The Glorious Fourth

So I just got back from driving my roommate and some of her friends downtown for a concert/festive fireworks.  This was a trip that normally takes seven minutes (I know - it's my commute to work) and it took me an hour round trip.  Now I did sign up for it - I offered to take them and I don't regret it.  The only reason I didn't go with them is because I had an excruciatingly long, complicated day at work and am craving some quiet time.

Now here's the thing - I actually adore fireworks.  I think they're great.  I love the color, I love the shapes - but mostly I love the explosions.  I love that ages and ages ago the human mind conceived of this thing which that they could pack into a tiny tube, light on fire, and transform into blinding, glorious light.  I love it because I don't understand it.  I love that it is a harmless, beautiful use for gunpowder.  I love the smell.  What I do not so much love is the phenomenon which has become the "Downtown Fireworks Display".  Don't get me wrong - I love it when cities can come together for things like this, I just don't like that it turns everyone into blathering idiots.  I especially don't like it when these blathering idiots then get into cars and careen them around city streets that they obviously only traverse one time a year.  And in this city, the fireworks are an EVENT.  When I drove down to work this morning at eight o'clock, people were already camped out (tents and all), waiting for the EVENT to start.  And (I know it's stupid, but this keeps popping back into my head) it's not even the actual holiday yet, people.  Is it really necessary that we make an EVENT out of everything these days?  Can we not all just sit out on the lawn and watch the fireworks?

Luckily, we can see the fireworks just fine from our balcony.  I'm sitting out there now, listening to the Devil Children from upstairs be actually rather adorable about what seems to be one of their first fireworks experiences.  However, even as I sit and watch, I can't help but be distracted by the moon.  It's 2/3rds full and mottled with clouds like it is on those great October nights.  I have a serious obsession with all things space which I'll probably go into at a later date, and I know that this is seriously corny, nigh unforgivably so, but I kinda wish that sometimes people would turn out in droves just to look at the moon like they do to look at the fireworks.  Judge me if you like, but corny's how I feel about it.

Finale's starting - gotta pay attention :)  Hope everyone has a lovely and safe 4th, where ever you find yourselves!

New Home

Hello all.  This blog/journal/brain dump site is a replacement since my old site has recently been shut down.  As I have neither the time nor the mental energy to transfer all of my old entries over here, we're going to be starting over again.  So some of you may end up re-reading some things, but fret not, there's always new things around the corner.

For the newbies, just a quick intro so that we're all on the same page - I am not a good journal-er.  I'm rather crap at it, actually.  This failing in my makeup is not from a lack of interest/trying/understanding, mind; rather, I think that it stems from the fact that whenever I get a spanking, shiny new notebook, perfectly lined and attractively bound, I inevitably get no further than two pages into it when I lose all interest, feel foolish and altogether embrace the utter failure of the whole endeavor.  The main problem used to lie in my hand's inability to keep time with my thoughts, so I branched out and tried typing and so far it has panned out all right.  Plus, I really like typing *clackity clackity clack*

Oh, also, when there's background info the newbies don't know, I'll set it off with FtN (For the Newbies), so no one gets left behind.

As usual, I am writing instead of doing something more urgent, in this case cleaning.  So we'll leave the entry at the intro, and I'll part with a short story from work (FtN:  I work at a small children's museum).  I was checking in a couple and their children yesterday and handed the wristbands to the adults.  The little boy (who was maybe all of 6) turned to his interracial parents and asked them why he didn't get a bracelet.  "They're just for the adults," his mother told him as she put the band on her husband's wrist.  The boy watched this for a moment, then his face cleared and he said, "Oh, just for the black people."

I couldn't help it - I busted up laughing.  Hell, I'm still laughing