Tuesday, July 08, 2014

Blowing things up

I have never ever lived in a city / region that loves to use any excuse to blow sh*t up like the Bay Area does. Between the World Cup and the 4th of July, this town has and will sound like a war zone for the better part of a month and then some.  What I mean by this is car alarms constantly going off and dogs have barked themselves almost hoarse in end of the world terror.  [Owners, please consider sedatives. Please.]

We won? LET'S BLOW SH*T UP!
We lost? LET'S BLOW SH*T UP!
Tomorrow is the day before the 4th of July? LET'S BLOW SH*T UP!
Today is the 4th of July? Hell yeah, LET'S BLOW SH*T UP!
It's the weekend after the 4th of July? LET'S BLOW SH*T UP!


I'm not against it and not being judgmental, but it never ceases to amaze me how what are actually signifiers of war and aggressive action are somehow celebrated and embraced as demonstrations of freedom, peace, and joy without a thought toward the fact that explosives and the explosions that seem so pretty from a ball field or a backyard are the same type of explosives that are commemorative of the weapons exchanges that have otherwise cost people their limbs, their lives, or loss of the loved ones to those who simply wanted them to come home, while the explosions looked just as spectacular.  It remains a grey area of which I have not yet made peace with.  Yes, pun intended.

But, yeah, LET'S BLOW SH*T UP!!! Right?

I really wish I could've gone back East this year [TS Arthur notwithstanding] to meet family that I've never known existed. Or up North, to my family of choice. Mainly, though, I wish I could stretch out on the grass in the humid evening air, soaking in the quiet as I watch the fireflies do their dance, briefly alighting on me [obviously not so much in the PNW, but you get my drift], while listening to my family and friends laugh, smelling a good barbeque, drinking a good beer and feeling so much quiet gratitude.

With no explosions.


I didn't get to. Not this year. But a girl can always dream.

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