The Good Sun

Americans have long since taken to roasting themselves inside those ovens of artificial sunshine in attempt to, by any means necessary, bypass that middle-aged basement dwelling son of the energy world, solar power. That big ball of gas, situated at the center of our universe, was adequate for a time, but in the same way that the good people at Chia improved upon the previously perceived perfection of grass, so Edison was able to deposit dazzling cargoes of light into those places that had never before felt the torch-like touch of that luminous substance. And with this innovation, the darkness vanished, and was immediately replaced by its incandescent counterpart. However, from dark to light was only one of two directions that this newfound technology was capable of navigating. That is, thanks to the illuminating efforts of numerous brilliantly bronzed pioneers, seeking to cure a Hollywood diagnosed plague of paleness, a reversal was realized, and these bright bulbs were proven quite effective in darkening skin poor on pigment.

As time went on, science was successful in both the careful classification and subsequent manipulation of the properties that this new direction promised. For instance, when the inability of these fabricated rays to pierce a mere sticker was observed, researchers responded by harnessing this lack of penetration. Paper patches were cut into shapes tracing only the most tasteful assortment of nationally recognized symbols and then laid upon the bare skin of some brave, but peach participant. The radiant result was something similar to a sun stained silhouette, given shape by a two toned contrast on its fleshy canvas. My personal favorite design was the “Alfred Hitchcock”. Nothing ever seemed to compliment a golden brown tan like that pudgy profile.

Needless to say, as a plant basking in the nourishing rays that the sun generously, yet feebly offers, will bear much fruit, so have these labors bore a bountiful harvest, fueled by their own super-solar source and ripened by the darkening demand of the times. However, to some around the world, such progress is a puzzling thing. To them, jumping into the booth is, in effect, taking that TGIF inspired regression from the suave Stefan back to the awkward Urkel. Sure the latter cared more about Laura, but the former got to share the stage with New Edition.

(Note: In regards to the last reference, I do encourage anyone reading this to investigate the scientific merits of “cool juice” and/or “boss sauce”. I personally can’t bring myself to do it after the let-down that the apparently fictional flux capacitor awarded.)

Culturally, the Vietnamese are one such people who find this desire for a more pronounced pigment a bit peculiar. A strong tan has traditionally been associated with long hours of daily fieldwork. In turn, in equal and opposite reaction, a light tone became a bodily badge of status, establishing melanin as the new stonewashed “ao dai”.

Still today in this country, great efforts are taken to shield one’s self from those resourceful rays. That is, against an enemy that can reflect, refract, and travel at the speed of itself, defense is no easy task. And this must be compounded with the almost certain frustration the sun must feel in response to its mere 5 billion years of existence remaining, in which all it has to look forward to is sitting around the same lonely place in the galaxy and expanding to many times its current size. So before it resolves to receiving static ridden signals of Diagnosis Murder, which will hopefully have arrived by then, and dawning a massive interstellar muumuu, it’s quite likely that it wants to make each of our lives as miserable as possible, giving Americans too little of its radiant residue, and the Vietnamese too much. As such, it’s no secret that these Asians have their work cut out for them.

The first and most practical tactic comprising this anti-exposure arsenal is the simple art of avoidance. A little over a week ago, I found myself, and the rest of my American team, all alone on the deck of a pool, which in accordance to it’s current wader to water ratio, was sized to decadent proportions. It was midday and the sun was throwing all he had at this country in cover, as most of its residents seemed to be positioned safely indoors. However, to all of us, this was the perfect place to set up camp and we capitalized on these isolating sentiments by repeatedly performing the one aquatic maneuver that requires its executer to yell its name with each and every execution. That is, the cannonball, and I’ve even come to find that this practice of subtle narration also spices up many otherwise mundane activities. For instance, as I write this, every English speaking person in the café that I’m sitting is fully aware that I’m word processing.

Soon though, as late afternoon approached, and the sun retreated, the masses returned and these falls of grace were rendered at best inconsiderate, and at worst, deadly. So, after a few Dale Jr. denouncing remarks, retaliatory in nature, and some collision induced casualties, we took the hint and moved on.

But, unfortunately, at times, one must leave his or her ray resistant shelter and venture out to face the elements, even when that flared up foe is highest in the sky. In such occasions, special pains are taken to cover any otherwise brandished body parts. To this purpose, some traditional defenses have been revised and revamped to contemporary cultural trends. For example, the simple genius behind the tried and true conical hat and its portable portioning of shade has been uprooted from the fields and planted fresh in the surprisingly fertile soil of asphalt. It’s quite common to see female motor bikers taking refuge under a ringed helmet extension, supplying the headgear with a solar blocking brim, casting a cooling blanket of shadow upon the motorist’s face.

However, even this accessory can be further accessorized in the battle against baking. The riding smock, the unpretentious cousin of the turtleneck, is another common armor choice. It’s draped over each and every area that finds itself snugly situated between the neck and waist, even exerting its powers of protection on the wrists and hands. Most frequently, it’s fashioned with flowing floral designs, patterns that would give even the most daring artists at Bounty a run for their money.

So, in light of these often agonizing efforts to either procure or preclude pigment, it appears that the varied vantage points that culture provides are the color conscious catalysts. In the same way, regarding the story of The Emperor’s New Clothes, I have to think that the silent onlookers did somewhat believe that this anything but modestly garbed monarch did in fact have a shiny new suit. Psychology has long ago proved that social pressure is a powerful thing. However, in this case, the emperor is a golden brown George Hamilton.