Fireworks and Jesus

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First off, allow me to prompt my outside contributors to, well, contribute. Particularly over Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I’m going to be hungry for content, since I’m going to be quite preoccupied.

I wanted to share a few off-the-cuff thoughts about my brief time so far here in the heartland.

As suggested by the photo above (in which, helpfully, they remind people it’s not a great idea to light up in a huge fireworks store), the first thing I’ve seen here in abundance, which is nowhere to be found in tinder-dry California, are fireworks shops. I would assume this business is even more seasonal than Spirit Halloween, but I guess I’m mistaken.

The other thing I’ve seen, which is far less likely to blow your fingers off, is references to Mr. Christ. You see, I live in a part of the country where, if you are a Christian (and under, let’s say, 90 years old) people look at you with pity. (AKA “you poor, invisible-man-in-the-sky believing nitwit“) The only time you’ll hear the word “Jesus” in the Bay Area is when someone drops something heavy on their foot.

In North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia, however (three states I was in this very morning), you just can’t get away from the guy. Trucks have giant Ichthus symbols. Cars have the question “Did You Pray Today?” I even saw a Wendy’s hamburger joint which had dedicated its entire marquee sign to the declaration: HE HAS RISEN (which, frankly, I would have found far more amusing if it were in front of the Hustler Hollywood Adult Toy Shoppe).

Let’s just say that this is the United States, but it truly is like fifty different countries that happen to have a lot of borders in common.