Not too often you see regular military fighter jets above San Francisco these days, you know, just flying around on some mission as opposed to performing an airshow. Last time for me seeing something like that was when a pair of U.S. Air Force F-15’s roared low and fast over the Western Addition about a half-decade ago.
Here’s the view from Haight Ashbury yesterday, through the Blue Gum Eucalyptus trees. Don’t bother looking at the misfocused photo ’cause you probably won’t be able to see them, but KPIX / CBS5 has some footage from Oakland International Airport yesterday. There they are lined up next to the King Airs and whatnot at OAK.
Speaking of airshows, remember this alarmist headline from a few years back: “Blue Angel Kills Thousands in SF crash”
Of course, no spectator has died at an airshow in San Francisco ever, I don’t think. And actually, no airshow accident has killed or injured a spectator in America in the past half-century or so that writer Tim Redmond has been alive. (Let’s not talk about Russia or Ukraine – spectators die all the time in those places.)
And of course, a crash like that one in San Diego wouldn’t kill anybody in San Francisco because the Blue Angels would react differently to a sudden loss of power. And if there were a crash for other reasons, it would be simply unpossible for that to kill “thousands.”
Anyway, if you ever want to say that you don’t like the Blue Angels, it’ll be up to you to just say that you don’t like the Blue Angels or, instead, to make a blog post going, “Blue Angel Kills Thousands in SF crash.”
Anyway again, this “Military Aircraft operation” might have brought a nuclear aircraft carrier to the waters of the Farallones, who knows.
Look to the skies! They are ever changing.
Suit and tie comes up to me
His face red
Like a rose on a thorn bush
Like all the colours of a royal flush
And he’s peeling off those dollars bills
Slapping them down, one hundred, two hundred,
And I can see those fighter planes
And I can see the fighter planes
Across the mud huts as the children sleep
Through the alleys of a quiet city street
Up the staircase to the first floor
We turn the key and slowly unlock the door
A man breathes deep into saxophone
Through the walls we hear the city groan
Outside is America
Outside is America