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Sunday, July 5, 2015

The Show

Rocco will emerge from the safety of his closet next month. Maybe.
Well then, we’ve just about survived the big July 4th weekend. Yea us! The Amazing Bob’s not gotten his all important uninterrupted, tranquillo beauty sleep due to all the illegal consumer grade fireworks (verboten in Massachusetts but can be legally bought in New Hampshire) and our not so fierce, former feral, jungle warrior Rocco continues to bunk in TAB’s study closet. He comes out for meals, treats and the odd pat here and there but that’s it. I miss having him sleep next to me at night. Rocco that is—TAB’s def still at my side. The closet’s not big enough for both him and the cat don'cha know.

From our local rag, The Patriot Ledger:
The use of illegal fireworks has become so widespread around July 4 that it’s overwhelmed police departments, especially in coastal communities like Marshfield, where officers have to prioritize the most serious offenses, including people setting off bottle rockets and M-80s near buildings or directly at people.
“It’s rampant,” Marshfield Police Chief Phillip Tavares said. “It’s impossible to enforce unless somebody’s lighting off some giant stuff or they’re lighting it off in some dangerous ways.”
    Last July 4, a man in Hanover suffered burns on his groin and abdomen and trauma to his hand when a firework he was holding between his legs exploded (Ed. note: I don't ever need or want to meet this magnificently UNbright individual), according to a fact sheet distributed by the fire marshal’s office. That same day, a fire sparked by a firework did an estimated $35,000 worth of damage to a Brockton apartment building.
I'd rather watch the waves.
My feeling on pyrotechnic displays in general has always been a big fat *shrugs.* 

When TAB and I lived in Brighton, we were at the top of a hill in an apartment facing the river, four miles away. The fireworks were small and distant but very pretty—like sparkling multi colored stars. Best part? No booms. All color, no noise, no suffocating smoke.

When we lived in East Cambridge with Jen and Oni, we’d all watch the extravaganza from the roof deck. The Charles River, with the huge fireworks barge, was less than a mile away. The entire sky was lit up with glittering, explosive color. It was mondo beautiful…..and loud. Wicked loud (I still had hearing then) and smoky. Def tremendous but I didn’t need to see the spectacle more than once.

So then, I’ve seen the big event. The smaller displays are sweet but I could never get past the booms and smoke or the seemingly infinite wait between bursts of color. Yes—deaf now so the explosions don’t bug me anymore BUT there’s still WAY too damn long between sparkling showers of bright chroma.

And then there's the personal pyrotechnics—the bottle rockets, M-80s, Roman candles and those products that are supposed to spout spinning fountains of intense multi hued sparks but rarely function as described.  90% sound and fury/10% sparkles and glitter.

Double + MEH. I totes do NOT see the point.

I seem to be alone in this. Jen and Oni watch and enjoy the tiny show down on Edgewater Beach each year. TAB tells me that the personal rocket explosions continue. And, according to the June 26th New York Times, restriction of sales is easing across the country. Only Massachusetts, Delaware and New Jersey continue to ban sales—for all the good that does us.

I just don't get it. Do you? Am I odd man out here? I know, that wouldn't be terribly unusual now would it?

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