Fireworks

Good 'ol Independence Day. 231 years on and this doesn't mean very much to me. Perhaps it is because I am recently working the kinks out of a rampant Anti-American attitude. I am not as hard-core about this as in the past and actually, y'know, my home country has quite a lot that's good. Like the Grand Canyon or ice cream sundaes.

But what is possibly the best thing about the 4th of July is the fireworks. Fireworks and I have a long and varied love affair stretching back till I was about 8 years old. I called my father yesterday and when I told him of going to a rooftop party to see the good fiery stuff he muttered sarcastically, "Hmm. Yeeaahh. I think I remember you maybe liking those." Then I was off giggling about the time I lit up "snake pellets" near the petrol can in my garage at 10 years old. I'm not sure if he was quite as amused as I was, though. No, definitely not. There was some shouting about that stunt, I think.

Last night on the way to the party it was like being in a war zone somewhere in Afghanistan. Loud booms and missile type whistles were sounding off in every direction. Down alleys, on the side-walks, in the streets. The air was acrid with firework smoke. It was exciting and frightening at the same time. Four of us were driving in a mini-van (yes, a minivan for chrissakes) and here was me holding some rockets. Outside to our right were two 12 year-olds lighting stuff off at van-eye-level! There was a rubbish bin between us but still. B shouted, "Oh shit! Roll the window up!" and then he gunned it up the road whilst passing more ghetto firecrackers. They seem to be an excuse to do damage or naughty things in general and not get caught because there is chaos everywhere and nothing can be traced to the people lighting them off improperly.

At the party I was carrying these large rockets that looked like Serious Stuff. There were 5 or so and they looked like giant crayons stuck on a stick wrapped in plastic. No one was gonna fuck with me! This was the funny attitude I was taking but no joke, people treat you with respect when they see rockets in your arms. "Hey. Nice bouquet." Some guy commented. And everyone made way when they saw my explosive flower bouquet. But it was all mouth and no trousers. The rockets were actually just stinky smoke thingys that you light up and gas innocent people. Wait. Rewind. I mean, make the air smell crap with colored smoke like a giant version of the smoke bombs being chucked from the roofs onto the streets. Not actually gassing innocent people. That is just evil and wrong.

I realise that fireworks can be very dangerous. Like from the blister I now have from a stray spark and the fear of A lighting my hair on fire whilst leaning back too far to chuck a sizzling cracker. I do sincerely hope no one was hurt or affected by our little pyro adventure. We were actually quite tame compared to some of the parties gathered in the streets.

Watching the massive fire displays across the Chicago sky was magnificent. Whenever I see them I always get very quiet and still and can't stop staring. I honestly can't speak. The girl next to me kept a running commentary on the whole thing and I wished fervently that she would eat a brat so that I could watch the beautiful scene in somewhat peace. But it was still good. Great, actually.