The New Year is a time rife for firecrackers: before I left the house to buy fish food, I had to negotiate my way around a warzone of “piccolo,” “pla-pla” and “Judas Belt.” While I like violent explosions as much as the next guy, I prefer to watch them from a safe distance. Any residential back-alley on New Year’s Eve is a scene straight off a bad Chuck Norris movie, if you asked me. Besides, I don’t want to be the next guy who goes to the emergency room not for actually lighting a firecracker, but for being a mere passer-by.
Sure, I’ve lit my own fair share of firecrackers before, but after seeing somebody being mortally-wounded from a New Year’s explosion, I laid my hands off fireworks for good. But I’m still pretty much guilty of handling boga, a plastic air cannon “powered” by compressed air and alcohol. It’s explosive fun for the first few minutes, until firing blasts of high-pressure air becomes a bit boring. Besides, there are a lot of interracial penis-related jokes you can make out of it, and it doesn’t make for a good bong. Not that I condone or condemn the use of marijuana, though.
Watching news reports from emergency rooms filled with people who lost their fingers from firecrackers has become an annual ritual for me. Bloody carnage is something you would expect from suicide bombers a’la the one that claimed Benazir Bhutto’s life in Pakistan, but here it’s something you would expect on the first day of the year. There’s something about carving spring chicken with these news reports on: the sight of a dismembered finger is enough to remind you of homemade hamonado.
But I’m thinking that I’m better off celebrating the coming of 2008 playing old music by Prodigy. Hence the title.