Who do I still think I am??

This one's about a park, fireworks, and fears.

30DBC PROMPT: "While walking in the park one day... Who do you encounter? What memories enter your mind?"

What up y'all? I've got a full belly from free pizza and wings at work today honoring us people who show up and deal with a less-desirable segment of the population, and it's taking all I've got to resist catchin' a nap in this super ridiculous heat and humidity...this might be one of those entries where I wind up dozing off about halfway through it if I'm not careful. And if I bore myself, I can only imagine what you, the reader, must be going through.

There's a tiny little memorial park a couple blocks from my house. It's mostly just open green space with a fountain and some benches. I haven't been to it yet this summer, but last year I went a couple times just to read while catching some sun. On a day like today it's nice sitting by the fountain, because when the breeze hits the fine mist blowing off feels incredibly refreshing. I love how there's a "No Swimming" sign...I wonder who had to be the first idiot that was caught trying to use a six foot in diameter times one foot deep fountain as a pool. How can that even be comfortable? And why am I even surprised, given some of the characters I've come across so far in this weird little town?

I don't even know that I'd consider this park to be a true park...there's no playground or picnic tables, and although there's a pop-up amphitheater there on occasion, it has the feel more similar to a vacant lot than anything else. I guess it's peaceful; I've never really paid attention and I've never been bothered by anyone, but I'm also a bit on the antisocial side when I'm out in public these days. I think it's bad form trying to talk to someone whose face is buried in a book, even if it's just to remark what a lovely day it is.

Now that I'm thinking about it, I lied...I stopped at that park on Monday to have lunch before an appointment. Sandwiches are portable and awesome like that.

I don't have much in the way of memories regarding parks other than the typical stuff...of course the minute I hit send on this entry and proofread it and never read it again I'll be hit with a flood of images of all the cool stuff I did and the things that legends are made of. I always get an itch around this time of year to shoot hoops; basketball courts always used to attract girls- the kinds of girls who could get away with ogling and flirting if you had mad baller skills (which I used to have). Some chicks dig a nice swish (or whatever you'd call the sound a ball passing through a net made of chain without touching the rim would make).

I think in almost every car I've ever owned I rolled with a basketball in it. Because you never know when you're gonna feel the need to pull over and run a quick game of 21 on your boy. Back seats looked more like locker rooms in the summer. I could drop a beat like super-old Public Enemy   or A Tribe Called Quest   and be ready to drain threes on you instantly, as in minimal warm-ups. I'd be that kid pullin' up in the nine-trey Cavalier with my Jason Kidd Mavs jersey and my Kurt Rambis goggles, gettin' picked last for full-court five-on-five because I was the shortest, goofiest-lookin' chump out there until I started runnin' the point...and then I'd be the first pick in every subsequent game the rest of the afternoon. I'd run with kids who played ball for school, and they'd ask me why I never went out for the team...I never gave myself a chance to, because in gym class kids were unforgiving and the really good players wanted to show off in front of inferior competition. Plus I was a wrestler (and I was better at that), which would've conflicted with b-ball season. And organized sports are always way more technical than street games...well-honed instincts and skills trump most playbooks, in my opinion. Just give me the ball and let me create somethin' outta nothin'...ain't no time to draw things up and hope for execution when you can just make things happen.

Man...now I really wanna pop some j's. There's a court right next to the CVS across the street from my building. If ever there were a drawback to breaking your leg, the lack of basketball in my life during the hot summer months would be it.

BCF PROMPT: "Celebrating the 4th of July."

I'm gonna come right out and say it: I'm not a fan of Independence Day...the movie   and the holiday. Fireworks? They bore the everlovin' outta me. Why must we think we have to crane our necks toward the sky for a half hour each year in order to celebrate the fact that the United States is a nation free from Britain's rule? The only thing dumber than staring at a television hoping for something meaningful to happen is watching fireworks. I totally don't get the attraction. The only thing you're left with after it's over is the mess.

Back when I was living at 542 and I'd just befriended my upstairs neighbors' kids, their friend from down the street got a bunch of fireworks. The next morning you'd have thought Penora Street was the scene of a massive ticker-tape parade, what with all the stuff we blew up. It was a jolly mess for days. But any sorta-decent human being can blow things up in their backyard pretty much whenever they want, as long as they're careful.

And why must we insist on using explosives made in China to celebrate America's independence? Seems counter-productive and hypocritical. Are there no reliable fireworks manufacturers stateside? It's bad enough that in NY you have to go to Pennsylvania or Ohio to get them, where they're about as available roadside as farmers' tomatoes and strawberries.

I don't plan on doing anything out of the ordinary this year for the fourth. Since 90% of this stupid little town will be closed on Friday anyway, I'll probably sit up in my room and hope the booms end fairly early and that if anything does manage to go wrong, it's catastrophic rather than just mildly annoying. I don't wanna hear about some kid blowing his hand off with an M-80; I want a low-flying, poorly executed bottle rocket setting off a chain of fires that wipe out city blocks and half the idiots that live on 'em. That kind of destruction would get me excited for Independence Day. And because I know it's not gonna happen, I'm a little sad.

MUSICAL BREAK!!

Still the all-time best song that references fireworks...it's called "Fireworks", and it explores those youthful moments where it seems like they should be going off in a manner relevant to whatever is going down. That moment you kiss someone for the first time? You got the job? Your divorce is final? Boom...the fireworks that are going off in your head should be the theme song of the day.

Lyrics.  
"You said you didn't give a fuck about hockey
and I never saw someone say that before..."

THE DAILY BOX SCORE:

"You are locked in a room with your greatest fears. Describe what is in the room."

I don't think I have a lot of fears, honestly. I used to be afraid of the dark, and I was paranoid as a kid that I'd die in a fire because I wouldn't be able to escape. But even the nightmares I get from time to time (yes, I'm an adult...and yes, I still get them regularly) are more about minor inconveniences gone horribly wrong than they're concerning any deep-seated fears.

I fear cancer, but it doesn't worry me so much that I'll quit smoking or give up the occasional Diet Mountain Dew.

But if you had to scare the living shit outta me, lock me up in an ordinary room with someone who refuses reason and has it out for me with undesirable consequences. Pit me against someone who in no uncertain terms thinks I've done something horribly wrong, and every interaction with them becomes an uphill climb that freezes me in my tracks  , as innocent as I am.

I've always felt like an underdog, and that I've had to battle my way toward respectability in almost every venue of my life. Like I'm always forced to prove preconceived notions about me wrong, or I have to overcome some seemingly insurmountable challenge that would break normal people (because let's face it, "normal people" don't get themselves in situations where others have justifiable reasons to doubt them). Lock me in a room with that motherfucker who doesn't care what I bring to the table or how prepared I am to get out of it. Let me go through the psychological hell of pushing myself beyond my capabilities, only to be told it's not enough. Lead me through a gauntlet, only to lead me to another and yet another before you finally decide I'm not worthy. Because I never had anything handed to me and I'm used to working for appreciation, tax me that much more. I can take it...but I can only take so much, and one of us will crack eventually.

I don't want to know what could potentially happen were I ever to be the one who cracks first...and you probably don't want to either.

From The Department Of Gross Things: So this just happened...the sun in the afternoon shines crazily in my room, making all things hot even hotter (and if you're wondering how I could get any hotter, well, I'm a work in progress ). I've been enjoying tall cans of chilled beverages this afternoon, but once they sit for awhile they get warm- nae, hot- toward the bottom. Since I've been keeping the windows open all the time when I'm home, I've seen two majorly huge flies circling through my premises. I noticed they stopped being pestive, but as I took a final pull from the giant Mountain Dew can there was clearly something that wasn't a beverage in my mouth. My gag reflex immediately engaged, and out I spat a giant fly. This has FML   written all over it. I'm so super glad I didn't expectorate all over the damn electronics, but now I'm paranoid that I didn't clean up enough.

I'm convinced there's no pizza like true Buffalo pizza. You can't go anywhere in WNY without stumbling into a goddamned corner mom-n-pop old school pizza parlor...and they make the best wings. Don't get me started on Anchor Bar   or Duff's  . Out here in Cortland there's a decent place that makes an alright NYC-style slice, and another joint makes something close, but there ain't no pizza like a Buffalo pizza. The place we got it from today...the crust was weird and spongy, like a chemically mistreated Pizza Hut Pan Pizza, minus cheesy goodness even. Word up Pudgie's  ...I'm callin' you out on your weird imitation of pizza. And your wings...are gross. Bake 'em or fry 'em...but not both. Crispy is better. But your boneless BBQ wings are amazing...that sauce reminds me of Molino's (which is now closed) on Union next to the Dunkin' Donuts (which I don't know if it's open anymore or not, but it's probably not). Tangy and flavorful. But your pizza sucks balls, straight up. A free lunch provided by the organization is always good, and I love me pizza long time, but #thanksnothanks...y'all let me bring in some real local Buffalo-area stuff, and you'll make friends for life.

I'm sharing this because I've been excited to read it, and I'm hoping to get to it really soon. It's Grateful Jess 's essay regarding body issues, "Baby Doll Self Esteem" . It peaks my interest because of all of the weight I gained between depression/anxiety meds and being stuck with a majorly broken ankle...my waist/appetite outgrew most of my clothes, and I have to wonder now if I'm gonna settle at being who I am currently, or if I'm willing to fight to get back down to the more comfortable weight I used to be. Being short yet muscular was kinda cool; now, I'm more like a cannonball blob. I don't love physical me, which doesn't help me mentally. I'd rather be attractive enough to turn people down and justify my "no relationship having" that way, rather than being all like I'm fat and ugly and I have nothing to share. I really do have issues.

Alright...I'm wrapping this up because I'm totally feeling napstuff coming on. Y'all can discuss the merits of doing things differently somewhere else. Peace, no inhibition whisperin' over your shoulder,and GOODNIGHT NOW!!