Moments later, a raging grease fire started and the temperature gauge on the grill maxed at 800 degrees F. Just for show, folks.

With apologies to Cheap Trick, this is me saying hello to the very, very small number of readers who have enough gumption and perseverance to power a small village, end a protracted conflict in a terrorist-sponsored country, and still have time to do my dishes. Kudos to you, friend.

But wait, you have questions? Where I’ve been? What I’ve been up to? These may get answered in time; but know that I’m a little older now, I’ve seen more doctors this month than I’ve seen in a decade, and July is over (pretty much.)

What the hell happened?!

Let us take a moment to thank our Founding Father’s for their perseverance in bringing us the right to bear arms, and that includes blowing off said arms with incendiary fireworks.

The best of the bunch is also the most-dangerous of all, the common sparkler (a. sparkelousalloveryourarm.) Silent and beautiful, these blow-torches on-a-stick seem to be slightly more exciting than smoke bombs that fill backyards with noxious fumes, killing the family pet. Directions are simple. Load one or twelve into a single hand; wave like you just don’t care. Oh, jesus, keep that thing away from your face! It’s too late, isn’t it?

I had the privilege of working Independence Day, a holiday spent nervously planning sight-lines and traffic escapes for that evening’s big show downtown. Just imagine some idiot driving his vehicle onto sidewalks, then running straight down the middle of a street holding a heavy tripod in each hand. And that wasn’t me.

The past few weeks have left me antsy and disappointed. While the New York Times, Chicago Tribune and other major media outlets have descended upon the pregnant Mississippi River in a hurry, we’ve only had a correspondent on the scene. I can pretend to understand the rationale; the flooded areas are out of our circulation area, our staffing levels in the newsroom make it very difficult to send someone away for days at a time. But some areas have been as little as 100 miles away, and with our very own version of the mighty Miss (the Illinois River), I’d hazard to guess that local interest in how these communities deal with the devastation would be extremely high. Not to mention the fact that we barely sneeze when we drive hours to a dimly lit basketball game that maybe a few hundred people truly care about.

Am I being too bitter? Or should I be even more concerned?

Sometimes I’ll waste an evening away by scuttling from article to article on Wikipedia or IMDB, in much the same way a vagabond might troll a highway ditch in search of aluminum cans. I started thinking about my love for the original “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory,” that 1971 classic film with Gene Wilder. But what makes it stick in the head and chill the heart?

There’s no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There’s no knowing where we’re rowing
Or which way the river’s flowing
Is it raining? / Is it snowing? / Is a hurricane a-blowing?
Not a speck of light is showing
So the danger must be growing
Are the fires of hell a-glowing?
Is the grisly reaper mowing?
Yes, the danger must be growing
‘Cause the rowers keep on rowing
And they’re certainly not showing
Any signs that they are slowing.

(video clip of scene)

Eureka! It’s the quotes. Every single bit of that movie. In a brilliant flash of screenwriting genius, this old Wonka was given a whole slew of one-liners from Shakespeare to Keats to Hillaire Belloc. “Little surprises around every corner, but nothing dangerous.” It’s a perfect mad genius archetype, his wacky mutterings closely resembling an asylum patient. The content may often seem nutty and lighthearted, but there may be something very heavy and substantial in his ramblings. Mmm, wonderfully creepy.

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Fog blankets the mighty Illinois River

A woman is found murdered in the Illinois River; the police still ask “whodunit?”
All photos copyright the Peoria Journal Star

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Tuesday night was spent with three-score chicken wings (and not quite that many beers,) three mechanical and electrical engineers and a lovable lab named Scout. We played euchre, a game that has a lot of similarities to hearts or spades. I was unaware that my friend (and twin look-alike) Chris lives just a block away from my new apartment, so I’m sure we’ll be meeting up again.

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Three things happened just a block from my home yesterday afternoon, all simultaneously.

1. 5-year-old Peorian hit by truck, hospitalized (and today’s update)
Any Peorian could tell you that Main street from Bradley University toward the hill entering downtown can be a dangerous place. Not only are some areas a little less “friendly” and a little more urban than some would be comfortable with, traffic is riding four-lanes wide only inches away from you as you walk or bike. Usually it’s college kids doing the dying, but this time it was a little girl severely injured while riding her bike with the right-of-way at a crosswalk. Sad.

2. Shooting victim appears at accident scene
While incident number one is still being investigated, a man randomly arrives at the scene stumbling and mumbling about being shot. His white t-shirt is stained red. Police question him and then send him to the hospital.

3. Woman hit by SUV at Main and High Streets
I have no official word on this one, but Chris said that he was in a nearby park when he heard a woman yelling and laying on the ground in the street. This is one block east from incident number one.

I honestly felt rather disturbed after learning this; when does random stop being random?