I am not a mindless drone. I am not a mindless drone. I am not a, well, OK, maybe I am a mindless drone.

After a Fourth of July filled with fireworks and small-town celebrations, I was ready to just melt into the boring, dull ooze life has to offer.

But I couldn’t. Because despite all the rigamaroll that happens during these things, there were some bright spots that allowed me to go on living a healthy, fresh, thought-provoking life.

I spent the Fourth of July in the town of Slater, 10 miles south of Ames, where it was having its big blowout to celebrate our nation’s independence from that monarchy across the pond. You know, if it weren’t for all those revolutionary patriots, we would all be speaking English now.

Anyway, the festivities under the big tent in the town park included a performance by a group of old fat guys called “The Fat Hats.”

These fellas’ wives painted their bellies to look like whistling mouths, then the guys wore big hats over their upper torso and small outfits on their lower extremities. The hats covered their faces, and they had to hold the hats up with their arms. The sound system would play this whistling song, you know, the one that all the soldiers would whistle in old war movies.

Now the silly part.

The old guys would move their bellies in and out to make it look like they were whistling with their belly buttons. The townsfolk loved it. And I did, too. I thought if these old fat men could find ways to keep life from becoming boring, so could I.

Prior to watching “The Fat Hats,”I spent two days playing Sim City 2000 in the nude. Now I’m ready to have fun.

That night we watched the fireworks, and then we went to light off the large quantity of fireworks I had. My girlfriend’s brother and I shot off a $50 Texas Gold firework from the top of his dad’s garage.

Was it illegal? Yes, but who cares? The cops sure didn’t.

After our show, I was ready to take hold of the weekend and blast off into the drunken bliss of la-la land.

So, on Saturday my girlfriend and I went to Humboldt, home of my good friend, Jeromy.

Humboldt was holding its annual Independence Day motorcycle rally. Bikers were everywhere, and for the entire day, the town sounded like a V-twin engine was running somewhere within earshot.

The good thing about visiting Jeromy is he likes to drink. So we did. It was fun. We always drink. We were belly-washing. Drink, drink, drink. Let’s have another. I am not a mindless drone. Drinking to excess is fun. One must realize it’s not the drinking that makes drinking fun, it’s what one does when drinking that makes drinking fun.

So before we really got started drinking that afternoon, we went to Twin Lakes. Then we drank while we rode around the lake in a boat.

Is that illegal? Probably. Who cares?

Nonetheless, the quintessential inspiring event of the weekend was yet to happen. This was the awe-inspiring event which was to pull me out of my drone-like feeling.

That night, the county set off a fireworks display in the midst of a thunderstorm. Although it wasn’t raining much, nature’s fireworks were dancing in the background as humans’ fireworks lit up the dark sky over the lake, a sky free of the lights which plague all cities big and small. Lightning and people’s way of painting the sky combined into one dazzling show.

Afterward, I said, “That was cool.” Then I was back to the dullness. Somewhat like: “Here we are now, entertain us,” as Cobain said.

We went back to Humboldt — we were OK to drive by then because we waited to sober up — and proceeded to get drunk all over again once we arrived (surprise, surprise).

Around 3:30 a.m., we went to bed. I slept with my girlfriend on the hide-a-bed in the computer room, and Jeromy slept downstairs with his girlfriend in his room, directly below our room.

My girlfriend and I were lying there talking, when I asked her to be quiet and listen.

It started out quietly, but it soon got louder: “Ahh, ahh, ahh. Bang, bang. Ahh, ahh, ahh.” We could hear Jeromy and his girlfriend getting it on. They were so loud, as if they didn’t care that we could hear!

We laughed so hard it hurt. Imagining those two doing it was gross, but this was the awe-inspiring event that pulled me out of my drone-like feeling because I laughed so much.

We tried to find the heating grate so we wouldn’t have to hear them anymore, but we couldn’t. I’ll never think of his girlfriend quite the same. Ha ha!

What I discovered is, it is the not-so-big fireworks displays that make life exciting. They remind us to continue searching for ways to keep from becoming mindless drones who are destined to stare into computers for days on end. Some people like to sit and remember their memories of days gone by. I prefer to search for memories of a day I hope never comes.

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Tim Frerking is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Pomeroy.