Yesterday night, as my brother and I were driving home (or rather, I was driving home and J-man was sitting in the passenger seat), my bro suddenly said "What? Fireworks?" or something towards that end. Sure enough, I looked where he was looking, and there were fireworks going off. Nice fireworks, too, obviously not put on by some kid in their backyard.
Interested, we put it to a vote and unanimously decided between the two of us to take a (long) detour home in order to get closer to the fireworks.
Here was my thought process:
"Fireworks? Why fireworks on such a random day? Wait... what day is it, anyways? Next week will be the 18th... which means today is the 11th. Of September. September 11th? What the... Why would anybody be lighting fireworks, which are usually considered celebratory, on 9-11?"
Now slightly concerned that there may be a crowd of jubilant Palestinians or other "unwesternized" Muslims invading my city, I continued driving towards the colourful explosions. Trying to plot my route to the fireworks was hampered by the fact that I didn't know where they were being set off from. In order to amend this situation, I began to list off nearby places conducive to crowds and fireworks.
The first one I listed was Spruce Meadows.
"Oh, yeah," I said to my brother, after musing aloud about the possibility of an anti-American militant Islam fireworks crowd (which he didn't quite buy), "Spruce Meadows is hosting the Masters tournament this week."
Ah. So we finished our long detour home, watched an episode of Babylon 5 and didn't have any nightmares at bedtime, after all.
"It wasn't the reaction I was expecting. I thought a couple of things might have landed on my head." Dennis Wise