Just wrapping up another interesting Independence Day with a warm Shiner Bock and a handful of dry Frosted Shredded Wheats. Good stuff.
Went to Canadian, Texas this morning for their parade. You might recall that Tucker the Beagle hails from Canadian and, well, they had turtle races (with 144 entries). Interesting how such ridiculously cool customs become tradition on national holidays. Nathan's Famous celebrates unrivaled glutony and then we race the slowest animals on the planet. Onlookers were encouraged not to place any wagers on the races. Damn, you're hard up if your dropping cash on the turtle races.
Canadian was interesting, to say the least. I like the community. Everytime I'm there, I'm reminded that I really wouldn't mind living in the middle of nowhere. There's a ton of white trash in Canadian though. And they have a lot of white trash kiddies. They were everywhere. One mother of, geez, I'd guess twelve, had a tattoo on the back of her calf. It was a memorial of sorts reading "Heath: 12-03-77 - 03-15-07...He has become comfortably numb." What the hell is that? I mean, I don't need the story. I'm just wondering when is it appropriate to quote Pink Floyd on a memorial piece? And, apparently, ankle tattoos finally made it up in the panhandle. Everyone was rocking an ankle tattoo. You know: the ying yang, the skull, the rose, the frog, the Pink Floyd quote, the Misfits logo, the Nascar tribute.
Apparently, some time between today and the last time I was at a July 4th parade, floats began turning lame and it's really only an excuse to overhand hard candy at people in the crowd. Most people didn't even wave, they just took fistfuls of candy and chunked it at the crowd. And if you weren't dodging the local little league team trying to break skin with Jolly Ranchers, you had others that would just come around the corner and blast the crowd with Super Soakers. What happened to the "wavers." Now I gotta worry about missles flying at me. White trash got most of the candy anyway as they positioned themselves about five feet off the curb. C'mon, what else are they gonna eat for dinner?
Jax left a huge dump on the courthouse lawn and I didn't pick it up. For whoever is smelling the bottom of their Nikes tonight wondering what died, I'm sorry.
I came home, ate barbecue and passed out face down in front of the TV. Woke up to find that the Red Sox beat the Yankees (second day in the row) and that we were heading down to the big city park to see the fireworks tonight. None of which were to be launched out of some kids mouth thankfully. We took our place for the fireworks, in all places (shoot me in the face), the Wal-Mart parking lot and they were launching them some hundred yards from our chairs. We had front-row view of the fireworks while thousands of cats were trapped at the park and had the back-row perspective. So maybe the Wal-Mart parking lot wasn't such a bad idea.
White trash love them some fireworks. And, apparently, drinking in a Wal-Mart parking lot is not too far-fetched for them. They just lined up and took it in. Of course, I did too. What can I say, there's a little white trash in all of us. But I still don't know a single Nascar star except for Jeff Gordon (only because we share the same name) and Dale, Jr.
Sox and Yanks tomorrow and Sunday--both televised. Classically American. Keep chillin.