fine whine

Um, yeah. So America's great and all. It was fun hanging out with The Merrills, (and) Scott's parents and some assorted schoolchildren. There may be some interesting photos of us playing with sparklers and stuff.

This entry was late because I couldn't figure out how to write it. I meant to talk about how nothing compares, fireworks-watching-wise, to laying on the Lake Michigan beach directly under the explosions, flanked by college friends and overwhelmed by what could only be described as the 'works in widescreen.

I meant to mention my fragmented memories of fireworks from Sea-World visits, with their intricate frameworks and whatnot. You know, the sort of fireworks that apparently don't seem to exist anymore, if they ever did. Nobody ever knows what I'm talking about and I'm loath to search for them.

I meant to try out some jokes about fireworks and other nations. You know, "In Soviet Russia the fireworks watch you" and things of its ilk. But I faltered.

I thought back on my twenty-four-odd years of this so-called freedom. Am I using it? Exploiting it to its fullest? Have I done my part at all? I don't think I've gotten my voter registration card back in the mail yet.

In the end, I've got this freedom to say what I want, and nothing to say. Which gives you very little to read.

I think I'll go back to doodling.

(Yankee doodling? Dandy.)