HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY! As we goofy Americans prepare for a long day and night of burnt weenie sandwiches, sloppy drunken debates, and watching our animals freak the fuck out, I’m here to tell ya that it's a lot more fun listening to explosions all night long when your family isn't disintegrating into redmeat shrapnel right in front of you, one split-second before you die screaming as well.
Which is to say that fireworks are gorgeous, and immensely entertaining, and I like watching them, and going "WOOOOO!" while they go kaboom and ignite the sky. Right up until the point they land on somebody I might have loved, had they not gone kaboom as well, in the endless war someone just died in as we speak.
There's something about the Fourth of July that always makes me more sad than proud. Never more so than now. But, frankly, always. Not because I don't love this country, with all its flaws. But because I do.
I dearly love these hilariously-named United States, for the dream they indicate, and the glorious experiment therein. I love that it's the place we come to in order to recreate ourselves, from all over the world. Melting pot as unity dream. A humanity stripped of the burden of ancient history. Imagining itself anew.
Most of the people attempting to flee across our borders right now are fleeing the precise explosive sounds we're going "WOOOO!" over right now. Because, for them, it's not a party. It is life and fucking death. They're not trying to steal our jobs. They're trying not to be shot in the fucking face, or raped, or otherwise put through hell.
I love the America I love because of the promise it holds. The open-hearted innovation and acceptance and love of the best of its people. All of us just being people, after all. Not perfect. Just doing our best.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA! Enjoy your party.
And please please please, try to remember who you are.
I’m feeling all of this too, John.