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Never ask a nut case this question … and a 129F scorcher creates heat hell in Pakistan

Every so often, someone who sees this nut case clutch bags jammed full with trash will summon the nerve to ask what’s behind this sordid practice.

Their standard query: Why do you do this?

There are a lot of reasons: social responsibility, atonement and penance, clean streets, environmental concerns, hold myself accountable and make myself useful. That sort of thing.

But really, it’s the wrong question to ask.

What these good hearted souls ought to pose is, Why wouldn’t any of us do this? That really gets to the heart of the matter.

IMG_3262Those of you who stoop to conquer litter know where this rant is headed. It’s how concerned citizens should act; when there’s junk on the ground, it shouldn’t be there. Pure and simple. We accept that we collectively bear the yoke of responsibility even if it means we effectively clean up after others.

So bless the hearts of those who ask Why? Even if there’s a better question to be asked.

129.2F in Pakistan: ‘… no difference between Turbat and hell.’

The hottest temperature ever recorded in Asia – a blast furnace-like 129.2F – turned Turbat, Pakistan into a broiler.

And climatologists lay the sizzler at the feet of man-caused global warming.

It was so hot “… there is no difference between Turbat and hell,” said one resident in a new story in the non-failing New York Times. Turban’s private agony mirrors heat records shattered in other parts of Asia.

And Asia isn’t alone in it’s suffering. Indeed, 16 of the 17 hottest years ever recorded have occurred since 2000, and scientists say the troublesome trend is especially hard on poorer nations at low latitudes. Upward spiraling heat tests the outer limits of what humans can tolerate, so much so a new term has been coined as an index to gauge that tolerance: “thermal comfort.”

Greenhouse gas emissions are pegged at the heart of recent warming but are far from the only factor. “Too much concrete, fewer lakes than we used to have, and all the air-conditioners raise the temperature,” said one climate change expert at a non-profit agency in Hanoi, Vietnam who is studying the impact of climate change in Asia.

About Dave Bradley (264 Articles)
I was a writer by trade so one would think letters would come easily for me. It is so now, but wasn't always that way. Indeed, the first letter was written the Monday after Ellen started her freshman year in college. For years I've wondered - with no good answers - why I swiveled my office chair toward my computer screen to fire up a word processing document for that first letter. I just don't know. I just did. Perhaps it was the angst of separation or wanting to say things that had gone unsaid at that moment when we parted ways in front of her college dormitory. What was a one-off became habitual. When her brother Reid enrolled in the same college, his name was added to the salutation line. They were kids then and are adults now. No matter. The letter writing habit remains so today. I live in Brevard, North Carolina. I'm well away from where they live and don't see them nearly as often as I'd like. That's why letters, at least to me, fill the void of distance. The pages give me something to say and the space to say it. There is no assurance they read the letters; indeed, I have never asked if they do so. With the pace of their busy lives who could blame them for letting a letter sit unopened? Over time, it has dawned on me that the letters are both communicative - and cathartic. By nature, letters are about the writer; the writer can only write about their situation. Perhaps that is as it should be. It's all about the here and now from one person's perspective.

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