Noise in the Shape of Writing

Sunday night we took our daughter out to see fireworks. Couldn't find any good locations. My daughter was cold and sick. Wife was nonplussed (it had been a long day). And I realized that unless I am actualy lighting fuses I am pretty much nonplussed myself about the whole ordeal. Unless I am holding my daughter on my shoulders and standing relatively close to the fireworks.

But she was sick. And the display was a few miles off due to me picking a lame spot for viewing.

There is a video game thingy in the Innoventions building at Disneyland that lets you program -- and then shoot off to grand music -- a display of fireworks. It's kind of fun. And I found myself thinking I wished I was there instead.

Have I grown jaded in my old age?

I remember when I was a teenager, I was always put in charge of the family fireworks shows on the farm in Nebraska. Everything was legal there -- back in the early 80s. Massive parachute launchers. Cones as big as your high school volcano science experiment.

Damn, that was fun. Seeing how close you could get to a fountain of sparks.... no one cared. Or so it seemed.

So I have begun to re-hoard another supply of decent fireworks.

Some fateful 4th of July in several years, I will unleash holy vengeance upon my jaded thirtysomething years and make up for it all.

Hey, I burned an Ash Snake last night and it felt pretty good. So there is hope.