You can (and I admit I do) divide the world by political affiliation. But I also divide the world into other binaries. Dog people and not-dog people. People who grew up on television, and people who didn't. Hellman's people and Miracle Whip people. And of course, "Sure! I'd love a sample, tell me more about this product" at the grocery store people, and "No, thank you" while avoiding eye contact at the grocery store people.
Something about me, I dislike crowds and distrust people who "are energized" by them. Having made it this far into my life without accruing the hobbies or passions that would inspire me to willingly attend any kind of fest or con, every year my tolerance for port-a-potty lines gets shorter and the hypothetical amount you would have to pay me to attend Burning Man gets larger.
In MY America,the entire month of August would be a federally-sanctioned holiday. For one month, UBI would kick in and we'd all be able to take a month to meditate, take long walks, listen to birds and insects, and eat simple, seasonal foods that we prepare ourselves. No restaurants, no tourism. Nothing but essential commerce and services, and overtime pay for those working.
The more dangerous summer has become, the more magical the perfect summer day feels. For all the advances we've made as a species, we've managed to make the weather one of our existential threats, just like in the old days. So, when "the perfect summer day" that is neither too humid, or too windy, or does not contain the threat of an urban forest fire arrives, I've been trying my best to embrace the "be here now"ness of it all: Skin warming and cooling through tree-dappled sunlight, sounds of birds and insects muffled by full foliage, bright and deep greens contrasting with...
