Here Comes the Sun

This holiday used to mean something. And a few kids minus some thumbs didn’t stand in our way of blasting Skynyrd, getting drunk, cooking steak and blowing the fuck out of everything. If fireworks companies only had the lobbying power of alcohol and tobacco we might still enjoy those freedoms. As it stands, we’re already seeing our local counties cut costs by eliminating the outdoor “displays” provided as a safe alternative. And it was a lousy alternative. I don’t like watching people do something I would rather be doing myself.

I envision an America with a fireworks stand on every street corner. Nay! I envision an America where “Build-A-Bear” type shops allow you, the customer, to create your own fireworks!

What do you want this firework to do, son?

Blow up!

Of course, but anything else?

Can it spell my name in sparks, shriek, hiss, then hunt down other people’s fireworks and destroy them?

Can it ever!

Fourth of July this year saw me defeated by such a simple adversary that I barely saw it coming. The sun. Who knew six hours laying on a beach without sunblock could cause so much pain. In fairness, I knew. But even after being burned so many times I still don’t understand how something as innocuous as walking outside into the natural environment can create redness, itching, flaking, and pain. It just doesn’t seem very fair.

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