I apologize for the lack of postings lately, but the blame lies squarely on outside impediments: The dial-up service I’ve been dealing with lately, and the fact that I’m trying to write essays, stories and other posts to give a little boost to the profile of Recut Madness in other markets, with other readers. Not that I don’t appreciate all 7 of you out there, but I need to spread the net a little wider to pull in some new eyes.
One piece you might like is in the new issue of Lake Magazine, in which nouveau riche bozos like myself learn about the best wine tastings and ice cream shops over on Michigan’s western shore. (Actually, it’s not a bad magazine at all, and publishes a funny writer named Wade Rouse from whom you will probably hear more in the future.) My article recounts the experience of buying fireworks in Indiana, then bringing them to the cottage. I was forced to excise a passage that hinted that this was illegal, even though it is, because the magazine needed to protect its brand image. It ain’t Outlaw Biker, after all.
Anyway, the first paragraph reads thusly:
Summer in Michigan promises many refined moments. Gallery openings. Wine tastings. Sunsets on the beach. But underlying all this elegance are numerous messy jobs that need doing, jobs that take grit, tenacity and steady nerves in the face of danger.
Somebody, after all, needs to buy the fireworks.
“You don’t need fireworks,” my wife has claimed, on more than one occasion. “You just want them.”
“But how will the kids learn about handling fireworks safely if I don’t teach them?”
And if you want to read the rest, click here. Enjoy.