, a random drive-by shooting. I just had not stumbled down to that filthy pee-soaked sidewalk. Where was pain I couldn't feel? I ducked, expecting to hear a second shot and thinking my brain had not been completely blown to smithereens.
All those voices and wide eyes watched me duck over again from an event I had not even seen and had happened to me.
A man rushed over, "Man, why the fuck did he do that?" It was then I realized I had been struck in the head with a cane by an angry black guy who apparently was high on drugs and was running through the streets attacking white people and Asians and me who wasn't white or Asian. The code I've been told in a black-majority Loin is for blacks to attack everyone else save other black people. Apparently, that code has been thrown under a bridge when it comes to Charles Pearson.
However, I was not injured by this unexpected assault. Thanks much, I supposed, to that awkward blue headphone and blue beanie Michael had given me for New Year's Eve in Oakland. And those two blues saved me from being knocked unconscious in the middle of the Tenderloin.
So I learned a lesson. When walking through the TL or anywhere for that matter, keep alert and your head up, wear a beanie and huge headphones and forget that black lives matter just in case a mad person goes postal on you...
The only life that really matters is your own.