Warplanes in the sky? It must be October.

I was heading out to a client's house in the outer sunset today when I heard an odd rumbling noise coming from the sky. My subconscious mind's first paranoid response to anything alarming and unusual is "earthquake"--this applies to low-flying planes, car backfires and the recycling truck collecting glass at six in the morning. But after thinking for a minute, checking the date, and remembering back to autumns past, I realized it was time again for what I warmly refer to as Motherfucking Fleet Week.

I was first introduced to this charming event a mere two weeks after moving to the Bay Area from the Midwest, where people do not fly warplanes in close proximity to skyscrapers and high-traffic bridges. And what better way to celebrate another year in San Francisco than by waking up in sheer, abject terror on a Saturday morning to the sound of a bomber jet about to crash into your building? This is what I have to look forward to on the worst weekend in the year to be a San Franciscan. And since this is the third time I've been subjected to this shit, I think I can finally call myself one.

For those not familiar, this is what San Francisco is subjected to the first weekend in October:


Really, Navy? Do you think this makes you more manly? There are people on that bridge. If I saw you flying your big fighter jets that close to my car, my first though would be terrorist attack. In sheer panic, I might go careening across the other lanes of traffic, through the safety rail and into the Bay. Not funny, Navy. No points for you.