Hello! This is not Pico. This is Pico's friend, Soldati. Surprise! I feel a little goofy writing a blog, especially as a guest blogger on someone else's site. It's kind of like a territorial pissing, as it were. I mean, what IS this blog phenomenon? It was nice for Pico to offer to ravage my blog cherry, it's flattering, because I enjoy Spicysweet's observations immensely, but this small town girl usually reserves her sometimes freaky, self-indulgent world view for the comfortable binded journal she buys from the discount shelves at Barnes and Noble (Yes, the huge bookstore conglomerate I feel guilty for buying from, but my corner bookstore doesn't carry discount journals!). BUT this is a challenge, and with honor, I accept. Thanks, Dulce.

Let's talk fireworks. . . Aren't they beautiful? I never grow tired of exploding mushrooms in the sky. To people who grew up in New York, seeing the colors obstructing the Manhattan Skyline must seem redundant, but to little old me, it's magical; Beer/mojito/margarita goggles help too, and 100 degrees with 80% humidity, seem to add to the acidic charm of psychadellic wonderment.

Where I come from, Idaho, land of wide-open ranges, the Arian Nation, NRA proponants, Republicans, Mormons, and a few freaks like me and my friends, the 4th of July is a BIG deal! Why, you ask? Because of the pomp and circumstance, and the naive assumption that we are the "last, true Americans." It's true! Ever since I can remember, we have had the "Melaleuca Freedom Celebration." Melaleuca is this company that makes binaca like products (y'all know what binaca is, right?) Anyway, thousands of white people converge on Idaho Falls, Idaho (preferably around the falls, by the virtuous Mormon Temple). Droves of young and old couples, with lots of expendable income, come riding in on their motor cycles, clad in Abercrombie and Sears florescent moo-moos (Is that how you spell moo-moo?) No, no Hell's Angels there! Just people who think it's cool to own a honda-cycle with compartments attached to its sides!

They park and, like lemmings, "gather at the river." Then, it begins. What you ask? Why. .. the "Melaleuca Freedom Celebration Tribute to America Music," of course! You can buy it at any gas station or arts and crafts store North of Salt Lake and South of Spokane, and you best be sure that you have the most updated version, or you will REALLY be embarrassed if they happen to change a track or add an extended dance mix of "God Bless the USA," but you still have Travis Tritt's version from two years ago! But, no worries, they pump it out over loud speakers that rupture spleens, so you WILL get your dose of patriotism, Goddammit! Oh, excuse the curse. . .

But. . . then you lay back on the cool, dank grass, in the arms of the man you love, or the friend you just want to hold onto, and watch as this brilliance unfolds in the sky. Then you look around at the thousands of others captivated by the magic, flashes of light divulging their features. Some are crying, some are smiling, ALL are singing along with the words. Mothers and fathers rest their children on their shoulders, they giggle only the giggles that children can giggle. And all of a sudden, the "Melaleuca Freedom Celebration" doesn't seem so silly anymore, and you buy the tape and secretly play it when you're miles away from home.

Needlesstosay, the 4th of July, with all of its familiar spectacle, sarcasm aside, is pretty magical. We are allowed to be distracted for a while. . .