all ya gotta do is say yes
sometimes the heat makes people go crazy. it's like in a streetcar named desire -- people are hot and sweaty and cranky and impatient and inflamed with passions that they can't control. every impulse seems magnified until it nearly jumps out of your skin. you want to hit someone one second, and the next you want to kiss them. hard.

and it's tough to figure out which you want to do more.

maybe it has to do with the temperature of your body. maybe it has to do with the heat wearing down on a person, bringing them to their boiling point. maybe it has to do with the mosquitos, or the torrential rain, or the pounding sun. maybe it has to do with looking for activities to do indoors to beat the oppressive humidity outside. maybe it is as simple as wearing less clothing in the heat -- a flash of thigh or abs or calf or forearm, or a little bit of sweat on the collarbone. a miniskirt, say...

in one of the early scenes in the movie, marlon brando strides into the cramped apartment, just home from work. he's sweaty and dirty and thirsty. he's wearing a tight sweatstained tee shirt that shows off his muscles. you know that vivien leigh is looking at him in the same way that you're looking at him because there is no other way to look at him. at that moment you feel what she feels--yes, he's your sister's husband. but man do you want to jump him.

and is that really such a bad thing? should you feel guilty if you don't think it is? can you just plead heat insanity?

so you solemnly pack your bags and dream of the creeping fog and chilly winds from the bay and the way streetlights in the mist look so peaceful when you stumble home drunk at 3 am after a night out in north beach or lombard street. you hope the fog will cool your veins, slower your heartbeat, ice your skin. you look forward to turtleneck sweaters and jeans. you look forward to quiet nights at tart, or borders, or at frees' watching felicity season 1 DVDs and eating kettlecorn (two coke minimum still in operation). you want the sanity that the cool bay air brings.

but when you get off the plane, waiting with anticipation for the ice in the san francisco air to hit your face, you realize there is something very wrong. because there is no icy breeze. you're feeling a little bit warm under your hoody. it's actually hot in the city. so the itch remains under your skin, urges bubbling just beneath the surface.

your family teases that you've brought the hot weather back with you from the east coast.

but honestly you wish you had just left it all back there.