Saturday, July 05, 2008

Pop, Pop, Pop, Pop, Pop...Pop, Pop, Pop...

No, that's not the sound of champagne in celebration of a multibook deal.

It's the incessant sound of neighborhood fireworks. Sigh.

At the risk of sounding un-patriotic, can I just say, enough already??

Seriously. Let me explain. I live in New Jersey where fireworks are ILLEGAL. You must have a professional license to set off a fireworks display, and the average citizen is not allowed to buy and/or use fireworks of any kind at any time of the year.

This law stops no one.

We have neighbors who start the pop-pop-popping around July 1st and don't stop until sometime close to August when their illegal supply runs out. Likely they hop over the border to Pennsylvania where they're happy to sell fireworks to New Jerseyans. Make sense? Yeah. No.

Now, as much as I hate firecrackers [I like actually fireworks displays as much as the next person] I can tolerate the INCESSANT percussive noise for a little while on the Fourth of July because hey, people THINK they're being patriotic by breaking the law and disturbing the peace.

Unfortunately when people start at 4:00 PM and don't stop until after 11:00 PM [did I mention it's ILLEGAL??] it wears a little thin after about the sixth straight hour of pop, pop, POP - followed by bang, bang, BANG!

To my neighbors, who at all other times of the year pretty much keep to themselves and don't bother me, I say:


Doesn't it get tiring after a while? Don't you run out of matches? Don't your ears hurt? How about stopping for dinner, or a potty break? How much money did you spend on fireworks anyway?? Hundreds? Thousands? Do you ever sleep? For heaven's sake, people - take a break and let the rest of us finish a thought without being inter--pop, pop, POP!


Jen said...

OMG -- I was complaining to the Dog of Death about the same thing as he cowered beneath the furniture for seven straight hours.

Bernadette Gardner and Jennifer Colgan said...

Tell me about it. Saber is too big to get under any furniture, so he cowers at my feet the whole time or breathes in my face like he does during thunderstorms. If I could bottle 'terrified dog breath' and send it over to my neighbors as a gift, I would.