Hippies and Highs in the 60s

In SF visiting the husband for the whole week, which is nice.  We went to the Symphony Saturday night for a performance of Dvorak's cello concerto, which was fine, and Lutoslawski's Mi Parti, which was amazing and a really exciting find.

It's always a challenge to dress when I'm away from home.  Somehow I just never seem to pack right.  I had my adorable grey sweater dress with me, but couldn't find the black wrap to go over it, and immediately wished that I had packed my black boots about which Kathy says, "There is nothing bad about those boots!"  I made do with a black cardigan and pumps but, frankly, I was feeling self-conscious and not particularly well-put-together.

Until we walked in the box office door and landed in line right behind a woman who had gotten all decked out in a bright purple cotton skirt, a jacket whose tie-dying may well have been an at-home job, and a well-worn pair of Birkenstocks.  And that wasn't even the worst outfit we saw that evening.  An upside to being in a city full of hippies, I guess, you never have to feel self-conscious.

And speaking of being in a city full of hippies, I am really trying to identify why it inspires the passionate fervor it does.  I mean, don't get me wrong, it's a perfectly cromulent city; I just don't see why people love it so obsessively, refuse to live anywhere else, say, "Oh, your husband's spending the summer in San Francisco?  At least you get to visit him there, I mean - San Francisco!!!"

The husband has asked a few folks why they consider it their favorite city, why they love it as much as they do, and thus far the answer seems to be "the weather."

The weather?  Really?  I call shenanigans.  You don't get to be a world-class, adored city because you eschew seasons.  I'm asking you, my four (five?) readers for your thoughts... tell me why I should love San Francisco above all other cities!