This year I decided not to kick up any fuss about the fourth of July. I barely heard anyone call it 'Independence Day', which just goes to show that nobody remembers why they're getting the day off work. Ray invited a few of us from work around to his new house for a cook-out. His dog, a beagle by the name of muddy, ate my potato salad. I feel like the balance of the universe was restored when one of our fireworks almost killed Ray and Muddy! To pass the time 'til it got dark, we played 'Would you rather...', which involved me getting in rather heated arguments with Amanda about how much saliva there is on a cows tongue (among other, more intellectual topics).
I was home in time to watch the fireworks at the Diamond (the baseball stadium is just a few blocks away, so I had a good view from the top of my fire-escape). They didn't start until around 11pm. Apparently the neighbours were complaining about the noise. Again, I think it's rather sad that on such a significant national holiday, some people can only grumble that the fireworks were too loud! It's the kind of thing you expect to happen in England!
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