ID4... IDK...

Friday was the 4^th of July. The six of us went on a picnic at a local…. uh, wastewater treatment facility. Yeah, you read that right. Near Tigard High School is a lovely area of rolling well-manicured grass, decorative fountains and rosebushes. Perfect place for a picnic, right? We thought so. We spread out a couple of blankets and ate our lunch (cold fried chicken and potato salad), after which we clowned around and took lots of pictures. I then proceeded to roam around with the new camcorder in search of some interesting HD footage. I came upon a sign that warned, in no uncertain terms, against drinking the water, and that the facility was in fact designed to treat wastewater. Now, I was aware beforehand that the place had something to with water, but I wasn’t aware of the specifics.

When I informed the group, my son Isaac pointed to the nearest fountain and asked, “So, um, that’s shit water?”

“Yes, son,” I replied, “at least it used to be.” Glad we’d already eaten.

One more note: there was a drinking fountain there, but it wasn’t turned on. I wasn’t surprised… I’ll bet they shut that thing off pretty much right after the place opened, whenever that was, due to non-use. I’ll bet even the employees wouldn’t go near it. Hell, would YOU drink from it? I mean, I realize that modern technology allows for marvelous, near-miraculous things (like the purification of wastewater), but even if the end result is as sparkling clear as a bottle of ice cold Evian… well, I’m sure as hell not going near it. Eeeew.

That evening, we road the Max to downtown Portland to watch fireworks on the Waterfront, which is purportedly the biggest fireworks show in Oregon. And yes, it was pretty big, but bigger still was the ridiculously large crowd of fellow rubberneckers who showed up. Wall to wall bodies. Thousands of people swarming around, screaming babies, shirtless scumbags and slimy skanks, and the occasional scent of a newly-sparked blunt wafting by on the summer breeze. It was like the fucking State Fair, only without the rides.

So after a few hours of waiting and walking around, it got dark enough for the festivities to truly begin. Thirty minutes of spectacular explosions and chest-thudding booms. Some idiot behind me giggled every time one of ‘em went off. That’s a lot of giggles. There were gigantic speakers set up, but there was no music. Huh? No patriotic songs? No “God Bless the U.S.A.”? Nope. Sheesh, even Tigard High School has music at their cheeseball show every year (a live orchestra, of sorts). But here, only the sounds of the fireworks filled the air. I swear to God I was having ‘Nam flashbacks, despite the obvious fact that I never served in Vietnam (or anywhere else, for that matter).

The Max ride home was crazy. I didn’t know you could cram so many people into such a small space. I can now confidently say that I know what a sardine feels like. We all celebrated the reclamation of our respective personal space when we finally climbed out. It felt like freedom. Where were our fireworks then?