Posts tagged ‘Independence Day’

I tapped some keys last week. Some words were strung together. You should go read it all because its like totally thought-provoking and schtuff. And also because page views make me feel good about myself, and as a child of the 80s, I know that’s way more important than math or reading skills.

Some of the comments on my Obamacare Spies piece are so ripe with naiveté that I don’t wonder how Nancy Pelosi gets reelected. Maybe basic comprehension skills are more important than self-esteem after all. Oh well.

Also on Obamacare, I wrote about how the individual mandate bullies Americans into buying health insurance. I used the Obama admin’s own guidelines for recognizing bullies to prove my point. I love hoisting people on their own petards. I hate the words hoist and petard. I promise not to use them again. At least not with cringing.

Remember a few weeks ago when ATMs destroyed the economy? Well last week it was corporate fat cats and their private jets. Pick a scape goat and stick to it, Mr. President.

And then there was that study that suggested Republicans are more patriotic than Democrats. Uh … duh. Democrats need to abandon the Harry Reids of their party and get back to pride in their country. It’s a rockin’ place to live, work, and play.

Scott Brown had a contest detailed here, asking participants to describe what Independence Day means to them in 250 words or less. I missed the deadline because I just found out about it, but thought I’d share what I would have entered:

Independence Day means sweat and sweetness. It means a day at the beach or park with the kids, while they run around like wild banshees. It’s 90 degrees out, but we don’t care. Popsicles melt down chins, and I go through an entire box of baby wipes in a vain attempt to wipe faces and hands.

It means breaking out glow-in-the-dark necklaces as the sun sets. We break the tubes inside, the delicious crackling releasing chemicals into the plastic rope that will glow for hours. The children become nothing more than flashes of neon as they run through the dark.

The men poke at the fire, each letting their inner pyro-maniac out to play. My husband always wins, of course, and the flames are soon ready for marshmallow toasting.

Marshmallow goo and melted chocolate and cookie crumbs cover little faces. And, um, mine too. I lament the empty baby wipes box, but a friend comes to the rescue and shares hers with our sticky family.

The fireworks come, and our toddler gleefully screams, “Mores!” after each boom. A massive explosion of color in the sky, and my husband kisses me while we hold our exhausted yet filled-to-the-brim-with-joy daughters.

We revel in America.

This country totally rocks.