A Taste of Freedom

This past weekend marked the Fourth of July, and the Indignant Citizen was filled with patriotic Pride at the sight of his fellow citizens marking the day in solemn fashion, contemplating War and our country’s place in the world and in history, pausing to remember those who died and who are still dying so that we might enjoy. . . .

Aw, who is the Indignant Citizen kidding? We celebrated the way we always have: by blowin’ shit up, guzzling beer, ingesting large quantities of fried food and leaving behind an immense fucking mess for the New Economy’s bottom feeders to pick up.

We are a nation of slobs. Lazy slobs at that, for one can be a slob and at least bring some energy to the job. We just drop our shit wherever it falls out of our hands and let it blow in the wind—into yards, into the lake, into the trees, into empty lots. Take for example the parade and fireworks display in the Indignant Citizen’s leafy, inner-ring Chicago suburb. Lots of people came out, folks who see each other every day at the grocery store, waiting for the bus, buying an ax at the Home Depot. Everyone brings the brood, some portable chairs and a cooler full of Icehouse and plops down along 95th Street. The fire department rolls by, lights flashing, sirens wailing and a big Stars & Stripes affixed to the bumper, in the manner of the FDNY trucks after Sept. 11. The Hoses are followed by a high school band, and then a tiny tots dance school, and some fucker in a green ’72 Eldorado with “Support the Troops” hand-painted on the side—a true patriot at nine miles per gallon. Then comes a giant RV with cheap red, white and blue streamers duct-taped to the side and a tattered old flag pasted across the passenger side front window. Yes, sir, the heart swells with Pride at a display like that.

And just when it looks to be over, when the last squad car has cruised by, why then the fun’s just startin’, Bubba. That’s because it’s time to pack up da fam-damily and head on up ta da park fer da fahr-werks! Eeeeeyyyyyaaaaahhhh! Whoops! When did Howard Dean get here? Send that Osama-loving fag back Vermont. The Fourth of July is for Men and for Patriots! And to prove it we will discard our empty Icehouse cans, our plastic bags full of barbecue sauce-stained napkins and gnawed-on turkey legs, and our Styrofoam plates here on the sidewalk, inches from where we sat on our fat asses and watched the parade.

Yes! Yes! Leave it all! Real Patriots don’t put their trash in the garbage. This is America, goddammit, and we’ve no time to be walking an extra 20 feet to throw garbage in some enviro-hippie trash can. We have places to go. If we don’t leave now for da fahr-werks Right Now, we won’t have enough room to spread out our soiled Flag Blanket, since doing so is a ritualistic way of staking our Claim to space we’ll need so’s papa can change little Johnny’s shitty diaper in full view of the world and mama can whip our her teat and suckle little Susie. Hoo boy, it’s a real American Fourth of JU-ly.

Whoa. Got carried away, there. Sometimes the Indignant Citizen gets caught up in the Patriotism of it all, see, and he forgets. . . . But we were talking about trash of the refuse variety. At the local parade, at the local fireworks and at Chicago’s July 3 fireworks at the Taste of Chicago, the Indignant Citizen was struck dumb by the sheer stupid laziness of his fellow Americans, and by the king-sized mess we manage to leave behind after our “celebrations.”

The ground at Grant Park was covered ankle-deep in trash after the fireworks Sunday night. The Indignant Citizen saw one single family actually throw its trash away. Walking along the lakefront afterward, the concrete walkway and the grassy hill were strewn with paper and plastic and glass bottles. One guy picked up a bottle and threw it away. He gave up after that, realizing that to continue would be like standing at the bottom of an avalanche with a toy sandbox shovel.

And so much for the trash. Another observation from the long Fourth weekend: We are inches from anarchy in this country. The Indignant Citizen felt on several occasions that only a razor’s edge stood between uneasy calm and riot—most notably, the crowds at the central Taste intersection of Jackson and Columbus. On the busiest day of the Taste, this intersection is gridlock. You can’t move. Why? Plain stubbornness, mostly. Nobody wants to yield, everyone is standing or walking where they are by Right, and nothing will make them step aside. Of course, even if they chose to step aside, there would be no place to go, thanks in no small measure to the logic-challenged parents who insist on wheeling strollers through the dense crowd. Where the fuck do they think they’re going?! And exactly how much room do they feel they and their offspring are entitled to?

In another example, a large crowd waited to cross Lake Shore Drive south of Buckingham Fountain. Cops manned the crosswalks and the traffic light control box, presumably to help traffic and pedestrian flow. But they never allowed the pedestrians to cross, even when no traffic was coming on the Drive. Eventually the crowd reached half a block deep waiting to cross. Then, suddenly, people started out in frustration. They quickly spilled into the street, filling all lanes. One old cop tried to stem the tide, pushing a couple of pedestrians back onto the sidewalk. But by and large we ignored him.

We love our men in uniform, except when they get in our way.