Wildfire smoke and a record temp yesterday — 101°, 10 degrees above normal.

Nothing like what’s happening down in Aridzona, of course. Tucson hit 111°, and that wasn’t even a record. Neither was the high of 114° in Phoenix.

Do not expect to see me pitching my little tent at McDowell Mountain Regional Park anytime soon. Smoked Irish ham is not on the menu.

The air quality hereabouts being remarkable for its lack of same, I decided to skip the Monday Geezer Ride. I thought briefly about a short trail run, but when Herself returned from a morning appointment she advised against it, which is significant, her exercise mantra being “We can do anything for 30 minutes.”

After I drove to the bakery for a loaf of bread and a breakfast scone I agreed with her. Looking west I could barely see the river, and the Sandia foothills were shrouded as in the photo up top.

So we stayed indoors, following the news and gnawing on our livers.

Speaking of the news, here’s a thought: I’m sick of seeing cops decked out like comic-book vigilantes. I appreciate that theirs is a dangerous occupation, but it’s the one they signed up for. And the rest of us — the civilians who pay their salaries — don’t get to go about our business kitted out like X-Men as security cameras, drones, and our own pocket informers document our every move.

I want to see badges, nameplates, and faces. When even the cops can’t tell who the cops are, it’s time for a little transparency. Save the costumes for Halloween.