Yeah, Bob said I couldn’t write about him. But, I got them issues with Bob. Bob and his non-firework ways.

Actually, Bob isn’t alone in not giving a rat’s ass for fireworks in this the Bay Area. I blame the fog and the risk of quick-spreading grass fires. The local news is reporting at least one fire right now.

I caught the tail end of some OK ‘works for an area where a 15-minute display with maybe four colors is considered exceptional. Fucking ‘tards.

I came home from Americana, softball drills and eating a shitload of things burnt over an outdoor fire and watched the Boston Esplanade show on cable. Truth is you don’t miss the fireworks in your own backyard until you move 3,000 miles from that yard.

I can forgive Bob his lack of fireworks enthusiasm which aided and abetted the barely seeing the tail end of some (and that involved running alongside a parking structure to get to a view beyond the roof of it). However, I am not sure I can forgive him for taking this shot with my own fucking camera.

Click my hideousness to see a gallery of our happy holiday. Boom.