Hot Air and Rubber = Balloon

Hot air is stifling at any any time. In a literal sense, we may roast in our houses or cars because of it; and in a figurative sense, it speaks of someone who talks and talks and talks – with generally nothing to say.

Rubber, too, has its own challenges. While it has many benefits for society, combined with hot air it produces one of life's greatest griefs (translation: a personal pet peeve) in what has become a universal toy for children.

It is called the common balloon, and I believe all balloons should be banned from the planet.

Now, before you tree-hugging eco-environmentalists rise up and called me blessed, let me assure you that I am still not on your side, and my ban is not the same as your ban. I am not discussing the environmental damage of rubber, and its effect on the fuchsia-speckled pygmy-beaked Samoan finch that lays an egg in some pristine forest every two years (maybe). You know the scenario: Hundreds of hectares of good forest are cordoned off because there is a remote possibility of a nesting habitat being undermined.

As noble as that may be, my reason is much more pragmatic and earthy: Balloons cause a lot of trouble everywhere they go, and wherever they actually do go, they don't do it quietly and kindly. When popped, they go out with a loud bang; or when released, they flee to the heavens above, taunting some bawling kid below.

If balloons had a life of their own, and I think they do sometimes, I would consider them a domestic, inside animal. Outside, they are a menace to themselves They cannot survive in the wilds of anyone's backyard. Upon first contact with a branch or nail, they join the great cluster in the sky.

But balloons are also dangerous to have in the house or car. Whether it's walls and rugs, or door handles and seatbelts, there is no safeguard for their safety. The most natural thing for a kid to do is to keep on knocking it around, and chasing after it. In no time flat, something has been knocked down, tripped over, with the balloon on the ceiling and the kid on the floor.

Score: Balloon, 1, and kid, 0.

I suppose my only concession with balloons is the art of turning them into all sorts of weird and wonderful shapes. First, the variety, taking a boring round shape and turning it into almost any type of animal – a most creative act! Second, that said useless round shape now has a purpose, from being a kid-teaser, ceiling-clinger, and cloud-hugger to an ultra-lite rhino. That would actually make it a very inexpensive toy. And third, it has a longer shelf life, lasting longer than a mere few hours.

But I still hate them. It's not like there's some clown standing just around the corner from your house, waiting to turn some kid's balloon into Dumbo the elephant, a dull round thing into a Star of David. By the same token, that may be a skill someone in each household could develop. That could keep the kids busy, save the furniture, and create some meaningful hot air.

Meaningful hot air. Let's see: Collect all the hot air from the council chambers, melt down all the used tires from any local transfer stations, and there would be balloons for every kid in the county for a lifetime.

Ughh. Makes me want to go out and hug a tree.