Exit 77 - Normal - 1 Mile
Jul. 6th, 2008 12:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
captainsblogHaving this long weekend come to a close is coming as more of a relief than anything else. I've spent more time alone in the past three days than I normally do in a month, and it's a whole handful of Not Fun. Eleanor's working again, probably until at least 5, and Em will get back sometime today, but depending on how busy the inbound international bridges are, it could be well past bedtime.
Some of it is (are?) the fireworks. Every year, we get at least double doses of professional-grade shows being launched within walking distance of our home: UB's on the night of the 4th itself, and then another volley the next night from the country club just across Sheridan which practically drops the exploded shells on our front lawn. They're beautiful and patriotic and all, but they scare the shit out of our oldest dog. A year ago, our new cross-street neighbors celebrated their first 4th in their new home by setting off a bunch, freaking the dog so badly that we had to go over and ask them to stop. They've never been particularly friendly to us since that, but I'll defend our animals over any friendship any day.
One of my earliest memories of a pet, in fact, was that of a dog around the corner. Her name was Sandy (which I probably remember on account of it matching our oldest sister's name), and best as I can remember she was a collie-somethingish mix. I was maybe 4 when I'd go over there to play with the kids there, and Sandy was a friendly and tolerant girl. One July day, though, she was gone. The July 4 fireworks had freaked her so badly, she turned on one of their kids, and she got promptly put down. I still think of that when I see, especially, stupid homegrown efforts that seem destined for Darwin award status.
Not that the professionals are exempt. Checking my original hometown paper for sports and weather earlier today, I read that parks officials closed the major South Shore beach for all of yesterday after a bunch of unexploded shells, presumably from the professional show two nights before, began washing up on shore:
The Chinese-made shells ranged from three to eight inches in diameter, and included such varieties as the "Green Willow" and the "Golden Coconut." All were marked "dangerous" and "for professional use only."
Ah, leave it to the Chinese to come up with such innocuous names for weapons of mass destruction. Yet their stupidity pales in comparison to that of good old American opportunism:
Police ask that anyone who may have taken a shell home to call 911 to have it disposed of.
Um, sorry, coppers, but anyone idiotic enough to take an unexploded M-80 home with them is probably not the type to turn them in :0
----
I'm actually looking forward to a day and a half of normalcy before hitting the road mid-Tuesday. I'm also fully expecting all kinds of things, good and possibly bad, to pile up for the two-plus days I'm away from here. If you're in NYC environs and I have your mobile, you'll probably get a test text from me before I leave, since I'll be email-less from late Tuesday on. Then, when I know when I'll be closer, I'll try to nail something down.
Something other than an unexploded shell, that is.
Some of it is (are?) the fireworks. Every year, we get at least double doses of professional-grade shows being launched within walking distance of our home: UB's on the night of the 4th itself, and then another volley the next night from the country club just across Sheridan which practically drops the exploded shells on our front lawn. They're beautiful and patriotic and all, but they scare the shit out of our oldest dog. A year ago, our new cross-street neighbors celebrated their first 4th in their new home by setting off a bunch, freaking the dog so badly that we had to go over and ask them to stop. They've never been particularly friendly to us since that, but I'll defend our animals over any friendship any day.
One of my earliest memories of a pet, in fact, was that of a dog around the corner. Her name was Sandy (which I probably remember on account of it matching our oldest sister's name), and best as I can remember she was a collie-somethingish mix. I was maybe 4 when I'd go over there to play with the kids there, and Sandy was a friendly and tolerant girl. One July day, though, she was gone. The July 4 fireworks had freaked her so badly, she turned on one of their kids, and she got promptly put down. I still think of that when I see, especially, stupid homegrown efforts that seem destined for Darwin award status.
Not that the professionals are exempt. Checking my original hometown paper for sports and weather earlier today, I read that parks officials closed the major South Shore beach for all of yesterday after a bunch of unexploded shells, presumably from the professional show two nights before, began washing up on shore:
The Chinese-made shells ranged from three to eight inches in diameter, and included such varieties as the "Green Willow" and the "Golden Coconut." All were marked "dangerous" and "for professional use only."
Ah, leave it to the Chinese to come up with such innocuous names for weapons of mass destruction. Yet their stupidity pales in comparison to that of good old American opportunism:
Police ask that anyone who may have taken a shell home to call 911 to have it disposed of.
Um, sorry, coppers, but anyone idiotic enough to take an unexploded M-80 home with them is probably not the type to turn them in :0
----
I'm actually looking forward to a day and a half of normalcy before hitting the road mid-Tuesday. I'm also fully expecting all kinds of things, good and possibly bad, to pile up for the two-plus days I'm away from here. If you're in NYC environs and I have your mobile, you'll probably get a test text from me before I leave, since I'll be email-less from late Tuesday on. Then, when I know when I'll be closer, I'll try to nail something down.
Something other than an unexploded shell, that is.