I look like the Montauk Monster's shut-in of a cousin without my shirt on. Arguably this would be a great reason for me to go out and get some sun, maybe try to look like I don't pack my lunch straight out of fresh graves, but I'm more courteous than all that and I respect both myself and you too much to do it. More you than me, I'm low on self-respect.
Tanning is a very piss-poor method of cooking a human being. That's not really hyperbole, it's the head-scratching truth of the matter. You're using radiation to brown yourself to a sweet shade of melanoma chestnut. This is considered attractive by the people who do it, silly by people who are already a dusky hue and a betrayal of one's heritage by racists. Maybe don't concern yourself with that last one.
We're waving at you, why don't you wave back?
It goes without saying that part of the problem with tanning is the cancer. Yeah, you'll get it. It starts as moles, as I understand it, and then festers until your genitals come right off one day or whatever. Skin cancer is bullshit. You might think it inappropriate to joke about a deadly disease, but I counter with the fact that, in this context, the reason you get it is because you wanted to look pretty. You traded a few weeks of looking like Starbucks for dangerously irregular cell growth. That just doesn't seem right at all.
Probably the best reason you have to want to avoid tanning is pseudo celebrity/terrible mother Tan Mom. 'member her? Yeah you do, she looked like a cigar store Indian fucked a crazy cat lady and put it on the news. By virtue of tanning, you immediately have something in common with that loony old bird, and Lord knows you don't need that kind of stress in your life.
Remember when Adam ruined fireworks for you? And then you were like "Up yours, Adam Tod Brown, who spells 'Tod' with one 'D' anyway?" We all do. He was docked a week's pay for that debacle. But never mind that, because fireworks are awesome! They explode in the sky and there's fire! And noises! It's like Michael Bay is jacking off right over the surface of a lake from his secret sky fortress run on jet fuel and titties!
I love titties! Woo!
I love reckless explosions and noise as much as anyone. I have Guns N' Roses CDs, I actually own Uwe Boll's Postal on DVD, who am I to say something is totally lacking in substance? While Adam's argument that fireworks aren't worth watching more than once due to repetitiveness falls apart under what scientists refer to as "the blowjob principle," there is a terrible aspect Mr. Brown has overlooked -- the ethereal and hollow reality of an experience predicated merely on the intangible and short-lived enjoyment of a redox reaction taking place in the lower atmosphere. It's actually quite depressing.
You plan a whole evening, you leave to an open space away from the lights, the hustle and bustle of a world that has no time to revel in the simple joys of the visual display caused by strontium and lithium salts, barium, chlorine and sodium, you sit with friends and strangers in nature and gaze to the sky to watch what in its simplest form is man's bending of science to create beauty and enjoyment. And then the shit ends. And you have nothing but an afterimage thanks to your photoreceptors being as overstimulated as Grandpa after his first dose of Viagra.
Fireworks are the entertainment version of your own mortality, your very life essence displayed in a quick burst of joy that fizzles and is forgotten by all, only referenced again in comedy articles by guys who spell "Tod" with a single "D" who hate them. And you.