Um, yeah, so apparently Californians are into Independence Day.

My landlord told me he was leaving town for the weekend.  And they never leave town.  "Too many loud pops," he said, throwing his hands in the air.  I thought this was his Romanian way of saying Americans get a little giddy about their freedom day and go watch fireworks.  And well, this is what he meant, but by fireworks, I don't just mean the grand show at the local park, or the downtown celebration following the parade.  I mean like whole neighbhoods (namely mine) with whole driveways stuffed with grandma, grandpa and cousin Juanita, seated in lounge chairs, lap chairs and those long inflatable bench chairs...all for the fourth of July!?  I've never been in a war scene, but if I were, I think this is what it would sound like.  Loud, really loud, bursting flames of light scattering the sky.  I feel like I should hover against a wall like we did for tornado drills in middle school.  The moon is really rad tonight, but it's hard to find its crescent, given the thousands of brighter moons distracting its view.  Oh shoot, and now Dirty Dancing music is being sung by some far off stereo system.  This is crazy.  The people across the street just brought out their whole dining room table and are now salsa dancing in their grass.  Where am I!?  There are literally like hundreds of people lighting the air on fire in my vicinity.  Loud, hundreds of people.  Illegally loud hundreds of people.

Suffice it to say, Californians win the patroitism prize. 

As of tonight, I hope my house doesn't burn down.  And I'm proud to be an American (even though it's my Mexican neighborhood making all the loud pops).