.:: The StrongBrain Collective ::.

I like campfires. Love them, actually. The smell of slow burning wood. The cackle of whatever random object I happen to toss in to assuage my most primeval pyromaniacal urges. A campfire is something that every person should enjoy at some point in their life.

However, every once in a while, a campfire can go horrendously wrong. Experienced campfire'ers will understand this of which I speak. It usually occurs when the wind picks up, throwing the smoke in random, completely unpredictable directions. Sit north of the fire, and you may, for a bit of time, be free of the smoke. But when the wind shifts, the fire's smoke will hit you with such abandon that you will immediately jump to another compass direction in utter capitulation. Your eyes will burn. Your throat feels like you just had a large carbonated beverage go down "the wrong pipe". And you are rendered useless until the feeling passes.

Once you've moved however, you can once again revel in the campfire's magnificence. I, for instance, will celebrate my newfound freedom from the demonstrable smoke by throwing the entire sport's section into the flames, giggling like a drunken proleteriat thrust into power as the paper burns brightly. (What the hell did that last sentence's analogy have to do with anything? What's wrong with me?)

Anyway, campfires, save the aforementioned wind scenario, are entirely enjoyable. But, imagine for a second that you can't avoid the constant wind shifts. Imagine that the wind is blowing your campfire's smoke concurrently in every direction and that there is no escape, making every attempt to gulp pure oxygen utterly fruitless. Despondent, you are resigned to sit and suffer, breathing the only air available to you.

Grasp that feeling, because that is how I breathe today, for I live in San Diego. I am permanently -- well, temporarily, I suppose, as the fire will burn out eventually -- ensconced in a lair of smoke, abrupted by a wall of nausea, burning eyes, nose and throat. The fires burning uncontrollably in my county have created a pseudo-dusk 24 hours a day. There's ash on my car, an ache in my head, and smoke in my lungs.

I've experienced the surrealistic natural disasters of hurricanes, severe snowstorms, and even a small earthquake in my lifetime. In this case, however, the familiarity of the smell, the media-provided view of the workaday flames, and the speed and fanaticism of the fire itself creates a decidedly unfamiliar sense of unease. Obviously, I have no right to complain, as there is an entire county of people who have the same quality of air issues that I have, except there are also those that, in addition, have lost their homes or have been forced to evacuate. My empathy meter is off the hizzy right now. I'm bending my thought-power toward every person who needs it.

Come to think of it, for me, this is just a really windy day at the campground. Good luck everybody. I think about you often!