About Those Debates, Dot, Dot, Dot

That first 2024 Presidential debate between Joe Biden and Donald J. Trump was, without a doubt, the least presidential debate I've witnessed in my entire lifetime, and I've got some years on me. If you had to choose (and if you're living inside the Continental United States and eligible to vote, I hereby argue you do, in fact, have to participate and make a choice between the two, and only these two, whether you like them or not, and I don't like either of them any more than you do), then I'd recommend voting for the weird old guy whose entourage is least likely to steal everything not nailed down (including your own future) and pawn the lot of it to Vladimir Putin and his cronies for pennies on the dime. I'm not going to tell you who I think that is, but if you read this and feel personally attacked, then you're hearing me, and you know I'm right, and you know you have to do the better thing, even if you don't like it.

I know. Politics. No fun. Too intense. Let's talk about the weather. It's 27°C outside, which isn't even remotely hot for a summer's day in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the land of patriots and bells of liberty. We don't break a sweat until 35°C. However, the humidity is at 89%.

EIGHTY-NINE PERCENT!!!

The air is essentially liquid. You can see it, the air, with your naked eye, the actual air. Supersaturated. Drenched. Clinging. Dare I say? Moist. Without exaggeration, you could die out there. Readily. I managed a 45-minute walk before I conceded defeat, swung by the bottle shop for a couple of beers, and headed home with cold cans sweating through my Baggu¹ reusable shopping bag made from recycled ripstop nylon. See? I'm not the problem here. I reuse. I recycle. I use recycled reusables. It must be something you all are doing. No, no. It's me too. We're all doing it. Doing it to ourselves and everyone else. An unlimited license to destroy the world, granted in perpetuity, or at least as long as whatever time is left to us lasts.