Many of you, no doubt, are licking your weekend wounds. After all, there is no holiday more self destructive than celebrating the birthday party of the United States of America. Political beliefs aside, this is a day to eat animals, drink cold fermented beverages, eat animals again, light shit on fire, listen to ultimate pump up music and celebrate summer.
This year we went to South Bay to eat animals and corn and even a random salad or two. There were deep, deep bean dips that to me seemed to extend beneath seven layers. There were clutch moves like topping our burgers with heaping scoops of said dip and watching the burger bleed out down our arms as the neighbors all started exploding their contraband fireworks.
There was ping pong, there was ping pong with our beers on the table and drinking rules attached, but like most drinking games, it’s a zero sum game. We all win and lose. I threw a lemon into someone else’s back yard and then they threw it back. That was cool. I threw one at a brick wall on our way to buy contraband fireworks. I don’t know what my deal is with throwing lemons. Some leftover high school jockage that only manifests when I’ve had some Yamazaki and am holding citrus (not grapefruits, they piss me off).
Sometime in the midst of our two hour fireworks party (on a street of other people doing the same thing), I stumbled inside to find Tokyo Police Club playing, and that was pretty awesome. Especially when I turned around and found THIS GUY blinking his lights and listening along.
My friend once explained to me what this is, but I keep forgetting, but it made perfect sense in that moment, as all great things do. This was pretty awesome. It was a glowing rabbit friend who likes the same music as you and women find adorable. A powerful ally, indeed. I will soon own a home. I shall need a rabbit friend to keep watch for the bears. I am in the market for a shotgun by the way. I feel like you need to defend your home court.
I enjoyed a cigar for the first time in a while and marveled at the names of the Chinese fireworks we bought had. A wild set of sexual innuendoes from “golden shower” to “blue balls”. I mean, sexual innuendoes are funny enough, but imagine our delight when the innuendoes themselves can be lit on fire and explode into fire and sparks in the night. That’s so American I want to tattoo bald eagles on my biceps and refer to them as Lady Liberty and Ben Franklin’s Electric Kite Experiment.
Before I get too esoteric, I want to wish you all a happy summer and happy Independence Day. It is important in the 24 hour media world to slow down and remember how fun it is to spend a summer day grilling woodland creatures over open flame and blowing things up in honor of your homeland. I certainly enjoyed it.
The car ride back to Beverly Hills was one of those scenes you take mental pictures of. There were fireworks in every direction and the radio synced up to it perfectly. It finally felt like summer.