My First

On Open Letter to my first Weber Grill.

Why did you run away?  It’s been over ten years now since you left, and I still think about you sometimes.  It was the night before Father’s Day when you left.  Why did you go?  Did you like the houses across the street better than the apartment we were in?  Did you not like our neighbor, the gas grill?  I had such big plans for us on that Father’s Day.

It was painful, but I have moved on.  The grill I’m living with now is much more understanding.

After 10 years now we are still going strong, even after the warping grease fire that’s made it hard to get the grill properly placed.  Our relationship is so strong that we’ve had a small barrel grill and a smoker move in.  There isn’t even a hint of jealousy. 

Even so, after all these years I still think about you.  I guess you never forget your first.

On Open Letter to America regarding your Birthday Party

Dear America,

When I was younger I used to really love your parties.  There was swimming all day and soft-serve ice cream at the public pool.  It was a day of grilled hot dogs and pie.  The parades were full of fire trucks and scouts and marching bands and even shriners on their funny little motor bikes. 

What happened?

Now the day is filled with cheap prepackaged ice cream at the carnival.  You know, the carnival; the physical embodiment of your no longer hidden insatiable capitalist need, with hideously expensive rides and over priced BBQ.  There are still hot dogs to be found, but you have to try to find them.  The parades still have fire trucks, and scouts and marching bands, but they are mixed up with political action committees floats, and politician containing convertibles.  The shriners may even still be there, but I can’t bring myself to watch them anymore.

It seems like I’m not the only one suffering birthday party burnout

Is that all that’s left?  Rides and cheap toys.  Please tell me there is more to your birthday than this?

I hope their memories of your recent birthday parties are better than mine…