I am reminded of the 1985 John Waters film, Lust In The Dust: Here, under the burning, boiling, baking, blistering, scalding, sizzling, searing,  roasting, toasting, very hot San Diego sun...we long for some relief.

It's getting to be that time of year when all the sunny days run together, creating a blur of unidentifiable days and weeks, rolled into forgotten months.I am always on the verge of buying air conditioning this time of year, and yet I know cloudy, cooler, rainier days are on the way. They're just out of reach. 

The grass on my lawn has about had it.  Given up for my water conservation efforts, bleached to a straw like state in spots.  October is always a tough month in San Diego.  And it's the same every year. The early fall, but really summer-like, heat is at its peak.

No one remembers when we had the last significant rain. The Chargers are struggling. Wildfire season is in full swing. The daily commute seems more of a drag. The faces at bus stops look so hopeless and oppressed. We are bombarded with political ads. 

Everyone is tan. People are closer to just snapping this time of year. Our tolerance is at its lowest and everyone seems to be in a hurry. Is this what happens to normally docile San Diegans at the end of a long, hot summer?

The National weather service is predicting cooler weather for Saturday, with clouds, a chance of showers and temperatures in the mid- to upper-60s for most of us. Maybe I will go buy a pumpkin.

- Brad Martin is the late afternoon host on KPBS Radio.  

Last week the KPBS radio newsroom received two phone calls from the Navy and an email, informing us of the decommissioning of the U.S.S. Kitty Hawk. They wanted us to cover the story.  

It was a good story and one that many old timers in San Diego are interested in… the Kitty Hawk spent half of her 48 years home ported in San Diego. We followed up and did a radio spot to mark her departure.

But today, another fax eventually made its way to the newsroom from some far-off fax machine in the station, informing us that the Navy is holding public hearings on the traffic impacts of permanently home porting a third aircraft carrier in San Diego. When was that hearing? It started 20 minutes ago!

I called to find out why we didn’t get the information sooner. I was told that, due to Labor Day weekend, they had to fax out the information instead of emailing it. Hmm.

The web site on the press release led to a message: “There is a problem with this website's security certificate.”  When I asked where I could get information on the proceedings, the Environmental Public Information Officer didn’t know the web site address.

I called another Navy contact who eventually found me the web site.

It is, conveniently, under the Navy’s Engineering Command.

The public scoping period on the impacts of home-porting a third Nimitz class (that means nuclear powered) aircraft carrier starts next month, in October. Maybe by then the Navy will have figured out its public outreach.

As luck -- or life -- would have it, I was not at the press conference where Mayor Jerry Sanders cried as he revealed he had changed his mind, that he would not veto the council's support of gay marriage after all. But when I heard the tape, as he struggled to speak without breaking down, I felt the power of his emotion.

So it was a surprise to me when I heard a listener commenting that, though she was glad the mayor made that decision, she wondered why he was crying; surely having a gay daughter isn't THAT bad! And then someone else asked me what Sanders' tears were about, and whether they might partly be for all the support he knew he was losing among his conservative base, by taking that stand.

I have watched the mayor since he first announced his candidacy and I am compelled to say I feel his tears were not about what he was losing, but about what he had found.

It was a letting-go of the official mantle of conservative views he has had to adopt to represent those who put him in office (and who will keep him there, assuming he toes the line).

Businessman Steve Francis is breathing down his neck as the campaign season begins and Sanders is holding him at bay. The mayor is working to appease business interests who want to see managed competition happen faster, and hold the line for voters who balk at the mere mention of rate increases, even as the city's infrastructure continues to crumble.

But this week's decision on gay rights was an opening of the heart that was so strong, Sanders went against his better political judgment and revealed his true feelings, making himself vulnerable to unknown political consequences.

Anyone who has struggled with their conscience and then found they had to let go of the fear to find the love, knows what this feels like. So in this case, I, for one, choose not to be the skeptical journalist, but to take what I heard in Sanders' voice at face value, applaud his courage, and leave the sniping for another day.

-- Reporter Alison St John has covered city hall since 2003. Please read our guidelines before posting comments.

Perhaps Toni Atkins, a gay city councilwoman, knew her effort would be in vain. She persuaded San Diego's city council to sign a resolution in support of gay marriage. But the Republican mayor swiftly promised a veto. That would be consistent, he said, with the views he'd always expressed in public.

The mayor would not talk to me about his decision. Instead, his spokesman Fred Sainz, who's gay, told me the mayor does not believe in gay marriage. End of discussion.

But I had no idea of the mayor's private turmoil that night.

On Tuesday evening, Jerry Sanders was on the phone with his daughter, a lesbian in her 20s. Friends and neighbors stayed awake with a man whose heart was at odds with his politics. Just 48 hours later, the mayor would launch his re-election campaign, already facing competition from a conservative rival. And he would address the core of the GOP at a major conference here.

On Wednesday afternoon, a surprise announcement:

Mayor Sanders TO SIGN Council Resolution on Gay Marriage Brief; Mayor to Explain Principled Stance at News Conference this Afternoon

I ran through all the political explanations in my head. Here's what I came up with: The city council speaks for the people, and it would be wrong for the mayor to resist the will of the people, and a veto would be needless political theater that distracts the city from its real business.

I scooted to the the 13th floor of City Hall with my gear. It's a routine that felt different as soon as I entered the room. The mayor's entire staff was there. Fred walked in and asked us to please keep our questions brief, as it had been a very rough day for the mayor. He started to leave and then doubled-back. By the way, he informed us, Rana will be here.

Rana Sampson is Jerry Sanders' wife. The reporters had to get the spelling of her name, because most of us had never written it down before. She had never appeared with him in the press before.

Rana was stoic, even stern. She never uttered a word. The mayor wore a crisp suit, as he does at every press conference, and smiled at the reporters. A photograph would have revealed nothing unusual. Sanders began a prepared speech, then paused, then took a shaky sip of water. ( Watch the video -- Windows Media )

He told us he suddenly felt the "enormity" of the city council's resolution, and that his gay friends and family prompted serious soul-searching. He told us he had evolved. Oh my God, I thought, he's coming out. 

I was wrong. Perhaps more stunningly, Sanders revealed his daughter's sexual orientation, and that several staffers are gay. "I couldn't look any of them in the face and tell them their relationship, their very lives, were any less meaningful than the marriage I share with my wife," he said through tears.

Arrested, I stopped taking notes. A press conference is normally so sterile, so superficial, so staged. This moment was none of those. "Wow," a friend later told me. "He totally just accepted that his daughter is gay."

I struggled to maintain my professional distance. No matter your politics, you could not have watched this speech unaffected.

The mayor finished speaking and sailed out of the room. We sat stunned, silent. A few moments later, the frenzy of phone calls began. Fred came back in the room to tell us the mayor would answer questions inside his office.

I resisted the urge to tell the mayor how courageous he was, how much I appreciated his honesty. He spoke to us softly, repeatedly thanking us for being with him. I knew the live shots, the sound bites, the news alerts would take over the airwaves within hours. I knew the story would be scooped up by the national media and the blogosphere. But for a few minutes, sitting next to Jerry Sanders, I felt like the moment was ours.

-- Andrew Phelps is a reporter for KPBS News and co-host of Off Mic. Please read our guidelines before posting comments.

See also:

KPBS reporter Alison St John reflects on the mayor's change of heart.

Emotional Mayor Reverses Opposition to Gay Marriage

View more photos of Full Focus during production

In television news, it's sometimes a challenge to maintain authenticity. It's hard to make a daily shoot just about the story. After all, as soon as the lights come on and the cameras start rolling, both the reporters and the guests are often more concerned with how their hair looks than with what comes out of their mouths. I have to admit I am no exception to this rule. I think it's just natural to want to present one's self positively on TV. And even then, once the hair is set and the makeup done, you don't just conduct the interview. You have to make sure you get all the different shots you need to make it look good.

Earlier this month, Full Focus went on the road, leaving the KPBS studios for a week of field shoots. With so much equipment, it felt like a commercial shoot at times. I remember sitting across from one of my guests, an online reporter from the Voice of San Diego, for probably 25 minutes while the crew battled the sun to get the lighting right. I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking as we were waiting. What would we talk about as we passed the time waiting for cameras to roll? How would this affect his comfort level and spontaneity during the interview?

At the end of the week, the outdoor surroundings did seem to have put guests at ease. I think the small studio and hot lights can feel oppressive at times, especially for guests unaccustomed to television. But whether it's in the studio or in the field, the question remains: Does the scale of television production affect the authenticity of the story? I think it would be difficult to argue that it didn't have some effect. Making the final product look good will always be important in such a visual medium. That's the job of the technical crew. But it's the reporter's job to help the people we interview forget about the imposing lights and cameras and just tell us their stories.

-- Heather Hill is a reporter for Full Focus. Please read our guidelines before posting comments.

I've always avoided funerals. I sat in the car for my grandfather's, never went to my grandmother's, and holed up in a small room behind the chapel for my father's. But earlier this month, I attended the funeral of a man I never met. Anyoun Mou Anyoun. He was 27 years old. He died in a car crash on his way home from work. Anyoun was a "Lost Boy of Sudan," one of 3,800 orphaned boys who came to the U.S. as refugees in 2001. About 100 Lost Boys settled in San Diego.

I spoke with two of Anyoun's friends to ask whether they would mind me being at the church. They didn't. But an hour before the service began, I learned Anyoun's cousins were reluctant to have the media attend the funeral. After conferring with my news director by phone, I decided to enter, sit in the back, and observe.

The memorial lasted about 90 minutes. For the first hour, I ignored the audio recorder and microphone in my purse. And then a group of other Lost Boys, an entire pew of them, stood to sing a special song in remembrance of their friend. I couldn't understand the words; it sounded like something between a chant and a song, a chorus of solidarity among men who had shared a common history. I bent down, quietly turned on my audio recorder and propped up my microphone. I felt sleazy. Like a thief stealing a private moment of grief from Anyoun's family and friends. Was I exploiting something sacred?

After the service, I sat alone in the basement of the church to listen to the recording. I was almost relieved when I realized only a few seconds were recorded. Somewhere between nervousness and discretion, I must have accidentally bumped the stop button while adjusting the mic. I thanked my good karma for serendipity.

As a reporter, I have been asked, even ordered, by editors to knock on a grieving family's door and ask for a photo or a comment. I've telephoned at least a dozen widows and parents who've lost children. Some hang up. Others want to talk about their loved ones. It's the worst part of the job. There may be no justification for exploiting a family's grief, but there may be times we can honor a life in a public way while respecting family and friends' privacy. It's always a difficult and delicate balance.

In the end, after meeting and speaking with Anyoun's cousins, the story included one of them, Joseph Amol, reading an essay Anyoun wrote as part of his college application. They were Anyoun's own words that told his story best. A few stolen moments of sound couldn't portray the grief, the love, and the respect that rang through the church that day.

-- Joanne Faryon is a reporter for KPBS News and Full Focus. Please read our guidelines before posting comments.

The Baja California governor's race just got a lot more interesting. That's because Jorge Hank Rhon, Tijuana's former mayor, got the green light to take part.

In truth, Hank has been campaigning all along. He's appeared as a "non-candidate" at events for other members of his PRI party. He's rarely been seen without his "H7" animal skin vest. H7 is his campaign logo (Hank 2007).

Hank addresses the media after the federal tribunal cleared him to run for governor of Baja California (Cellphone Photo: Amy Isackson)

But a few weeks ago, the state's election tribunal barred Hank from running, saying his candidacy was unconstitutional. Article 42 of Baja California's constitution prohibits elected officials from stepping down early from one office to run for another. Hank left the mayor's seat 10 months before his term ended.

Hank appealed the decision to the federal tribunal (TRIFE). Last Friday, the TRIFE overturned the state's decision and ruled state law cannot trump federal law, which guarantees all Mexican citizens the right to run for office.

Though there was no official announcement, reporters knew Hank would wait for the decision at the Palenque on his massive estate in Tijuana. The Palenque is where cockfights are held. It seemed a suitable setting to hear the TRIFE's decision, given the no-holds-barred battle for the governor's seat between Hank's PRI party and the PAN.

The TRIFE said it would announce its decision at 2 p.m. But that turned out to mean at 2 p.m., the six members would begin taking turns reading their long, involved and technical decisions. We reporters sat on the tile floor and listened. The afternoon sun beat down on the Palenque's tin roof.

An hour and a half in, the video feed from Mexico City started fading in and out. The statements were so thick with legalese that few of us could decipher what was being said.

Bottled water labeled "Jorge Hank for Governor" (Cellphone Photo: Amy Isackson)

Two hours passed. My foot fell asleep. Then my leg. Then my other foot. My shirt was damp with sweat. A half-hour later, Hank's campaign manager began passing out bottled water.

My rule as a journalist is no free food, no free drink. Even if it's just water. However, this water was special. It was Hank water, branded with his own "Hank for Governor" label. We wondered if it counted as campaigning, which Hank was legally barred from doing until the TRIFE announced its decision.

I took one, but just as memorabilia, I told myself. I would sweat it out so as not to compromise my rules.

Hour three passed. Things looked to be in Hank's favor and we were shuttled into an even smaller and more cramped room for Hank's press conference. The temperature rose a few degrees. We sweated even more. But, the TRIFE members droned on and on.

Again, the bottles of water came around. This time, I could not resist. The Union-Tribune reporter and I looked at each other. She raised eyebrows. I shrugged. She took a photo of me with her cell phone as I was about to drink. I couldn't help it. I was parched. The AP photographer told me tsk, tsk. I told him I worried now I would turn red, the PRI's signature color.

Little did I know, Hank-branded water would be just the beginning of my drinking with the candidate. More details to come.

-- Amy Isackson covers the border region for KPBS News. Please read our guidelines before posting comments.