Like many of you fellow Americans, I love to blow stuff up. I haven't done it in awhile, save for maybe a year ago making interesting pottery with greenware and firecrackers. Ah, but there was a time when I was in the realm of Hollywood special effects.
On or about 1973 or so, I managed to get my sweaty little hands on a book called The Anarchist Cookbook by William Powell. Mysterious explosions were reported throughout Porter County for the next couple of years. The book actually didn't provide me with a whole lot of information I hadn't already obtained through the local library, but it was still useful.
Keep in mind, I'm not bragging, just relating the facts. in retrospect, I was one dumb fucker who should have been maimed or worse.
I set up a lot of exploding targets to shoot at throughout the 70s and 80s, but pretty much had gotten jaded and lost interest by 1985. On a personal safety note, we videotaped the explosion of a gallon can of gas attached to target explosive that captured shrapnel whizzing inches by the camera... and my face, and that experience pretty much put an end to that fascination.
To anyone who approached me about this form of pyrotechnics today, I'd say"Make Sure Me And Mine Aren't Around When You Blow Your Stupid Head Off, You Dumb Fucker".