Lizards and fireworks
Fort Vancouver, the local re-creation of a Hudson's Bay Trading Company fort and later a military post, holds a fireworks show every 4th, billed as "the biggest fireworks show west of the Mississippi." That claim may even be true; we're not here to debate semantics and logistics today. What we are here to note is the impact the fireworks show has on our tiny lizard brain, the one way down there in the back of our heads, by the brain stem. The Fort is about four miles from my house, and the fireworks are launched out over the Columbia River from mortars, familiar to everyone who ever looked at 19th and 20th century munitions in museums. A hollow tube, usually made of metal, is packed with a shell of explosives and various metals which burn different colors at different temperatures. The whole thing is ignited, and we eventually get the "rockets red glare; the bombs bursting in air..." effect. Commercial fireworks, the kind that fill the sky when they explode, are fired from massive shells and mortars. It's four miles from here, and the deep resonant boom of the final, show-closing fireworks, makes the hair on my neck stand on end. Fireworks, even aerial fireworks, are regrettably legal in my home state and the local street are filled with people burning money and metal at an incredible rate, but not even the local noises of the much smaller fireworks can cover the big boom of the distant commercial fireworks.
The lizard brain may be stupid, but it knows that sounds means WRONG. It means "run and hide now, little lizard!" Apparently the dog has a tiny lizard brain, too - she's hiding out deep under my desk.
The lizard brain may be stupid, but it knows that sounds means WRONG. It means "run and hide now, little lizard!" Apparently the dog has a tiny lizard brain, too - she's hiding out deep under my desk.