July 4th, 2015 – Happy 4th of July in the Nations Capital

I’m really not sure why, but I believe that everyone should go to the nations capital at least once in their life for July 4^th fireworks.  But I wasn’t sure what to expect two days ago when we finally made it happen, other than hoards of Americans converging magnetically toward the Capital Mall from every direction as the clock neared 9pm to witness the annual 20-minute firework display.  Actually, they looked like zombies marching in unison like from the Night of the Living Dead.  Only they were wearing red, white and blue fanciful shirts and blouses and pants and skirts and some were carrying flags while others were dressed casually, appropriate for the warm mid summer’s night temperature.  And there were flocks of people of all ages, colors, sizes, including sadly, many infants and small children who were mostly startled and bedazzled, while others were outright spooked into frightful crying fits from the thunderous earth shattering sounds and lights of the neighboring fireworks shooting into the sky.  Some were speaking English, but many were speaking Spanish and other foreign tongues.  Regardless, many, indeed many others were ostensibly there to film the event with their iphones, hands in the air aiming their phones at the fireworks display, less interested in enjoying them for whatever they are worth and perhaps what they represent, and living thus for the moment.

I never got to the Mall to witness the true extent of the invasion of people.  I was nestled up against a very old and beautifully crafted building a block away, feeling a false sense of protection from the inexorable intrusion of people fighting their way to the closest location for viewing this July 4^th spectacle, while also feeling artificially protected from one likely target location for a terror attack.  Of course the news media filled its pages forecasting one, and God knows how many were averted this July 4^th by the FBI, CIA, Secret Service and other street police.  Security was truly visible everywhere especially with tall young men with secret service written visibly on their shirts patrolling everywhere and looking at everyone, targets themselves for the next fanatic crazy wanting to gain instant stardom.

The fireworks were still magic to the masses as they revealed their remarkable presence; everyone was fixated on the sky just west of the Washington Monument.  The sky shimmered with light, which flickered, sparkled, spiked and rained as each firework torpedoed from earth into the sky, shedding its contents in order to construct a programmed assortment of patterns, some that disappeared instantly, while others that seemed to linger forever until yet another boom was heard and felt vibrating the ground, forecasting the next show that was about to start.

The last and most dramatic fireworks display always seems anticlimactic, the crowd disappointed with the end of the show, yearning for a few more displays for the road.  But, when it was all said and done, inexorably, the crowd dispersed as quickly as it has formed, with the masses heading for the metro as we competed for space on the street, down stairs toward the Metro, to and on the escalators, through the turnstiles, and to a safe and comfortable seat on the red line train taking us back to Bethesda where we were staying.

The truth is that I didn’t come to DC for the 4^th of July.  I came to visit a friend before the 4^th of July and so we thought it would be a good idea to attend the firework display at the capital.  And as it turns out, the fireworks was a no greater spectacle than the display in Honolulu either on Kailua beach as I remember going to in my early family years or in Honolulu where I have resided at for the past 18 years.

My friend (who shall go unnamed) and I came early to DC from Bethesda and had dinner at the Occidental Grill, a famous landmark bordering the Mall and adjacent to (and owned by the same entity that owns) the very famous Willard Hotel.  Before we left after dinner, I remembered to take a picture of our recent presidents that were on display in the foyer of the restaurant.  Obama was flanked by the two Bush presidents on either side – to be sure, he was truly bushwhacked!!! 

Obama is Bushwhacked!!!!!

Dinner was so so but the Italian wine selection was quite good.  I broke down and ordered a hamburger from the otherwise boring menu (there were no 4^th of July hotdogs on the menu – see last years blog).  When it came, I undressed it from the juicy bacon overlay, split it in half and only ate the slightly larger of sections. 

 I felt guilty that the pulverized partially cooked meat would somehow contaminate and pollute my otherwise meat restricted and protected intestine and cause me a host of unwelcomed complications like a heart attack, or maybe food poisoning, or some cancer.  Even so, it still tasted good!!! But I was satisfied that if I only ate half, that my intestinal microbiome would only be affected transiently and it would revert to the mainly green colored foods environment that it was mainly accustomed to.  And thank God for Lipitor, and Green Tea and dark fruits and a failing memory of what I had for dinner the night before!!!

In the past, 4^th of July had little patriotic significance and the day was just a welcomed day off of work (not always true) to do something fun with my growing family.  The fireworks occurred at the end of the long day, and by the time the children were put to sleep, the day was over. 

But the last few years, despite yearning for meaning in my later years, I have avoided asking myself on this day of American independence, how I truly feel about America, the country of my birth and life over 68 ½ years.

This probably reflects a nagging sense that my answer would not please me.  And I’m good at obsessing on the negative, and if I started, this writing would never end.  I will say that I am generally unhappy with how my country has evolved over the last few decades, not only in politics, but many other aspects.  And I hope that I will never find the time to do that kind of reflection, and if I do, I can count on anyone reading such drivel falling quickly to sleep in boredom like grandson DJ-2, son of DJ-1, who is the son of me, who is also a D, and even their mighty dog, Jackson.