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Having Too Much Fun (Mulligan)
Posted by Rob Sherwood • Monday, 2011-February-21 • 20:58
*Blogger's Note: This is the second time I've written this entry. None of the facts were changed to protect the innocent.
Lounging, reading, music, and believe it or not...fireworks! There was a perfectly good window in my train compartment but you'd have to be an idiot to look out of it because it was night and you would see nothing except your own reflection in the window. As I sat looking out the window at the speeding dark (keep your opinions to yourself, please )and as we rolled through some small town was surprised to see fireworks. Not just a firework...but the whole doggarn magilla. If they were 4th of July fireworks then the train was really running late. After deciding it might be the Grits Festival, celebrating the harvesting of the grits..well...hell...I didn't know wtf it was. I DO know it was eerie watching the rocket's red glare from a constantly changing perspective. Of course that little display sparks another spat of My Stories. ("I hate your damn stories...)
For almost 60 years I've remembered a particular Fourth fireworks display when I was about 7 or 8...or 5. The fireworks were shot off at a local softball field. The audience sat in the stands and among the tombstones in an adjacent cemetery and they fired the rockets from the area just over the center-field fence. Being showered with ash and sparks was part of the fun and it wasn't considered a success unless two or three people were seriously burned. (The local hospital's annual profit depended on a 'successful' 4th of July.)What made this particular show memorable were my antics along with about 20 other kids around the same age. We would run toward the outfield fence like an invading army taking the beach and at each BOOM and BANG would fall down in death throes of varying dramatic degree. Then we'd run back, wait for the next one, and run and "die" again. Even Patty Duke said, "That's some fine acting" and several of us won Golden Globes (but no Oscars). I know that's a silly story but it is etched in my memory and I bet they didn't have Patty Duke at the Grits Festival.
The other two memorable fireworks were in Tacoma and San Francisco and I'll save the meat of those stories for another time. One involved spending twelve hours on a blanket by the Marina saving my space and watching the Boiz and the Lesbians sashay by (This was SF) and the other was in Tacoma when they all went boom at once...the fireworks, not the Boiz and the Lesbians.
That's the end of this blog. On the original version I remarked at how boring the stories were and asked for forgiveness. When I found out my penance was the standard 7 Our Fathers, 7 Hail Marys, A Novena, and a book report on The Song of Bernadette, I decided to do it over and see if I could get a plea deal.
It was still boring.
Sorry,
Rob
Lounging, reading, music, and believe it or not...fireworks! There was a perfectly good window in my train compartment but you'd have to be an idiot to look out of it because it was night and you would see nothing except your own reflection in the window. As I sat looking out the window at the speeding dark (keep your opinions to yourself, please )and as we rolled through some small town was surprised to see fireworks. Not just a firework...but the whole doggarn magilla. If they were 4th of July fireworks then the train was really running late. After deciding it might be the Grits Festival, celebrating the harvesting of the grits..well...hell...I didn't know wtf it was. I DO know it was eerie watching the rocket's red glare from a constantly changing perspective. Of course that little display sparks another spat of My Stories. ("I hate your damn stories...)
For almost 60 years I've remembered a particular Fourth fireworks display when I was about 7 or 8...or 5. The fireworks were shot off at a local softball field. The audience sat in the stands and among the tombstones in an adjacent cemetery and they fired the rockets from the area just over the center-field fence. Being showered with ash and sparks was part of the fun and it wasn't considered a success unless two or three people were seriously burned. (The local hospital's annual profit depended on a 'successful' 4th of July.)What made this particular show memorable were my antics along with about 20 other kids around the same age. We would run toward the outfield fence like an invading army taking the beach and at each BOOM and BANG would fall down in death throes of varying dramatic degree. Then we'd run back, wait for the next one, and run and "die" again. Even Patty Duke said, "That's some fine acting" and several of us won Golden Globes (but no Oscars). I know that's a silly story but it is etched in my memory and I bet they didn't have Patty Duke at the Grits Festival.
The other two memorable fireworks were in Tacoma and San Francisco and I'll save the meat of those stories for another time. One involved spending twelve hours on a blanket by the Marina saving my space and watching the Boiz and the Lesbians sashay by (This was SF) and the other was in Tacoma when they all went boom at once...the fireworks, not the Boiz and the Lesbians.
That's the end of this blog. On the original version I remarked at how boring the stories were and asked for forgiveness. When I found out my penance was the standard 7 Our Fathers, 7 Hail Marys, A Novena, and a book report on The Song of Bernadette, I decided to do it over and see if I could get a plea deal.
It was still boring.
Sorry,
Rob
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