Gracious Living, part four (th)

Certain traditions are more special than others to me. Open houses at the holidays, calling Mom on my birthday to say thanks, and especially the Fourth of July. Independence Day means more than renting a Will Smith film and frying chicken. We celebrate our freedom todo such things like this, blogging.Our independence is a great swelling of pride that makes people appreciate all things american; soccer, hotdogs and apple pie. Let's celebrate with fireworks and nice looking men. All in one.

The World Cup plays on and I can't hope that I get to see Italy level France enough. It would be right on so many levels. The whole world around is celebrating soccer and the americans are the last to arrive in the hysteria. We are bullish people who demand our language be spoken wherever we are, local systems of measurment translate into ours and that our sporting events be worshipped as if a temple. It would be ideal if our celebrity athletes treated their bodies in a similar manner, but I digress. Go Italia!!!!!!!!! Gooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!


It means watching the Nathan's sponsored Coney Island Hot Dog Eating contest and having hotdogs for dinner, cringing at each bite. The only thing worse than watching the actual event is reading the contestants prior victories and fortes. The crazy samoan who ate 35 burritos in a half and hour, the little asian girl who place second in the goldfish swallowing contest, the senior citizen who took too much exlax and blurred the line between sportsmanship and ...........depends. How in the name of Jenny Craig do people come to these competitions? Crazy is as crazy does, shirley/surley there are more entertaining things they can find to do with there time than risking renal failure. Maybe they can run through the fields of whatever backwater they hail from, singing selections from "The Sound Of Music" with a lightning rod in each hand. "Thee Hiiillls arrre a-liiiiive with thee soooound of Muuuussszzzzzzzzzzzzziiiiiiikkkkkkkkkkkkk". Cue sulphur smell.

Apple pie is part of the my most important traditions in the holiday. A long time ago in a cottage by the Sound, the heat rolled in and set oppresively on our sweat glands. My sister, her lover and I opted to spend the afternoon in front of the fridge, cleaning. The door was removed, the shelves too. It was purged, pummelled and pollished. Our dillegance belied our brains but the endproduct was so sweet. Independence from smell, scum and stains left by apple pies gone by.
Today, in Los Angeles, there is one more sparkling fridge. This fridge is free (to be admired) of scum and stain-free. It's contents rejuvinated and organized. Remember that traditions are our footprints in the sand that we leave so the following people can samba like they're at a Fred Astaire Dance Studio.