Summer in the BVC

Summer in Black Vatican City is odd. It is a time of year owned by pale, blinking people, who crave yet fear the sun. They emerge cautiously from their dwellings, wearing dark glasses and clad in seasonal clothing from several years ago to scratch at their flower beds, drop frisbees, and expose their pasty limbs to the sun. They run, ride their bikes, strap on rollerblades, and generally flirt with heat stroke in anyway they can find.

Much of the local Flock is burned right now, due to moving Vanilla Fresh and Indian Princess into their new place. Aloe vera gel flows like water at Flock Hall, and I weep for our species. We have evolved (or devolved) to a point where the very sun that gave us life now threatens to kill us.

As I am gifted with uncharacteristically dark skin for an Irishman, and spent the better part of my youth outdoors in sunny places, I am not so afflicted. While others progress rapidly from white to pink to lobster, I slowly develop a healthy pre-cancerous glow, and stay that way. I have had a few epic sunburns, but I have to really try to let that happen - like falling asleep at the beach on Maui for four hours, or dozing off on my stomach while camping in Arizona (both of these misadventures might have been inspired by misuse of adult beverages). Even my scalp, which becomes more exposed every day due to my thinning hair, has rarely ever been burned. My skin, for the most part, is an excellent ally; it is my second favorite organ.

But that's a topic for another post, so... Put down that Wii-mote and get outside. For the good of the species.