It's a party.

Four down, one hundred and thirty-four to go.  Yay us.

Happy Birthday "Murica."  Let's go blow shit up.

I don't get it.  People are talking about spending $300-$400 bucks on fireworks for the 'Holiday'.  Is it really that much fun? 

No, I'm not a complete stick in the mud fuddy duddy.  I have spent money on smoke, fire and noise.  But never more than a couple of sawbucks.  Like many things with me, a little goes a long way.  A gross of bottle rockets usually sated me with a few dozen to spare.  "Here kid, you want these?  I'm done with 'em."

Several years ago a large group of us had a yearly blowout birthday bash for America.  Everyone pitched in to buy an assortment of explosives, a pot luck barbecue and beer, sometimes lots of beer, food and explosives.  Some of our shows bordered on legendary.  Well, okay.  Truthfully, maybe not so legendary.  But close enough that people we didn't know came to watch.  Usually from the safety of their cars parked at the end of the road.   Evidently, they weren't completely insane.  They left that to us.

Bottle rocket and Roman candle wars for some of us.  Not this one, I don't enjoy getting shot at and usually hit, I do present a large, slow-moving target.  I chose to spend my afternoon in the shade and armed with a cold beer or two, (okay, maybe more than two, the cooler was always within reach.) selecting, arranging and preparing music playlists. Classic rock for the big party, and usually appropriate patriotic and classical for the big show.  The crossover segue was usually Mr. Jimi's version of the Star Spangled Banner.  Our shows usually lasted the best part of an hour or more. 

With the last bomb's bursting we switched back to rock, more beer, and more food.  The die hard resumed their war, the temporary cease fire to bury the dead, or make a resupply run to the nearest firework stand over.

The next morning the farm always looked a war zone.  Along with the detritus of the spent ordnance the field was littered with dead and dying soldiers.  Geez, people, if you're gonna drink, pick up your bottles. 

Okay, maybe I get it just a little.  Happy Birthday America. 

Five down, one hundred and thirty-three to go.  Yay me.

Thanks for coming, don't drive drunk...

With luck, see you tomorrow.