In a quiet July 4th bar. I do not hate fireworks (I do not hate anything) but I do not care for the spectacle of sitting out there waiting for them to erupt, to bloom, to catastrophize. I also have no love of hot dogs and swill beer.
In Tampa during the 1970s we would see Fourth of July fireworks after Tampa Bay Rowdies games. The fireworks displays were put on by the Grucci brothers. I had the impression that the Grucci brothers did their show only in Tampa, and only at Tampa Stadium in an exclusive arrangement with the Tampa Bay Rowdies.
Alas, the Grucci brothers do their thing anywhere and everywhere. When I saw fireworks at a rodeo in South Dakota I heard the Grucci name in the air, though I do not think they perpetrated the Ft. Pierre fireworks on July 4, 2002.
I did not stay to see those fireworks at the Ft. Pierre fairgrounds. I saw them from my hotel room window. They were tiny. Little spasmas of joy, distant poofs of applause.
Spasma is a word I came up with while testing this new Treo posting software. Spasma is a mix of miasma and spasm, a spasm of miasma, a sudden reactive blast of metaphysical matter from a left or right nostril, or even a center nostril.
Spiasma might better fill the word, though Spasma maintains the urgency of the spasm with postlude echoes of the miasmatic portion of the word.
