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As another celebration of the Fourth rolls around, in many parts of the country gunshot-like sounds can be heard, the flash of explosions will litter the landscape where fireworks are legal and, often, where they are not. Fireworks stands spring up like weeds. They sprout, bloom, wither and die all within a couple of weeks.
What's left where I live, is a landscape littered with the aftermath of spent mini-munitions just outside the city limits. That is, if we're lucky. If we're not, we're left with blackened scars from fires upon a tinder dry land.
It's all part of America's love and long tradition with pyrotechnics, from Roman candles to bunker busters. Whether they be for amusement, or death, it's always about "good business." Never mind the litter of spent sparklers on roadsides, shattered nerves of wildlife and domestic animals -- or worse -- on much grander scales in places like Iraq or Afghanistan.
Sometimes I wonder why explosives as toys, or bombs as weapons, are counted as part of the Gross National Product? (Product, production, productivity implies the creation of something useful, of something "productive," doesn't it?) I mean, the sole purpose of explosives is to blow up and in the process destroy shit. But I digress.
Happy Fourth of July everybody!
* while this is just part of a quote intended for the original Declaration of Independence by Jefferson, it was edited out in order for Southern owners to sign the Declaration and still own slaves.
8 comments:
Another really fine post. My big scared dog and I have already gone into seclusion. Last meonth we started hearing either the occasional 6 or 12 rounds of .22 shots going off or they were fireworks that mimic that sound pretty well. In Utah there are not one but holidays that require vast sums be spent on blowing things up. So now I have a god who will only go out first thing in the morning to pee and whatever and then skedaddles back into the house as fast as he can. He and I weigh about the same so if he refuses to budge, there isn't much I can do about it. But to help keep him from a nervous breakdown of epic proportions, his veterinarian and I put him on anti anxiety drugs. We're driving all creatures crazy. I'm just damn glad Cyrus has such great bladder control. Man is that dog unwilling to go outside even at noon, so for nearly 24 hrs he holds it. That's Scared!
I get a bit stupid in my loquasciousness in the evening. I live with a big dog not god. If god were living with me, I'd be doing things differently. No, it's merely my big dog. Secondly, we have two holidays to spoil July. We commemorate the arrival of the Mormons, too. sigh.
Utah: No need to explain. When you said, "So now I have a god who will only go out first thing in the morning to pee," I knew exactly of whom you were speaking because, frankly, I often mistake my editor Sam for god.
Having had a flock of three greyhounds (simultaneously!) who were "gun shy" and living about a mile from our minor league baseball team's ballpark, life was very uncomfortable for them in the summer. That's because, to draw a crowd they would blow off fireworks every Friday during home stands.
So far, Sam has shown no fear of those damn "Booms!" (Thankfully.)
Well, I spoke too soon. I woke up this morning to find a bit of a lake in front of the stairs leading to the bathroom. Glad I looked before I stepped, or I'd have been madder than I was. To top it off I had a migraine. Had I stepped in the little lake, I might have ended at the bottom of that short flight of stairs, with a tile floor to land on. So, small blessings. This afternoon I was persistent enough to pry Cyrus from the house and get him to stand stubbornly, leaning on me where ever I moved us. I kept giving him the prompt to "pee pee" and finally he did. Now I'm not quite so worried we'll repeat this morning.
Hi, to Ms. Dada. When I was living in Utah I met an old, very famous Dadaist painter named Andre Masson. I sat next to him a big party in his honor, and he gave me his undivided attention, probably pissing a few of his famous friends in attendance.
Another aside; do you really have an editor? I'd damn near kill for an editor, along with an agent and a publisher.
Sorry for the long blather. I, obviously, live alone, except for Cyrus, and he is the silent type.
Sorry again. No famous Dadaist painters living in Utah. No, should be, when I was living in Italy, in 1965. See what I mean about needing an editor? God, just delete me whenever you want.
UT S, Dada's editor is of the god, er dog, variety. He has very high standards & has often put Dada on detention for days at a time.
Happy J-4th to the DADA's! This will be our first fear-free year as BOTH dogs have gone/are going deaf. When the neighborhood kids let off a series of rockets tonight, old Clyde didn't even move an eyelash. The little temporary dog isn't afraid of anything, so all we had to contend with was the burnt cordite aftersmell. We'll see how it goes tomorrow when the sustained bombardment commences. We have front row seats on our courtyard!
utah: So sorry about your migraine, but glad you noticed that wee bit of a lake before stepping in it, shooting the rapids and going over the falls (!) perhaps.
Honestly, I suspect sometimes by thinking something, i.e., "I have a god who will only go out first thing in the morning to pee" we create an idea vortex that swirls around in place and gets picked up and manifests in a new reality, i.e., "a bit of a lake" in an unusual place.
I remember studying Andre Masson back at University. Lucky you! (Lucky him!) But I did think it odd he would be in Utah. (Thanks for clarifying before I made a joke to friends about Masson and Utah -that would REALLY have been VERY Dada!)
d.k. My apologies. I typed a response to your comment the same time this morning as Utah's. But...you know how sometimes you have a window open that's not fully opened so that you think it's little "close window X" is uppermost in the right hand corner but it really isn't because the window you intend to close wasn't fully open, hence, the X belongs to another window that WAS fully open. Yep, that's where my reply to your comment went.
But there is some consolation in that because that post here in the comments section to you, turned out to be -- with Sam's help -- today's Happy Fourth of July post! (So most of it DID survive, because I had made a copy before unknowingly deleting here as a comment.)
Thanks for explaining to Utah about my editor. He's doing incredibly well, but as noted in today's blog, there is a dearth of fireworks so far this year. Tonight will tell how bad the "recession we're not in" is affecting purse strings.
How bittersweet that your "old doggers" are relieved of their angst from the pyros. I know how blessed they are NOT to hear that sh*t, yet it's sad too.
In the meantime, enjoy today's/night' fireworks. Remember, the Revolution begins this fall/winter! (I dream!)
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