4th of July!

Can you feel the excitement? I know you can. It’s palpable, in your face, adrenaline-charging energy. It’s the Super Bowl of fun and it’s on our doorstep.

Sure, you can scramble across town to some parking lot somewhere, look at the sky for ten minutes, say “ooohhh” in synchronicity with a crowd of dazzled light show enthusiasts, say three different times, “Was that the finale? I think it was. No wait. This is the finale. We better get out of here before people start leaving” then jump in the car and say, “What is this idiot doing? Oh this guy is an idiot. Show’s over, pal! Vertical pedal on the right!”

You can do this, but can we be frank for a moment? (Frank won’t mind. I borrow him all the time.)

Fireworks are cool, but are they worth the aggravation? I mean, maybe if it were David Blaine shooting them out of his fingertips and blowing them out with ice breath. I’d endure the traffic and crowds to see that.

But no. It’s a couple of guys pressing buttons.

This is not to take away from the profession. Sitting anywhere near a pile of gun powder to entertain people for a brief period of time is more than I’m willing to do. The best you’ll get from me is a thirty-second sparkler show before I throw it on the ground. That’s my finale. “Did you see that? One of those sparks almost hit my arm. That was a close one! You stay here and make sure it goes out. Ta-da!”

So is there a point to all of this? Nope. I like making fun of things.

Oh wait. There is a point. Dammit. I always forget the point.

Dammit. I forgot it again.

Oh well it wasn’t important. So anyway, sparklers. Exploding fire on a stick. Here ya go, kids! Have fun!

Ok I remembered. Fireworks are cool, but they are nowhere near as cool as what’s happening at Serendipity Park on 4th of July weekend.

There will be live music, there will be karaoke, there will be games all day, there will be dancing, there will be relaxing poolside, napping, delicious food, AND sparklers.

Then after you’re done watching my fireworks show finale and throwing away the burned out stick, rather than get in your car and yell at decent people, you can hit the dance floor before a short walk to a glorious slumber. Doesn’t that sound better than unreasonably flipping off people and honking?

I don’t want to beat a dead horse, but I don’t want a beat a live one, either. I never really thought about the first guy that came up with the saying. I’m guessing he came across a guy hitting a dead horse. If I were him, I wouldn’t have talked to that guy.

“You know, you shouldn’t beat a dead horse.”

And that was probably the last thing he ever said. That’s why it’s a saying now.

Anyway, space is filling up fast. I’m not even sure there is any. I could ask, but I’d have to pick up the phone and that’s a whole thing.

I’m a busy man. I can’t be picking up the phone every once in a while and getting answers to simple questions. I have people to see, lunches to do, next levels of video games to achieve, walls to stare at (they aren’t going to stare at themselves).

So you are just going to have to pick up the phone and call. Let me get the number.

Actually, you get the number. Here you go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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