Fuck Fireworks

At work Thursday, several co-workers asked me if I went “downtown for the fireworks.” After the first inquiry, I realized this was not a sexual reference, and replied “no”. And after each “no”, I was then asked. “why not?"

The “why nots” registered with me like I just said I enjoy rimming the anuses of long-haired felines in heat. I may as well have just admitted, “I’m a godless unpatriotic queer who would rather stare at the ceiling than watch fireworks” (which by the way, I am).

I am not impressed by paying money for something that you light up and use to create a loud explosion. If I’m going to spend money on something that appeals to those senses, I’m going to snort it.

The argument is, “but they are sooo pretty!!!” Well, so is my pug and he cuddles too.

And aren’t we just acting out some kind of grown up crib fantasy where the sound of shooting fireworks and light have replaced our Winnie the Pooh mobiles? (But then again, the same logic could say that rollercoasters are just a grown up version of knee bouncing horsey-rides from daddy.)

Okay, so maybe firework admiration isn’t one tier below paraphilic infantilism, but I find it about as exciting as the poop in an adult size diaper. And since I’m not into diaper fetishism, this means I think fireworks are overwhelming and shitty.

Also, aside from the actual fireworks themselves, 100,000 people were in attendance at the downtown celebration. I rarely like to be around more than one or two people—but 100,000. The population of Greensboro is just over 200,000. I find the thought of half the fucking city gathering and attempting to find parking absolutely insane, but I’m the schmucky nutcase who didn’t go downtown. And for the record, if 50% of the city was watching fireworks, it’s fair to say that another 25% were out of town and the remaining 25% were at Wal-Mart (most likely buying their own fireworks).

And I'll also note at large events that attract the family crowd—from my perspective, the only thing more terrifying/exciting/ or attention-grabbing for a child to watch than fireworks is a 450 pound person who he/or she can't really tell if is a girl or a boy.

With children, I typically feel like entertainment. My experience being fat (and I think this may be applied to other minority groups as well) is that in the eye of the general public, as a fat person I am, “Invalid, Invisible, or Entertainment.” It seems many times there is no place for me, I’m not actually seen as a real person, or I am viewed as a spectacle.

And maybe that’s one of the reasons I dislike fireworks. It’s spectacle for spectacle’s sake. With my size, most days in public I am a spectacle. I am the fireworks. When there’s a holiday, I prefer a bit of seclusion, celebration of presence and display of quiet simplicity.