Last night I drove around like a high schooler, with three cars following behind us, looking for a party. We even stopped at the convenience store and I bought a six pack of PBR. We found the party, in an oceanfront home owned by a Google employee. The orange moon was rising over Islesboro, shining in the ripples of the bay. I kicked acorns off the back deck and they bounced on the rocks at the edge of the water. I talked about hair, and satisfying careers, with a ukelele player who stopped teaching college to go to hair school. I went inside to find my dad bragging about me to a couple of people, and changed the subject as soon as I could. Mike Hawley found the piano and started playing songs; someone else started to sing.
This morning I talked to a Ghanian blogger and a Bombay-born diamond wholesaler who now lives in New Jersey. The diamond wholesaler and I had an interesting conversation about bankruptcy, and he promised to find me at lunch and convince me that the diamond trade isn't as bad as I've been hearing.
The title of this post is because Mark Lynas is discussing, degree by degree, what global warming will mean to the world. It is terrifying, and sad. No more polar bears by 2080.
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