It's the 4th of July. A day to reflect on our freedom and partake in one of my favorite pasttimes: people watching. Ohio seems to have some pretty strict laws about fireworks, so I didn't buy my usual assortment of 1/4 sticks of dynamite and bottle rockets which I'd usually end up tossing at my brother.
SS, my friend from Minneapolis, is in town. She wanted to get a slice of Ohio life, so I took her to a nearby township's fireworks display. Boy, did she regret that. First and foremost, we have to park like 2 miles away and walk. Right away, it's like 94 degrees and sticky. Not pleasant.
Then she saw them .... hordes and hordes of them. Mullets.
We were surronded by them. Some of those guys had the mullets which to all mullets aspire; yes, the Super Mullet. Feathered with enough hair for a balding man to comb over for years to come. It was hilarious. My friend walked around with her jaw dropped the whole time as dads with mullets, moms with neck tattos, chubby daughters in half shirts, and cro-magnon sons milled about.
These folks were walking around with those nifty t-shirts with slogans like "Try to burn this one" (complete with a cheesy rendering of the Old Glory) or with some NASCAR car with a huge number on it as if I'm supposed to know who that guy is. Or, it was the other Ohio option when in public ... no shirt at all. This phenomenom seems to be located in the Midwest more than any place I've visited so far. In New Mexico, we had our share of these sort of folk, but running around without a t-shirt didn't seem to the norm. I can't drive over to Blockbuster without seeing some pale guy with a gut like Horatio Sanz out by his apartment drinking a warm can of Pabst Blue Ribbon with his ass hanging out so far that even plumbers think it's disgusting! Needless to say SS was shocked and will doubtless ever bitch about Minneapolis lest she remember her day among the unwashed masses that is Ohio.