Eric Berne, the father of transactional analysis (which, sans the later yippee-yay popularizations, is quite a useful approach to the human predicament) expounded in one of his books on aspects of stress which he called the “reach-back” and the “afterburn.” The afterburn is the time that it takes the pain to leave your ass after some draining, demanding, or irritating experience. The reach-back is the amount of time you spend beforehand doing extra preparation for it or just plain dreading it, and the total sum is the actual duration you have to tot up when you are deciding how many days of your allotted span you must budget for things that, however wonderful (like speaking at a convention or starring in a show) stick spokes in your life fore and aft. And of course, most spokes that get stuck in your life involve something less than wonderful, like waiting for a contractor or visiting in-laws.
I have been getting reach-back for a week from the Bloody Fourth of July. Preparation no. Dread yes. All holidays are my least favorite. This one, especially in this our Nation’s Capital, always involves asinine teenagers, people who should know better setting off fireworks, the obligatory road-scrambling stampede to see the national fireworks, and usually heat on top of the rah-rah — plus the added narrheit of people simpering “What are your holiday plans?”
I usually say “hiding,” but I have this damnable proclivity for increasingly younger men, and this one wants to go up to the 16th floor of a high-rise near the river, where he works, and watch the hoopla out the windows with whatever strangers from the large organization he works for choose to come along. The last time we did this, a few years ago, our only companions were a couple who came equipped with a loud, rude, attention-craving eleven-year-old. It was a close shave whether I would throttle the wretched infant before it was over — if the windows had not been reinforced, he would have had his ass lit on fire for a one-time performance as the only human rocket in the display. And then, of course, there’s the drama of pelting down to the parking lot to leap into the vehicle and hoping we get ahead of the hordes who took the same option in their flight out of the throbbing night spot of Rosslyn.
I wonder what pleasures tomorrow will bring?
I’ve gotten away for two years with insisting on the acceptable, partly blocked view from the overpass five minutes walk from my front door. I guess I would be a mensch, or a femsch, to go along this time.
Wake me when it’s over, all right?
With the exception (sometimes) of Thanksgiving, I have to agree. Observing our religious holidays on a different calendar than most Americans adds to the feeling of being out of it anyway. Most civil holidays are about boredom, avoidance of traffic clogged events and places, high gas prices just beforehand. Independence Day is no exception.
They tend to feature events that are interesting for about half of their scheduled time or involve listening to political tripe, from people who don’t endear me to them when I am really there for the food.
For the fourth of July We put out the flags, we almost never go to watch fireworks (how many years in a row can one ooooooo ahhhhh) and growl as jackasses set off firecrackers around the neighborhood until way too late at night. That was cool at 14.
Then there are the yuckadoodles who actually fire off guns into the air (one can hear and tell the difference). It’s not just an LA thing, it happens in a lot of places. Why anyone things that it’s OK to let off a shotgun in the air at midnight…
I’m still grateful to Geo. Washington and Tom Jefferson. I’m not grateful for drunks and tiny explosive devices.
Being neither patriotic nor religious I don’t tend to get into enforced celebrations. Though I’ve made a couple of holidays “my own” by celebrating them in a way that pleases me.
Great cartoon. Every spring there’s a pilgramage to the village of Rocio (these days mostly an excuse to get drunk and laid on the way) and when the various groups are leaving Seville they set off those annoying rockets that make an amazing amount of noise. Poor Sunny spends all morning quivering under the bed. Azar, having been born under a car, has more sense and isn’t bothered by noise he knows can’t hurt him.
Maybe while you’re out you’ll catch a glimpse of VA’s UFO!
UFO sighting in Virginia
Well, read my today’s post and you’ll know a little where I’m coming from.
Personally, I love fireworks, they satisfy some deep seated pyromaniac that lives within my soul. I can go ooh and aah every year, I’m happy to do it more than once a year. It was my great pleasure to attend Giants games in San Francisco when they were going to shoot off fireworks, one of my clients had a huge fireworks display when she got married because her family is the local pyrotechnics company. Etc.
One year we went to the Boston Pops 4th of July concert on the Green, and not only did in involve getting up at zero dark thirty to get there and get a spot, but we stayed the night in a downtown hotel so we wouldn’t have to be involved in the traffic jam following the concert and fireworks display. I’m sure the citizens of Boston and the Boston area loved all us tourists just as much as you do in DC at this time!
However, we were not setting off fireworks near residential neighborhoods late at night, either. Nor do we at home. I try to be forgiving of the yahoos that do, at least on the actual 4th of July. I had a dog that absolutely had a near nervous breakdown when it was fireworks season, so I completely relate to the pain of observing an animal terrified by something they totally do not understand. Even so, I still had to set off my fireworks, although in deference to here we usually got colorfully quiet things like fountains and the like rather than the stuff that goes “bang”.
If I lived near something like this, I’m pretty sure I’d be hiding too!
I hope you survive the festivities and that there are no potential human rockets around to spoil your fun.