Love and rockets

I'd like to begin today with a confession of sorts. I love BBQ. More specifically Kansas City style BBQ and a dish of dirty rice to accompany my plate of BBQ. It's delicious. I've missed my good friend, Kansas City style BBQ, for a few months now and while I am only now mildly disappointed that Piggy Blues restaurant hasn't received a shipment of their own recipe of bottled BBQ sauce for sale for far too many months, I forgive them because Josh and Andrea are good folks who make my trips back home well worth it in the dining department.

As for everyone else who made their way out to the farm for what has to be the tenth annual fireworks spectacular, I thank you. I am not responsible, though, for any burns you may have suffered from lighting fuses because nature is a fickle bitch and the wind Saturday evening just wouldn't quit. I wish we could have stuck around much longer because our current get-togethers always seem far too rushed.

Although, with any good times and gushing thak yous, I always have something to bitch about. Mainly, the quality of some of our Chinese-made fireworks. A rocket attached to a three-foot-long stick really should perform better than its smaller cousin attached to a fucking toothpick. I am disappointed because even tying three of the three-footers together made virtually no show for those watching a safe distance away.

Of course, Up By Canada Guy stole the show as usual because he is rather unburdened by financial restraints and just loves fireworks far too much. His giant Rubbermaid Tub-O-Explosives was impressive and he brought his A-game as four of us guys teamed up to set off six shells at a time without a hitch meaning that nothing blew up prematurely and the yard at the farm has no craters in it and, most importantly, nothing caught on fire. And even more importantly, I saw some hand holding... Could romance be in the air?