Bowlingwidow and I were talking last night. We’ve lived in the unincorporated greater Marysville-Smokey Point area for the past 16 years. But from June 20th through July 10th every year we’re actually nothing more than a suburb of Boom City on the Tulalip Rez. Not so much this year, however. I realize it’s still early in the season, but there have been only a few scattered explosions within earshot over the last few days, none of which have shaken me from a relaxing slumber, causing my heart to race and my systolic number to shoot up 10 points. And I’m loving it.
I know I run the risk of sounding anti-American here, but the Fourth of July has morphed into my least favorite holiday over the years. I like fireworks displays as much as the next person. Let’s do them on the fourth and call it a day. But nooooo. Not where we live. For three weeks surrounding the holiday you’d think that community authorities have set up checkpoints on Smokey Point Boulevard – to make sure that you’re transporting the required amount of explosives. To improve the process, I’m thinking they could slap a window sticker on vehicles (perhaps similar to the above clip art) to save them from having to perform rechecks. It’s all about being Lean, after all.
But this year….who knows? Maybe we won’t be inundated for 20 out of 24 available daily hours by the usual crop of social skill-challenged kids (and adults) who can’t understand why those of us who have to get up at insane o’clock object to their 2am mortar fest. Perhaps when I clean my yard and roof, the amount of charred bottle rockets will number in the single digits. And maybe dogs and cats will get a break from the annual war games.
Call me a curmudgeon, but I never fathomed that $4.50 for both a gallon of gas and a gallon of milk would have such a calming residual effect on me, as well as the placement of a nice sized dent in the disposable incomes of people who are amused by making stuff explode over and over and over.
I know I run the risk of sounding anti-American here, but the Fourth of July has morphed into my least favorite holiday over the years. I like fireworks displays as much as the next person. Let’s do them on the fourth and call it a day. But nooooo. Not where we live. For three weeks surrounding the holiday you’d think that community authorities have set up checkpoints on Smokey Point Boulevard – to make sure that you’re transporting the required amount of explosives. To improve the process, I’m thinking they could slap a window sticker on vehicles (perhaps similar to the above clip art) to save them from having to perform rechecks. It’s all about being Lean, after all.
But this year….who knows? Maybe we won’t be inundated for 20 out of 24 available daily hours by the usual crop of social skill-challenged kids (and adults) who can’t understand why those of us who have to get up at insane o’clock object to their 2am mortar fest. Perhaps when I clean my yard and roof, the amount of charred bottle rockets will number in the single digits. And maybe dogs and cats will get a break from the annual war games.
Call me a curmudgeon, but I never fathomed that $4.50 for both a gallon of gas and a gallon of milk would have such a calming residual effect on me, as well as the placement of a nice sized dent in the disposable incomes of people who are amused by making stuff explode over and over and over.
22 comments:
Joe, the best thing to do is to go out and buy bigger and louder fireworks than everyone else. That'll learn 'em.
Good idea. I'm actually looking for louder fireworks that play the theme from "Deliverance" as they explode.
Dueling Banjos? That would be wicked awesome!
Me, I'd like to hear gunfire after every series of fireworks noise pollution, followed by extended silence. Especially on July 4. But that's just me.
I've lived in the lovely town of M'ville for most of my life. I have never been a fireworks kind of person. Never been to boom city. Honestly, fireworks scare me. They make me nervous. Not the big fancy shows with professionals, those are cool. But it's the carp you can get at the stands. I don't mind watching someone else light them and run, but prefer that it is no one i care about too much. And, I think spending money on a big "boom" is crazy. At least get something that goes up in the air and looks all pretty. I never have to spend a penny. Just sit on my deck and watch it for free. And, I totally agree with the one day deal... it gets old after 3 weeks. My Seattle sis is still amazed at what a difference it is between Marysville and Seattle.
would it be a horrible long explanation if i ask what a "chic selection" is? referring to (D.P. blog)
after some thinking i realize it is chic, as in tres chic. my brilliant mind saw chic. as in that "chic" with the mallet is really doing some damage...
Groovelily, I've let bowlingagent know about your question and I have no doubt that he'll answer. It's just that he's been busy lately, following washed up NBA players in a gym in Monroe (yeah, that Monroe). It's actually good work if you can get it.
BowlingJoe
Wow, groovelily, am I converting you into a sports reader? Gadzooks! Anyway, "chic," in the manner I used it, meant that Russell Westbrook became a popular prediction by draft gurus who make their living in such things. For months, the prediction was that the Sonics would select Jerryd Bayless, a guard from Arizona. I'm thinking that the Sonics themselves floated that out there to disguise their hope that Westbrook would still be available. Several days before the draft, Bayless' stock went down, but to the majority, he still was the guy. To others (in smaller numbers), Westbrook became the logical alternative to Bayless. Westbrook became the "chic" or sexy pick. Still awake? Hm? Groovelily?
Update to blog: not to worry, we're back to normal around here. Saturday's explosions went well into the early hours and the festivities started again before 8am on Sunday.
There's an incredible population of bumpkins and dolts in North Marysville. It's like living on the Olympic Peninsula again (if you call that living). When I'm in charge things will change. (See bowlingagent's first comment on this blog).
I heard from bowlingwidow that groovelily is taking a few days off in sunny Leavenworth. We'll all be awaiting her tales of bratwurst and lederhosen.
It is great fun to blow things up and make things go BOOM. Unpopular neighbors' mailboxes are excellent targets. However, we only get to do it twice a year. (July 4th and New Years Eve).
Maybe we should make St. Patrick's Day and Arbor Day blow up holidays too.
Be sure to never hold a roman candle or an M-80 in your bowling hand.
Thanks for the explanation... I'll have to sit down and make a flow chart to see if i really get it or not...
For me, the most interesting part of sports are all the things that don't really interest the people who care about scores and such. I am one of those annoying people who sit next to you in a game and say things like..."why does that guy wear that thing on his elbow?" "What are those green dots on the back of the helmets?" (that one i actually google last year) "Can you believe he is wearing long socks and everyone else on the team is wearing short socks?" "Why did they come up with a shot clock?" "how does the player know his time is almost up?" "I wonder if the opposing teams talk to each other when they are in the penalty box?" "does a coach really influence the outcome of a game when you are at a professional level?" and if at a game in person, lots of people watching and eavesdropping on surrounding conversations... Yeah, that's me... I am like that three year old that doesn't shut up when ever i go to a game or watch one on tv... i really don't care about the score, i like all the other stuff. (like might be too strong of a word, it interests me)
And, bowling joe, if my house gets robbed while i am away, i am blaming you.... jk...
As much as I like most sports, I'm with groovelily in that the non-traditional answers to questions are often the most interesting. Take my friend bowlingagent for example. (No please, TAKE HIM). He can write about the stats and numbers with the best of them, but I've always told him that the columns I like the most are the one's that reveal something interesting that I've never known before. However, my personal favorite remains the one he penned a couple of years ago when he invited me to go curling with him in Seattle for a column. Some of the names have been changed to protect the humiliated. He's gonna kill me for posting this, but here goes.....after two nights of all-night explosions and a painful sore throat to boot, I simply don't give a rip....
One day as a curler: Down, and out cold
By bowlingagent/ Herald columnist
SEATTLE - Crouching low, my buddy bowlingjoe glided along the ice and effortlessly released the 42-pound rock with a slight twist of his right hand. His form was impeccable, I thought. Or maybe it wasn't.
I can't clearly recall because of the concussion. But we'll get to that later.
Upon hearing instructor David Cornfield's booming command to sweep, my broom and I went to work. I simultaneously swept furiously, keeping my broom inches ahead of the rock and used cross-steps to trot along the ice sheet. I disproved strong beliefs that all my old coaches had carried about me by doing two things at once.
"SWEEP! SWEEP!" Cornfield yelled, his voice echoing through the cavernous Granite Curling Club. "SWEEP HARD! HARD! HARD! HARD!"
Now panting like a parched Bloodhound, I swept even more vigorously as the rock slid slowly - too slowly for my taste. As we approached the house, or the target area, the rock slowed to a maddening crawl, at which point a broom-wielding Cornfield jumped in across from me and madly swept as though he wanted to turn the ice into a margarita.
The more the merrier, as far as I was concerned.
The rock finally stopped, touching the red, outer ring of the house.
We'd scored. It was an average shot at best, one greatly helped along by an expert. Big deal, I thought. Stick a point on the board.
Picture Virginia Commonwealth beating Duke. We screamed. We thrust our fists into the air. We would have kissed like soccer players, but somebody's got to draw the line somewhere.
Alert reader and avid curler Lori Wisdom-Whitely indirectly planted the bright idea into my head about trying the sport by suggesting we write something about the Junior Nationals, hosted by the GCC in north Seattle. We'd already scheduled a story of the event that week, but it got me thinking.
To research a book, George Plimpton play-acted as a quarterback at a Detroit Lions training camp. He also spent a masochistic stretch playing goalie for the Boston Bruins.
If he could do that, I thought, I could learn curling. It had to be pretty easy, I reasoned. I'd caught the sport on the tube a few times, flipping channels to find something else.
Pffft! Easy. Right-o. I should have tried something easy - like pole-vaulting or ultimate fighting.
In the past, I've parachuted and floored the gas on several muscle cars around the road course at Seattle International Raceway. But there's a lot more to curling, much more than space permits and much more than I'll ever comprehend.
I talked bowlingjoe into joining me, which speaks volumes of either my skills of persuasion or his powers of deductive reasoning. Turns out, he's a curling natural - helped, I'm certain, by his remarkable bowling skills.
Me, balance has never been my forte. Ask anybody who's watched me stumble over a painted line or lean back in an office chair until the inevitable painful, backward collision with a floor lamp.
Balance is huge in curling, a game played on ice. Ice is hard. For me, this wasn't great news.
As we were wearing street shoes, Cornfield handed us a modified "slider," or a smooth, sole-shaped shoe attachment meant to allow us a long, smooth sliding motion as we launch the rock. In theory, that is. I couldn't keep my sliding foot from jerking wildly from side to side.
I fell that day. I fell a lot. I fell on my elbows. I fell on my knees. Once, my head bounced on the ice and I didn't feel it until the next day. In the 90 minutes Cornfield patiently taught us the game, not once did I stay upright. As I write this, my right knee sports a multi-colored bruise the size of a manhole cover.
In contrast, after a few of his own unkind meetings with the ice, bowlingjoe eventually got the idea and is clearly ready for the 2010 Winter Olympics. Showoff.
I have to hand it to Cornfield, the GCC rental director and board member. Not once did let loose with a single giggle, as much as I'm sure he was tempted to. He explained the traditions and scoring, the latter of which I never, ever understood.
Cornfield taught with good humor. Asked why the game is so wildly popular in Canada, Cornfield countered, "What else is there to do on the Canadian prairie in the wintertime?"
Of every answer that flashed through my brain, curling ranked fifth or sixth, just after staying indoors and mixing Irish coffees and just ahead of contracting frostbite.
I kid, though. As difficult as curling is, bowlingjoe and I had more than our share of laughs. Fun? You bet it was fun.
We may even try it again, maybe after trying something slightly less challenging.
Like bull riding.
Your house will be fine groovelily. Nobody knows your real identity, right?
Aw, bowlingjoe, I won't kill ya. There's a thing, however, called "copyright laws" that carry with them a prison sentence of no fewer than five years. Maybe you'll be lucky and they'll ship you to Monroe, where bowlingwidow, groovelily and I can visit you.
Heh! Where ya goin', groovelily? Heh! Can I go, too? Heh-heh!
Thanks for the bit of plagerism bowlingjoe... brilliant story, and i can't wait to see in action in 2010. does the u.s. have a curling team? we must...
bowlingagent if you read all the comments, my current location is revealed... i'm hanging out with my groovykids and groovyparents in the bavarian capital of washington. lot's of horn blowing, sun shine, and chocolate peanut butter ice cream on a sugar cone.
the next time you all are planning research, and you need someone to giggle uncontrollably when you fall on your ass, let'me know.
and, of course no one knows who i am... this is all totally anonymous...right??? see ya all on friday!
bowlingjoe... i was totally trying to figure out, how the heck do i know george plimbton??? did i just read about him in that book i am reading right now? i was going to google it later if i remembered... then i hopped over to the captain's blog... Oh... that's where... :)
Ah, Leavenworth. What I wouldn't do to hit King Ludwig's right now.
Yep, same George Plimpton. I commented on Captain ILL's er....Joe's blog.
Indeed, the US does have a curling team, mens and womens. Curling is really big in the Dakotas, Minnesota and the extreme Northeast. The men actually got the bronze medal in 2006. They'll be in Vancouver for the 2010 Olympics and I think it would be really cool to go check it out.
Curling -- when I moved here and got my first look at Canadian TV, I saw curling for the first time, and thought "Well if you're just gonna invent a sport, why use brooms??"
And I think I may know a neighbor of yours on Guemes, Bowlingjoe -- I work with Barb H. at Watermark Book Co. in Anacortes 2 days a week, and she assures me that everybody knows everybody on Guemes.
Hey, David. Thanks for checking this out. I've been on your Ben Bland blog and enjoy it.
Curling is one of those things that looks far easier than it is in real life. Before I tried it, I used to think they were a bunch of glorified Molson swilling shuffleboard players on ice (not that there's anything wrong with that). Now I know that there's incredible strategy and it's damn hard work physically.
About Guemes...it's actually my father in law who lives there (I'm married to Sno-Isle's Bowlingwidow). Everyone knows him as Kick and he lives on West Shore Rd., so you can ask Barb if she knows him. He's lived there for years.
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