I never thought that fireworks were really a big deal in Los Angeles. One, because they’re illegal here, and there doesn’t seem to be a very convenient border to drive across to get them. And two, because I just never really saw any. In all the parts of town where I’ve lived, the night sky on the Fourth has been relatively staid compared to other parts of the country. In small-town Iowa, for example, anyone that’s old enough to flick a Bic is busy for the week before and after the Fourth shooting off illegal fireworks smuggled across the Missouri state line.
But I realized last night that I just never looked in the right parts of the city. Historic Filipinotownóand pretty much anywhere close to downtownówas crazy with fireworks. Big, huge flaming balls of fire that lit up the whole block. One family down the street had to have spent hundreds of dollars, because they were setting off A-list stuff for at least an hour and a half. And I never figured out where it was coming from, but there were five seriously huge explosions throughout the evening as well. The kind that makes everything else go quiet for a few minutes. That’s some serious contraband.
I’ve been feeling pretty over the Fourth for a long time, but now I remember why I loved it so much as a kid. Viva la Boom!