| Sunday, July 4, 2004 |
03:35 - Food, Folks, & Fireworks
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Well, we've just finished up an evening of some twelve or so people over for the first real outdoor barbecue that used the new deck and hot tub—the real christening of it, as it were. Lots of burgers and corn and chili was downed by all, as pops and bangs and whizzes for hours on end signalled fireworks going up from every backyard and open field surrounding us, and many friends who hadn't seen much of each other lately all got to catch up with one another.
Even political snarkiness was put aside—TV channels covering the fireworks displays in local cities had shown nonstop reels of parades and band concerts from all over the Bay Area; yes, there were tanks rolling down Main Street USA—but they were being driven by giggling blonde newswomen who showed off how easily their treads could crush cars. I'd all but forgotten about current events by nightfall.
We even used my bedroom suite's entertainment-center setup for the first time, watching the first seven episodes of Firefly on DVD—quite possibly the best-written sci-fi series I've yet seen (it manages to be an immensely detailed grunge-future serial, a violent period spaghetti western, and a raucous character comedy all at the same time, where every cliché plot point invariably takes a wild turn just to throw you off... and check out those IMDB comments, where some cheese Danish dismisses it contemptuously as "basically as American as it's possible to get." Sweet!). It lasted long into the wee hours, and even Capri seemed to sense that tonight was something on the special side, because he didn't hide out in a dark corner or anything, or even let me take him for a walk—he crawled up onto the couch and wedged himself between whatever humans would make room for him, there to lay down a thick layer of collie hair across the cushions and contentedly drool down our legs.
This is my kinda holiday.
Seriously, get a load of that commenter. The only redeeming feature of the series, to him, is the "great-looking female characters", whom he then proceeds to rank on the basis of lavish descriptions of their appearance. The male characters rate only sentences in passing (presumably because they don't have enough boobs), and the whole "Space Western" premise merits only snarling barbs from his scandalized European sensibility.
I'm liking this show more and more!
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Brian Tiemann
