Fuck yeah America

Yesterday, July 3, I arrived in Seattle just as planned and commenced celebration! I've now driven corner to corner through this country of ours, and have completed this phase of the journey in time to celebrate our national birthday. Seattle was built amidst a Byzantine maze of rivers and lakes, and it was Lake Union, in the heart of the city, that Seattle chose as the site of its Fourth of July celebration. The lakeside Gas Works Park, itself built upon the ruins of a defunct power plant, was the center of the celebration, so of course Alexis, Aviva, and I avoided it like the proverbial restaurant no one goes to anymore because it's too crowded. Instead we found a nice public pier on one side of the lake to watch the show from.

The story of how we found the pier is itself worth telling and involves a firecracker, a frying pan, and the Seattle police department. The firecracker was employed by the neighbors in holiday festivities at about 2 PM, when we three were at Safeway, and caused a fire to start on Alexis's lawn. The frying pan was also employed by the neighbors, this time to put out the fire. The Seattle police department was employed by Alexis to file a nuisance complaint to cover her butt in case the landlady wondered why there was a five-by-twelve scorch mark on her lawn, and while they were here ("Ma'am, are you aware you're not supposed to set your lawn on fire?") Alexis asked where we should watch the fireworks from. They suggested the east shore of the lake, so that's where we went. Through the help of a privately employed security officer, we then discovered a pier that most people didn't know about or notice, yet which was perfectly public and centrally located -- best seats in the house if you don't own a boat. Anecdotally, I heard over eight hundred thousand people were there, eyes focused like mine on the water.

While we waited for the big show to begin, we picnicked on salad and sandwiches, chatted, did Tarot readings, had poking contests, and watched the various illegal private fireworks shows light up the sky as the sun dipped below the horizon. But when the real show started and the first glittering flares went up from the barge, the breath was taken away, and it didn't come back until the final explosions twenty minutes later. There were spheres, cubes, smile faces, planets, and stars; the booms had shapes too, but English doesn't have easily accessed words for them. The magnitude of this fireworks show could be measured on the Richter scale. It was a fantastic fucking show. I'll tell you, whatever faults it might have, let no one say America can't paint the sky gold.

The show ended at quarter till eleven, and there was a little traffic, and long story short I'm exhausted from all the cheering and swearing. I'm going to bed. Tomorrow Aviva will say her tearful goodbyes and board a Greyhound bus back to Portland, and sometime soon -- the next day? -- I will say a goodbye of my own, kick patriotism across the curb, and set sail for Vancouver.