I love America. I love the 4th of July. I love hot dogs and apple pie and I can even tolerate baseball. But I’ve got to admit that I’m kind of over the fireworks.
Now don’t try to drum me out of the country. It’s not like I’m leaking State secrets from a Sofitel in Russia. I’m not even saying there’s anything wrong with fireworks per se. I’m happy to admit that it’s about me, not the pyrotechnics. Maybe it’s the ADD (yes, I’m one of those). I don’t know. But fireworks – for Independence Day or any other occasion – always seems like a whole lot of preparation and rigmarole for – well – not much. Certainly not much that’s new.
I mean really, how many variations of the theme can there be? The rocket goes up and explodes or a bunch of rockets go up and explode in rapid succession. Some shine and some glitter. They’re pretty. I’m not saying they aren’t. I’m just saying I’ve seen in all plenty of times. I’ve done my share of ooh-ing and ah-ing.
These days when someone asks if I’m going to watch the fireworks, all I can think of is schlepping to what I hope will be a good lookout point hours in advance so that I can possibly have a decent view and then sitting in gridlocked traffic or walking for hours afterward to get home. Of course this vision is colored by the fact that Seattle, my hometown, is noted for being drizzly and cold on the 4th and San Francisco is famous for being foggy and cold. ‘Nuff said?
As an adult, there have been two really great Independence Days in terms of the rockets’ red glare. The first was when I was still in Seattle and a couple of friends invited me to their apartment, which had a perfect view of the Elliott Bay display from the living room. We sat comfortably, ate, drank and listened to the accompanying classical music on the stereo. Afterward, I walked the four blocks back to my apartment in about five minutes. It was fantastic.
The second was right after I moved to Washington, DC. Literally right after – my moving day was July 3rd. I walked down to the Mall just before the show started, found a clear spot to stand on 14th Street and watched the explosions all with the Washington Monument in the foreground. I thought it was pretty cool and it reminded me that there’s a reason we do this every year. And when they were over, I walked back to my temporary apartment in about twenty minutes. It was also fantastic.
So it’s really not the fireworks that are the problem at all. Ergo, it must be the ADD. Or plain old impatience. Whatever it is, short an offer I really can’t refuse (Like a personal invitation from Rupert Everett. But why would a Brit do that? Never mind), I’ll be hanging out at home saluting America privately.
That reminds me – I have to pick up some hot dogs and an apple pie.