7/4/10

You already know the topic that will comprise most of tonight's blog post.

That's fourteen 200g cakes, fourteen 500g cakes, and fourteen 3" mortars.  My sister shot some rather amusing video that I'll be able to pass along once I have the chance to get it transferred, but for now you'll just have to take my word for it.  More accurately put, you'll have to take one word for it - phenomenal.

You'll notice that Lake Huron is nowhere to be seen in the picture above.  This part of the deal didn't occur without a bit of controversy.  After the family headed out this afternoon for a parade and a visit to the beach, neither of which held any interest for me, I managed to catch a nice nap.  When you go to bed for the night at 5:30am, an afternoon nap on the next day is always a good thing.  After they returned, my youngest brother and I headed over to my aunt's place to scope out the lay of the land.  We had a lot of work to do in order to get the fireworks ready, so we needed to have an idea of what we would be facing.

My aunt has a strip of property that runs right down to the waterfront.  There's an area that once was part of the lake, but now is mostly cattails and mud.  The geologists tell us that the earth has been springing back since the glaciers receded, so the lowlands are constantly rising and forcing more water out into the oceans.  Al Gore tells us that our cars and deodorant are the cause, but either way, the lake is smaller than it once was.  That's a fact.  Our hope was that we would be able to set up the fireworks on the dry lake bed.  After today's scouting session, I had to nix this idea.  There was no solid ground over which my brother and I would be able to walk.  Everything was swampy and inconsistent.  It would be impossible for us to get out there and set up the display.

Since we wouldn't be able to get out into the cattails, we were forced to look for a launching spot back on shore.  My aunt's lake frontage is rather narrow, but the house next door is unoccupied, leaving some extra space in which to work.  We examined the area from various angles and tried to figure out how we could make it happen.  In conclusion - we could not make it happen.  There were tall trees overhanging the area and there were no wide open spaces.

Since my aunt had been looking forward to our visit this evening, she was rather disappointed to hear that we would be forced to seek another location.  In the end, this other location turned out to be a farm that is owned by one of my father's drinking buddies.  Given that this would be the venue, in place of her sister's house, my mother was less than pleased.  What are you gonna do though?  I do get a kick out of fire and explosions and such, but I'm not about to put people in unnecessary danger.  I needed a lot of space and the farm provided a lot of space.  End of discussion.

My brother and I had a combined zero years of experience in the pyrotechnic field before today.  We had a lot of fireworks though and a bunch of people who wanted to see them explode.  We loaded three big sheets of plywood into our father's truck and piled the fireworks on top, then headed over to Tony's farm.  We had a general idea of how we wanted to organize the show, so we divided the fireworks into three groups and then got to work with the fuses.  We had some cannon fuse that burned very slowly.  We had some Perfect Fuse™ that burned at a quick but steady pace.  And we had some quick-burning fuse that covered three feet in less than a second.  A foot of this one here, eighteen inches of that one there... we set up what we hoped would be an entertaining display.

After heading back over to my parents' place and waiting for nightfall, it was time to haul everyone over to the farm and see the show.  My brother simply had to light one fuse, walk away, and hope for the best.  If we had done a good enough job of wiring everything, then the single main fuse would proceed steadily through the three firing stations and everyone would have a good time.  We hoped that this would be the case but we really didn't know for sure.  Neither of us had ever tried such a task before tonight.

After about a minute of waiting for the initial segment of cannon fuse to reach the first cake, we saw our first few mortars heading into the sky.  One after another, the segments of fuse worked exactly as we had intended - sometimes picking up the pace and sometimes slowing it down.  Once the final barrage had exploded and received a round of applause, we each looked at each other with a grin of satisfaction.  Flawless performance.  First try.  Feels pretty good man, I can't deny it.

Of course I should take at least a moment now and recall the meaning of the "bombs bursting in air" aspect of this holiday.  Still an impressive story to me, no matter how many years go by and no matter how twisted my country's perspective becomes.  Happy Independence Day everyone.

7/3/10

Do you see all of those people gathered around the fire?  Of course you don't.  There's nobody around.  It's the middle of the night and I'm the only moron who is awake.  Now you've learned as much about me as you would learn by following multiple years' posts on this web log.  I'm never quite sure when to call it quits.  Story of my life.

After a long, long night last night, I was awake pretty early this morning.  My youngest  brother and my father were going fishing, so they were up at the crack of dawn.  Since I sleep about as soundly as a paranoid cocaine addict before a court hearing, I too was up at the crack of dawn.  I managed to fall back asleep after they hit the road, so that was pretty nice.  Then, after I woke for realsies, Mom made breakfast.  That was really nice.

I spent most of the day hanging around with my niece and nephew.  As many of you already know, I tend to be an absentee uncle for the most part.  Opportunities to spend some time with my sister's kids are more than welcome, even if I do have to bite my tongue sometimes.  Not everybody has been taught in the manner that I would teach things.  They're not my kids though, so I have to restrain myself.  It's a good exercise on both sides.  Seriously.

Tonight's dinner was a combination of burgers and sausages.  Generally speaking, even when I'm the one who has shelled out the money to purchase the meat, my father is the one who does the grilling in this family.  For some reason he wasn't in the mood this evening though, so I wound up doing the cooking.  In completely unrelated news, tonight's burgers and sausages were far more flavorful and juicy than usual.  One of those weird coincidences, I'm sure.

After a delicious dinner, it was time for the transition from day to night.  I'm not entirely oblivious to the plight of many of my fellow Americans who are suffering the effects of a rough economy, so you'll understand that I'm not inclined to discuss dollar figures here.  I'll just say that I spent an awful lot of money on fireworks for this weekend.  You know what's funny though?  Quite a few of the fireworks that I purchased were bottle rockets that would provide some entertainment tonight, before my big show begins tomorrow.  Some were really loud.  Others were really colorful.  The things that caught everyone's attention though, despite their nice cheap price tag, were my sky lanterns.  I ain't gonna bullshit you.  Those things really are awesome.

The night dragged on for a while and, after my brother launched the last bottle rocket, people began to go to bed.  At first it was the usual suspects. My sister's kids were out of commision.  Then my mother.  Then my brother.  The neighbors, who had stopped by for a while, managed to retreat during this time as well.  I was left to sit by the fire with my father, my sister, and her husband.  My brother-in-law... you know... fuck it.  That's a long story.  We'll just say that Dad went to bed and then the other two followed.

And now we're left with me.  I'll have to sleep sooner or later.  It's inevitable.  For now though, the classic rock on the radio and the last few logs of firewood have convinced me to stay awake.  I have issues.

7/2/10

There are certain things that we Michiganians do as a matter of ritual.  One of these things is that we refuse to call ourselves Michiganders, whether or not our state is willing to adopt an 'official term.'  Another of these things takes place on holiday weekends.  Those of us from the southern part of the state, where there are plenty of things for civilized people to do, pack our shit and head to the northern part of the state, where there is very little for civilized people to do.  Don't ask why.  That's just the way it is.

Today began a little earlier than I would prefer, given that 10am is the earliest point at which I consider life to be worth living.  I perceive 7am to be the province of psychopaths and degenerates, but that's when I woke today.  Bummer.  I got up and headed over to the terminal in order to clear some things out of my truck.  After a lengthy stay on the road (like my most recent one), my truck tends to get a bit cluttered.  In such a case I prefer to drag everything out of the truck and then start over again.  I didn't manage to get everything out of my truck this morning, but I did make some progress.

After my trip to the terminal and a subsequent visit to McDonald's for breakfast, I had some time to kill.  I needed to get a birthday gift for my father and a few things for myself, but the stores weren't open yet.  (More proof that only an asshole would wake at 7am on a day when he didn't have to work.)  So I went home and watched another James Bond movie.

In the afternoon, after I headed back across town to the shopping mall, I noticed a couple of things.  First was that I buy my clothes in stores where very attractive people shop.  Second was that people who look like me tend to shop elsewhere.  Those people who look like me shop at places like Gander Mountain.  I can find nothing appealing about such a place (meaning that I need to work on my appearance, obviously), but I did manage to find a decent birthday gift for Dad.  Good enough.

Later in the afternoon, it was time to deal with that bizzare ritualistic pilgrimage to the northern half of the state.  I headed out along I-94 and flipped on the radio.  There were reports of tie-ups near the airport.  I live near the airport.  No traffic as far as I could see.  After I continued along for a while, there were reports of traffic along I-96 in the western suburbs.  I was on I-96 in the western suburbs.  No traffic as far as I could see.  Some time later, there were reports of traffic at a dead stop at the junction of I-96 and US-23.  I was approaching the junction of I-96 and US-23.  No traf... wait a minute... okay yeah, traffic was pretty fucked up there.  Time to duck off and get some dinner.

I got back on the road around an hour later and found that everything was rolling nicely.  Until I approached the Saginaw area, that is.

There's a stretch between Flint and Saginaw where the freeway has four traffic lanes.  Why they would get four lanes while those of us in Wayne County have to suffer through three lanes full of potholes, I don't know.  That's just the way it is.  At some point though, the four lanes are whittled down to three.  The left lane ends, so the people in the left lane should begin to merge gradually to the right.  If you think they do so... haha... I laugh at you.  Of course they don't do so.  The people in the left lane drive along until they run out of road.  Then they panic and jam themselves into the left-center lane at 10-20mph.  Then the people in the left-center lane freak out and jam themselves into the right-center lane.  Then the people in the right-center lane freak out and jam themselves into the right lane.  Hey... guess which lane has people trying to merge into it from the freeway entrance ramp on the right.  Yeah, this is what we Michiganians do on holiday weekends.  It's in our DNA.

As I sat parked in traffic on the Zilwaukee Bridge, I received a phone call from my mother.  She was wondering when I would be heading up for the family holiday weekend and such.  Already on the way, mama.  I told her of my predicament and she suggested that I should take the exit for MI-13 on the north side of the bridge.  I took the exit.  Then I sat stationary for ten minutes.  Then I wanted to kick my mother's ass.  There was a bridge under construction on MI-13, causing the delay.  After I made it across that bridge though, things shook out and the rest of the trip was fine.

The family is set to arrive up here in a piecemeal fashion.  My father has been here all week.  My mother arrived yesterday with my sister's kids.  I got here this evening.  My youngest brother showed up a couple of hours later.  My sister and her husband will be here tomorrow afternoon.  My other brother and his wife will be here on Sunday morning.  Once all is said and done, the whole crew will be around.  Then we'll head over to my aunt's place and we'll put the fear of God into anyone who wanders onto Lake Huron.  Be afraid.  Be very, very afraid.

Hey, awesome, it's the middle of the night and I'm awake after everyone else has gone to bed.  Why ask why?

7/1/10

It's the small luxuries that really matter, I think.  I had some business matters to tend this morning, so not surprisingly I couldn't sleep last night.  Story of my life.  I was sharp enough though, once I shook off the cobwebs, and everything went as well as could be expected.  After an afternoon of running around and tying up loose ends, it was time to head back home.

A buddy of mine has fallen on hard times of late, so my car is his main mode of transportation.  Since I'm out of town most of the time, there don't tend to be any scheduling conflicts.  He's not working so I do what I need to do when I'm around and he goes where he needs to go when I'm gone.  I'll be going up north to my parents' place tomorrow, taking my car with me, so he headed out to buy some groceries this evening.  Then he returned with a few 40 oz. bottles of Pabst.  This particular brew tends to ellicit images of Kid Rock or other folks of the 'wannabe trucker' variety these days.  For me though, it's a reminder of Clint Eastwood in the movie Gran Torino.  "Get off my lawn."  I love it.  I hadn't intended to have any beer tonight, but who am I to refuse a gift?  There are people in Zimbabwe who have never even heard of beer, after all.