A couple of weekends ago, we went downtown to see the Red Bull Air Races. It seemed too interesting to let pass by. Besides, it was free.
We walked out past the Midway to the embarcadero to stand on the pier with everyone else and gape at eight tiny planes fly at amazing speeds pulling heavy g’s through huge inflatable pylons arranged in an obstacle course. 
It was incredible. Go figure.
The nicest thing about it was that it was a gorgeous day and it was relaxing to yet again remind myself that I am developing a sort of fondness for the place where I’ve lived for nearly four decades. A tiny one. Begrudgingly. But only once in a while.
Sure, the city coffers are empty, the city attorney is a complete lunatic, the Padres lost again, the Chargers can’t remember how to play football, and local paper thinks publishing too-lengthy-for-what-it-is pieces on cracked sidewalks, potholes in the road, and exposed tree roots are news, but hell.
The weather’s great.
The vistas are gorgeous.
The public art is interesting 
even if it isn’t exactly perfect.
And at least one person has a sense of humor, caught here by Tom Mallory, a reporter for the San Diego Union-Tribune. It seems the locals don’t exactly think this particular piece of public art accurately depicts the stance of a surfer.
Dudes. Get over it.
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