Fireworks, food, huge crowds... and the obligatory drunk.
Yup, our bases were all covered last night. Blake and I were, um, lucky, enough to have a live play-by-play, running commentary on last night's fireworks over Pensacola Bay courtesy of Mr. Harmonica-blowing, Coors-light-holding, slurred-words-saying, 4th celebrator. The fireworks were beautiful and very well synced with the radio. We had a good view from Bayfront Pkwy and sat next to a lovely family here visiting on vacation. The father was a serious Chatty Cathy and he talked Blake's ear off before the fireworks while I fell asleep. Don't worry, though, I was up in time for the fireworks courtesy of Elvis Presley, who looked surprisingly fit, trim and well, alive, as he walked his "singing telegram" bike down the road singing "It's Now or Never." Of course, some slightly intoxicated woman burst out into song with him, changing the tune to "Hound Dog." She was surprisingly on key, but unsurprisingly, every lyric was about two seconds shy of correct.
Our commentator for the night had a lot to say. Some fireworks were "$5 firecrackers," while he wasn't sure how much others cost, he felt sure someone else in the crowd did and repeatedly asked, "How much do you think that one cost." He was positive, though, that the state of Florida and the city had plenty of money to spend on fireworks. He also took offense to the occassional car that passed by. He expressed this by stepping closer to the car as it inched its way by the crowds, as if he wanted to fight the actual, physical car.
He was also a history buff. As he weaved his way down the street near the end of the fireworks, his commentary started to die out. It was kind of sad. Until, he shouted, "Down with the Redcoats! Down with the Redcoats!" Yeah, man, down with the redcoats.
Back home, in Upstate New York, we have an annual celebration called "Fourth on the Third." Don't ask me why, but our town's fireworks are always on the third instead of the fourth. Quirky small town life, what can I say. I love that celebration. It's been going on for many, many years. When I was little, we could see the fireworks from my house. No, my parents never took me. They're not into crowds and never felt like driving (sad, I know). I went occassionally with my cousins, but when I started dating Blake, I went every year because his family did. It was awesome. Cookout food, music, every single person in town comes out for this thing. That's not saying much. I mean, it's a town with a population of just over 2,000. We all sit in Wiles Park. The fireworks are set up close by (so close you can see the table where they're set off from. Is that dangerous, do you think?). The fireworks explode directly overhead. That's my favorite part. I love to feel that sound in my chest. I love how it looks like every single firework is going to rain down on the crowd. I love how everyone "oohs" and "aahs" the entire time.
Small-town fireworks are better. They're not as technically impressive, but they've got a lot more heart.
