Bang Bang (You Shot Me Down)

I fear I might be considered a bad person; I’m certainly a bad American. I hate the 4th of July. There, I said it. Call the Department of Homeland Security or the CIA or whomever “disposes of” Emperor GWB’s heretics, these days. I’m not a fan of the Fourth. Personally, I think it rates right up there with electrolysis and getting a colonoscopy in terms of shear physical discomfort. It’s not the politics of the holiday I find distasteful (though I will admit that it’s hard to celebrate the birthday of a country that thinks I’m a 3rd class citizen). It’s the fireworks. I hate fireworks. While I have no problem with the pulsing throb of house music, the loud CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK of a matt of Jumping Jacks or the sonic BOOM of an M80 puts me over the edge. Perhaps it’s because I’m usually quite tense and thoroughly over-caffeinated, but loud and abrupt noises scare the living shit out of me. Every. Single. Time. Even if I know that it’s going to happen I still wince, flinch or jump. I can’t even be in the same room when champagne is being opened because of the loud POP that accompanies it. Don’t even talk to me about Pillsbury Biscuits in a can. The thought of them makes me quite edgy.

It’s not just the noise of the Fourth that I’m opposed to. I absolutely detest fireworks and everything they bring with them: bright flashes of light, smoke, soot and the smell of gun powder. I’m appalled at how my usually residential looking neighborhood turns into downtown Baghdad in the name of celebration. I walked out of my house this morning, looked around, and I swear to god it looked like the entire neighborhood had been stormed by a Jihad. There was a layer of soot covering the cars, large scorch marks were all about the street (the neighbors across the street actually set fire to the street), and there were empty cardboard casings EVERYWHERE. It was terribly disturbing.

Speaking of the neighbors, let’s get back to why I think I’m a bad person. By 10pm my nerves were completely shot, as they had started well before sundown with the Noise-Only brand of fireworks. Now, because we’re up a the ass-crack of dawn (5:30) for work, we’re usually in the sack by 10:30 (the VERY latest). Last night, however, sleep was clearly NOT going to be an option. By 10:30 it was quite clear that the Firework Extravaganza was NOT going to end any time soon. The neighbors had spent, what looked like, $2000 on fireworks and they were going to get every POP and WHISTLE they could get. They also thought it would be a real hoot to light a mini-bonfire in the middle of the street. It was a real lulu. That’s when I called the 311 who put me on with 911 (I told her it wasn’t an emergency, but it was clear that any fire warrants 911 attention). 10 minutes later the FDNY showed up and crashed the party. 10 minutes after they left, the neighbors started up again. 20 minutes (and another phonecall to 311) later the NYPD showed up. They left about 45 minutes later. The party was over. By this time I was asleep for about half an hour. Sometime around 1am a fight broke out across the street. Everyone was drunk, several people were high (by their own loud admission). And it seems to have started due to the involvement from New York’s Finest. God only knows what they found.

Next year, maybe we can go to Canada for the 4th.

“Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke”~Bette Midler