Oh! Say Can You See...

I'm hoping to see the fireworks tonight. I've missed the last two nights' presentations as I've been staying in the air conditioning. Our species will not survive such coddling luxuries.

I'm late for a cook out.

The host couple are both serious cooks who smoke and grill, sear, saute and wok whatever delights they find fresh in the stalls of Reading Terminal Farmers' Market, or the Italian Market, or those inscrutable shops in China Town where all the labels and signs are in characters save for the prices. Everything is made from scratch. The guests are asked to bring something. In my case, that means mixers, booze, or deserts or anything else which may be purchased rather than prepared. Mixers this time, including fresh squeezed grapefruit and orange juices from the fancy food emporium - where the members of the oppressor class and scruffy folks in dreadlocks and woven hemp drawstring pants alike - fork over a 20% premium for Belgian endives, pomegranates and smoked salmon enriched by nourishing tales of fair trade chemical free Wholeness. The two half gallons of juice and a quart of free range cranberry cocktail (harvested by farmer owners wielding long wooden rakes so as not to disturb the egret broods and bog voles) came to $18.65 - though parking is free in the ample, lavishly landscaped with regional water saving native plant species parking lot.

Oh Jeez, I'm Late.