When I lived in San Francisco, I often dreamt of skiing down the city’s many hills. Apparently I wasn’t the only one.
It snowed in San Francisco last week, if only for a day. The Fillmore Street hill in Pacific Heights, among the steepest in the city, was covered with snow and turned into a ski jump on a hot afternoon day for the likes of Johnny Mosley and other lesser known skiers to put on a show with breathtaking views of the Bay in the background.
Sure, it might be a waste of money and resources, but it makes for some pretty amazing photos — and a unique experience. Now there are only a handful of people in the world who can say they’ve skied the streets of San Francisco. The closest I’ve come to that is rollerblading down some pretty steep hills.
(Thanks, Dad, for the link.)
Friday night we hit the Parting Glass to watch the Red Sox get smoked out of the play-offs, followed by a bit of a pub crawl into the night. Last night we joined Alex and Cati and a few new friends for a delicious authentic Spanish meal and a sampling of the white wine contenders for the wedding reception next summer. Today is mostly a lazy day around the house, though I did some finances/budgeting stuff and removed the air conditioner from our bedroom window.
