Daddy Scratches | The 4th of July … which falls between the 3rd and the 5th of July

On the 3rd of July, I decided to upgrade the behind-the-scenes publishing system that powers this here blog (WordPress) … which would have been delightfully simple if not for the fact that:

trying to reinstate in the upgraded publishing system all of the many customizations needed to make this place look oh-so bitchin’ was kind of like that whole needle-in-a-haystack thing—except that the haystack was the size of Mt. Everest, and the needle was imaginary.
during the upgrade process, I accidentally overwrote most of the folder that, among other things, contains all of the plugins (what the layman would call “bells and whistles”) that help things function ’round here. That same folder also contains every photo I’ve ever uploaded to this site … and, though overwriting the folder was a shithead move no matter how you slice it (as was my inexcusable failure to download a backup copy prior to upgrading), I must give myself some credit for quickly interrupting the in-progress catastrophe once I realized how spectacularly I had fucked up, because it was my quick reaction that prevented both the loss of said photos and the end of the world—the latter of which would have been the result of my reaction to the former.
I commenced the upgrade in the evening … which is why, four days later, I’m still on vampire time.

On the 5th of July, I spent two hours cutting into tiny pieces and shoving into three trash barrels the gargantuan rhododendron that, several weeks ago, Wonder Woman spontaneously decided to chop down and leave in a pile in our front yard—an act that I like to call The Most Well-Thought-Out Landscaping Decision Ever. (With the pile now removed, we are able to soak in the full beauty of the twisted rhododendron stump that decorates the front-left corner of our humble abode, which itself is a glorious affirmation of the title I’ve bestowed upon this act of sheer gardening genius.)

(Love you, honey!)

Following The Great Rhododendron Brawl of 2009 (during which I managed to strain my right shoulder … you know, that right shoulder), I then mowed the ~~lawn~~ yellow and green crabgrass, moss and weeds that live on top of the dirt around our house—and, at one point, the mowing apparently dislodged from the earth an absolute swarm of carpenter ants … like, I’m talking a “Holy shit, that is a huge-ass swarm of carpenter ants!” swarm of carpenter ants. It looked like something out of a horror movie about a swarm of people-eating carpenter ants—especially when they quickly started crawling up onto my sneakers, and GAH!

It was at that point that I did the “Get the Fuck Off of Me, Swarm of Carpenter Ants!” dance (not to be confused with James Brown’s “I Got Ants in My Pants (and I Need to Dance)” … although it would have been completely awesome if someone had videotaped my run-in with the ants and set the footage to that song).

Also on the 5th of July, Wonder Woman and I (mostly Wonder Woman) had to contend with something more fearsome than a swarm of killer carpenter ants: a six-year-old and a three-year-old who, on the 4th of July, went to bed three hours later than usual, yet, on the 5th of July, still rose with the sun. The result is what we parents like to call Non-Stop Meltdown Soufflé, a dish characterized by more crying and screaming than any two human beings weighing a combined total of 100 pounds should be able to muster for 13 hours straight.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: you’re thinking, “Well, Jon, it sounds like your 4th of July weekend kinda sucked.”

But no, dear friends. Though the 3rd of July kinda sucked, and the 5th of July brought sucking to new levels of suckdom, the 4th was the berries.

First, we attended a lovely party at Wonder Woman’s cousin’s house, which is located in a little neighborhood that juts out into the ocean in Salem, Massachusetts. Wonder Woman’s extended family on her mother’s side was there, and it was a delightfully tasteful and traditional celebration of America’s independence.

And then, in the late afternoon, we changed venues to my uncle’s house, which is located atop a hill in Great Neck, Ipswich, also overlooking the ocean. There, we took part in a less traditional celebration, one that my uncle dubbed “Tommy Tanaka’s Tacky Tiki Party” (and fucked if I know who Tommy Tanaka is, but that’s what my uncle decided to call it).

Sadly, the above picture somehow ended up being the only photo I took during Mr. Tanaka’s soirée. Apparently, I was placing most of my attention on the libations rather than photography. I did, however, shoot a ton of video footage … spectacular video footage … including footage of:

Zan doing a stand-up comedy routine and a solo singing performance—in front of EVERYONE … which leads me to believe someone was slipping him booze all afternoon.
Wonder Woman dancing in a lei, feaux-grass skirt, and crown of flowers.
me, my brother, sister and two cousins breakdancing. Yes, that’s right: breakdancing. To Michael Jackson’s “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’,” as a matter of fact.

Let me explain about that last part: when my siblings, cousins and I were youngsters (me being the oldest at about 12 or 13, my cousin Susan being the youngest at about six), my father and my uncle started a DJ business, and played records at various functions. This was in the ’80s, at the height of the breakdancing craze. On several occasions, my father and uncle enlisted us to do a little dance routine during their DJ gig.

On July 4th, 2009, the old crew reunited for a one-time only performance … and it was roughly one time too many. Some things are better left to memory. (I almost insisted on not participating when the whole thing spontaneously popped up, but it would have been a complete dickhead move on my part to be the only one to beg off while everyone else played along. Fortunately, I had consumed several gallons of piña coladas, so that helped.)

But back to the video footage: priceless. Positively priceless. I was so glad I thought to bring the camcorder … until yesterday, when I tried to play back the footage, and found out that the camcorder has apparently been broken for the past couple of months … meaning that all of the footage from the 4th of July, and Zan’s 6th birthday party, and god knows what else looks roughly like this artist’s rendering that I created:

“Pissed” and “sickened” don’t even begin to describe how I feel about that revelation.

Deep breath.

So anyhoo …

My oldest cousin and I capped the island-themed 4th of July festivities by lighting off a huge batch of illegal fireworks supplied by my uncle (who, incidentally, is a police detective), and I feel I should now say a word or two to the many cities who canceled their annual fireworks displays this year due to budget constraints: you might want to rethink that strategy next year based on the fact that you could end up spending at least as much paying for your fire department to respond to the various disasters resulting from drunken assholes lighting off recreational explosives.

Fortunately, that wasn’t us (except for, you know, the “drunken assholes” part … but we didn’t cause any pyrotechnic disasters).

By the time the Scratches family returned home, it was 10 o’clock. Here’s what Zan looked like upon our arrival: