Indeed, This is a surprise!

A rare Saturday post! I was just bored really. Tanya’s still asleep. I can’t sleep past seven. Damn, I’m an old man!

“What could TAM possibly have to write about so early on a Saturday?” Well, I’ll tell ya’.

I slept like hell last night. I’m real tired now. Why would so many things conspire to destroy my peaceful rest?

It was hot in the bedroom. Sad but true, it must have been 70 degrees in there! That’s hot for me now. All this below average Los Angeles weather has set my internal comfort thermostat at 65°.

Tanya was rolling over like a rural route school bus on an icy mountain road. She’ll keep rolling and making a horrible noise until she hits something. Usually me. Okay, always me. There’s no one else to hit, is there?...Is there?...IS THERE!?

Oh, did I mention the goddamned FIREWORKS?!

Yeah, fucking FIREWORKS!

Right next door…at one o’clock in the morning! The not-so-funny thing about it, is that I was having a tough time sleeping before the fireworks show started. And I’m not just talking about some firecrackers or roman candles or bottle rockets or anything like that. I mean the full on rockets red glare and bombs bursting in air.

They were the kind of explosives that you find resting in the corner of the Indian fireworks stand. The kind that they only have one of because it costs too much and – it may be the Fourth of July – but nobody really wants to die.

The problem is that it’s not the freaking Fourth of July! It’s not even Chinese New Year. I know these things; I checked the calendar last night in a half asleep haze.

There was a Chinese Dragon Boat Festival, but that was on Tuesday. And the Luling, Texas Watermelon Thump was Thursday. And I’m pretty sure that you don’t light off fireworks in celebration of the first quarter moon. Bullwhacker Days are today, but that’s over in Olathe, Kansas.

Maybe they were celebrating Gay Pride Day, two days early? Well, I’ve got news for you assholes. You’re assholes.

Well stated, say I.

These fireworks assholes make me angry on many different levels. They woke me up and scared the crap out of me by exploding gunpowder right outside my bedroom window. But most of all is the fact that I didn’t go down and yell at them.

Here’s the problem with that. The kind of people that shoot off fireworks for no reason at one o’clock in the morning aren’t the type of people who are just going to apologize and head to bed.

They’re the kind of people that make you feel like some kind of crotchety ogre, just because you don’t want to listen to them! Somehow, you’re the biggest grouch in the whole world:

“Hey man, just lighten up. Have some fun. Don’t be an asshole, You’re not the God of the world you know…”

They always look at you like they’re surprised that someone could live such a joyless life.

“Man, what’s wrong with that guy? Did his entire family die in some tragic mountain school bus accident or something? Why can’t he just enjoy the free show? He’s probably having some kind of Vietnam flashback. After all, he’s like…30!”

Dicks.

I hate them, and I never even met them. See, those assholes are making me feel like a crotchety ogre NOW!

Whatever. People gotta’ sleep. No one needs fireworks. And don’t give me that crap about gunpowder and the industrial revolution. Tell it to the Indians who lost their land to the demon gunpowder – while you buy some illegal fireworks from them.


Fun Fact: From anecdotage.com:

While performing with The Who on "The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour" one night in 1967, Keith Moon decided to surprise the audience by augmenting the band's standard pyrotechnic display with an enormous charge of gunpowder. At the end of "My Generation," Moon detonated his drums.

The upshot? Moon was blown into the air and cut by flying shrapnel from his cymbals. The explosion fried a camera, the studio's monitors, and much of guitarist Pete Townshend's hair, and left Townshend with permanent hearing damage.


Dumbass.

Great music though. Too bad you’re dead.