Okay, so I do love my country after all. I had a Redneck Fourth of July Extravaganza yesterday.
Adam and I celebrated our independence from our jobs by going to the crappy Mississippi beach. (We tried to get other people to come with us, but everyone else was either working, had out-of-town guests, or had explosive diarrhea.) The Mississippi beach has no waves, and the water is brown like a lake, and there are fish heads and beer bottles floating in the water. Also, there was some kind of sewage leak problem that was only cleaned up the day before, so the beach had just been reopened for swimming. (We didn't swim at at that exact beach, but I bet if Adam and I ever have children, they'll probably have three heads and gills.) What the Mississippi beach does have going for it, though, is that it's only a little over an hour from N.O., and you can drive there and back in time to see fireworks. Still, I think next time we'll push on through to Gulf Shores, in Alabama.
We had a good time on the beach, though--mostly watching a lot of little kids enjoy it. A group of siblings who'd never been to a beach before was building a sandcastle right next to us, and the boy kept yelling, "Stop bringing me shells! We have enough shells already! Bring me some water!" And the little girl would yell back, "But I don't have a bucket! We need to be building closer to the ocean!" The kids on the other side of us seemed to be having a similar conversation, but it was in Spanish so I can't say for sure.
We had lunch at Beau Rivage Casino, in Biloxi. The buffet was surprisingly expensive, so of course, like any good Americans, we felt that it was our duty to eat as much as possible. We waddled out of there an hour and a half later, full of 3,452 different kinds of starch.
Then we tried to go to Wet Willie's, a little tiny baby water park on the beach, but that's when the thunderstorms came. So we headed back to New Orleans, through this torrential downpour that was so bad that we and a bunch of other cars all pulled off the I-10 while the 18-wheelers whizzed by going about 90 mph. On the way back, we sang along to Neutral Milk Hotel as loud as we could, and played air instruments. I am best at air drums, but Adam favors less popular air instruments, such as the air triangle, the air wash board, and the air piccolo. We stopped at Crazy Bob's Fireworks Tent just outside Slidell and bought some explosives, though it was clear that the check-out lady thought we were pathetic amateurs. "Sparklers, eh? Why don't you try one of these here rolls of 500 cat's eyes? Only $75."
We went home and washed the Mississippi pollution off of ourselves, and then we went to Algiers point on the West Bank for even more redneck fun. We took our friend Amy, and it was great except that it was the world's shortest fireworks display. Ten minutes, I kid you not. New Orleans usually does better for these kinds of celebrations, I'm not sure what the problem was. We decided to blame the new mayor. It was good while it lasted, though, and we had a good time standing around drinking cheap beer and shooting off some of our fireworks up on the levee, endangering the lives of those around us (which is what everybody does).
Then we met K&B at our little English pub, and met their out-of-town guests. But it was loud and crowded, so Adam and Amy and I headed Uptown to Camellia Grill and ate french fries. (Amy is a traveling nurse and she's heading to Denver soon. I'm going to miss her, but Adam and I will see her on our car trip across the country next month.)
We went back home and shot off a few more fireworks and woke up the neighbors, and then we went to bed. It was a good all-American day.
I can't believe I have to work today, though. What a crock of shit. You don't want to go to the library today, do you? Of course not.
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