Celebrating the 4th

Here's one way to celebrate what it means to be an American: turn your neighborhood into a little section of Baghdad. That is what my neighbors have been doing all day long - literally, since we returned from Vancouver at 3 this afternoon with Liz's parents, fireworks have been going off constantly. Yes, these are the kind of fireworks that make a loud "boom" without much shiny stuff (because, as I write this, it's still pretty much daylight here). So imagine, for six and a half hours, being entertained - in fact, having the time of your life being entertained - by things that make a loud "boom."

This, friends, is Redneck Amerikkka.

Watching this mixture of NASCAR fumes, Pabst Blue Ribbon, Trans Ams and zero brain cells, I'm finding it exceptionally difficult to put aside my feelings of superiority.

But first, I'm keeping an eye on my new house, making sure I don't have to put out any fires caused by my neighbors (illegally) celebrating the birth of our nation.

Somehow, I doubt that Ben Franklin, Tom Jefferson, and George Washington would have been entertained by loud booming noises for six and a half hours.

In fact, it might have made them wish for the sensible dictatorship of a monarchy.