By the time this piece appears, the 2020 Democratic National Convention will be nearly over—and thankfully, I’ll have missed it.

Don’t get me wrong—it was a huge struggle choosing between wasting four days of my life watching pre-recorded Orwellian orgies of deception and carefully-disguised dementia, versus hiking, surfing, and margarita-sipping on the balmy east coast of Vancouver Island with friends. But in the end, the sunbaked baby powder beaches and sylvan cathedrals won out.

Read the rest here.