The Fourth of July is our annual exercise in excessive patriotism and an increasingly nationalistic fervor. Ok, it’s also about hot dogs, toes in the sand, and drinking a beer called America. But lately, the chest-thumping has been front and center, and damned if you dare to not fly the flag off the back of your Chevy pickup. There’s an apple pie somewhere that died for your sins, muthafucker!
It would be nice, however, if we could all just take a step back and look at the why behind this holiday, and take a deep breath for the people around us who also fought like hell just so they could enjoy this unparalleled freedom. After all, we’re all immigrants who at some point in our lineage have that moment when our Independence Day became ours. Maybe we came over on the Mayflower and found refuge in our search for better beer, or maybe it was through Ellis Island during the great sausage famine in the late nineteenth century, or maybe we scurried under a fence escaping a life of fear and crime in hopes that we may someday have a better life working under the fear of deportation. Whatever it was, it was, and I don’t imagine that will change anytime soon.
I for one hate Chevy, could do without the apple pie, and only eat hot dogs when I’m drunk, so bring on the tacos, Hondas, and crème brûlée. Viva la America!
Jeff Lawrence, DigBoston Publisher + Editor
OH, CRUEL WORLD
Your fucking two-year-old leaned toward my table at a coffee shop yesterday, apparently appalled that I said the word “stupid,” and then proceeded to rat me out to you. As if there’s anything that you can do about it, you preppy twerps. I know the little fucker didn’t make that up himself, which means his dumbass parents must be teaching him that innocent words like “stupid” are bad. That’s fine, but then just don’t let the kid leave the house from now on. Move to the Midwest and homeschool the little bastard while you’re at it, because around here, in my coffee shop no less, I’ll say “stupid” as much as I please, and anyone who tells me otherwise from now on will get a couple lungfuls of secondhand cigarette smoke on their way out the door to accompany my departing profanity-laced rant about yuppie parents.