My wife convinced me to move to Sausalito with the sales pitch that I’d be closer to the fog. The fog is my oxygen, my air conditioner, my entertainment; the bay’s foghorns are the soundtrack to my life. They’re playing my tune in the background as I type this. While the rest of the world sweats, we wear layers. I plan to be buried in a windbreaker. No July 4th is complete without our uniquely San Francisco fireworks show that features nothing more than distant booms accompanied by the fog glowing various colors. I love fog so much, I get misty just thinking about it. As the excellent John Branch writes, “It arrives like a whisper and disappears like a magic trick. It is there one moment and gone the next.” But will this cool, rolling, weather marvel that burns off each time it arrives ultimately burn off for good? Branch and photographer Nina Riggio in the NYT (Gift Article): The Elusive Future of San Francisco’s Fog. “Fog is a companion, part of the rhythm of summertime, flitting in and out of lives like a family member. But it does more than astonish ill-prepared tourists and dazzle photographers and poets. It nourishes the natural world. It enriches the area’s cultural identity. It might even be an untapped resource in California’s growing anxiety over water.” The Pulitzer-winning John Branch usually writes about sports, so he knows the regular battle between the fog and the sun could be Earth’s greatest ongoing rivalry. Branch lives about 15 minutes up the highway from me where it’s often 20-25 degrees hotter. No wonder he loves the fog.