So does bad writing. Let me try that again.
I have to admit: I'm not lazy, I'm not weak on ability, I don't hate my job. I just ain't got no discipline. And rather than force myself into some role, maybe it's better I try to live within my nature.
In other words, I'll work better today if I do something creative first. Even a dumb little blog post sharing pictures. Three's a magic number, will go with that.
And guess what? As usual I'll write too much. Less is only more if you're disciplined.
Sat. night we went down to the shopping mall for the fireworks show. The mall was built in 1970, back when Aerojet and Mather AFB drove construction of new suburbs out into the farm country. Now the farms are completely forgotten and the AFB is closed and Aerojet a shadow of its former self, and the suburbs run down and oil-stained, full of people by no means envisioned by the original developers: Gangs, immigrants, the working poor. And me.
Thus the crowd had a peculiar misshapen look to it. Actually, that's just a matter of style. Anyone in an over-long t-shirt and shorts down to their ankles and a haircut inspired by watching gangland documentaries looks misshapen to me, and that about covers everyone under thirty-five these days. So, I dunno, the crew-cut little kids being pushed around in strollers by slouching couples buried in tatts and bad hair will probably grow up to be very prim and focused. Fascists, most likely.
There was a carnival filled with about thirty thousand brats whose parents bred too young. We walked through the press, enjoying the sights, sounds, smells. Rickety vomit-rides hauled off truck trailers, "games" where gravel-voiced barkers exhort passersby to win faded plush toys of last year's fad animal-character, a single "food" concession beset with hundreds of people yearning for that elusive perfect corn-dog. Warmth recycled from the July sun rose into the night air from the asphalt.
Further out in the parking lot was the rock station tent, handing out bumper stickers, and around a corner there was a concert going on. Local blues-harp phenomenon Kyle Rowland was down with a solid band. We saw him at the Jubilee -- just fifteen, and an amazing musician. Really enjoys himself too. If he keeps that happy spirit and avoids the pitfalls of most young talent, he will have a great life.
The fireworks were cool, always are. Out in the back parking lot, music provided by numerous random car radios all tuned in to the same station, people out in their lawn chairs basically tail-gating. It was fun, a happy crowd, a family crowd. Afterwards we predicted the traffic would be ridiculous and went to a bar to wait it out, enjoyed watching the stop-and-stop traffic for a full hour as people tried to thread their way out of the mall and through the intersection.
3 comments:
it all depends on how you define "disciplined"
I laugh to myself about how the hoards will like their many tats 20 or 30 years from now. We never think we will change. But oh, we do.
Seems like a lovely time.
Post a Comment