Frazz by Jef Mallett for September 28, 2020

You could also try walking backwards.

No No Frazz. You need to live East of where you work!

During the equinoxes the sun traces the band where all the geostationary satellites are parked.

I like the kid’s approach. Shows flexibility.

Working from home since the pandemic closed offices, the glare issue (harsh! In my circumstance) is no longer an issue

I prefer “equinoctes.”

I learnt in Grad School never take a job driving East in the morning

Police and paramedics notice that effect very clearly: the traffic accident rate goes up.

The low winter sun is nearly impossible to get away from even at noon.

Somehow, I don’t think the school will like that solution!

I used to write editorials for a Michigan newspaper. The state is one of those with a E-W N-S grid. I suggested that mapmakers before an equinox yank the state at some handy point. “Grab the Keewanaw or the Thumb and rotate the state a few degrees clockwise. Or counterclockwise. Just temporarily; yank it back after a few weeks.” The editor published it.

One word: sunglasses.

How about canting the streets 45 degrees so you are never driving into or out of the sun?

Helpful safety hint: If you see the shadow of your car stretched out on the road in front of you, turn on your headlights. That’ll make you more visible to oncoming traffic blinded by the sun directly behind you.

Move so that your orientation during your commute is West – East going to work or school and East – West going home after the day is done.

The sun actually does get worse during the winter in some area for one very simple reason. Fewer leaves on the trees. If you live in the country, during the summer, the setting sun is often behind the trees by the time it’s low enough to be a real bother but in the winter, it comes through the trees and more straight in front of you.

sunglasses!

Jef Mallett’s Blog Posts

Frazz18 hrs · I hope this one is as much fun to look at as it was to draw.

If it’s fun to criticize, I know: The equinox was a few days back. The rising sun in your face lasts a while.

Back a little closer to the official equinox, while, you’ll recall, some of California’s wildfire smoke was reaching to the Midwest and beyond, I was driving home from a swim, directly into the rising sun. But it wasn’t blinding. It was enormous and Necco-wafer pink pastel, pale enough you could glance at it and see that the edges were as sharp as a paper cutout. Knowing what made it that way, I wasn’t quite sure how to feel. It somehow seemed wrong to appreciate beauty borne of disaster. But it seemed equally wrong to resist beauty wherever, whenever and however you find it.