Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines.
— Shakespeare, “Sonnet 18” (“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”)
William, per usual, was onto something.
I’ve now limned my reasons for preferring laid-back Los Angeles to hardscrabble hustlin’ on the Hudson. But there remains one sticking point, especially as we barrel toward another 60°F Southern California winter: L.A. is too sunny.
Do not call sol. Ever. Also, remember that sunblock brand, poetically called “Bain de Soleil”? No. BAN DE SOLEIL.
SPF 4? SPF 4 Malignant Melanoma.
I come from a proud line of shun-the-sun types. Remember that facekini device, from those most resourceful and expert ray-ostracizers, the Chinese? (My people!)
“Who, me?”
“No, not you. The one who’s wearing a *blue* ski mask in the ocean like it ain’t no thing.”
I haven’t worked my way up to this level of coverage yet. I’m still using more casual methods of protection. To wit:
I mimic a mummy.
Tools of the trade: hat, sarong, ukulele (to coax people — snake charmer-like — out of the shady areas of the sidewalk so I can go hide in them)
Or, I avoid going out during the “not-so-magic” hours. That is, the times when too hot the eye of heaven shines, roughly 9a-4p. (Best Hawaiian vacation companion ever!)
I think we’re alone now. There doesn’t seem to be any sun around.
“Hang loose”? Indeed, your jowls will hang loose in 20 years if you spend your fragile youth in the punishing rays.
I allowed this dusk excursion to Kilauea’s steam vents. The broiling swelter from one of the world’s most active volcanoes is fine. Just as long as we avoid evil soleil.
By aligning ourselves with the dusk-dwellers while in Hawaii, we perfectly coordinated schedules with these torpid turtles. At least we made some crepuscular friends.
“I like turtles.”
–Zombie Kid; Deepak
I learned this all from my parents. When I was growing up, my physician father always repeated, mantra-like, that for Americans (steering wheel on left side), the left hand, neck and head are the most sun-damaged and photoaged parts of everyone’s body. This is because the evil UV rays come for your youthful bloom and epidermic elasticity, even with the windows rolled up! “You can’t see it, but it burns.”
My mom, protecting herself during a dangerous, UV-vulnerable car ride. You’re never safe. However, she’s ready in case we make an impromptu trip to either Saudi Arabia or an apiary.
In spite of landing resolutely on the L.A. side of the L.A. vs. NY debate, I try to stay in my protective anti-sun cocoon as often as possible. The apple doesn’t fall from the tree — mainly because the tree provides abundant shade.
