Bottlerockets Anyone?!?!?

Howdy from Texas y’all, home of the NBA World Champions, Mr. President, the Alamo, and most importantly, Judge Larry Joe from Texas Justice. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed their day off. Jenn and I were invited to hang out with some friends at this lake area but the plans quickly fell apart in ways that would take too long to explain. At the end of the day, Jenn and I cooked hamburgers on the George Foreman, tickled our painting fancies (did that make sense) and straightened up around the house.

Anyway, enough with the pleasantries, let’s get down to business. Something of controversy has found its way into the hallowed halls of our beloved dwelling. What is it you ask? Is it the recent vacancy in the Supreme Court; is it our porous borders; or is it the situation in Iraq. No, my friends, I’m talking about something big, flashy and short-lived—and no, I’m not talking about Clint’s uber-orange Kriss Kross shorts. I’m talking about the big lights that brighten skies all over the country every 4th of July. Maybe it’s the Grinch in me, but fireworks are as exciting as pulling out all my (overgrown) armpit hairs. Because of some information malfunctions with some friends of ours, we ended up back at home, away from a “fireworks-in-the-park type of celebration. Because of this, I knew there would be no “fireworks” at home unless I rectified the situation. It was a bumpy road.

Husband’s note: Fireworks on the TV and fireworks in person are not the same, nor ever will be as long as I am alive (which may not be very long).

Anyway, while watching a TV celebration, Jenn and I had a conversation on said topic and I’d thought I share some actual quotes and actual observations from my actual wife (who is very beautiful and very understanding).

Fireworks are cool if you’re right underneath them because they’re big and you feel the source of the sound.

Well, first off, if you’re right underneath the fireworks, you somehow got past security. Second, if all you want is big and lot’s of sound, I saw a 52” plasma TV with HD capabilities at Best Buy. I still don’t understand what the big deal is. You just come home from the park with a ring in your ears and a kinked neck, kind of like when you sit on the front row in a movie theater—and no one wants that.

It’s just amazing to see something actually explode

Now, I must say that on the surface, this seems like a valid point. It is the one time when exploding things is legal. I feel I must note, however, that someone else exploding something, and you actually exploding something is very, very different. Of course, blowing up happens frequently here, just ask the Piston’s 4th quarter defense and anyone who eats at Taco Cabana.

Will you take me to Boston next year?

Let me explain this quote by saying that the Boston Pops and Utah’s beloved Keith Lockhart did a special last night on CBS. Like us, I’m sure you were all flipping between the 4th of July special and re-runs of Seinfeld on PAX because those are the only two channels you get… Anyway, with panoramic crowd shots, loads of lighting, and lots of camera flashes, Boston seemed to have a pulse—which is more than I can say for Kevin O’Connor on draft day. One scouting report I read on Deron Williams said he is (paraphrasing) “big for a point guard, not very quick, and an average shooter. Great all-around.” Did I miss something? Where is he great all around? What, just ‘cause he wears 46-inch Dockers. I hope I’m proven wrong. And the second pick, who’s name I forgot, was described as (paraphrasing) “pretty athletic, fundamentally immature, must improve outside shooting. Favorably compared to Deshawn Stevenson.” Jazz Fans: Be very, very scared. (pulling sheets over my head).

And Clint, I know I always said he was my boy and what not. Well…err..uhh…JUST BACK OFF, ALRIGHT!!!

Yet I digress...

The finale makes or breaks the show. With a weak finale... well, the finale makes it worth it. You feel like you’ve wasted your time without a great finale.

Quick, call Guinness, I think my wife just broke the world record using the word finale 4 times in 7 seconds. I think she just likes saying the word. By the way, I was just learned that it is pronounced “finawlee”, not Finale with a short ‘a’—and I’m the one with the Master’s degree, whatever that means. I should petition the expertise of Mom, whose knowledge in the French language is unmatched—(Do you still put that on your resume)? “I mean, it’s a good language, right?”

Anyway, I told Jenn that we might be able to catch some fireworks from our excluded balcony while sipping margaritas (virgin, of course). She told me that if there weren’t any fireworks, I would have to take her somewhere next year where there was. Deal! So after fruitless trips to our balcony, I was convinced that I would need to start planning right away—that is, until I spotted some about 30 miles away. They were beautiful. Granted, you had to stand on a stool, hold on to the side of the rain gutter, and risk falling through the neighbor’s window, but hey, anything for a romantic night. I rushed in, told Jenn there were fireworks outside and we watched with strained necks the last of the explosions. By the way, “that is what a weak finale looks like!”

We had everything that night: Romance, good weather, no traffic, and most of all, fireworks.

I’m sure someday I will grow to understand the importance of fireworks in my life. From now on, though, “fireworks are fun and romantic” (breaking out in cold sweat with gun pointed at my head).