The Fourth of July just passed us by and as I sat on a rooftop, many of my friends stood in appreciation of the rockets red glare and the bombs bursting in air. I sat, sipped my drink and let out a sigh. Fireworks do nothing for me.
Every year, around this time, grown men and women get giddy as schoolchildren awaiting the next Harry Potter movie to see these extravaganzas. They pack up picnic baskets and coolers and sit in the grass, or on a hill, maybe even on the hood of their cars and gaze up with anticipation for the spectacle of lights cascading across the night sky. Then inevitably sit in traffic cursing everyone for their stupidity. It's as American as apple pie.
I've always felt that the only reason anyone really likes fireworks is because they have always been connected to sexual situations. The phallic rocket pointing upward higher and deeper into the dark sky until it explodes. The explosions getting bigger and brighter until the climactic finale. That feeling afterward that you've seen something or felt something magical. Sure, I get it, but fireworks don't come with spooning or a cigarette. Although in some cases they do compare with that awkward "is it time for me to get up leave yet" feeling. Seriously, if you take the sexual connotation away, fireworks aren't that exciting. Sure for kids, whose sensory organs go into overdrive, it is amazing, but for adults, come on, we're thinking about one thing. Sex!
I guess I can trace my dislike of fireworks back to May 24th, 1983. This day was the centennial celebration for the Brooklyn Bridge. That night I saw the most amazing display of fireworks I had ever seen. The date also coincided with my soon to be 13th birthday and a heightened awareness of sexuality. That night was the first time I understood the connection between what was happening in the sky and in my pants. It would be a few years before my personal fireworks occurred with another person, but I had enough practice to know that it sure beat the hell out of watching an overgrown bottle rocket. So the ultimate fireworks show basically dampened all further fireworks shows. After that night they were all just lights in the sky. Maybe in some way, for a teenager, their first experience is like that Brooklyn Bridge night. I mean I remember everything about that moment too...right down to what song was playing. Maybe I remember because it was on when I started and on when I ended, nevertheless, I remember it vividly.
So there you have it. It's not a very complex tale, but it's my take on the whole situation. Hopefully, I haven't ruined fireworks for anyone reading this. Hopefully, the next time you see a beautiful explosion of color in the sky, your thoughts aren't directed to a fumbling teenage boy trying to do his best to prolong his first show. I hope that you can enjoy them for what they are. To me they will always be a surrogate sexual experience being shared by a few hundred, sometimes thousand people and that is just a little awkward if you ask me.
Every year, around this time, grown men and women get giddy as schoolchildren awaiting the next Harry Potter movie to see these extravaganzas. They pack up picnic baskets and coolers and sit in the grass, or on a hill, maybe even on the hood of their cars and gaze up with anticipation for the spectacle of lights cascading across the night sky. Then inevitably sit in traffic cursing everyone for their stupidity. It's as American as apple pie.
I've always felt that the only reason anyone really likes fireworks is because they have always been connected to sexual situations. The phallic rocket pointing upward higher and deeper into the dark sky until it explodes. The explosions getting bigger and brighter until the climactic finale. That feeling afterward that you've seen something or felt something magical. Sure, I get it, but fireworks don't come with spooning or a cigarette. Although in some cases they do compare with that awkward "is it time for me to get up leave yet" feeling. Seriously, if you take the sexual connotation away, fireworks aren't that exciting. Sure for kids, whose sensory organs go into overdrive, it is amazing, but for adults, come on, we're thinking about one thing. Sex!
I guess I can trace my dislike of fireworks back to May 24th, 1983. This day was the centennial celebration for the Brooklyn Bridge. That night I saw the most amazing display of fireworks I had ever seen. The date also coincided with my soon to be 13th birthday and a heightened awareness of sexuality. That night was the first time I understood the connection between what was happening in the sky and in my pants. It would be a few years before my personal fireworks occurred with another person, but I had enough practice to know that it sure beat the hell out of watching an overgrown bottle rocket. So the ultimate fireworks show basically dampened all further fireworks shows. After that night they were all just lights in the sky. Maybe in some way, for a teenager, their first experience is like that Brooklyn Bridge night. I mean I remember everything about that moment too...right down to what song was playing. Maybe I remember because it was on when I started and on when I ended, nevertheless, I remember it vividly.
So there you have it. It's not a very complex tale, but it's my take on the whole situation. Hopefully, I haven't ruined fireworks for anyone reading this. Hopefully, the next time you see a beautiful explosion of color in the sky, your thoughts aren't directed to a fumbling teenage boy trying to do his best to prolong his first show. I hope that you can enjoy them for what they are. To me they will always be a surrogate sexual experience being shared by a few hundred, sometimes thousand people and that is just a little awkward if you ask me.
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